It’s Double-stuffed Oreo time for me!

For those of you who watch what you eat, here’s the final word on nutrition and health. It’s a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies!  Although I’m not so sure my hubby, Mr. Fit Forever, would agree with me…

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans..

5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

Oxy Moron

As far as I know, I haven’t been invited to a homecoming dance and I don’t have a biology test in the morning.  But my face seems to think otherwise.

I have zits.  Plural.  ZitSSSSS.

My chin looks like a small cluster of stalactites have started growing in the southern hemisphere and just northeast of there, I have what appears to be a small mountain range forming next to my nose. I’ve been avoiding them all week.  I thought if I ignored them, they would go away.  Until today.  I was applying makeup when I noticed that I kept turning my head to the right and making sure my chin was in the downward position so I could focus on my good side.  Stupid 15X magnification mirror!

Adult acne.

Two words that should not be in the same sentence.  Puberty occurred 35 years ago and it appears that someone forgot to send an invitation to ACNE, so after stalking me all these years it finally caught up to me.  Now it knows I’m post menopausal and I won’t have a clue how to get rid of it.

Fortunately, thanks to the divine virtual world I’ve uncovered a cure…or at least what I hope is a cure.

Apple cider vinegar.

Last month I had ring worm.  After Tom took away the hair brush I was using to scratch myself, I consulted the various medical discussion boards and found out that bleach will take away the itch.  To my relief it worked.  I spent 6 weeks smelling like a hospital, and in spite of the layers of skin I lost and the extensive plastic surgery I’m going to need, I got rid of it.

Now I’m emitting the aroma of salad dressing.

Yep.  My husband is one LUCKY man.

Uninvited guest.  Initial conclusion.  Going nowhere.  Civil war.  Great Depression. Bad luck.  Same difference.  Strangely familiar.  Silent scream.  Perfect idiot.  Problem solved.

Dumb blonde.  Almost exactly.

Chick-fil-A but not today

Because the mileage on our 2003 Honda was at the ‘I’ve been with you guys long enough, it’s just not fun anymore, I’d rather be driven by a wrinkle-free college student!’ phase and we’re saving money to buy the upcoming mid-life crisis sports car, in the meantime – we’re sharing my car. Or rather, Tom is hogging it and I’m without wheels. Unless you count the bicycle he bought me but it doesn’t have air conditioning, which means that I would perspirea lot. And since I don’t like to SWEAT, I’m not going anywhere until hell freezes over – literally.

Not that I went out much before – my 2008 Honda only has 18,000 miles on it. Last week we drove to Houston which meant that the odometer rolled to *gulp* 19,000 miles. Tom thinks I’m crazy but I’ve been saving those miles.

Go ahead and laugh. Tom blames it on my obsessive compulsion of not liking to have trash in the trash can. But bragging rights to whose car has the lowest number showing on the dashboard runs in my family.  It’s genetic.

Not having a car means no quick trips to the grocery store or a drive-thru when I’m craving something. Last week was my first experience of being transportation-less. I ate a ham sandwich every day for lunch – AND breakfast. I wouldn’t be surprised if I started oinking from an overload of pork consumption.

Usually when Tom comes home from work I ask him about his day and then I talk about the cats. Typical chit-chat for the empty-nester/cat people we’ve sadly become. But not last week! No, no, no! All I cared about was what he ate for lunch.

Everything was fine until Friday. Up until then, his lunch had consisted of salad and water, but on Friday I could smell it on his breath…HE WENT TO CHICK-FIL-A!

I LOVE CHICK-FIL-A. And now, I was jealous.

‘Oh, so that’s how it is – I get a dry sandwich every day and you get WAFFLE FRIES!’

After a few minutes of letting me pout he apologized to me. That’s right, he apologized. Mr. Fit Forever is Mr. Sensitive too.

And yes people, this is what life looks like when your kids fly the coop. We have nothing better to do than argue about Chick-fil-A nuggets and play dress up with the cats.

I posted this video a couple of months ago, but thought it appropriate to play again. And because I want you to really feel my pain, I thought it fitting to post it today, Sunday.

Cravings will have to wait until tomorrow, pouting may now commence…

It’s therapeutic

The first time I was exposed to the idea of therapy was through television. Movie stars referred to their psychiatrists as shrinks. It was a cross between glamour and insanity. And certainly not something the NORMAL person would have ever admitted to having.

But not anymore. I don’t think it’s become something we brag about, but it’s certainly not anything to be ashamed of seeking. Some, including myself, aspire to be able to afford weekly, routine visits at some point in our lives, because we are completely aware we have – issues. Or in my case, a couple of loose screws and a lot of blonde moments. But I’m beginning to think that won’t be necessary.

