My husband and I have been married for 14 years. We have been “together” for 19 years come this August. 19 years! When we started dating I thought if we made 2 months that that would be a good run. We have definitely exceeded my expectations. Ask me how this happened. Okay, I will tell you; but it’s just because you asked.
One afternoon after we had started dating I was upset and sobbing. David told me if he kissed my tears away we would be soul mates for life; like two lovebirds. Of course I thought he was crazy. 223 months later we are still together. We are the happiest when we are spending time together. When he is not here I miss him. If you want to gag I understand; however if you think about it we have no choice - we have the “Lovebird Curse”.
Definition of a Lovebird: The name Lovebird stems from these parrots' strong, monogamous pair bonding and the long periods of time in which paired birds will spend sat beside one another. This is reflected by the bird's name in other languages: in German, "die Unzertrennlichen", and in French "les inséparables", both meaning "the inseparables".
I don’t want to give you the impression that we are not without challenges. We have two areas that have threatened one of us to move out and get our own “cage”.
Number 1: We fight over lamps- to be honest we fight about all lighting fixtures. We can not agree on lighting. We have had to do a lot of compromising. If we didn’t I would be sitting in the dark at this very moment. We have almost gotten divorced in the lighting department in IKEA.
David: Oooo…I love this lamp! Amy, come here, and look at this lamp. (I should mention that he is all smiles.)
(I know this is a trap. I know I should just stay put. I don’t want to cause a scene. But nonetheless I drag myself over to him. This should be an excellent show for the other shoppers. Hey why are they selling popcorn? And where did those theater seats come from? I don’t remember those when we came into the lamp department. And do I hear the movie voice over guy?)
Me: David! It is a stop light lamp! Tell me you are kidding.
David: I really like it, but I also like this one.
Me: David, really, we do not need a lamp that changes colors! Come with me, and I will show you some REAL lamps.
(I show him the “grown-up” lamps.)
David: I hate it…I don’t like it…I hate it…WHERE we would we put that?
Then a miracle happens. I pick up a lamp and he says: “That one isn’t too bad.”
I did it. No more showing him lamps. He could change his mind, and we could end up with a stop sign lamp on our wall. Then something terrible happens. IKEA has sold out of our “marriage saving lamp”! It seems that the lamp we want has probably salvaged a lot of trouble marriages. I crumble to the ground, and start to cry.
(The voice over guy poses the question: “Will David kiss her tears, or buy the traffic lamp?)
David reaches for my hand, and he kisses me, and then we badmouth IKEA for the next 20 minutes.
“How dare they not have the lamp we want? What were those buyers thinking not buying enough lamps? I think we should boycott this store.”
“I agree.”
“I mean forever.”
“Me too.”
“Well we can come back for inexpensive kitchenware, and tea lights, but that’s all.”
“Agreed”
“Let’s go out for lunch.”
“Where do you want to go?”
That brings me to the second issue: We can not agree on where to eat. We can spend an hour driving around “picking out" a restaurant; only to end up at a fast food establishment. In order to save our marriage we both accepted that this is our way of life. As a result we don’t go out for dinner that often. And we do go out we take Holly with us and make her to pick the restaurant. She is better at it then we are, so it works well. Everyone is happy.
I will be honest we did have one fight about where to eat. It was our 3rd anniversary, and I asked David to take me out to dinner for our anniversary. When I got in the car he asked me where I wanted to go. I was so mad, because he had not planned dinner. I thought he should have planned it, because this was the only thing I asked for as a gift. I refused to talk to him. We drove around in silence. (Now that I think about it it’s pretty funny.) I finally told him I wanted to go to McDonalds. (He was mad at that point. Good it served him right!) We got home, we were about to get out of the car; but before we did, there were some words exchanged which caused me to throw my fries at him. (HA HA HA!) He sat in the car stewing for an hour or so. I went into the house to stew. I did feel bad. I finally went out to the car and told him I was sorry. We did end up going out for dinner that night, but I can’t remember where we went. We made a promise to each other never to let poor dinner planning get that out of hand again.
March 18 we celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. We were not able to go out for dinner due to circumstances. That was a close call!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
1200 minutes of Free"dumb".
Free isn’t always best. Let me think of something that I wouldn’t mind getting free.
I thought for exactly 7 minutes…
Well not including the obvious such as Starbucks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gifts. I fail to think of anything else. It seems that what you pay for is what you get. “Oh hey look this blouse is 95% off! I can’t believe my luck. Hey why is there 50 of them on the rack?” It’s because that 95% discounted shirt sucked. Nobody wanted it. Most likely it made people look fat, and who would buy one of those? "But 95% is such a deal…" Okay it’s your closet space, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I realize the shirt was paid for and not free, BUT it will be free for person who gets it second hand. “Do I look fat in this free shirt? Crap I hate Free-Fat-Shirts I would rather have Fat-Free-Shirts. I would pay a fortune for one of those.”
As you know I have a daughter and sometimes David and I take advantage take of what we like to refer to as “Free Babysitting via Sleepovers”. It is simple enough, David and I go to the store and pick up a kid approved dinner, chips, soda, and some candy. (We totally rock in the parent department!) We feed them their requested dinner, and send them downstairs to do whatever kids do. From time to time they emerge to get more soda, but they are still self-maintaining. David and I sit back and watch TV. It is perfect arrangement for the cost of a DVD, and $3 worth of bulk candy we get the title “Most Awesome-est Parents Ever!” (I know we have to pay for dinner and candy, but we would have to feed her anyway, so it doesn’t count.)
Last night we hit a snag…it was called: It-is-Time-to-Settle-up-Your-Babysitting-Account-Because-Nothing-is-Free-Baby. What-Did-You-Think;-You-Would-Get-to-Ride-Easy-Street-Forever?
Holly asked to have a sleepover last night. I said yes, and David and I high-fived each other, because we knew we were going to be able kick up our feet and relax. Not so much.
It all started with the tween blockbuster movie Twilight. Actually the issue was more about the lead male actor. (I am not making this up…) You see my daughter and her friend watched the “special features” and I guess it was revealed that during the “making out scene the lead actor was so “into” the female lead actress he fell off the bed during the make-out scene. This “fact” of the apparent true love between the two actors outside of the realm the movie caused this 11 year old so much trauma that she went into a screaming fit which also included crying, thumb sucking, and rocking back and forth.
After a few minutes we managed to calm her down, but only after the promise she could go and visit her mom. She called her mother, but her mother wasn’t home. It turned out that her mom had “taken the night off”. Apparently I am not the only parent that knows about this free babysitting thing. When our darling guest was able to reach mom via her cell phone she found out that her mom was having a lovely time at a restaurant with friends. The fact that her mom had a life outside of her “mommy responsibilities” made our thumb sucking pal very upset, but she let it go, and hung up the phone.
Whew…That was close; anyways back to the carefree sleepover. Things were going well. That was until dinner. Dunt..dunt..dunt..dun..
First of all I don’t know if this was our mistake or if it was fate, but at any rate I refuse to point fingers. It was Holly’s fault! She is the one who poured the drink of doom; she gave our manic visitor Dr. Pepper! (For shame Holly for shame.) All four of us were having a nice enough dinner, but that was until our friend asked (more like demanded) for more Dr. Pepper. David and I said, “No.” I know! Can you imagine? We hardly say no. We don’t have to say it often because Holly is very reasonable, and doesn’t ask for anything outlandish. If we do say no, she is accepts it. The only reason we laid the hammer down is because if she had had more soda there would not have been enough for later. I guess our company doesn’t respect the word “no” because she had a tantrum. I am not kidding she had a full blown tantrum that a two year old would have had to applaud to for being so dead on accurate. David and I were not faced with a challenge like this before. You see Holly NEVER had tantrums of such epic proportions. (She just hated her stupid bed at nap time, but after a minute or so of a discussion she was up sleeping in her stupid bed.) The tantrum we were faced with was a 10 out of 10 for drama. She staged a sit-in inside our fridge, she cried, she screamed, she kicked, she even got the bottle of Dr. Pepper and ran around the kitchen, and some other things that I have managed to block out. As parents we didn’t cave and we won, she didn’t get any Dr. Pepper. (Calm heads prevail. Plus we couldn’t do anything to her, because she didn’t belong to us.)
Like any good hosts we moved into the living room for some good after dinner conversation. (Truth be told David and I were thinking that the girls would retreat downstairs-no luck. I knew we should have gotten rid of the all extra furniture in the living room. Two chairs are all we need.)
First she put on a “show” for us in which she danced, and sung (Did I say sung? I meant screamed) very loudly. I was afraid we were going to get a noise complaint. We asked her to cease and desist, but that just made it worst. We could not send her home; because her mom went A.W.O.L. (At that point I couldn’t blame her?)
I suggested we bring out my Cookie Monster life size puppet. That g
uy is so cool. He looks like the real one. You can move his hands, head, and mouth. I mean you can actually shake Cookie Monster’s hand. How cool is that? Usually we bring the blue guy out to entertain people. David has perfected the monster’s voice; the only thing we are missing is the brick wall for David to hide behind. Kids love it, but adults love it more. The adults actually interact with Cookie Monster as if he was the real deal. David says it because most of friends our GEN-Xers, and therefore we grew up watching Sesame Street on PBS.
Anywhoo- We brought out my best-est puppet, but you know what? The “monster girl” attacked it! She beat him up. She tried to pull off Cookie’s eyes, break his mouth, and kept punching him. We tried to put him away, but she was so disrespectful she would pull him down and attack him some more. I finally took him away and gave her my best “evil eyes”, and only then did she leave my toy alone.
Holly took her guest downstairs but not before having a conversation with me. I felt so bad for my girl. She had tears in her eyes. Here I was thinking about myself; I had forgotten that my daughter was being forced to deal with her friend. How terrible she must’ve been feeling during all of this
We hatched a plan: I told Holly to go downstairs and tell her friend that she (Holly) is in so much trouble that if she (Holly) and her guest do not stop acting up that she (Holly) will never be allowed a sleep over never-ever-ever again. I (meaning me) am so mad. She (Holly) has never seen me this mad before. I told her keep crying because it would look more devastating as she delivered the news. About 10 minutes my daughter came up all smiles and gave me thumbs up.
We finally got peace; but it was freedom with a price. It is 11:33 in the morning and David and I are tiptoeing around the house. We do not want to wake the girls up. I am hoping- no praying that they stay asleep for another hour or so, because 1:00pm is time of departure. “See ya, thanks for comin’!”
I thought for exactly 7 minutes…
Well not including the obvious such as Starbucks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gifts. I fail to think of anything else. It seems that what you pay for is what you get. “Oh hey look this blouse is 95% off! I can’t believe my luck. Hey why is there 50 of them on the rack?” It’s because that 95% discounted shirt sucked. Nobody wanted it. Most likely it made people look fat, and who would buy one of those? "But 95% is such a deal…" Okay it’s your closet space, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I realize the shirt was paid for and not free, BUT it will be free for person who gets it second hand. “Do I look fat in this free shirt? Crap I hate Free-Fat-Shirts I would rather have Fat-Free-Shirts. I would pay a fortune for one of those.”
As you know I have a daughter and sometimes David and I take advantage take of what we like to refer to as “Free Babysitting via Sleepovers”. It is simple enough, David and I go to the store and pick up a kid approved dinner, chips, soda, and some candy. (We totally rock in the parent department!) We feed them their requested dinner, and send them downstairs to do whatever kids do. From time to time they emerge to get more soda, but they are still self-maintaining. David and I sit back and watch TV. It is perfect arrangement for the cost of a DVD, and $3 worth of bulk candy we get the title “Most Awesome-est Parents Ever!” (I know we have to pay for dinner and candy, but we would have to feed her anyway, so it doesn’t count.)
Last night we hit a snag…it was called: It-is-Time-to-Settle-up-Your-Babysitting-Account-Because-Nothing-is-Free-Baby. What-Did-You-Think;-You-Would-Get-to-Ride-Easy-Street-Forever?
Holly asked to have a sleepover last night. I said yes, and David and I high-fived each other, because we knew we were going to be able kick up our feet and relax. Not so much.
It all started with the tween blockbuster movie Twilight. Actually the issue was more about the lead male actor. (I am not making this up…) You see my daughter and her friend watched the “special features” and I guess it was revealed that during the “making out scene the lead actor was so “into” the female lead actress he fell off the bed during the make-out scene. This “fact” of the apparent true love between the two actors outside of the realm the movie caused this 11 year old so much trauma that she went into a screaming fit which also included crying, thumb sucking, and rocking back and forth.
After a few minutes we managed to calm her down, but only after the promise she could go and visit her mom. She called her mother, but her mother wasn’t home. It turned out that her mom had “taken the night off”. Apparently I am not the only parent that knows about this free babysitting thing. When our darling guest was able to reach mom via her cell phone she found out that her mom was having a lovely time at a restaurant with friends. The fact that her mom had a life outside of her “mommy responsibilities” made our thumb sucking pal very upset, but she let it go, and hung up the phone.
Whew…That was close; anyways back to the carefree sleepover. Things were going well. That was until dinner. Dunt..dunt..dunt..dun..
First of all I don’t know if this was our mistake or if it was fate, but at any rate I refuse to point fingers. It was Holly’s fault! She is the one who poured the drink of doom; she gave our manic visitor Dr. Pepper! (For shame Holly for shame.) All four of us were having a nice enough dinner, but that was until our friend asked (more like demanded) for more Dr. Pepper. David and I said, “No.” I know! Can you imagine? We hardly say no. We don’t have to say it often because Holly is very reasonable, and doesn’t ask for anything outlandish. If we do say no, she is accepts it. The only reason we laid the hammer down is because if she had had more soda there would not have been enough for later. I guess our company doesn’t respect the word “no” because she had a tantrum. I am not kidding she had a full blown tantrum that a two year old would have had to applaud to for being so dead on accurate. David and I were not faced with a challenge like this before. You see Holly NEVER had tantrums of such epic proportions. (She just hated her stupid bed at nap time, but after a minute or so of a discussion she was up sleeping in her stupid bed.) The tantrum we were faced with was a 10 out of 10 for drama. She staged a sit-in inside our fridge, she cried, she screamed, she kicked, she even got the bottle of Dr. Pepper and ran around the kitchen, and some other things that I have managed to block out. As parents we didn’t cave and we won, she didn’t get any Dr. Pepper. (Calm heads prevail. Plus we couldn’t do anything to her, because she didn’t belong to us.)
Like any good hosts we moved into the living room for some good after dinner conversation. (Truth be told David and I were thinking that the girls would retreat downstairs-no luck. I knew we should have gotten rid of the all extra furniture in the living room. Two chairs are all we need.)
First she put on a “show” for us in which she danced, and sung (Did I say sung? I meant screamed) very loudly. I was afraid we were going to get a noise complaint. We asked her to cease and desist, but that just made it worst. We could not send her home; because her mom went A.W.O.L. (At that point I couldn’t blame her?)
