Wish I Had Thought Of That

 See that pretty lil red button there that says "Pin it"?  Well, I found it here....

This is probably the most amazing website I've seen.  People from all walks of life can create these virtual photo albums of things that make them happy.  It's like when you were a kid and you used to cut pages out of magazines and put them in a binder...cuz I know I wasn't the only one who ever did that, right?  And then the whole world can see them.  It's like virtual people watching.  It's like looking deep inside some one's brain and seeing what makes them tick.  I could spend hours and hours here. 

It's great for blogging because as long as you give credit where credit is due, you can use any image you see there.  And the images are beautiful.  And inspiring.  It's great for my organizational side, because you place the pics in their categories, whether they be Quotes or Fashion or Beauty.  It's great because if you're planning on renovating a room, instead of having physical samples, you can use virtual ones.  It's great because if you're planning a wedding, you use a 'board' to 'pin' pictures of ideas you'd like to copy for your own special day.  It's great because you can invite friends to look at your different boards, give their opinions, post their own pics.  It's great because you find a pic on line and want to save it, you 'pin' it and you're done.  The image is imortalized on your page, instantly categorized.  It's brilliant, I tell you!!  Brilliant!!

I think I've found my new...*shopping*

If I can't buy pretty things, at least I can look at them, dream of them, organize them....*pin* them!!

The Constant Gardener

Wasn't that the name of a movie?  The Constant Gardener?  I think it was.  I'd like to be able to name a post, "The Importance of Being Earnest" just one time and just because I like the sound of it.  One day I'll find a way to fit it in.  Anyways, here is my little constant gardener.  It's been so beautiful here in the mornings, he gardened in his housecoat while I enjoyed my morning coffee.

isn't he just the cutest lil thing ever?!?!!

a fluffy white caterpillar. what butterfly will it become?

with super human strength.  it jumped onto this leaf!

In Which I Learn A Painful Lesson

I'm feeling a little discouraged today.

Have you ever had to admit that you were in over your head and you needed help?  Then help arrived and you felt relieved at first, but then you started feeling really, really discouraged because you couldn't do it on your own?

So, I like pretty things.  I like sparkly things.  I like colourful things.  I like things that are soft and fluffy.  I like things that are expensive.  Things you can read.  Things you can wear.  Basically, I like things.  Any amount of things, things of different shapes and sizes, colours and textures.  Things make me happy.

Spending money makes me happy. 

Money for me has always been a means to an ends.  I want this and I need money to get it.  Seems pretty simple, right?  It is.  Until big bad credit card companies start promising you a world full of things and then when you're not looking they 'up' your limit.  All of the sudden, things are everywhere and money is nowhere to be found. 

When you're spending money just as fast as you're earning it, you never have anything left over for a rainy day.  Whether that rainy day involves new brakes for Rosie (yes, I named my car.  You haven't?) or a root canal, you can always be sure that unexpected rainy day is super expensive and puts you so far behind you forget what ahead looks like. 

This has been my whole adult life.  Never getting ahead financially.  Always, always behind.  I had a visit with the credit counselors a few months back, and they had some pretty helpful tips (which you can find here). Unfortunately, for me, I was far more attracted to the lure of the almighty *thing* than I was the almighty savings account.  

To be clear, I'm not poor.  I'm not exactly rich, but I'm by no means poor.  I make a comfortable income bossing people around all day (as nicely as possible, of course).  I don't live lavishly either.  I own one Coach purse and almost choked when I bought it.  I never pay over $50 for a pair of jeans.  I only ever dream of Loubotins or Jimmy Choo's.  I prefer silver over gold.  The thing is, you don't have to be rich to live in debt.  You also don't have to buy expensive things to be in debt.  It kind of sneaks up on you while you're buying nail polish and groceries and clothes for a growing boy and paying bills and getting your hair all done and eating out here and there and here and there and a Starbucks latte here and a Timmies double double there and body lotion and that cute summery top that was on sale and the gorgeous silver converse that were on sale and the trip to Costco....and before you know it you're $10,000 behind.

$10,000.  To some it's pocket change.

To me...it's a sentence.  A life sentence.

So, this credit counselling company is going to take all my credit cards away, take away the interest payments, and consolidate all this into one low, low monthly payment that I will be paying for the next four years.  The only hitch is that for the next four years I will not be *allowed* to have a credit card.  Or credit of any kind for that matter. 

At first I felt overwhelming relief.  This was a fabulous freeing feeling.  I was free from the interest that was eating up my paychecks every single pay day.  I was free from the taunting from the credit cards, 'use me, use me, use me'.  I was given useful tools for how to budget and how to save my money.  I was admitting defeat and learning from my mistakes.  I was growing.  This was going to be a fabulous thing I was doing.

