Which one of you fed Pudge a tuna fish sandwich?
Which one of you fed Pudge a tuna fish sandwich?
I opened up the refrigerator and reaching for my tub of yogurt I encountered a void. Pat, pat, pat, nothingness! Small problem, the space where my yogurt usually resides was empty. Open space in our refrigerator is a sight to behold and it should have been my first clue that there was a problem.
Instead of questioning this anomaly, I tore the refrigerator apart looking for my yogurt. Out came the milk, out came the leftovers, out came all the produce in the produce bins. Why do we have wilted parsley? Wait, is that parsley? I found several containers of assorted dairy products well past their expiration dates, but no yogurt. As I stood there, surrounded by the contents of our refrigerator, I started to fume. Someone had eaten the last of my yogurt. There was going to be a reckoning.
Now, you should know, this is important stuff. Yogurt and a heaping scoop of chocolate protein powder is what passes for dessert around here. More specifically, it’s what passes for CHOCOLATE. If you close your eyes and pretend really hard, it sorta tastes like chocolate cheesecake. Or, at least that’s what I tell myself. I am the Mayor of Denial and the Grand Empress of Delusion.
Nobody should be messing with my chocolate fix. Nuh uh. So, I restocked the refrigerator minus the expired goods. I whipped myself around and began a stiff march up the stairs to IZ’s office to give him a piece of my mind, when I noticed something in the corner of my eye.
It was my yogurt. On the kitchen counter. Where I’d put it about 60 seconds before I opened up the refrigerator and noticed it missing.
It’s a good thing I saw the yogurt before I got to his office; because clearly I can’t afford to lose another piece of my mind.
Q: Mommy, where do new roofs come from?
A: Why, sweetie, a big crane brings them.
What? Your mother never gave you that talk?
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.