I suggested we bring out my Cookie Monster life size puppet. That g
uy is so cool. He looks like the real one. You can move his hands, head, and mouth. I mean you can actually shake Cookie Monster’s hand. How cool is that? Usually we bring the blue guy out to entertain people. David has perfected the monster’s voice; the only thing we are missing is the brick wall for David to hide behind. Kids love it, but adults love it more. The adults actually interact with Cookie Monster as if he was the real deal. David says it because most of friends our GEN-Xers, and therefore we grew up watching Sesame Street on PBS.Anywhoo- We brought out my best-est puppet, but you know what? The “monster girl” attacked it! She beat him up. She tried to pull off Cookie’s eyes, break his mouth, and kept punching him. We tried to put him away, but she was so disrespectful she would pull him down and attack him some more. I finally took him away and gave her my best “evil eyes”, and only then did she leave my toy alone.
Holly took her guest downstairs but not before having a conversation with me. I felt so bad for my girl. She had tears in her eyes. Here I was thinking about myself; I had forgotten that my daughter was being forced to deal with her friend. How terrible she must’ve been feeling during all of this
We hatched a plan: I told Holly to go downstairs and tell her friend that she (Holly) is in so much trouble that if she (Holly) and her guest do not stop acting up that she (Holly) will never be allowed a sleep over never-ever-ever again. I (meaning me) am so mad. She (Holly) has never seen me this mad before. I told her keep crying because it would look more devastating as she delivered the news. About 10 minutes my daughter came up all smiles and gave me thumbs up.
We finally got peace; but it was freedom with a price. It is 11:33 in the morning and David and I are tiptoeing around the house. We do not want to wake the girls up. I am hoping- no praying that they stay asleep for another hour or so, because 1:00pm is time of departure. “See ya, thanks for comin’!”
I know there is something wrong with this picture. I know that I should be concerned, and not so interested in my need for comfort. I know this is not an excuse but I am ill-equipped to take on an endeavour to get to the bottom of this-if there is a bottom. She has been our guest before and we have not had this kind of drama before. I am left speechless. Can you image me speechless? I guess it does happen…
*At the time of posting of this blog they did wake up. My daughter looks awful, in fact she looks like a bus ran her over. 4 minutes and counting...
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Sun Always Shines on TV
Guess where I have been? I have been watching TV- that’s where!
I loved it, I love it, and I will always love it….cliché
I loved the 80’s sitcoms:
Bosom Buddies: (Tom Hanks in a dress! Who knew he would become an A list actor. I thought the blonde guy made a better looking woman, maybe it was because he was a blonde.)
Diff'rent Strokes: ("Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?")
Family Ties: (I wanted to marry Michael J. Fox. I think this was a turning point in my young life. MJF character was a teenager who was a smart business minded republican. It was during this period that I started to think smart equals sexy. “Oh baby, tell me more about the “Modern Portfolio Theory”, and “Relative Income Hypothesis”…That’s so hot!” *** Hey David is an accountant that’s what I have to work with.
Growing Pains: This show was a filler show for the afternoon, but overall it was a decent show.
Silver Spoons (Okay I have to confess something: When I was in 5th grade I told the girls in my class that I had actually met Ricky Schroder, and he liked me so much that he wanted to date me when I turned 12.)( I was such a geek.) (Ricky if you happen to be reading this blog I am truly sorry to have included you in my web of lies. That being said...Maybe we should go ou...no wait I am married.)
The Facts of Life (You take the good-you take the bad-you take-them-both-and there you have the facts of life-the facts of life…)
The “dark days” as I like to refer to them was when I moved out on my own with my best friend. (If you have been a long time reader of my blog; she is the one who loves Christmas.) In these “dark days” we had no cable!!!
Our puny budget did not afford us the luxury of cable. Seriously! I almost moved out in order to find me some TV. The only saving grace we had at the time was that we were able to get the slightly snowy, but free CBC channel on our TV. We watched really bad Canadian programming like a British soap opera that aired on Sunday mornings; I think it was called Coronation Street, and we had the pleasure of staring at crappy Canadian news, eh? But I am saving the best for last! By some programming miracle we were able to catch All My Children at noon every Monday to Friday. I need you to understand that up until this point during my TV watching obsession I had not yet experienced a soap opera. I was under the misguided impression that folks who watched soaps were a fanatical group of people. But I was desperate for a fix. And it was 1992! And Tad was coming back! Hooray! Everyone thought he was dead; they even had a funeral for the guy (I mean nothing says dead like a funeral). The suspense! Are Dixie and Tad going to get back together? “Wait whose Tad?” IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I HAVE TV!
…and a VCR
We would come home after work with our boyfriends in hand, and catch up on the goings on in Pine Valley. All four of us would watch the show as we ate dinner, and discuss the drama. (Shhh…I want to hear this part.) Can you image; our boyfriends were AMC addicts too! In those “dark days” we bonded over a grainy television screen.
And then we got cable….Good bye All My Children! (I haven’t watched the show since.) Hello Prime Time!
The 90’s had some good shows like Seinfeld, and Friends, but most of the others were pretty unforgettable.
Maybe I was finally growing up. I was married; I had a baby, and a mortgage. It was true that I had a bigger TV and more channels, but I wasn’t as addicted as I once was. Was my passion gone? No, maybe, oh shoot…
Hell no! I call this period in my life “nothing good on”.
I guess a lot of people were going through the same “nothing good on” phase as well, and network ratings were in the toilet. The guys who ran TV must have gotten pretty worried. Sitcoms weren’t working; dancing babies on Ally Mcbeal no longer captured our hearts. What were they going to do? They must’ve put their heads together and thought long and hard.
Guy in charge of TV 1: We need to save TV!
Guy in charge of TV 2: I know! Why we don’t put ordinary people on TV doing crazy things for money.
Guy in charge of TV 1: You mean like a game show?
Guy in charge of TV 2: Sort of... This is what we do… Throw the “contestants” in a jungle, or on a stage, or in a house, and let them fight to the death, and then throw a little bit of money at the winner.
Guy in charge of TV 1: What a magnificent idea. I am completely sold!
At first I did not watch reality television. I resisted it. I stayed tried and true to sitcoms, and primetime television.
It all started with Trading Spaces. Hildi… Hildi… Hildi… I loved to watch the homeowner’s reaction when they saw that they would be working with Hildi. I bet they were thinking, “Crap, after this show is over my friend is never going to talk to me again!” And there was Hildi proudly saying, “Let’s put some feathers on the wall shall we?” And what about farmer Frank; pink and forest green are totally outdated Frank. All those tears for $1000; what’s that about? Was it worth it? I rather go to Home Depot and takes my chances.
My favorite shows are the reality shows that promise a job at the end of the game. American Idol, The Apprentice, Hells Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares. (You could say I have a thing for Gordon Ramsay.)
My DVR is full of reality shows. I can’t get enough. Hey ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX feed me more! I love cheap TV Thumbs up to those guys in charge of TV they had me all figured out afterall!
I loved it, I love it, and I will always love it….cliché
I loved the 80’s sitcoms:
Bosom Buddies: (Tom Hanks in a dress! Who knew he would become an A list actor. I thought the blonde guy made a better looking woman, maybe it was because he was a blonde.)
Diff'rent Strokes: ("Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?")
Family Ties: (I wanted to marry Michael J. Fox. I think this was a turning point in my young life. MJF character was a teenager who was a smart business minded republican. It was during this period that I started to think smart equals sexy. “Oh baby, tell me more about the “Modern Portfolio Theory”, and “Relative Income Hypothesis”…That’s so hot!” *** Hey David is an accountant that’s what I have to work with.
Growing Pains: This show was a filler show for the afternoon, but overall it was a decent show.
Silver Spoons (Okay I have to confess something: When I was in 5th grade I told the girls in my class that I had actually met Ricky Schroder, and he liked me so much that he wanted to date me when I turned 12.)( I was such a geek.) (Ricky if you happen to be reading this blog I am truly sorry to have included you in my web of lies. That being said...Maybe we should go ou...no wait I am married.)
The Facts of Life (You take the good-you take the bad-you take-them-both-and there you have the facts of life-the facts of life…)
The “dark days” as I like to refer to them was when I moved out on my own with my best friend. (If you have been a long time reader of my blog; she is the one who loves Christmas.) In these “dark days” we had no cable!!!
Our puny budget did not afford us the luxury of cable. Seriously! I almost moved out in order to find me some TV. The only saving grace we had at the time was that we were able to get the slightly snowy, but free CBC channel on our TV. We watched really bad Canadian programming like a British soap opera that aired on Sunday mornings; I think it was called Coronation Street, and we had the pleasure of staring at crappy Canadian news, eh? But I am saving the best for last! By some programming miracle we were able to catch All My Children at noon every Monday to Friday. I need you to understand that up until this point during my TV watching obsession I had not yet experienced a soap opera. I was under the misguided impression that folks who watched soaps were a fanatical group of people. But I was desperate for a fix. And it was 1992! And Tad was coming back! Hooray! Everyone thought he was dead; they even had a funeral for the guy (I mean nothing says dead like a funeral). The suspense! Are Dixie and Tad going to get back together? “Wait whose Tad?” IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I HAVE TV!
…and a VCR
We would come home after work with our boyfriends in hand, and catch up on the goings on in Pine Valley. All four of us would watch the show as we ate dinner, and discuss the drama. (Shhh…I want to hear this part.) Can you image; our boyfriends were AMC addicts too! In those “dark days” we bonded over a grainy television screen.
And then we got cable….Good bye All My Children! (I haven’t watched the show since.) Hello Prime Time!
The 90’s had some good shows like Seinfeld, and Friends, but most of the others were pretty unforgettable.
Maybe I was finally growing up. I was married; I had a baby, and a mortgage. It was true that I had a bigger TV and more channels, but I wasn’t as addicted as I once was. Was my passion gone? No, maybe, oh shoot…
Hell no! I call this period in my life “nothing good on”.
I guess a lot of people were going through the same “nothing good on” phase as well, and network ratings were in the toilet. The guys who ran TV must have gotten pretty worried. Sitcoms weren’t working; dancing babies on Ally Mcbeal no longer captured our hearts. What were they going to do? They must’ve put their heads together and thought long and hard.
Guy in charge of TV 1: We need to save TV!
Guy in charge of TV 2: I know! Why we don’t put ordinary people on TV doing crazy things for money.
Guy in charge of TV 1: You mean like a game show?
Guy in charge of TV 2: Sort of... This is what we do… Throw the “contestants” in a jungle, or on a stage, or in a house, and let them fight to the death, and then throw a little bit of money at the winner.
Guy in charge of TV 1: What a magnificent idea. I am completely sold!
At first I did not watch reality television. I resisted it. I stayed tried and true to sitcoms, and primetime television.
It all started with Trading Spaces. Hildi… Hildi… Hildi… I loved to watch the homeowner’s reaction when they saw that they would be working with Hildi. I bet they were thinking, “Crap, after this show is over my friend is never going to talk to me again!” And there was Hildi proudly saying, “Let’s put some feathers on the wall shall we?” And what about farmer Frank; pink and forest green are totally outdated Frank. All those tears for $1000; what’s that about? Was it worth it? I rather go to Home Depot and takes my chances.
My favorite shows are the reality shows that promise a job at the end of the game. American Idol, The Apprentice, Hells Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares. (You could say I have a thing for Gordon Ramsay.)
My DVR is full of reality shows. I can’t get enough. Hey ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX feed me more! I love cheap TV Thumbs up to those guys in charge of TV they had me all figured out afterall!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Just a Little Bit Superstitious
I hate to admit it, but yes I am just a little bit superstitious. I believe one should knock on wood after touting good fortune and taunting bad. I try to remember to throw the salt over my shoulder if I should happen to spill salt on the table. The only problem with that is I actually don’t know what shoulder is the correct shoulder, so I throw it over both. (I am warning you it may not be the best idea to sit directly behind me during a meal, because some days I can be very clumsy with the salt, and person behind me doesn’t stand a chance.) Back to my superstitions:
I won’t give someone a purse or wallet without money in it, because doing so will bring that person bad luck. (Plus I might need a loan from them later.)
A cat will try to take the breath from a baby. (This superstition is 13 days new. “Where is my RING, Ringo?”)
Washing a car will bring rain. (That is why my car is now grey.)
To find a penny heads up brings good luck. (I just like finding money period. I would consider it REALLY good luck if I found a $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin smiling up at me I would think my luck was phenomenal.)
Crossing your fingers helps to avoid bad luck and helps a wish come true. (Who doesn’t do this? I know I am not alone on this one.)
A cat has nine lives. (DAMN IT!)
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets their wish. (Yeah but the only problem is- I have a short attention span so five minutes after I have won the “Battle of the Bone” I have forgotten what I wished for, so I don’t know if my wishes ever came true.)
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for. (But have you noticed the older we get that it is harder it to earn our wish?)
If you blow out your candles and there are some still lit; the lit candles represent how many boyfriends you have. (But have you noticed the older we get that we have become players?)
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires. (David told me this, but he knows that I HATE vampires, and he seems to point this particular superstition out when he reeks of garlic. “Oh yeah eat more and protect me. "You are so good to me, baby.”)
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. (My mother has had numerous back surgeries. I am a very bad daughter. Step…step…step…sorry mom.)
If a black cat crosses your path you will have bad luck (Ahem don’t you mean an ORANGE cat. Okay I am still bitter. “Where is my ring bad orange kitty?”)
I come by superstitions honestly. My grandfather is superstitious. He believes that if he makes it through the month of February he will go on to live another year. If I was him I would have this superstition as well. As far as I know most of the people in his immediate family kicked-the-bucket during the month of February. That being said this is also a head scratcher at the same time, because most of people in his family also lived to be what I would deem as old. (90 or so) My gramps is 70 something, so I figure he has at least 15 to 20 years left. The whole family breathes a sigh of relief on March 1st, and we feel that are worry free for another 11 months. Isn’t a terrible he has the whole family believing that his “time” will be in the month of February? Talk about an uber-superstition.
The good news about superstitions you can overcome them. I use to think Friday the 13th was a day of bad luck. That was until my daughter was born on the 13th, and now I think the 13th is a wonderful, lucky, day.
I won’t give someone a purse or wallet without money in it, because doing so will bring that person bad luck. (Plus I might need a loan from them later.)
A cat will try to take the breath from a baby. (This superstition is 13 days new. “Where is my RING, Ringo?”)
Washing a car will bring rain. (That is why my car is now grey.)
To find a penny heads up brings good luck. (I just like finding money period. I would consider it REALLY good luck if I found a $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin smiling up at me I would think my luck was phenomenal.)
Crossing your fingers helps to avoid bad luck and helps a wish come true. (Who doesn’t do this? I know I am not alone on this one.)
A cat has nine lives. (DAMN IT!)