That is, as long as we have Facebook.

Not only can we put our own junk out there to be scrutinized, but scan a few friend’s updates and you’ll discover you’re not as crazy as you think – there’s actually a LOT of people nuttier than you are.

Seriously! Myself included.

I have certainly given my friends reason to believe that sometimes I’m more than a few Fruit Loops shy of a full bowl. But they are amazing. They love me anyway. When I’m sad – they cry with me, when I’m frustrated – they sympathize, when I doubt myself – they encourage me, and when I feel sorry for myself – they tell me to “stop the pity party, no one’s coming, and get over it!”

ALL of which I have needed to hear. Some of the things I’ve shared on my Facebook status include:

  • My break-up with Coke
  • Asking about the difference between heart pain and anxiety
  • Sharing my dream to still become a college cheerleader
  • Confessing my feelings about Double-Stuffed Oreos
  • Admitting that I forgot how old I was going to be on my birthday
  • Venting about airline incompetence
  • Complaining about the weather
  • Tempting people with details about what I was serving for dinner
  • Trying to figure out the reason people eat black-eyed peas
  • Needing opinions regarding my hair color options
  • Crying the ugly-status-cry every time I had to say goodbye to my kids

There were a few times I should have posted a disclaimer or warning before I exposed my low points for the entire world to see:

“The current unstable views expressed by this person are not the views of our network. She is sleep deprived and experiencing extreme chocolate withdrawal. Viewer discretion is advised.”

Or maybe:

“Body by God, Brain by Mattel.”

I became a bit too transparent by sharing a couple of low points, for example, “if I go to heaven tonight, don’t tell the kids until finals are over,” and my all time low update, “I quit.”

But thanks to my Facebook friends and family I received immediate, much needed, quit-feeling-sorry-for-yourself THERAPY. And for that, I am forever thankful to all who contributed and eternally embarrassed by my own meltdowns.

Encouraging words, accomplishments, prayers, confessions, clever thoughts, scripture, and HILARIOUS things your kids say – has to be the BEST KIND OF THERAPY. EVER. PERIOD.

The encouraging updates:

Larry and I will be married 50 years this June. What a great life we have had.

Is glad my God is a good Repairman… He knows just which tool it takes to strengthen a doubting heart… I am praying for someone to fully understand what that means tonight.

The exciting updates:

It is getting so close for my hubby to leave Iraq, but the days are creeping by!

Won 2nd out of 16 teams in the tournament! I’m so proud of my team!!!

The prayer requests:

Wow, day 5 of sickness with Addy. Started a fever last night and couldn’t breathe this morning. Dr. believes it’s croup…(say a prayer for her today, please)

Great.  Just heard on the news tonight that Hawaii is under a tsunami advisory. If you don’t hear from me again… you will know why.

The confessions:

I like to be the first one to play Bejeweled, right after they clear the scores….I get to be in first place for a few minutes.

I hope I never have to wear ADULT DIAPERS.

Now, I fully understand why I should not have eaten the biscuits and gravy and stuffed French toast last Sunday. Ever since Sunday, I have been on a carb binge…what the heck is wrong with me? Tonight…4 Pepperidge Farm Soft Baked Chocolate Chip Cookies, 2 tall glasses of milk! SHHH, Phoebe doesn’t know!

The updates that make interesting dinner table conversation:

Barnes and Noble called today to say that my husband’s recording, “Kingdom Come,” had been tagged for explicit words because they mixed up JayZee’s recording by the same title. It is straightened out now…they should run my husband’s on their front page ad for a week as a way to apologize…

The profound thoughts:

I am God’s princess even when the sparkles fall off of my crown and reveal the Burger King label.

Dera saw the vacuum in the closet and started crying. I do the same thing!

The daily frustrations:

How can a child manage to get detention while SERVING detention? I am praying for patience, lots and lots of patience!!

Is it your job to ruin my day? Seriously…

And of course, my personal favorites, the funny things your kids say:

Lily and I were discussing chocolate popsapickles (popsicles) Me “Lily, you’re MY little popsapickle.” Lily, “Nuh-huh, I don’t have a thingy in my bottom.” So true….

So we had to take Jake(2) to the urologist. He had an x-ray & ultrasound taken. Basically found out he was… well a little “backed up”. Over the weekend the Dr suggested we give him chocolate ex-lax. Last night Jake came in to our room and asked for “Poo Poo Chocolate” WE DIED LAUGHING.

I close by saying thank you Mark Zuckerberg. Although I have age spots older than you are, what you did for me and 400 million other people has allowed us to see that we’re not the only ones a few clowns short of a circus.