Archive for the ‘You Can't Make This Stuff Up’ Category

This Flash Back is brought to you as a Public Service Announcement: Please set your clocks ahead tonight. Spring forward, people, spring FORWARD.

And you might want to knock off the the hallucinogenics too. Just sayin’.

My brother of the wedding without notice (THANKS FOR ALL THE ADVANCED NOTICE, MARK!) sent me a lovely birthday gift. And his bride-to-be tucked in 6 packages of Goo Goos. “A southern treat for your southern taste-buds,” she inscribed the card.

ME: OOOH, Goo, Goos!

IZ: What are they?

ME: Only the best thing on the planet. Clearly, Marie is making sure I’ll be the fattest girl at her wedding.

It’s true too. They are the best things on the planet. Better than mochas, better than sex, better than rock and roll. Better than these shoes. They’re even better than Girl Scout Cookies*. Chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow. There’s no real argument here.

But there is a small problem with the Goo Goo. They are three bites, four if you’re not a pig (oink!). And those three bites contain 250 calories and a bazillion grams of fat. Chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow and cellulite and guilt and remorse and shame.

IZ: Are you going to eat them?

ME: Hell yeah. Just not in one sitting. In fact, I think I’m going to use them as incentives. I’ll call it Operation Goo Goo. I’ll just eat one as a reward for getting in all 7 workouts in a week. Miss a work-out, no Goo Goo. At that rate, I’ve got six weeks of motivation right here!**

Today is day 4. I have 3 more workouts to go before I can tear into my first Goo Goo and consume it in three bites. (Oink)

*Note to self: Do not let those little sprites in green talk you into buying their boxes of cardiac arrest. No, no, no, no. If you’re feeling guilty, hand them a 10 spot and pass on the sugar and fat. Hydrogenated anything is not your friend.

**Uh, that puts me at April. Note to Mark and Marie: Send more incentives.

I woke up yesterday morning bloated. Bloated and crampy. Bloated and crampy and sporting a pimple on my upper lip. And as if this wasn’t enough, when I walked past the mirror in the bathroom I did a double take. I actually frightened myself. Can we say “bad hair day”? Seriously, I looked like I’d been plugged into a light socket while I was sleeping. I grabbed the sides of my head trying desperately to force my hair down, wishing I was more coherent and could take a photo. I was a sight to behold, really. Then, I remembered I needed to pee.

So, I said to myself, “Self, this seems like the PERFECT day to stop procrastinating and actually get your Oregon driver’s license.”

You know how in the past, I’ve said I was the Queen of Procrastination, and in your head you said, “Oh no she’s not. She doesn’t know procrastination!” Yeah, you were wrong.

I am the Queen. And if waiting 2.5 years to get a drivers license isn’t proof… then you’d better dish in the comment section. I’m not taking your assertions to the contrary without some evidence. M’kay?

Ahem. Where was I? Oh yeah. Bed head with a death wish.

The thing is, I’ve been in procrastination mode for several reasons. You’re probably one of those people who has a cute drivers license photo. But I am not. And as Oregon licenses you for 8 years, I’m kinda stuck with the photo until I bust out of this joint.(Or if IZ has his way about it, forever. For the record sweetie, I don’t WANT to claim dual residency. You be an Oregonian and I’ll be Californian and we’ll call it even, m’kay?)

I’m not complaining, really—but I get carded every freakin’ time I go to Safeway and well my old license has me weighing 9 lbs less. It turns out, that it is illegal to provide false information on your application and doing so can result in jail time, a fine, and a suspension of your license. I know, I read the manual.

So, I’ve had like what, 2.5 years to the lose 9 measly pounds? (17 really, I’ve lost 8 of them, tyvm!!) See, told you I was Queen. And I’m kicking myself for not getting on it sooner, since I now have a wedding to attend in May. (OH THANKS FOR THE ADVANCED WARNING, MARK!) Oy!

Anyhow, the whole prospect of getting my picture taken and having a license that displays my real weight, it was just too much. Vanity takes hold sometimes.

If my vanity isn’t reason enough to procrastinate, there is always my idle fantasy life. I never really gave up on breaking out of this two star town. I’m not unhappy here. I actually like it. But my heart belongs to another place. I’m a firm believer in living in the place you ARE, yet I won’t lie. I’m a sun worshiper through and through, and there just isn’t enough of it here to make a life long resident out of me. So, I’ve been hanging on to the last vestige of my former life. I’ve just not been in a space to “Surrender Dorothy.”

But yesterday seemed like the day to give it up. “Dorothy” expires on Sunday and it’s bad enough I’ve been driving on an out of state license, driving on an expired license didn’t sound like a good plan. I’d been reading and rereading the manual for the past month. With time running out, there was nothing left to do but face down my fear and slap on some red lipstick.

I’ll admit, before leaving my nerves got the best of me. I have terrible text anxiety. I once walked into a final (in Greek!) and forgot everything. Including the alphabet. Uh, yeah, that kind of anxiety. Boy Wonder noticed and said, “Look, you taught me to write and I passed my state test with flying colors, except for the spelling part. If you can teach me, I’m a kid and you’re an adult. You’ll do fine. Plus, you can spell!”

“It’s multiple choice.” I answered.

“Well, then. NO PROBLEM. You’ll do fine.” He’s such an optimist.

“Oh, if I don’t pass it, I can go back on Friday and try again.”

“No, Mom. You’re a ‘do-er’. You’re GOING to pass. Remember, there is only do or not do, there is NO TRY. So, go do!”

Yes, that’s right. The kid is giving me pep talks and using Star War metaphors. Seriously? How can you not love him?