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets their wish. (Yeah but the only problem is- I have a short attention span so five minutes after I have won the “Battle of the Bone” I have forgotten what I wished for, so I don’t know if my wishes ever came true.)
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for. (But have you noticed the older we get that it is harder it to earn our wish?)
If you blow out your candles and there are some still lit; the lit candles represent how many boyfriends you have. (But have you noticed the older we get that we have become players?)
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires. (David told me this, but he knows that I HATE vampires, and he seems to point this particular superstition out when he reeks of garlic. “Oh yeah eat more and protect me. "You are so good to me, baby.”)
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. (My mother has had numerous back surgeries. I am a very bad daughter. Step…step…step…sorry mom.)
If a black cat crosses your path you will have bad luck (Ahem don’t you mean an ORANGE cat. Okay I am still bitter. “Where is my ring bad orange kitty?”)
I come by superstitions honestly. My grandfather is superstitious. He believes that if he makes it through the month of February he will go on to live another year. If I was him I would have this superstition as well. As far as I know most of the people in his immediate family kicked-the-bucket during the month of February. That being said this is also a head scratcher at the same time, because most of people in his family also lived to be what I would deem as old. (90 or so) My gramps is 70 something, so I figure he has at least 15 to 20 years left. The whole family breathes a sigh of relief on March 1st, and we feel that are worry free for another 11 months. Isn’t a terrible he has the whole family believing that his “time” will be in the month of February? Talk about an uber-superstition.
The good news about superstitions you can overcome them. I use to think Friday the 13th was a day of bad luck. That was until my daughter was born on the 13th, and now I think the 13th is a wonderful, lucky, day.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Top Ten Reasons Why I Hate my Cat.
Let’s face it some people are dog loves and some are cat lovers. But people who love cats seem to be on the stranger side of the scale. I have never heard the saying, “Crazy Old Dog Lady.” Cat people have mugs, bumper stickers, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other paraphernalia proclaiming such quotes as:
"Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you later."
"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God."
"I got rid of my husband. The cat was allergic."
"There are many intelligent species in the universe. They are all owned by cats."
I could go on and on, but you get my point. A dog lover worth their salt doesn’t own clothing, or mugs with sayings about our dogs. We already know that our dogs kick ass; and as a result we don’t feel the need to advertise.
If you haven’t figured it out yet- I am a dog lover! My husband was a dog lover too. We got along just fine. I thought this marriage was going to be smooth sailing. We agreed on money matters, religion, how to raise a child, and our choice of pets. The deal was sealed; down the isle we went. Dum-dum-de-duummm...
We made ourselves a home, brought a beautiful daughter into the world, David let me buy things, (That was the money matters part.), we bought a house, and then we topped it off with a sweet puppy. Those were the good times in our life.
Then as a family we met this down on his luck cat that needed our help. We decided to save his life. His name is Ringo. (His name is very fitting, and in a moment you will understand why.) (For the record I was not too wild about this cat thing, but I like saving lives.)
The Reasons I Hate My Cat:
He sheds all over my black clothes. Since we took him into our home if I want to wear black I have to get in to a large Ziplock bag, to ensure my nice black outfit doesn’t get covered with orange cat hair. Do know how hard it is to find a human size Ziplock bag? Safeway doesn’t carry them. (That is #1)
He believes my sofa corners are the perfect place to scratch. I have bought him scratching post after scratching post trying to find one to his liking. I have bought sprays that will deter him from his furniture wrecking behaviour, but he still insists that massive cat-wear-and-tear is a great look for our living room décor. (This is the 2nd reason)
During the summer when it gets warm; we like to open our sliding glass door, but we don’t like the bugs that invite themselves in, so we invested in a expensive screen door. (It was only expensive because we had to get it custom made to fit.) When our lovely shedding, furniture destroying, cat decides that he wants to soak up some sun he request to go on the patio. If we don’t open the screen door within two seconds he will use his sharp claws to open the screen door himself. (He is oh-so dexterous!) And you know what happens? He rips the netting on the screen door, because apparently the guy who made the screen door did not anticipate on cat claws as a means to open the screen. (I think this is a good third reason.)
(This one is so big that it covers 4-10!)
He stole my wedding ring that is worth thousands and thousands of dollars!
Here the tragic story:
My ring was too big to fit my finger because I had lost weight. One day it fell off of my finger, and one of the smaller diamonds came out. I decided not to get it sized just yet, because I still planned on loosing more weight. I put my rings along with the loose the diamond in a Ziplock bag. I hate not having my wedding set; it makes me feel “single. I decided to get it sized down. I went to get the rings; but the only problem was the rings were gone. After a whole bunch of swearing I went to work looking for my rings. I am not exaggerating when I say I looked for two days with only 3 hours of sleep. I was frantic.
Then I got an idea: I thought maybe the family cat had something to do with the missing rings disappearance. I concocted a plan: I took another ring similar to my wedding band, and put that ring in an ever famous Ziplock bag. Then I put the bag and its sparkly contents on the counter. I left the (BAD) kitty to his own devices and my new ring was “misplaced” in a new spot courtesy of the cat.
On the day that my wedding band went missing it was a sunny day and I had the sliding glass door open. I believe he took my expensive ring on a “trip”. Because lets face it “Hey, diamonds sparkle more in the sunshine!”
The missing ring has been missing for over one week now. My cat “Ring-Go” made my ring go out the door! I knew we should have named him Too-Lazy-To-Move, or I-Will-Not-Destroy-Your-Furniture-Or-Steal-Your-Ring.
Because of my cat I can not wear slimming black clothes, have furniture that can be featured in Better Homes and Gardens, cool down the house in the summer without bugs, or wear my wedding set which I love more than you can imagine.
I don’t think I would be so mad if my cat looked even a little sorry, but he doesn’t. He has that, “What?” look on his face. I want to assure you that I have not done anything evil to my can-mainly because I am hoping he brings the ring back. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about selling him on EBay for a penny with free shipping.
I will continue to search my house. I will continue not to think about where my ring will be, but that is only because I have no idea where it would be. I offered the neighbour kids a $100 reward if they can find my ring. That about covers it! Poop- David says if I give away the cat I have to give away the dog too! Is there no justice? Wait, I know! For Christmas next year I am going to buy him a sweatshirt with a crazy cat saying on, and make him wear it! That will teach him to mess with me and my dog!
CRAZY OLD CAT MAN!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Lock Me Up and Throw Away the Key!
Part II of Adventure in Shopping in The Land of The Red, White, and Blue.
Part I can be found in the blog entry below this one.
Wait- before I begin I must warn you that I broke the law, and if you happen to be a Canadian crossing border agent I hope you see the comedy in this story. If you don’t; please don’t ask for me for my license plate number, make, or model of my car…because…ummm…I think I might have forgotten what it is. (I think might be loosing my long-term memory.)
I was doing my best impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil, as I went through the stores buying my clothes. As my cash flow went down; my receipts piled up, which meant I would have to pay duty and taxes at the Canadian border. The amount of money the government wants from the items “acquired outside the country” is ridiculous. I know that I should support my country’s economy by buying my clothes in Canada, but we don’t have cute clothes on the cheap.
I hate paying duty and taxes, so I had a premeditated-plan. (Oh yeah, I can be a bad girl.) I am about to tell you how I tried to “stick it to the man.”
When I got dressed the morning of my trip I put on old clothes that I knew I could dispose of: pants, a top, and a bra. I decided that I was going to get a new set of clothes and the Canadians would be none wiser, because I would leave the “evidence” (Meaning my old clothes.) back in states. Now I had to plan this carefully. I had to make sure that I bought the outfit-including the bra from the same store, so they would be on the same receipt, because I had to dispose of the receipt as well. (I am a thinker you know!) I picked out my outfit; along with two bras. I only needed one, but I they were so cheap I got two. I figured I could double up, and the border crossing guy would just think my husband was a very lucky guy. My purchase was $57; I saved myself $13.38 in duty and taxes. I totally rocked!
I still bought another $200 worth of merchandise and was prepared to pony up the duty and taxes on that amount, which would be $48. But still I felt good, because I saved myself $13 dollars! (That is 3 Starbucks coffees thank you very much.)
We finally had picked through the racks, and decided that there was nothing left to be had; we called it a day. We went to a local restaurant to change in to our new clothes. (I forgot to mention that I my friend thought this was a stellar idea as well, and did the same thing I did.) We drove to the border, and yes I admit that it felt thrilling. We arrived at the border crossing to find that we were the only car there. We explained that we had a total of $350 worth of merchandise “acquired outside the country”. And for a second it looked like the Oh-So-Handsome-Border-Guy was going to let us go. But no luck he reached for his pad of doom that would seal our fate and ensure that we would soon be parting with our money. We were given our slip and directed to the evil customs office. (Bah-Ha-Ha-Ha!-Ha)- I am pretty sure that is what the border guards must think as they direct poor citizens to the customs office.
I wasn’t worried about the clothes on my person. How could they prove it? I had no receipts or extra clothes in the car. The only issue I had were the two bras were starting to dig painfully into my sides. (What I wouldn’t do to save $13!) I got out of my car and opened the door to the custom’s office, and something very WONDERFUL happened. The entire border crossing had a massive power failure! Everything went dark: the customs office, the outdoor overhead lights, even the green arrow that tells you that it’s your turn to drive up to the agent’s both. All gone! It was pitch black. Cool! After a few seconds the generators brought dim power back to the border. Like a law abiding citizen (HA!) I went to the counter to pay my duty. And you know what? The guy behind the counter told me that it would take too long to process my claim manually, so I was off the hook. What? Shut up! You mean to tell me I spent the whole day planning to “stick it to the man” and it was all for nothing?
I knew a good thing when I heard it. (It is a good thing that we humans rely so much on technology to get things done that nowadays that we are too lazy to actually work.) “See ya!” Run away before they change their minds! “Yippy, quick drive. There is our get away car!” When we finally passed the border and we had to pull over because we were laughing so hard at ourselves. We had spent the whole day scheming and plotting to save a few bucks, and it was all nothing. The man “stuck it to us!” Because the trip would have been more enjoyable if we weren’t so consumed and caught up with our “evil plan”.
I realize that the power outage was pure luck, and it did save me some cash. I also know that I also know that I am not an angel; there will always be a part of me that has some ‘splaining to do.
On a side note- I would love to blog more but I get sick, and I find it hard to put daily events into entertaining stories. (Well at least I find them entertaining.) Like I have mentioned in my past blogs I don’t want this blog to be about my illness. I want it to be about my adventures, my accomplishments, and most importantly how I see the world. It is unfortunate that I can’t escape the reality that I do get sick, and during those times I am not willing to use this blog as a forum to share it with you. As a result I am going to start a new blog. It may not be as well written, and it may not have interesting stories. It will be me- just a little more raw.
If you notice I do not respond to comments that you post on this blog, and I am not sure why. If I had to guess I think it is because I feel that I am telling a monologue, but I LOVE getting your comments; it lets me know that you are reading my stories. That being said-my new blog will be more of a dialog; I will be responding to the comments.
Don’t feel that you have to read my new blog. I just need a space to write when I am not feeling well. If you want to read my new blog don’t feel like you are spying on me; if I didn’t want you to read it I wouldn’t mention to you. I will still keep up with this blog, because I like it so much, but if you don’t see me here, you will see me there.
Part I can be found in the blog entry below this one.
Wait- before I begin I must warn you that I broke the law, and if you happen to be a Canadian crossing border agent I hope you see the comedy in this story. If you don’t; please don’t ask for me for my license plate number, make, or model of my car…because…ummm…I think I might have forgotten what it is. (I think might be loosing my long-term memory.)
I was doing my best impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil, as I went through the stores buying my clothes. As my cash flow went down; my receipts piled up, which meant I would have to pay duty and taxes at the Canadian border. The amount of money the government wants from the items “acquired outside the country” is ridiculous. I know that I should support my country’s economy by buying my clothes in Canada, but we don’t have cute clothes on the cheap.
I hate paying duty and taxes, so I had a premeditated-plan. (Oh yeah, I can be a bad girl.) I am about to tell you how I tried to “stick it to the man.”
When I got dressed the morning of my trip I put on old clothes that I knew I could dispose of: pants, a top, and a bra. I decided that I was going to get a new set of clothes and the Canadians would be none wiser, because I would leave the “evidence” (Meaning my old clothes.) back in states. Now I had to plan this carefully. I had to make sure that I bought the outfit-including the bra from the same store, so they would be on the same receipt, because I had to dispose of the receipt as well. (I am a thinker you know!) I picked out my outfit; along with two bras. I only needed one, but I they were so cheap I got two. I figured I could double up, and the border crossing guy would just think my husband was a very lucky guy. My purchase was $57; I saved myself $13.38 in duty and taxes. I totally rocked!
I still bought another $200 worth of merchandise and was prepared to pony up the duty and taxes on that amount, which would be $48. But still I felt good, because I saved myself $13 dollars! (That is 3 Starbucks coffees thank you very much.)
We finally had picked through the racks, and decided that there was nothing left to be had; we called it a day. We went to a local restaurant to change in to our new clothes. (I forgot to mention that I my friend thought this was a stellar idea as well, and did the same thing I did.) We drove to the border, and yes I admit that it felt thrilling. We arrived at the border crossing to find that we were the only car there. We explained that we had a total of $350 worth of merchandise “acquired outside the country”. And for a second it looked like the Oh-So-Handsome-Border-Guy was going to let us go. But no luck he reached for his pad of doom that would seal our fate and ensure that we would soon be parting with our money. We were given our slip and directed to the evil customs office. (Bah-Ha-Ha-Ha!-Ha)- I am pretty sure that is what the border guards must think as they direct poor citizens to the customs office.
I wasn’t worried about the clothes on my person. How could they prove it? I had no receipts or extra clothes in the car. The only issue I had were the two bras were starting to dig painfully into my sides. (What I wouldn’t do to save $13!) I got out of my car and opened the door to the custom’s office, and something very WONDERFUL happened. The entire border crossing had a massive power failure! Everything went dark: the customs office, the outdoor overhead lights, even the green arrow that tells you that it’s your turn to drive up to the agent’s both. All gone! It was pitch black. Cool! After a few seconds the generators brought dim power back to the border. Like a law abiding citizen (HA!) I went to the counter to pay my duty. And you know what? The guy behind the counter told me that it would take too long to process my claim manually, so I was off the hook. What? Shut up! You mean to tell me I spent the whole day planning to “stick it to the man” and it was all for nothing?
I knew a good thing when I heard it. (It is a good thing that we humans rely so much on technology to get things done that nowadays that we are too lazy to actually work.) “See ya!” Run away before they change their minds! “Yippy, quick drive. There is our get away car!” When we finally passed the border and we had to pull over because we were laughing so hard at ourselves. We had spent the whole day scheming and plotting to save a few bucks, and it was all nothing. The man “stuck it to us!” Because the trip would have been more enjoyable if we weren’t so consumed and caught up with our “evil plan”.
I realize that the power outage was pure luck, and it did save me some cash. I also know that I also know that I am not an angel; there will always be a part of me that has some ‘splaining to do.
On a side note- I would love to blog more but I get sick, and I find it hard to put daily events into entertaining stories. (Well at least I find them entertaining.) Like I have mentioned in my past blogs I don’t want this blog to be about my illness. I want it to be about my adventures, my accomplishments, and most importantly how I see the world. It is unfortunate that I can’t escape the reality that I do get sick, and during those times I am not willing to use this blog as a forum to share it with you. As a result I am going to start a new blog. It may not be as well written, and it may not have interesting stories. It will be me- just a little more raw.
If you notice I do not respond to comments that you post on this blog, and I am not sure why. If I had to guess I think it is because I feel that I am telling a monologue, but I LOVE getting your comments; it lets me know that you are reading my stories. That being said-my new blog will be more of a dialog; I will be responding to the comments.
Don’t feel that you have to read my new blog. I just need a space to write when I am not feeling well. If you want to read my new blog don’t feel like you are spying on me; if I didn’t want you to read it I wouldn’t mention to you. I will still keep up with this blog, because I like it so much, but if you don’t see me here, you will see me there.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Who Says You Can't Go Home
I went to America to buy me some clothes. I have to say that I love going home; crossing the border is so thrilling-it almost brings a tear to my eye. Don’t misunderstand me I like living in Canada, but my heart will always be in America. I bet you’re asking yourself why I don’t come home. Well it is because my daughter was born in Canada, and she loves Canada as much as I love America. (She is an American as well, but if you ask her and she will say she is Canadian, which she is too.) You should hear the American/Canadian spats we have in our home.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.
We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)
God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!
You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)
Back to my shopping trip...
First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.
I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…
I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.
I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.
We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)
God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!
You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)
Back to my shopping trip...
First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.
I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…
I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.
I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Storm is Rolling in...Take Cover.
(To get full understanding of this entry please read February 10th entry first. This entry won’t make any sense otherwise, and that would be a shame.)
BITCH WATCH 09! has now been upgraded to BITCH HURRICANE 09! The residents of my home have been advised to evacuate the premises for their own safety.
What started out to be a relatively calm day turned in to a nasty storm of epic proportions unlike any I have seen before!
It started because I was feeling a lot better and I decided to get out of my jammies, and put on proper clothes. When I got out of the shower I tried to put on my jeans. My jeans did not button up; in fact the button and the button hole did not even touch. There was a gap, and you could actually see flesh. I had to suck in my tummy to get the jeans to close. (Which by this time my tummy was now being referred to as my gut.) After some pleading, and a strategy known as: “lying down on the bed to get my jeans zipped up” I was able to get the jeans on. However, when I examined myself in the mirror there was a major case of “muffin top”. It was so bad that there were rolls spilling out from the sides of my jeans. There was also another concern: my gut was in pain, so I had to remove the jeans very quickly. I was dumbfounded. I knew that I had gained 2 pounds since falling ill, but “What the hell was this?” I needed more evidence, so I grabbed my measuring tape and measured my waist and you know what? I had also managed to add 3 inches to my waist. Say what?
The storm is now rolling in! Oh yeah; it’s on! Three inches on my waist, and I also noticed that my small spare tire was morphing into a medium tractor tire.
Think, think, think… Where has my band been? Come to think of it I haven’t noticed a full signal since I have gotten this virus. Clouds are overhead- BIG GREY CLOUDS! Has all of this coughing somehow managed to mess up my band in any way?
Wind gust are now at 125 miles per hour, because I had to revert to my PJ bottoms. I had try and figure out why I am expanding. David has taken cover and left the house to go and buy me some yoga pants. I think he is trying to escape BITCH WATCH 09!, but more importantly I know he is trying to prevent THE GREAT DEPRESSION!
(If you have been banded and have had your own serious cough, and you too feared that you had somehow caused damage to your band, but after all the coughing was over, you and your band were fully functional again please leave a comment. It would ease my mind. Also please contact me if you have gained inches in a short amount of time, and you figured out why it happened to you, or you have an idea how to get rid of the excess inches- it would be much appreciated.)
BITCH WATCH 09! has now been upgraded to BITCH HURRICANE 09! The residents of my home have been advised to evacuate the premises for their own safety.
What started out to be a relatively calm day turned in to a nasty storm of epic proportions unlike any I have seen before!
It started because I was feeling a lot better and I decided to get out of my jammies, and put on proper clothes. When I got out of the shower I tried to put on my jeans. My jeans did not button up; in fact the button and the button hole did not even touch. There was a gap, and you could actually see flesh. I had to suck in my tummy to get the jeans to close. (Which by this time my tummy was now being referred to as my gut.) After some pleading, and a strategy known as: “lying down on the bed to get my jeans zipped up” I was able to get the jeans on. However, when I examined myself in the mirror there was a major case of “muffin top”. It was so bad that there were rolls spilling out from the sides of my jeans. There was also another concern: my gut was in pain, so I had to remove the jeans very quickly. I was dumbfounded. I knew that I had gained 2 pounds since falling ill, but “What the hell was this?” I needed more evidence, so I grabbed my measuring tape and measured my waist and you know what? I had also managed to add 3 inches to my waist. Say what?
The storm is now rolling in! Oh yeah; it’s on! Three inches on my waist, and I also noticed that my small spare tire was morphing into a medium tractor tire.
Think, think, think… Where has my band been? Come to think of it I haven’t noticed a full signal since I have gotten this virus. Clouds are overhead- BIG GREY CLOUDS! Has all of this coughing somehow managed to mess up my band in any way?
Wind gust are now at 125 miles per hour, because I had to revert to my PJ bottoms. I had try and figure out why I am expanding. David has taken cover and left the house to go and buy me some yoga pants. I think he is trying to escape BITCH WATCH 09!, but more importantly I know he is trying to prevent THE GREAT DEPRESSION!
(If you have been banded and have had your own serious cough, and you too feared that you had somehow caused damage to your band, but after all the coughing was over, you and your band were fully functional again please leave a comment. It would ease my mind. Also please contact me if you have gained inches in a short amount of time, and you figured out why it happened to you, or you have an idea how to get rid of the excess inches- it would be much appreciated.)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
And Now For the News...
Currently I have been forced to watch so much of the boob tube that I have actually lost IQ points. I know this because I have been bored enough to locate various IQ tests on the internet and thus confirm my suspicion. My beautiful home has taken on a frat house quality to it. In other words my home is messy, dishes are piled up, floors need to be vacuumed, the bathrooms have taken on lives of their own, and the laundry needs doing. (I am almost out of socks and undies. I am very worried.) In addition to these challenges my bum is numb from sitting on it all day and night. The trouble doesn’t end with a mushy mind, a bombed home, or even a bum I can no longer feel; I am still sick.
OMG you know what this means? This is: VIRUS CRISIS 09! (Kind of catchy, huh?) After many years of watching the media I have caught on to something important, and it is this: The folks in the media love to sensationalize EVERYTHING! For instance I was watching the news last night and there was a tiny-weenie bit of snow falling; this “snow” didn’t even dust the grass. It was no big deal. Or so I thought. The local news station was dubbing it: Storm Watch 09! Come on! Really? Honestly? There wasn’t anything better to report on last night? My point is this; if you want to make people sit up and take notice these days you have to come up with a catching two and three word title, and then add the year with an exclamation point with it. Try it for yourself it works. Maybe when you’re at work and the photocopier needs paper you can start informing your colleges that you are in the middle of “The Paper Shortage of 09!” See if that doesn’t get them moving to fix the problem. And another side benefit is maybe my local news station may come down there and do an exclusive on your situation, because after all it is a crisis and you did put an exclamation point at the end, and that seems to be good enough for them.
Getting back to VIRUS CRISIS 09! As you probably can guess I am still under the weather. What started out to be a cold turned into me completely losing my voice, which was kind of cool. I would speak but no sound would be forthcoming. Can you imagine me quiet? Only the next problem sucked so bad that it forced me to go to the doctors. I got an awful sore throat. It was so bad that I had to white knuckle it to swallow.
I hate doctors! Let me tell you why: First there was a two hour wait. I can’t swallow and I am forced to wait two hours behind morons who don’t actually need to be there. There was a mother there who brought her children in to see the doctor because they were tired; only the “tired brats” ran around the office full blast screaming and having a good old time. Then there was this guy who needed a doctor’s note to get off of work because he didn’t feel so hot; however for the two hours he took it upon himself to chat up all of the young ladies. He seemed fine to me. There were people there that did need to see a doctor, so I didn’t begrudge them at all. I just think the most pathetically sick looking people should get to by-pass the line, and yes I felt I looked pathetic enough to go ahead of “Smooth-Talking-Let’s-Try-And-Pick-Up-Chicks-At-The-Doctor’s-Office-Pete.” (I am glad he had to pony up $10 for his doctor’s note!)
The second thing I hate about doctors is that they seem to assume. The doctor I saw did all the doctor things. Checked my throat…yeah it was red and inflamed. Checked my chest and back; no everything looks good there. Then the first words out of the doctor’s mouth was,” You don’t need antibiotics; you have a virus.” I knew that! After all wasn’t he aware that this was VIRUS CRISIS 09! If I thought it was something else I would have called it: STREP INFECTION WATCH 09! I was pissed off that the doctor was ready to pat me on the head and send me out the door with the news that I would have to and I quote, “Fight this one on my own.” I didn’t just spend two hours in the waiting room with two monsters, and Pick-Up-Pete for this. You see I know a secret; I know doctors have the ability to write prescriptions for drugs that are stronger than over-the-counter stuff. (I hadn’t lost IQ points yet.) So after some croaking otherwise known as asking; he finally wrote me out a script for a strong-kick-ass-numb-your-throat-now-you-will-be-able-to-swallow-stuff. See was that so hard? The green stuff he prescribed worked like a charm.
Did I dare say I was on my way to recovery; or was the worse yet to come? I started to feel better, and yes I also started to feel a little smug, because I was just a day away from victory over this silly cold. However my body had other plans…
It started as a cough. (Well these things usually do.) Then it turned into a violent acute cough. David said it sounded like an old car trying to start. My cough seemed to be escalating to ridiculous status. I would cough if I did the following: Stand up, take a step, sit down, move my head, walk, and even breathe. After two days of non-stop coughing I went to the doctor’s again. This time no wait. Same procedure, check me out, no antibiotics. What do I have stupid on my forehead? I am here because I can’t breathe, dummy. I need something for my lungs; I need air. “Oh okay, you need steroids for your lungs to heal.” Bingo! “It won’t work right away, so you can’t start moving until your lungs clear up, and you can move without coughing. Try not to talk, and drink plenty of fluid.” How long will that take? “It could be two weeks or more.” Wait I am going to have to park my butt in my chair for two weeks or more? We are going to have to come up with a different catch-phrase like: Bitch Watch 09!
As it stands today I still am trying to hack out various parts of my lungs when I get up to go to the bathroom. (At times I can spend an hour or more wondering if it is worth it, which by that time it becomes VERY worth it.) I don’t get fresh air because the coldness of the air sends me into a fit. I am spending my days watching my housework pile up, and watching the world go by. Stupid virus.
*For all your information on VIRUS CRISIS 09! and BITCH WATCH 09! keep your eyes on my blog. We will continuously up-date you when and if conditions change.
OMG you know what this means? This is: VIRUS CRISIS 09! (Kind of catchy, huh?) After many years of watching the media I have caught on to something important, and it is this: The folks in the media love to sensationalize EVERYTHING! For instance I was watching the news last night and there was a tiny-weenie bit of snow falling; this “snow” didn’t even dust the grass. It was no big deal. Or so I thought. The local news station was dubbing it: Storm Watch 09! Come on! Really? Honestly? There wasn’t anything better to report on last night? My point is this; if you want to make people sit up and take notice these days you have to come up with a catching two and three word title, and then add the year with an exclamation point with it. Try it for yourself it works. Maybe when you’re at work and the photocopier needs paper you can start informing your colleges that you are in the middle of “The Paper Shortage of 09!” See if that doesn’t get them moving to fix the problem. And another side benefit is maybe my local news station may come down there and do an exclusive on your situation, because after all it is a crisis and you did put an exclamation point at the end, and that seems to be good enough for them.
Getting back to VIRUS CRISIS 09! As you probably can guess I am still under the weather. What started out to be a cold turned into me completely losing my voice, which was kind of cool. I would speak but no sound would be forthcoming. Can you imagine me quiet? Only the next problem sucked so bad that it forced me to go to the doctors. I got an awful sore throat. It was so bad that I had to white knuckle it to swallow.
I hate doctors! Let me tell you why: First there was a two hour wait. I can’t swallow and I am forced to wait two hours behind morons who don’t actually need to be there. There was a mother there who brought her children in to see the doctor because they were tired; only the “tired brats” ran around the office full blast screaming and having a good old time. Then there was this guy who needed a doctor’s note to get off of work because he didn’t feel so hot; however for the two hours he took it upon himself to chat up all of the young ladies. He seemed fine to me. There were people there that did need to see a doctor, so I didn’t begrudge them at all. I just think the most pathetically sick looking people should get to by-pass the line, and yes I felt I looked pathetic enough to go ahead of “Smooth-Talking-Let’s-Try-And-Pick-Up-Chicks-At-The-Doctor’s-Office-Pete.” (I am glad he had to pony up $10 for his doctor’s note!)
The second thing I hate about doctors is that they seem to assume. The doctor I saw did all the doctor things. Checked my throat…yeah it was red and inflamed. Checked my chest and back; no everything looks good there. Then the first words out of the doctor’s mouth was,” You don’t need antibiotics; you have a virus.” I knew that! After all wasn’t he aware that this was VIRUS CRISIS 09! If I thought it was something else I would have called it: STREP INFECTION WATCH 09! I was pissed off that the doctor was ready to pat me on the head and send me out the door with the news that I would have to and I quote, “Fight this one on my own.” I didn’t just spend two hours in the waiting room with two monsters, and Pick-Up-Pete for this. You see I know a secret; I know doctors have the ability to write prescriptions for drugs that are stronger than over-the-counter stuff. (I hadn’t lost IQ points yet.) So after some croaking otherwise known as asking; he finally wrote me out a script for a strong-kick-ass-numb-your-throat-now-you-will-be-able-to-swallow-stuff. See was that so hard? The green stuff he prescribed worked like a charm.