I’ll spare you all the details. The photo gives it away anyhow. IZ and I both missed 2 questions. Although, he figured out that you could hit the “skip” button if you didn’t like the question. A little fact I missed due to anxiety. I never saw that. Nor did I ever see the “progress” button, so I had no idea during the test how far along I was.

Aside from my nerves, we actually had a lot of fun. After we got our paperwork squared away, taking the test and interacting with the two women in charge of our paperwork and photos was a blast. Who said government employees are dour? We all laughed and carried on. You have to love people willing to mock you for primping before you take your eye test because you got confused and thought it was picture time. And you really have to adore a person who takes your picture over so that you have a good photo—without you even asking! In terms of governmental employees, the women at Astoria’s branch of the DMV rock! Big Time.

“Congratulations,” the boy said as I walked through the door. “See, I didn’t even ask if you passed. I knew you would.”

And I have to say, bloating and cramping and bad hair day aside, all you really need to take a great DMV photo is to have someone believe in you.

This child and I are not of like minds regarding the definition of “clean and put away.”

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Not that I needed justification or anything. (Thanks, Dad!)

And the Fourth Wise Man brought an artificial tree, because the baby Jesus was allergic.

 

For the first time since I was a kid and talked my parents out of setting up our fake tree, my home is without a live tree for the holidays. Live being a bit of a misnomer, because uh… once you cut those things down, technically they’re dying. I’m consoling myself with that little factoid— the truth is, I miss having a “dying” tree in my home. A fir tree decaying is a marvelous thing!

However, it was time. IZ is terribly allergic, I am mildly so, the boy is showing all the signs of being addicted to Clariten by the time he’s 14, and Sophie has yet to meet an allergy she didn’t have. I’m going to have to console myself with using Method hand-soap (they never test on Reindeer, dontcha know!) to get my fix of that fir-tree smell.

We’ve been meaning to do this for ages. A few years ago, IZ and I stumbled into the deal of the century. The Crate and Barrel in Palo Alto was selling all their display trees for $25. Nine feet of pre-lit marvel for the price of take-out. Only one problem: we had no way to get it back to Marin. So, we walked away from an allergy free Christmas and have been kicking ourselves ever since for not strapping the then 6 year old to the hood of the car.

Twenty-five dollars, what was I thinking?? A convincing faux tree can be expensive, to think I had one within my grasp and let a little thing like child safety get in the way. This is the way it goes sometimes–matching need and resources is tricky business. There is a direct correlation between my need for a tree and my lack of cash, it’s called December. However, I just don’t think about buying a tree in March. So, we’ve been avoiding taking the plunge and have been sick in the process every December, dreaming about the one that got away.

Until this year. My in-laws have come to our rescue, actually. They sent us the money to buy a lovely tree–seven feet of pre-lit loveliness. No more trees in the land fill. No more allergy induced drama during the holidays. No more bickering in the cold, no more “Try this one, no, try that one.” No more dropping pine needles, no more sap that won’t come out of the carpet, no more getting sloshed with moldy water during take-down. If I didn’t feel so disingenuous singing “O Tannenbaum”, this would be a complete win.

But I do. I’m not complaining. . . no I’m not. I’m just going to stand here by this tree and faux sneeze a few times— you know, for old time’s sake.

Yesterday, I put on my underwear sideways.  Yeah, that’s not the worst part. The worst part is it took me until 8 pm to figure it out.

That would have never happened with a thong. And that’s still not a reason to wear one.

A little bit of weirdness**: when eating a handful of colorful candy, I adhere to Darwin’s theory of natural selection. I eat the color with the weakest number represented first, leaving the stronger numbers for last. Survival of the fittest.

This is unfortunate when green is the last color left standing.

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IZ and I have been arguing about this image all night. He says she’s spinning counter-clockwise. I say she’s spinning clockwise. Clearly, I’m right.

Which way is she spinning for you? (You need to click on the image to see it spin. I had it full size before, but it’s making me nauseated to have it that large. Yes, yes I do check my blog that often! What’s your point? Just click the darn thing, already.)

Now, go see what that says about you!

A year or so ago, an anonymous reader took offense to something I said and then left a scathing review of me by stating that I “couldn’t be more self-absorbed if I was made of half water and half paper towels.” I have seriously considered putting a variation of that criticism on a T-shirt with my blog address beneath it. In part, because I find it absolutely fascinating that anyone would think the venture of blogging wasn’t an exercise in being self absorbed. (this same reader has a habit of trolling the posts involved so much, that I finally made the posts private… he’s not returned, thank goodness!) And also because it was just so witty.

However, the criticism sticks with me, despite my own assertion of “my blog, I’ll write what I want to write.” In truth, I really don’t write what I want to write all that often. Like most of us, I censor with abandon. And I encase all my narcissistic tendencies in fuzzy wrappers that seem warm and inviting… hoping most of you won’t notice that once again I’ve written a pointless post about… me. Yes, I’m foolishly trying to have my cake and eat it too.

So, part of me cringes to post anything as superficial as answers about my beauty regime. Or how it is that I “look so good while feeling so poorly.” I mean, there isn’t a fuzzy wrapper to put on this. This is me writing a post about ME… and not my deep thoughts on war or my pithy perspective on religion… No, this is a post about beauty products and haircuts and everything superficial. My only solution, besides not writing this piece is to put all this superficiality under the cut.

So, if you find yourself disgusted and appalled by my nerve (Uh, my blog!!), then… just look at the pretty picture. M’kay. (although, heaven only knows why you might be reading this blog in the first place, since I’m renown for my uh, absorbency!)

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