Did I dare say I was on my way to recovery; or was the worse yet to come? I started to feel better, and yes I also started to feel a little smug, because I was just a day away from victory over this silly cold. However my body had other plans…
It started as a cough. (Well these things usually do.) Then it turned into a violent acute cough. David said it sounded like an old car trying to start. My cough seemed to be escalating to ridiculous status. I would cough if I did the following: Stand up, take a step, sit down, move my head, walk, and even breathe. After two days of non-stop coughing I went to the doctor’s again. This time no wait. Same procedure, check me out, no antibiotics. What do I have stupid on my forehead? I am here because I can’t breathe, dummy. I need something for my lungs; I need air. “Oh okay, you need steroids for your lungs to heal.” Bingo! “It won’t work right away, so you can’t start moving until your lungs clear up, and you can move without coughing. Try not to talk, and drink plenty of fluid.” How long will that take? “It could be two weeks or more.” Wait I am going to have to park my butt in my chair for two weeks or more? We are going to have to come up with a different catch-phrase like: Bitch Watch 09!
As it stands today I still am trying to hack out various parts of my lungs when I get up to go to the bathroom. (At times I can spend an hour or more wondering if it is worth it, which by that time it becomes VERY worth it.) I don’t get fresh air because the coldness of the air sends me into a fit. I am spending my days watching my housework pile up, and watching the world go by. Stupid virus.
*For all your information on VIRUS CRISIS 09! and BITCH WATCH 09! keep your eyes on my blog. We will continuously up-date you when and if conditions change.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I Just Wanna Complain.
I am still ill. Can't sleep due to hacking. Ice cream is now gone, so I am in a bad mood. Day-time TV is starting to suck. I am so tired. AHHHHH!
Monday, February 2, 2009
Don't Write While You Sucking on Cough Drops
I am sick; I have a cough due to a cold; or is a cold due to the flu? Let me start with a big smooch and hug to David for being able to endure me while I am needy, and hard to please. Poor feller he has had to endure the task of taking care of me while I sit here trying not to die. (*Drama Queen Alert) Don’t expect this blog to be stellar as I am doped up on Dimetapp.
I haven’t moved from my chair in two days. I have proof. There is an actual indentation of my bum on in the cushion. I know it’s bad. Yesterday I logged in 10 hours of TV, and I don’t dare mention the ice cream that I ate to sooth my cough and achy throat. I was wondering if you burn more calories when you’re sick. Does anyone know? I hope so. My bloated tummy says no, but what does it know. I’d rather hear lies and half truths to ease my guilt.
On a positive note I did finish the hat I was working on. On a negative note it looks like a Smurf would wear it The hat is beige; what was I thinking? My daughter LOVES the hat. She wore it to school today. The hat doesn’t fit her; hell it wouldn’t fit a 20 pound bowling ball- it’s that big. It is so big it covers her eyes, so she has to keep pulling the hat back to see. And the worse part is: It’s ugly. I am too sick to describe it to you, so you just have to take my word on this one. I am in the process of making her a new hat; hoping that I will learn from my mistakes. If I don’t I will have to donate the new hat to the Smurf’s hat drive, and hope I get better.
I am starting to get sleepy, so I am going to take a nap
I haven’t moved from my chair in two days. I have proof. There is an actual indentation of my bum on in the cushion. I know it’s bad. Yesterday I logged in 10 hours of TV, and I don’t dare mention the ice cream that I ate to sooth my cough and achy throat. I was wondering if you burn more calories when you’re sick. Does anyone know? I hope so. My bloated tummy says no, but what does it know. I’d rather hear lies and half truths to ease my guilt.
On a positive note I did finish the hat I was working on. On a negative note it looks like a Smurf would wear it The hat is beige; what was I thinking? My daughter LOVES the hat. She wore it to school today. The hat doesn’t fit her; hell it wouldn’t fit a 20 pound bowling ball- it’s that big. It is so big it covers her eyes, so she has to keep pulling the hat back to see. And the worse part is: It’s ugly. I am too sick to describe it to you, so you just have to take my word on this one. I am in the process of making her a new hat; hoping that I will learn from my mistakes. If I don’t I will have to donate the new hat to the Smurf’s hat drive, and hope I get better.
I am starting to get sleepy, so I am going to take a nap
Friday, January 30, 2009
Being Boring!!!
Guess what? My life has been so boring lately. I have very little to blog about. At the moment I am crocheting a hat. I have been starting and re-starting this hat so many times that the yarn is staring to break. Let’s just say I am not going to be making hats for a living. The only thing I have going for me is the fact that I am very persistent; almost to a fault. When and if I finish my hat I will post it on my blog. I would cross my fingers, and hope for the best but I have calluses on them.
I have been doing very well losing my six pounds. So far I have lost 3.5 pounds. (Round of applause. I know you can’t see me, but I am bowing.) Here is my secret: I stopped eating at night. Sigh…I love to chow down at night, but I realized that it was one of the reasons why getting fat. I made the choice to not eat after dinner. I drink A LOT of tea, and go to bed very early, but so far so good. I keep reminding myself that it is working, so I keep sloshing around with tea in my tummy.
It has been hard to type my blog, because my hands are pretty busy. During the day I am crocheting, and at night my hands are white knuckling a book. I will see you all in a few days. I am hoping that there will be a hat on my head and I will be 2.5 pounds lighter.
I have been doing very well losing my six pounds. So far I have lost 3.5 pounds. (Round of applause. I know you can’t see me, but I am bowing.) Here is my secret: I stopped eating at night. Sigh…I love to chow down at night, but I realized that it was one of the reasons why getting fat. I made the choice to not eat after dinner. I drink A LOT of tea, and go to bed very early, but so far so good. I keep reminding myself that it is working, so I keep sloshing around with tea in my tummy.
It has been hard to type my blog, because my hands are pretty busy. During the day I am crocheting, and at night my hands are white knuckling a book. I will see you all in a few days. I am hoping that there will be a hat on my head and I will be 2.5 pounds lighter.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Filler Up
I went to see my lapband doctor last week and he feels, “That my laband is at full capacity and there is no need to fill it.” Did you happen to catch the FULL CAPACITY part? I thought we could keep filling these things up until the cows came home; apparently not so much.
He told me that if he overfills the band it could cause compilations like corrosion, which would mean removal. Sold! I am fine. Don’t touch it; leave it alone. Giddy up; I am leaving. He still insisted on “checking” to see how much was saline was actually in my band. Didn’t I tell you not to touch it? I am just guessing here- the reason that he didn’t honour my request is because, I don’t have a medical degree or a white coat so he won. Out came the needle and he checked the saline; everything was where it was suppose to be. Boy was I relieved. (I was kind of hoping for him to say, “Oh my! I was wrong you DO need a slight fill. Oh man do I feel foolish.”
After getting my bandage I stood up and said, “I guess we are done here. Thank you for everything. Thank you for saving my life.”
My doctor raised his eyebrows and said, “I will see you in six months.”
Now the picture was coming into focus: NO MORE FILLS! OMG! OMG! I asked him, “Am I done losing weight without the help of the band?” (How could he answer that? But I was grasping at straws here.)
He replied, “You have done very well with the band. You lost 76 pounds, (I rock!) and that is very good. (Ahem, he meant to say fabulous.) You will probably lose more, but it will be harder. (I hate hard that is why I got the band!) After time your pouch does stretch, so it will hold more food, and you may get hungrier sooner. (How come he is only telling me this now?) Bur the good news is; it will be harder to gain weight. (He must not read my blog. Thank goodness he doesn’t read my blog, or I might have some ‘splaining to do.)
Am I sad? No not at all. I have some secrets that my doctor does not know.
First: For the last six months I have been living on “slider” foods.
Two: I have been drinking while I eat. (Tisk-tisk.)
Three: I have parked myself in the bakery, and ate whatever I felt like.
Four: I do not eat three meals a day.
Five: I don’t eat slowly.
Six: I put sauce on most food to help it go down easy, because I am too lazy to actually chew.
Seven: I have not been exercising religiously.
I know my band is ACTUALLY able to work if I let it do its job. I know that I would not be hungry between meals if I followed my plan. I know my pouch has not gotten bigger because I am not able to pig out. If you looked up “model lapband patient” in the dictionary you would not see my picture. But the weird thing is; I still managed to get down to 173 pounds. I know! I can’t figure it out either. Can you imagine what I would get to if I actually did what I was supposed to do? (I don’t know if I believe his scale because my scale still says 180, and my pants are still giving me oh-so-sexy muffin top.)
I don’t like it when someone like my doctor tells me that I did excellent, and I know that I half-assed it. I owe it to myself to do what I came here to do, which is live like a person who has a band. After all isn’t that what I signed up for? I want to see how many more pounds I can lose if I really try. You mean actually work with my band? What a novel thought! My doctor is going to poop his pants when he sees me in six months. (We won’t tell him I finally started working with my band.)
I am VERY proud of my accomplishments. I am really proud. As of this moment I am overweight compared to morbidly obese. Can you believe it? HA! My doctor was so proud of me that he took pictures of me to put on a website. Before and after photos! I must be smokin’ hot- let me check…yes I just looked in the mirror and I am indeed hot. Imagine it- I am going to be on the internet! I have a confession- It makes happier to be part of this blog than to be anywhere else on the internet.
On a side note- David often catches me checking myself out in the mirror. I feel like I did when I was a thirteen in my bedroom dancing and singing into my hairbrush to Madonna’s Like a Virgin, and my mom would walk in and catch my afternoon performance. Eek! “I wasn’t doing anything. Hey don’t you knock?” Mirror, mirror on the wall…
He told me that if he overfills the band it could cause compilations like corrosion, which would mean removal. Sold! I am fine. Don’t touch it; leave it alone. Giddy up; I am leaving. He still insisted on “checking” to see how much was saline was actually in my band. Didn’t I tell you not to touch it? I am just guessing here- the reason that he didn’t honour my request is because, I don’t have a medical degree or a white coat so he won. Out came the needle and he checked the saline; everything was where it was suppose to be. Boy was I relieved. (I was kind of hoping for him to say, “Oh my! I was wrong you DO need a slight fill. Oh man do I feel foolish.”
After getting my bandage I stood up and said, “I guess we are done here. Thank you for everything. Thank you for saving my life.”
My doctor raised his eyebrows and said, “I will see you in six months.”
Now the picture was coming into focus: NO MORE FILLS! OMG! OMG! I asked him, “Am I done losing weight without the help of the band?” (How could he answer that? But I was grasping at straws here.)
He replied, “You have done very well with the band. You lost 76 pounds, (I rock!) and that is very good. (Ahem, he meant to say fabulous.) You will probably lose more, but it will be harder. (I hate hard that is why I got the band!) After time your pouch does stretch, so it will hold more food, and you may get hungrier sooner. (How come he is only telling me this now?) Bur the good news is; it will be harder to gain weight. (He must not read my blog. Thank goodness he doesn’t read my blog, or I might have some ‘splaining to do.)
Am I sad? No not at all. I have some secrets that my doctor does not know.
First: For the last six months I have been living on “slider” foods.
Two: I have been drinking while I eat. (Tisk-tisk.)
Three: I have parked myself in the bakery, and ate whatever I felt like.
Four: I do not eat three meals a day.
Five: I don’t eat slowly.
Six: I put sauce on most food to help it go down easy, because I am too lazy to actually chew.
Seven: I have not been exercising religiously.
I know my band is ACTUALLY able to work if I let it do its job. I know that I would not be hungry between meals if I followed my plan. I know my pouch has not gotten bigger because I am not able to pig out. If you looked up “model lapband patient” in the dictionary you would not see my picture. But the weird thing is; I still managed to get down to 173 pounds. I know! I can’t figure it out either. Can you imagine what I would get to if I actually did what I was supposed to do? (I don’t know if I believe his scale because my scale still says 180, and my pants are still giving me oh-so-sexy muffin top.)
I don’t like it when someone like my doctor tells me that I did excellent, and I know that I half-assed it. I owe it to myself to do what I came here to do, which is live like a person who has a band. After all isn’t that what I signed up for? I want to see how many more pounds I can lose if I really try. You mean actually work with my band? What a novel thought! My doctor is going to poop his pants when he sees me in six months. (We won’t tell him I finally started working with my band.)
I am VERY proud of my accomplishments. I am really proud. As of this moment I am overweight compared to morbidly obese. Can you believe it? HA! My doctor was so proud of me that he took pictures of me to put on a website. Before and after photos! I must be smokin’ hot- let me check…yes I just looked in the mirror and I am indeed hot. Imagine it- I am going to be on the internet! I have a confession- It makes happier to be part of this blog than to be anywhere else on the internet.
On a side note- David often catches me checking myself out in the mirror. I feel like I did when I was a thirteen in my bedroom dancing and singing into my hairbrush to Madonna’s Like a Virgin, and my mom would walk in and catch my afternoon performance. Eek! “I wasn’t doing anything. Hey don’t you knock?” Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Call Me What You Want...LA LA LA...I AM Not Listening Anymore! LA LA LA
This may seem odd but this post is about my bathrobe. I had a “friend”, and I used that term as loosely as possible that hated people who wore bathrobes. Every time we were in a store which had bathrobes she would remind me of her hatred against women who wore bathrobes. What I didn’t tell her was I had a robe hanging in my closet. However, during our friendship I did not wear my bathrobe, because when I would go to put it on I would hear her voice calling me a “loser piece of trailer trash”. Why did I put up with this and so much more negativity? We were friends for over 25 years, I thought I loved her, and I didn’t realize she was abusing me.
When I had my weight-loss surgery she dumped me via email. (I know tacky, huh?) I am going to post the actual email just to give you an idea of what she was like. The following has not been edited in anyway except the names have been removed out of courtesy. Also I have put stars in places that I want to discuss after the letter. This letter was written November, 2007.
Hi there,
Well, this is not going to be what you want to get from me, but hey "let's be honest before we start lying to each other". I'm really sorry, but I am not going to be able to come up next weekend. As I always say, if you're not living on the edge- you're taking up too much space; however I seem to be way too close to the edge as of right now. I'm really trying to be rational and not get overly emotional while still allowing myself to feel these days as that seems to be the healthiest space for me. Let me explain: this will be train of thought, stream of consciousness style as that's when I can get most honest with myself. Right now I need a break. I don't know how much of it is you, but I'm definitely aware of how much of it is me. A lot of this will sound accusatory; I wish it didn't. I've lied to you so much in the last few months specifically about your weight loss surgery. I'm pretty sure that's what got me started on the bad feelings. It wasn't all bad by any means. It was actually so wonderful in my suspended world of denial for awhile. I said most things to keep the peace and got so many wonderful memories and good times recently, so it seemed worth it- but it's seeping into the rest of my life and the web is getting too tangled now. I wish I could have told you how much I didn't want you to mutilate your body, how much I thought that there were other things that should have been tried first. You should be able to do as you please without my approval. I just went along with everything you said because I was afraid of making you angry. I thought I was willing to exchange your happiness for my integrity, but it turns out I'm not. Now I can see some of the fruits of your labor, not really the weight loss- I think I'm just programmed not to care about that; my family always said I was so much happier in the arms of a 'big' person even as a baby that my tummy would stop hurting and I would just fall asleep. Still, I do see that you look healthy and seem to be proud of all your hard work. I also see something very scary in the way that you now judge every person that walks by* and you're so preoccupied with weight over and above all else as if that's the only thing a person has of worth. It's so hard for me to see that in you. I want to be supportive, yet I'm not there. I might get there and I might never. I finally like my body in the past couple of years, even more than I ever could have when I was thin. I love how strong and energetic I always feel- not sick and weak like I did in college. I feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be in so many ways. I was able to handle being the center of attention in California.** I think that sharing that with my husband is the only way I could have ever done that. I was able to accept so much love and I didn't totally freak out. I realize now that those years of lies about my mom stole so much from me. That's why I can't do it with you now. So I have to tell you that yes, you do often remind me of her and it's scary. The feelings of not knowing what will upset you or wondering how much is really you.*** I know I totally screwed up any chances of dealing with my mom on any level by lying way too long. I'm not going to do that with you. So I have to find space when I need it and then be able to move on. I'm still in the process of learning how to do that. Right now I just know that the holiday season is never really as easy as I would like it to be as far as trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter that I have no family to speak of. I wish I wasn't vulnerable to the dumb ideals. I also know that I have way too much wrapped up in diet hell. I really can't begin to explain what any kind of food restriction does to me, how emotional that issue is. Yes, you've heard me say it- and unless I screamed it in the street for 24 hours straight I fear you couldn't possibly get it. So that's the major dilemma right now- how to deal supportively with you while dealing with that side of me that just doesn't see a happy normal between us about this issue. All I can see is that I'm terrified of being in a household where the 'mother' has extreme diet restrictions**** and I just can't do it right now. I think it's making me hypersensitive to lots of other small things. I can feel myself over-relating to you as if you were my mom and I can't do that anymore. It will literally push me over the edge. When I joke about walking a fine line, it's not really a joke. I barely made it through this past weekend and I'm not ready to try it again right now. I am SO SORRY and I feel so bad that I have not been fair by having you down here and not reciprocating enough. I feel bad that I lied to you. I want you to be so successful in your endeavor and I want to get through my feelings about all of this. I can't help thinking that the feelings I have are exacerbated by all the crap my sister has put me through and it's not fair that you should take the brunt of that. I wish it wasn't so and I need you to let me get through this in my own way. I will send you or get to you Holly's game and your stickers in time for Christmas.
Loving you- even through all the emotional pain…
* We went out one weekend, and I remarked that some people could benefit from weight-loss surgery. I was excited and I believed and I still do that it is a wonderful tool. If we were together now, I would do the same thing. I encourage a lot of people to take advantage of lapband surgery if they ask me about it.
**She got re-married in California the summer of 2007. My husband had decided to go back to school, so money was an issue, but being that she was my best friend I wasn’t going to miss her big day. We paid the money and took part in her celebrations. Apparently, she had already decided to let me go, but wanted a last “good time” before we parted company. Reflecting back I think that was selfish and unnecessary. Also the worse part was the Pet Shop Boys were playing in LA during the week we were in California. The PSB are my all-time favorite group of all time. They rarely come to North America, and what were the odds I would be in the same area as those guys? It was meant to be, right? No, I was a good friend and I stayed with my "friend" instead. HAH what a fool I was.
***She was very abusive the last time we were together; it was so bad that I cried at her remarks. I assume that she saw my outbrust as scary, but she failed to realize it was her behaviour that led me to my sobs. Now I shake my head and wonder why I put up with it for so long.
****She seemed to be extremely concerned that I might put locks on the cupboards and the whole family would live on nothing but “band” friendly foods. Does she read my blog? You will be happy to know my daughter is happy and well adjusted when it comes to food. David and I work hard against society’s preoccupation with weight and the pressures it can put on little girls. We tell her she is “perfect”. (Which she is!)
It has been over a year since this letter was delivered to my email account. It was a hard loss to take. The hardest part was what came after the letter. I carried her negative voice in my ear. I would criticize myself, berate my hairstyle, and most importantly shun my bathrobe. It was a very long and painful time in my life.
Then one day I was getting dressed, and to my surprise it was quiet; there was no berating chatter in my head telling me negative things. In fact the voice had been gone for days; I just hadn’t noticed. I went about my days happy in the knowledge that I was recovering from a bad relationship.
That was until I went into the closet! I can’t believe it- that damn bitchy voice came back! It was prattling on about the bathrobe! I would look at my bathrobe and walk away sadly knowing that my mind had been defeated by her negativity. Maybe tomorrow I thought. The days passed with the same results. No bathrobe. “White trailer trash.” Defeat.
I don’t know what caused my chill that day, but David brought me my robe to wear. He put it on me like a gentleman puts on a lady’s coat. I had no choice but to accept the robe. How could I not? I was cold, and I knew this whole dialogue in my head was ridiculous.
Crap something was wrong. The robe didn’t fit. I had not worn it since I had the weight-loss surgery so it was too big. The robe wrapped around my whole body twice; it was totally crazy, but surprisingly warm and cozy. “Hey David, Can I have my slippers too?” (You don’t even want to know what she said about woman who wore robes AND slippers!)Alright here is the thing: I wore the robe that was almost 5 sizes too big for me for months. I am sure it was not attractive.
So for Christmas I asked for a smaller robe. I am happy to report I got one. It is the softest, warmest, robe in the entire world. I am also happier to say that I live in my new robe. I even sleep in my robe. I wear my robe with my jeans. I wear my robe over my work out wear. Hell I have even worn robe to my neighbours’ house! Me and my robe are inseparable. I LOVE my robe. I am wearing my robe as I write this blog. I wish I could send you a robe just like this one, so you could experience the wonderfulness of this robe, but as I said my husband is a student; otherwise I would.
As for Madam X I don’t know what to say. I am sure whenever she passes a robe she still points out how much she hates people who wear them. I am also sure that she is miserable, and lonely. And more importantly I am positive she misses me. As for me I wish I could say the same.
When I had my weight-loss surgery she dumped me via email. (I know tacky, huh?) I am going to post the actual email just to give you an idea of what she was like. The following has not been edited in anyway except the names have been removed out of courtesy. Also I have put stars in places that I want to discuss after the letter. This letter was written November, 2007.
Hi there,
Well, this is not going to be what you want to get from me, but hey "let's be honest before we start lying to each other". I'm really sorry, but I am not going to be able to come up next weekend. As I always say, if you're not living on the edge- you're taking up too much space; however I seem to be way too close to the edge as of right now. I'm really trying to be rational and not get overly emotional while still allowing myself to feel these days as that seems to be the healthiest space for me. Let me explain: this will be train of thought, stream of consciousness style as that's when I can get most honest with myself. Right now I need a break. I don't know how much of it is you, but I'm definitely aware of how much of it is me. A lot of this will sound accusatory; I wish it didn't. I've lied to you so much in the last few months specifically about your weight loss surgery. I'm pretty sure that's what got me started on the bad feelings. It wasn't all bad by any means. It was actually so wonderful in my suspended world of denial for awhile. I said most things to keep the peace and got so many wonderful memories and good times recently, so it seemed worth it- but it's seeping into the rest of my life and the web is getting too tangled now. I wish I could have told you how much I didn't want you to mutilate your body, how much I thought that there were other things that should have been tried first. You should be able to do as you please without my approval. I just went along with everything you said because I was afraid of making you angry. I thought I was willing to exchange your happiness for my integrity, but it turns out I'm not. Now I can see some of the fruits of your labor, not really the weight loss- I think I'm just programmed not to care about that; my family always said I was so much happier in the arms of a 'big' person even as a baby that my tummy would stop hurting and I would just fall asleep. Still, I do see that you look healthy and seem to be proud of all your hard work. I also see something very scary in the way that you now judge every person that walks by* and you're so preoccupied with weight over and above all else as if that's the only thing a person has of worth. It's so hard for me to see that in you. I want to be supportive, yet I'm not there. I might get there and I might never. I finally like my body in the past couple of years, even more than I ever could have when I was thin. I love how strong and energetic I always feel- not sick and weak like I did in college. I feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be in so many ways. I was able to handle being the center of attention in California.** I think that sharing that with my husband is the only way I could have ever done that. I was able to accept so much love and I didn't totally freak out. I realize now that those years of lies about my mom stole so much from me. That's why I can't do it with you now. So I have to tell you that yes, you do often remind me of her and it's scary. The feelings of not knowing what will upset you or wondering how much is really you.*** I know I totally screwed up any chances of dealing with my mom on any level by lying way too long. I'm not going to do that with you. So I have to find space when I need it and then be able to move on. I'm still in the process of learning how to do that. Right now I just know that the holiday season is never really as easy as I would like it to be as far as trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter that I have no family to speak of. I wish I wasn't vulnerable to the dumb ideals. I also know that I have way too much wrapped up in diet hell. I really can't begin to explain what any kind of food restriction does to me, how emotional that issue is. Yes, you've heard me say it- and unless I screamed it in the street for 24 hours straight I fear you couldn't possibly get it. So that's the major dilemma right now- how to deal supportively with you while dealing with that side of me that just doesn't see a happy normal between us about this issue. All I can see is that I'm terrified of being in a household where the 'mother' has extreme diet restrictions**** and I just can't do it right now. I think it's making me hypersensitive to lots of other small things. I can feel myself over-relating to you as if you were my mom and I can't do that anymore. It will literally push me over the edge. When I joke about walking a fine line, it's not really a joke. I barely made it through this past weekend and I'm not ready to try it again right now. I am SO SORRY and I feel so bad that I have not been fair by having you down here and not reciprocating enough. I feel bad that I lied to you. I want you to be so successful in your endeavor and I want to get through my feelings about all of this. I can't help thinking that the feelings I have are exacerbated by all the crap my sister has put me through and it's not fair that you should take the brunt of that. I wish it wasn't so and I need you to let me get through this in my own way. I will send you or get to you Holly's game and your stickers in time for Christmas.
Loving you- even through all the emotional pain…
* We went out one weekend, and I remarked that some people could benefit from weight-loss surgery. I was excited and I believed and I still do that it is a wonderful tool. If we were together now, I would do the same thing. I encourage a lot of people to take advantage of lapband surgery if they ask me about it.
**She got re-married in California the summer of 2007. My husband had decided to go back to school, so money was an issue, but being that she was my best friend I wasn’t going to miss her big day. We paid the money and took part in her celebrations. Apparently, she had already decided to let me go, but wanted a last “good time” before we parted company. Reflecting back I think that was selfish and unnecessary. Also the worse part was the Pet Shop Boys were playing in LA during the week we were in California. The PSB are my all-time favorite group of all time. They rarely come to North America, and what were the odds I would be in the same area as those guys? It was meant to be, right? No, I was a good friend and I stayed with my "friend" instead. HAH what a fool I was.
***She was very abusive the last time we were together; it was so bad that I cried at her remarks. I assume that she saw my outbrust as scary, but she failed to realize it was her behaviour that led me to my sobs. Now I shake my head and wonder why I put up with it for so long.
****She seemed to be extremely concerned that I might put locks on the cupboards and the whole family would live on nothing but “band” friendly foods. Does she read my blog? You will be happy to know my daughter is happy and well adjusted when it comes to food. David and I work hard against society’s preoccupation with weight and the pressures it can put on little girls. We tell her she is “perfect”. (Which she is!)
It has been over a year since this letter was delivered to my email account. It was a hard loss to take. The hardest part was what came after the letter. I carried her negative voice in my ear. I would criticize myself, berate my hairstyle, and most importantly shun my bathrobe. It was a very long and painful time in my life.
Then one day I was getting dressed, and to my surprise it was quiet; there was no berating chatter in my head telling me negative things. In fact the voice had been gone for days; I just hadn’t noticed. I went about my days happy in the knowledge that I was recovering from a bad relationship.
That was until I went into the closet! I can’t believe it- that damn bitchy voice came back! It was prattling on about the bathrobe! I would look at my bathrobe and walk away sadly knowing that my mind had been defeated by her negativity. Maybe tomorrow I thought. The days passed with the same results. No bathrobe. “White trailer trash.” Defeat.
I don’t know what caused my chill that day, but David brought me my robe to wear. He put it on me like a gentleman puts on a lady’s coat. I had no choice but to accept the robe. How could I not? I was cold, and I knew this whole dialogue in my head was ridiculous.
Crap something was wrong. The robe didn’t fit. I had not worn it since I had the weight-loss surgery so it was too big. The robe wrapped around my whole body twice; it was totally crazy, but surprisingly warm and cozy. “Hey David, Can I have my slippers too?” (You don’t even want to know what she said about woman who wore robes AND slippers!)Alright here is the thing: I wore the robe that was almost 5 sizes too big for me for months. I am sure it was not attractive.
So for Christmas I asked for a smaller robe. I am happy to report I got one. It is the softest, warmest, robe in the entire world. I am also happier to say that I live in my new robe. I even sleep in my robe. I wear my robe with my jeans. I wear my robe over my work out wear. Hell I have even worn robe to my neighbours’ house! Me and my robe are inseparable. I LOVE my robe. I am wearing my robe as I write this blog. I wish I could send you a robe just like this one, so you could experience the wonderfulness of this robe, but as I said my husband is a student; otherwise I would.
As for Madam X I don’t know what to say. I am sure whenever she passes a robe she still points out how much she hates people who wear them. I am also sure that she is miserable, and lonely. And more importantly I am positive she misses me. As for me I wish I could say the same.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
How Many Times Must I Ask You to Leave?
Sigh…1
Groan…2
Moan…3
Sniffle…4
Cry…5
Sob hysterically as I throw the bathroom scale out the window…6
Count ‘em up: 6 pounds!
I now weigh…I don’t want to tell you. Putting my weight on my blog makes it so real. If I don’t tell anyone else I can reason my weight gain away. Those 6 pounds must be from all the water that my skin absorbed during my shower. (And I didn’t even calculate in my wet short hair- Hey maybe I lost weight!)
Or how about this reasoning:
Me: I gained six pounds. Crappy!
My Brain: Don’t worry about those pounds. They are no big deal.
Me: Why do you say that?
My Brain: Remember we drank like 70 oz. of water yesterday. We also drank some water during the night; remember it was when we got up to pee?
Me: Yeah, but that was like a quarter of a glass.
My Brain: Well it still counts. Oh yeah and we had a cup of tea, and a venti Starbucks mocha yesterday. That plus the 70 oz of water must equal out to be 6 pounds worth of water.
Me: Maybe…
My Brain: Well, maybe you are retaining water! I hate to say this, and I wasn’t going to, but your ankles do look big and scary.
Me: Shut up; wait, now that you mentioned it my ankles do look like cankles.
My Brain: I know that is what I thought! Looking at those cankles I would say that we are retaining at least 10 pounds of water.
Me: So that would mean that I lost 4 pounds!
My Brain: Nope, I am just messing with you. You really did gain 6 pounds.
Me: How did I do that?
My Brain: Seriously? Are you seriously asking me that question? Because we both know how you gained 6 pounds; and let me say you got off easy with just 6 pounds! Please tell me you are not serious.
Me: Shut up, I am going to go and throw this scale in the garbage.
My Brain: Don’t forget to throw out the cookies, the brownies, the refined carbs, the cheese… oh forget it you’re not listening anymore.
Okay, so I am back at 180 pounds exactly. There I said it. It doesn’t make me feel better, or even more determined to lose the weight just because I confessed it to you. It just makes me know that I am in need of a fill. I knew I needed a fill at the beginning of December, but my doctor wasn’t able to accommodate me until January 15th. As a result Christmas was an “anything-goes-down” experience. And now I am stuck lugging around six pounds of cookie dough.
By the way, I did take my brain's advice and I got rid of the junk food.
Groan…2
Moan…3
Sniffle…4
Cry…5
Sob hysterically as I throw the bathroom scale out the window…6
Count ‘em up: 6 pounds!
I now weigh…I don’t want to tell you. Putting my weight on my blog makes it so real. If I don’t tell anyone else I can reason my weight gain away. Those 6 pounds must be from all the water that my skin absorbed during my shower. (And I didn’t even calculate in my wet short hair- Hey maybe I lost weight!)
Or how about this reasoning:
Me: I gained six pounds. Crappy!
My Brain: Don’t worry about those pounds. They are no big deal.
Me: Why do you say that?
My Brain: Remember we drank like 70 oz. of water yesterday. We also drank some water during the night; remember it was when we got up to pee?
Me: Yeah, but that was like a quarter of a glass.
My Brain: Well it still counts. Oh yeah and we had a cup of tea, and a venti Starbucks mocha yesterday. That plus the 70 oz of water must equal out to be 6 pounds worth of water.
Me: Maybe…
My Brain: Well, maybe you are retaining water! I hate to say this, and I wasn’t going to, but your ankles do look big and scary.
Me: Shut up; wait, now that you mentioned it my ankles do look like cankles.
My Brain: I know that is what I thought! Looking at those cankles I would say that we are retaining at least 10 pounds of water.
Me: So that would mean that I lost 4 pounds!
My Brain: Nope, I am just messing with you. You really did gain 6 pounds.
Me: How did I do that?
My Brain: Seriously? Are you seriously asking me that question? Because we both know how you gained 6 pounds; and let me say you got off easy with just 6 pounds! Please tell me you are not serious.
Me: Shut up, I am going to go and throw this scale in the garbage.
My Brain: Don’t forget to throw out the cookies, the brownies, the refined carbs, the cheese… oh forget it you’re not listening anymore.
Okay, so I am back at 180 pounds exactly. There I said it. It doesn’t make me feel better, or even more determined to lose the weight just because I confessed it to you. It just makes me know that I am in need of a fill. I knew I needed a fill at the beginning of December, but my doctor wasn’t able to accommodate me until January 15th. As a result Christmas was an “anything-goes-down” experience. And now I am stuck lugging around six pounds of cookie dough.
By the way, I did take my brain's advice and I got rid of the junk food.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
I Have to Say Farewell
Dear 2008,
We had so many plans together! Remember? You were going to encourage me buy sexy clothes and wear make-up everyday. You told me that I was beautiful and wanted to bring me out of my shell. You promised that you would be the year I would lose at least 50 pounds with your awesome 2008 help. Do you remember that you promised we would travel during your year? I believe you said our destination would be somewhere hot and tropical. You even hinted that we might visit New York this year. 2008, you said that we would throw lavish dinner parties so I could show you off to all of my friends, and maybe with your inspiration I would make some new friends. Why did I believe you? You made a lot promises that you failed to keep. Shame on you 2008!
The thing is I believed you. Yes it was true I was drunk when we first met, but in my defence we did meet at a New Year’s Eve party. And you looked so handsome and promising; I even dumped 2007 for you! He took it pretty hard; in fact no one has seen him since. Do you remember that night we met? I told you my hopes and dreams, and you told me that they would all come true as long as I stayed with you. What a fool I was! I waited month after month for the airlines to call and give me the good news that I was going to Mexico, or Hawaii. I even looked in my closet for new designer clothes; only to find my same old clothes that I got from 2007. (At least 2007 bought clothes for me.) Finally I would get on the scale only to be disappointed that I didn't lose the weight you promised that I would lose during your year. I was so despondent that I could not think about dolling myself up by putting on make-up! I waited a whole year for you to change my life, and it was a year that I wasted.
It is with regret that I have to give you the awful news that we are breaking it off. I can’t help it 2008, you were too good to be true. (I should have known better when you didn't called the next morning.) I can’t believe that you made me believe that I was going to accomplish so much if I just stuck it out with you. I had no idea that I had to commit and work to get these for- mentioned tasks completed. I thought that you, 2008 would arrange for me to travel and see the world. (It is true my suitcases were empty, but that is because you were supposed to buy expensive clothes.)(I am sorry I rant when I get upset.)
2008 we are totally done!
With dashed hopes,
Amy
I have some good news; I am meeting someone new tomorrow night. His name is 2009. I think I learned some valuable lessons from my relationship with dumb old 2008. One: Don’t hook up with someone when you’re drinking. Two: Don’t start planning dreams together after only seconds of making their acquaintance. Three: Don’t expect them to do all the work; you have to give a little too.
This year I am not going to drink when I meet 2009, as I will need a clear head to size him up with. I will not make any plans right away. (I don’t want to get my hopes up. I also don’t want to scare 2009 away.) Finally if I do ask 2009 to accommodate a few things for me; I will do my part to make sure that 2009 stays on top of everything. (You can’t let these years get away from you- they will just run amuck if you let them.) I won’t lie and say that I don’t hold high hopes for 2009; I do, I really do.
In fact 2009 better kick some serious ass!
We had so many plans together! Remember? You were going to encourage me buy sexy clothes and wear make-up everyday. You told me that I was beautiful and wanted to bring me out of my shell. You promised that you would be the year I would lose at least 50 pounds with your awesome 2008 help. Do you remember that you promised we would travel during your year? I believe you said our destination would be somewhere hot and tropical. You even hinted that we might visit New York this year. 2008, you said that we would throw lavish dinner parties so I could show you off to all of my friends, and maybe with your inspiration I would make some new friends. Why did I believe you? You made a lot promises that you failed to keep. Shame on you 2008!
The thing is I believed you. Yes it was true I was drunk when we first met, but in my defence we did meet at a New Year’s Eve party. And you looked so handsome and promising; I even dumped 2007 for you! He took it pretty hard; in fact no one has seen him since. Do you remember that night we met? I told you my hopes and dreams, and you told me that they would all come true as long as I stayed with you. What a fool I was! I waited month after month for the airlines to call and give me the good news that I was going to Mexico, or Hawaii. I even looked in my closet for new designer clothes; only to find my same old clothes that I got from 2007. (At least 2007 bought clothes for me.) Finally I would get on the scale only to be disappointed that I didn't lose the weight you promised that I would lose during your year. I was so despondent that I could not think about dolling myself up by putting on make-up! I waited a whole year for you to change my life, and it was a year that I wasted.
It is with regret that I have to give you the awful news that we are breaking it off. I can’t help it 2008, you were too good to be true. (I should have known better when you didn't called the next morning.) I can’t believe that you made me believe that I was going to accomplish so much if I just stuck it out with you. I had no idea that I had to commit and work to get these for- mentioned tasks completed. I thought that you, 2008 would arrange for me to travel and see the world. (It is true my suitcases were empty, but that is because you were supposed to buy expensive clothes.)(I am sorry I rant when I get upset.)
2008 we are totally done!
With dashed hopes,
Amy
I have some good news; I am meeting someone new tomorrow night. His name is 2009. I think I learned some valuable lessons from my relationship with dumb old 2008. One: Don’t hook up with someone when you’re drinking. Two: Don’t start planning dreams together after only seconds of making their acquaintance. Three: Don’t expect them to do all the work; you have to give a little too.
This year I am not going to drink when I meet 2009, as I will need a clear head to size him up with. I will not make any plans right away. (I don’t want to get my hopes up. I also don’t want to scare 2009 away.) Finally if I do ask 2009 to accommodate a few things for me; I will do my part to make sure that 2009 stays on top of everything. (You can’t let these years get away from you- they will just run amuck if you let them.) I won’t lie and say that I don’t hold high hopes for 2009; I do, I really do.
In fact 2009 better kick some serious ass!
There Goes Santa Claus...
I am waving a big goodbye to Christmas. I have been sleeping for four days straight; in fact I am still in my jammies. I do plan on getting dressed sooner or later, but I haven’t gotten enough energy yet. Recovery is hard.
I de-trimmed the house today- in my jammies of course. How come it took me twelve hours to trim the house, and only fifteen minutes to take it down? (That is a head scratcher for sure.) It feels so good to have my house back to normal. The Christmas thing was nice, but my home didn’t feel the same. You have to understand that I love my home. I wish I could have you over for tea and cookies, because my house is so cozy and relaxing. My decorating taste is very eclectic. For example my mantle is home to three sparkly pinwheels in a Waterford crystal vase. I have a bubble gum dispenser in my living room, which serves a double purpose. First it is a décor item and a savings account. Don’t get me started on my kitchen.
Ahem, back to Christmas…
Christmas was interesting this year. Due to the weather we lost power for at least twelve hours on Christmas. We had a white Christmas; the problem was that the price of the fairy tale came in blizzard form. In the power outage I was freezing because it was cold in every room. It got dark early, and there didn’t seem to be enough candles to light the house. The worse part was we were not allowed to flush the toilets. You see we live on a septic field and therefore we have a pump, and if we run out of water something bad will happen. (Did I mention there were five of us, the power was out for over twelve hours, and there were just three bathrooms?) (By the way we were allowed to wash our hands, but that was all we were allowed to do with the water.) I ended up eating digestive cookies all day, because we could not open the fridge or cook. (That part was awesome!) In the end *we ended up cooking the turkey on the barbecue in a middle of the snow blizzard. *We used a Coleman stove to prepare the potatoes and veggies. The best part was *we didn’t have to do the dishes because of the water shortage situation. It was the best Christmas ever, because we were all together and nobody had to do anything but hang out together.
*When I say “we” in regards to cooking I mean my mother and father-in-law.
I bet you are wondering what I received for Christmas. Let’s just say I got everything on my list, except for the thousand dollar espresso machine… maybe next year.
I de-trimmed the house today- in my jammies of course. How come it took me twelve hours to trim the house, and only fifteen minutes to take it down? (That is a head scratcher for sure.) It feels so good to have my house back to normal. The Christmas thing was nice, but my home didn’t feel the same. You have to understand that I love my home. I wish I could have you over for tea and cookies, because my house is so cozy and relaxing. My decorating taste is very eclectic. For example my mantle is home to three sparkly pinwheels in a Waterford crystal vase. I have a bubble gum dispenser in my living room, which serves a double purpose. First it is a décor item and a savings account. Don’t get me started on my kitchen.
Ahem, back to Christmas…
Christmas was interesting this year. Due to the weather we lost power for at least twelve hours on Christmas. We had a white Christmas; the problem was that the price of the fairy tale came in blizzard form. In the power outage I was freezing because it was cold in every room. It got dark early, and there didn’t seem to be enough candles to light the house. The worse part was we were not allowed to flush the toilets. You see we live on a septic field and therefore we have a pump, and if we run out of water something bad will happen. (Did I mention there were five of us, the power was out for over twelve hours, and there were just three bathrooms?) (By the way we were allowed to wash our hands, but that was all we were allowed to do with the water.) I ended up eating digestive cookies all day, because we could not open the fridge or cook. (That part was awesome!) In the end *we ended up cooking the turkey on the barbecue in a middle of the snow blizzard. *We used a Coleman stove to prepare the potatoes and veggies. The best part was *we didn’t have to do the dishes because of the water shortage situation. It was the best Christmas ever, because we were all together and nobody had to do anything but hang out together.
*When I say “we” in regards to cooking I mean my mother and father-in-law.
I bet you are wondering what I received for Christmas. Let’s just say I got everything on my list, except for the thousand dollar espresso machine… maybe next year.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Santa Simon
My Christmas shopping is completed; thanks to online shopping. See I didn’t need a car, and the best thing was I didn’t have to “shark” around the parking lot looking for a parking spot. Nope, my comfortable chair was always available; with the exception of times when my cat was online shopping. At least that is what he told me. (It looked like he was curled up sleeping, but what do I know? Cats are very complicated creatures.) I shared the chair and the computer with him because he promised to pay his own shipping and handling charges, and buy me something really good for Christmas. I booked marked pages for him. I hope he gets me the $3,000 espresso machine!
My dog actually goes out shopping. He fights with the crowds, and given the fact that he is only about a foot tall I worry about his safety. My puppy Simon loves to shop. He likes to go to the historical part of our town. This part of town is where time has stood still. The storefronts and sidewalks shift you back in time at least 50 years. However the stores are filled with overpriced giftware, trendy cookware, and home décor items. It is a browsers paradise. My dog loves going there. I think it is because getting there requires a walk from our home to this historical time treasure. Not to mention he gets a lot of, “Oh, look at that cute puppy! Can I pet him?”
Here is how my dog goes shopping:
I tell Simon what I want, and then David and Simon go searching for an item on my wish list. Simon even has a pouch that is filled with money that attaches to his collar. He looks really proud when he is walking with his pouch of cash. His head is high, his smile is wide, and his tail wags for the whole walk. On a side note he does not carry home the gifts; he just carries home the change.
When he gets home he tells me what he bought me, but because I don’t speak dog I have no clue. Holly usually wraps his gift, because of the whole: “I have no thumbs” issue. (By the way she wraps on behalf of the cat as well, but that is due to the cat’s “I don’t give a damn” issue.)
As far as the cat goes I don’t think he online shops. I think we shop on his behalf, because when we open the gifts that he gives us; he looks as surprised too! Plus I have yet to see the UPS man; what is t
hat all about?
My dog actually goes out shopping. He fights with the crowds, and given the fact that he is only about a foot tall I worry about his safety. My puppy Simon loves to shop. He likes to go to the historical part of our town. This part of town is where time has stood still. The storefronts and sidewalks shift you back in time at least 50 years. However the stores are filled with overpriced giftware, trendy cookware, and home décor items. It is a browsers paradise. My dog loves going there. I think it is because getting there requires a walk from our home to this historical time treasure. Not to mention he gets a lot of, “Oh, look at that cute puppy! Can I pet him?”
Here is how my dog goes shopping:
I tell Simon what I want, and then David and Simon go searching for an item on my wish list. Simon even has a pouch that is filled with money that attaches to his collar. He looks really proud when he is walking with his pouch of cash. His head is high, his smile is wide, and his tail wags for the whole walk. On a side note he does not carry home the gifts; he just carries home the change.
When he gets home he tells me what he bought me, but because I don’t speak dog I have no clue. Holly usually wraps his gift, because of the whole: “I have no thumbs” issue. (By the way she wraps on behalf of the cat as well, but that is due to the cat’s “I don’t give a damn” issue.)
As far as the cat goes I don’t think he online shops. I think we shop on his behalf, because when we open the gifts that he gives us; he looks as surprised too! Plus I have yet to see the UPS man; what is t
hat all about?
Monday, December 8, 2008
A Lil" Bit Country
Eighteen months or so ago I moved to the “country”. I live in a town which has approximately 70,000 folks in it.
There are downsides to living in the outskirts of the big city. For instance our Wal-Mart does not believe that it needs to keep up with the times. It was built when our town had a population of 20,000 or so. The buyers for our Wal-Mart must have been kept in the dark about the steady increase of population; as a result our Wal-Mart shelves are bare. Our mall, if you can call it that; is a sad little mall just doing it’s best to help residents with their shopping needs. (The mall’s motto is: Please we beg you; don’t have a lot of needs, because we can’t help you, and we feel really bad about that!) As for our dining choices they are limited, and if you do find a restaurant- eat early, because most close before sunset. I would not say I live in a hick town. I would say I live in a town that has not grown up yet.
Having slammed my new town; I want to share the many perks of living here:
First and foremost there are THREE Starbucks within one mile of my home. If there was nothing else positive to say about my town; this fact alone would make it heads-and-shoulders above anywhere else. (They built the third one just after my arrival. My reputation preceded me. I think Starbuck’s is following me. Bo-Yah!)
Besides the Starbucks thing the other best thing about my town is the fact that traffic is very light. There is no such thing as bumper-to-bumper, or rush hour. We just mosey along in our cars; taking for granted how well we have it. When David and I moved here we were shocked by the lack of traffic; it was heaven. But as time went on we too have become blasé, and the lack of traffic has become common and inconsequential
Our retail shopping is the heart of the city, and the residential area branches out around it. Most residents can walk to Starbucks, shopping, drugstores, and other important necessities.
Sometimes we are forced out of our small town bubble to either go shopping or to visit family. (I don’t understand why our family won’t move out here with us. After all there is so much golfing. Yes this statement was directed straight at you guys. You know who you are!)
Now I would be the first to admit that I love shopping in the city. The city has all the cool stores. What Sears isn’t cool enough for me? When I am shopping at the cool stores in the city what I would like to know is:Where did all these other shoppers come from? Is everybody out shopping today? Why are these lines so long?
“HELLO, can anyone open another register? This is ridiculous! Do you see this? This is an outrage! Where is the manager? For goodness sakes go to Sears; Lord knows they need the business.” I am testy because back at home we have no lines!
Then there is walking through the mall. I have to navigate; because either I am bumping into other people’s shoulders or trying not to step on someone’s wondering child. (I will have you know that my record for knocking over toddlers is: four.)
Then there is the traffic! Holy Cow! I know I used to sit in this very traffic for an hour to go to work, but what I want to know is: Why did I do that? As you know I can not drive, but you know what is worse than driving in grid-lock? Being with a pissed-off-because-we-are-not-moving passenger in grid-lock!
“Why are the so many people on the roads? I thought they were all in the mall! How come it takes us three green lights before we can actually make our left turn? How do people live like this?”
To calm me down David suggests we grab a bite. Great idea! Let’s pick one of our old favourites that we can’t get at home. We get to the restaurant around 8pm. It is fab to be able to eat late! We notice there is a large group of people standing outside the restaurant. (This is not a good sign.) We make our way to the door and up to the hostess desk. We are advised that is it going to be a three hour wait. The good news is that the restaurant is open late, so they will have no trouble accommodating us! (Of course we will not need a starter course because we will have gnawed off our arms waiting for a table.)
We decide to screw it and go home, as we make our way home through the I-want-to-pull-out-my-hair-traffic, past the entire fine dining establishments with each of them having line-ups, past the huge mall with all the chic shops. It is at that very moment I decide that on-line shopping is the way to go, and maybe just maybe hometown cooking at 6:00pm isn’t so bad after all. The things that I wanted like the shopping and dining came at too high of a price, which was my time.
So as I write this entry I am sipping my coffee from Starbucks, and waiting on the UPS guy to bring me the shops that I couldn’t live without. (Let that dude suffer through traffic. I am going to stay in my bubble thank you very much.) The only downer to living here is the absence of family. For them and only them I will endure bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I am going to sign off so I can go and visit my neighbour. Yes it is true I do know all my neighbours names!
There are downsides to living in the outskirts of the big city. For instance our Wal-Mart does not believe that it needs to keep up with the times. It was built when our town had a population of 20,000 or so. The buyers for our Wal-Mart must have been kept in the dark about the steady increase of population; as a result our Wal-Mart shelves are bare. Our mall, if you can call it that; is a sad little mall just doing it’s best to help residents with their shopping needs. (The mall’s motto is: Please we beg you; don’t have a lot of needs, because we can’t help you, and we feel really bad about that!) As for our dining choices they are limited, and if you do find a restaurant- eat early, because most close before sunset. I would not say I live in a hick town. I would say I live in a town that has not grown up yet.
Having slammed my new town; I want to share the many perks of living here:
First and foremost there are THREE Starbucks within one mile of my home. If there was nothing else positive to say about my town; this fact alone would make it heads-and-shoulders above anywhere else. (They built the third one just after my arrival. My reputation preceded me. I think Starbuck’s is following me. Bo-Yah!)
Besides the Starbucks thing the other best thing about my town is the fact that traffic is very light. There is no such thing as bumper-to-bumper, or rush hour. We just mosey along in our cars; taking for granted how well we have it. When David and I moved here we were shocked by the lack of traffic; it was heaven. But as time went on we too have become blasé, and the lack of traffic has become common and inconsequential
Our retail shopping is the heart of the city, and the residential area branches out around it. Most residents can walk to Starbucks, shopping, drugstores, and other important necessities.
Sometimes we are forced out of our small town bubble to either go shopping or to visit family. (I don’t understand why our family won’t move out here with us. After all there is so much golfing. Yes this statement was directed straight at you guys. You know who you are!)
Now I would be the first to admit that I love shopping in the city. The city has all the cool stores. What Sears isn’t cool enough for me? When I am shopping at the cool stores in the city what I would like to know is:Where did all these other shoppers come from? Is everybody out shopping today? Why are these lines so long?
“HELLO, can anyone open another register? This is ridiculous! Do you see this? This is an outrage! Where is the manager? For goodness sakes go to Sears; Lord knows they need the business.” I am testy because back at home we have no lines!
Then there is walking through the mall. I have to navigate; because either I am bumping into other people’s shoulders or trying not to step on someone’s wondering child. (I will have you know that my record for knocking over toddlers is: four.)
Then there is the traffic! Holy Cow! I know I used to sit in this very traffic for an hour to go to work, but what I want to know is: Why did I do that? As you know I can not drive, but you know what is worse than driving in grid-lock? Being with a pissed-off-because-we-are-not-moving passenger in grid-lock!
“Why are the so many people on the roads? I thought they were all in the mall! How come it takes us three green lights before we can actually make our left turn? How do people live like this?”
To calm me down David suggests we grab a bite. Great idea! Let’s pick one of our old favourites that we can’t get at home. We get to the restaurant around 8pm. It is fab to be able to eat late! We notice there is a large group of people standing outside the restaurant. (This is not a good sign.) We make our way to the door and up to the hostess desk. We are advised that is it going to be a three hour wait. The good news is that the restaurant is open late, so they will have no trouble accommodating us! (Of course we will not need a starter course because we will have gnawed off our arms waiting for a table.)
We decide to screw it and go home, as we make our way home through the I-want-to-pull-out-my-hair-traffic, past the entire fine dining establishments with each of them having line-ups, past the huge mall with all the chic shops. It is at that very moment I decide that on-line shopping is the way to go, and maybe just maybe hometown cooking at 6:00pm isn’t so bad after all. The things that I wanted like the shopping and dining came at too high of a price, which was my time.
So as I write this entry I am sipping my coffee from Starbucks, and waiting on the UPS guy to bring me the shops that I couldn’t live without. (Let that dude suffer through traffic. I am going to stay in my bubble thank you very much.) The only downer to living here is the absence of family. For them and only them I will endure bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I am going to sign off so I can go and visit my neighbour. Yes it is true I do know all my neighbours names!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
I Promise to Tell the Truth Even if it Kills the Easter Bunny!
At the age of four my daughter’s illusion of Santa Claus being real was shattered. I wish that I could tell you that she saw mommy kissing Santa Claus, but that would be a lie. Here is what really happened:
It was March 2001 around Easter, and I was driving my daughter home from preschool. She was unusually quiet in the backseat, so I asked her, “Is there anything on your mind?”
We were stopped at a red light at the time, so I watched her from my rear view mirror as she finally piped up.
Holly: Mom I have a question
Me: What is it?
Holly: Will you tell me the truth?
Me: Of course
Holly: Promise?
Me: Yes.
Holly: Is there really an Easter bunny, because it doesn’t make sense to me. How can a bunny deliver baskets of candy when all he does is hop? I am so confused!
The light turned green. I pondered what to tell her, but at that moment I couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation. How does a bunny deliver baskets? Maybe if I hadn’t been driving I could have come up with something brilliant to tell her to cover up the fib we have been telling our children about this magical bunny.
Me: Well…(I promised to tell the truth. God looking back that is such a lame excuse. Don’t do it. Please DON’T DO IT!)
Mommy and daddy are the Easter bunnies, and we hide the basket for you.
You moron- You could have told her that you hid the basket where the Easter bunny told you to hide it. You could have told her anything but that. Come on she is four! (I hate after-the-fact-eight-years-later-internal-dialogue.)
She was very quiet and I suspected that she was digesting the holiday blow in her mind. Then she started with the questions again:
Holly: Mom?
Me: Yes, honey.
Holly: If there is no Easter bunny does that mean there is no Santa Claus too? Are you and daddy Santa?
Me: Yes baby we are…SHIIIIT!…. (That was even worse.)
Holly: That is terrible news.
At four! How could I have done that to her at four! After reading this entry if you decide that you want to stop reading my blog altogether I completely understand. (I can feel the hate mail coming in right now.) I will let you know that I do feed and clothe her, so I am not that bad of a mother.
I did manage to salvage some of the Christmas magic for her. At her grandparents house you can see a red blinking light in the distance. Her grandfather had told her that that was Santa’s workshop. (Bless his heart.) So when we got home I had a serious talk with her. I told her that her grandfather still believed that Santa was real. I asked her to not to let on that she knew Santa wasn’t real. She promised that she would never ever let him know that she knew our special secret. Cross her heart. At least one of us can keep a secret.
We spend Christmas Eve, and Christmas morning with my in-laws, so that helped my scheme. True to her word she put out the cookies, and she acted like she was surprised on Christmas morning when she received her stocking from “Santa”. When her grandfather pointed out the red blinking light she agreed that it indeed was Santa’s workshop, and that Santa’s elves must be hard at work.
I think she figured out that her grandfather “maybe” doesn’t really believe in Santa, but she has never asked him. She learned THAT lesson well when she was four. However she still does things to make her grandfather believe Santa is real. She will tell him that she heard Santa’s Reindeers on the roof. She may even point out the blinking red light from time-to-time. One thing I know for sure is I am so happy that “Farfar” (That is grandfather in Danish.) saved Christmas for Holly.
P.S.
By the way Holly never asked me if there was a tooth fairy. Good for her. I will let you know that her tooth fairy feels that she has to make up for all the other magical beings lost. As a result the fairy leaves Holly $5.00 a tooth. When Holly lost her top two front teeth she got $20.00 per tooth. Guilt can be very expensive.
It was March 2001 around Easter, and I was driving my daughter home from preschool. She was unusually quiet in the backseat, so I asked her, “Is there anything on your mind?”
We were stopped at a red light at the time, so I watched her from my rear view mirror as she finally piped up.
Holly: Mom I have a question
Me: What is it?
Holly: Will you tell me the truth?
Me: Of course
Holly: Promise?
Me: Yes.
Holly: Is there really an Easter bunny, because it doesn’t make sense to me. How can a bunny deliver baskets of candy when all he does is hop? I am so confused!
The light turned green. I pondered what to tell her, but at that moment I couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation. How does a bunny deliver baskets? Maybe if I hadn’t been driving I could have come up with something brilliant to tell her to cover up the fib we have been telling our children about this magical bunny.
Me: Well…(I promised to tell the truth. God looking back that is such a lame excuse. Don’t do it. Please DON’T DO IT!)
Mommy and daddy are the Easter bunnies, and we hide the basket for you.
You moron- You could have told her that you hid the basket where the Easter bunny told you to hide it. You could have told her anything but that. Come on she is four! (I hate after-the-fact-eight-years-later-internal-dialogue.)
She was very quiet and I suspected that she was digesting the holiday blow in her mind. Then she started with the questions again:
Holly: Mom?
Me: Yes, honey.
Holly: If there is no Easter bunny does that mean there is no Santa Claus too? Are you and daddy Santa?
Me: Yes baby we are…SHIIIIT!…. (That was even worse.)
Holly: That is terrible news.
At four! How could I have done that to her at four! After reading this entry if you decide that you want to stop reading my blog altogether I completely understand. (I can feel the hate mail coming in right now.) I will let you know that I do feed and clothe her, so I am not that bad of a mother.
I did manage to salvage some of the Christmas magic for her. At her grandparents house you can see a red blinking light in the distance. Her grandfather had told her that that was Santa’s workshop. (Bless his heart.) So when we got home I had a serious talk with her. I told her that her grandfather still believed that Santa was real. I asked her to not to let on that she knew Santa wasn’t real. She promised that she would never ever let him know that she knew our special secret. Cross her heart. At least one of us can keep a secret.
We spend Christmas Eve, and Christmas morning with my in-laws, so that helped my scheme. True to her word she put out the cookies, and she acted like she was surprised on Christmas morning when she received her stocking from “Santa”. When her grandfather pointed out the red blinking light she agreed that it indeed was Santa’s workshop, and that Santa’s elves must be hard at work.
I think she figured out that her grandfather “maybe” doesn’t really believe in Santa, but she has never asked him. She learned THAT lesson well when she was four. However she still does things to make her grandfather believe Santa is real. She will tell him that she heard Santa’s Reindeers on the roof. She may even point out the blinking red light from time-to-time. One thing I know for sure is I am so happy that “Farfar” (That is grandfather in Danish.) saved Christmas for Holly.
P.S.
By the way Holly never asked me if there was a tooth fairy. Good for her. I will let you know that her tooth fairy feels that she has to make up for all the other magical beings lost. As a result the fairy leaves Holly $5.00 a tooth. When Holly lost her top two front teeth she got $20.00 per tooth. Guilt can be very expensive.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)