That feeling didn't last very long.

Because then I remembered that I couldn't do this.....

 Or wear these.....

Or get a manicure like this...

Or buy a ring like this....

And then I realized this was going to be no walk in the park.  This was going to be hard work.  What on earth am I going to do with my free time if I cannot spend money?  I mean, all kidding aside...my hobby is shopping.  Not window shopping...actual, let's spend some money, let's buy something shopping.  My clothing budget for the year is $360.00.  I've budgeted to spend $10 a week on coffee.  Yes, you read that right, not $10 a day, but $10 a week.  I have a $10/month budget for books.  Uh....hello?  Do you know what this means?  This means I'm going to have to *gasp* get books from the library.  I can't buy anything on Ebay for 4 years.  I can't book a flight online for 4 years.  I cannot buy anything on Etsy for 4 years.  Technically (eye roll) I can't do that now, either because my cards are all maxed out.  But 'technically' never really sat that well with me anyways. 

Realistically, these are skills I'm supposed to be learning for a life time....not just the years until my debt is paid off.  But my vision goes all blurry (eek!  No laser eye surgery for 4 years), I get ringing in my ears and I feel a little faint when I think of just how drastically my life is going to have to change, and how little say I now have on the topic.  That might be the worst of it...I have no control over it.  Some gal named Linda does.  I don't even know what Linda looks like, and she's got all my credit cards.  Sigh

Some lessons in life are a little more painful than others.  I guess this is one of them.

The Hormones Made Me Do It....

Disclaimer:  This will be TMI.  For everyone, but guys especially.  There's this ad for a new TV show this fall, and she's all like, "You girls think that ignoring your boyfriend when you're angry at him is a punishment...but it's not...it's a reward.  If you really want to punish him, just. keep. talking.  About everything...how fat you feel, your period...."  So ya.  Hilarious side note: (wow!! disclaimer and a side note - and brackets??? I haven't even started the post yet...I'm on a roll) Q keeps walking around the house going, "Talk about your period..."  I'm gonna have lots of 'splainin' to do...

I have been PMS-ing for 9 days.  Yup.  You read that correctly.  9 freaking days.  And I was 5 days late.

Usually, I'm Ms. Regular (no, I'm not even going to start with BM's, don't worry...)  Aunt Flo visits every 28 days, except for March when she arrives a week early and October when she arrives a week late.  Kinda like the whole daylight savings thing, only with my period.  I could plan events by the absolute regularity of my period.  I know that's a little weird to say, I was going to say you could set your clock to my period, but it's not that regular or fabulous.  We'll keep Big Ben for that, I think.

Because I'm so regular, I'm also always the Alpha Female.  Yes, I said Alpha Female.  And yes, I capitalized it.  It's something I'm really very proud of, how totally *Woman* I am.  Like, women I work with (or live with) will casually say, "Geez, I'm like a week early (or late)...what's up with that??"  And I'll be all, "uh....ya, that's totally weird.  I have no idea why that might be..."  when really I totally know that it's because of me and my super hero strength hormones. 

One week before, my hormones decide to surge bitchiness.  I don't know what it is or why it wants me to be so mean, but I have absolutely no control over it.  I can hear myself saying things and think, "oh.....that's so mean...." but I cannot stop the words from coming.  I can't stop my middle finger from popping up when the car in front of me decides to stop at a green light because they're *lost* and don't know if they should go straight, or left, or right.  You know what buddy?  I get lost, like all the time, and I pull into a parking lot or something.  Why should everyone suffer because I'm directionally challenged?  Green means go dude.  I can't stop telling the kids off in the kiddie pool for splashing.  I know, right?  Total party pooper.  It's a kiddie pool, for crying out loud.

I purposely avoid conversations with my ex that may lead to conflict during this time, because I have been known to be very, very mean and I am not exaggerating at all when I say I have made him cry at least once while I was PMS-ing. 

I crave chocolate and ice cream and potato chips (mmmmm, ketchup and salt and vinegar) and chocolate and fudge and sugar and sugar and sugar.  And have no self control over any of them.  It's like they call my name and I just cannot resist.  I have a mug that says, "Forget Men.  I fall for Chocolate".  It was a gift from a girlfriend who knows me very, very well.  Try losing 36 pounds when all you can think of is a Chocolate Fudge Brownie with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream and Caramel Syrup.  Yes.  I broke down.  Last night.  And it was sooooooo worth it.....

I have troubles sleeping for at least 2-3 days before.  This is just cruel times 10 because I'm already grumpy, and now you're going to take sleep away from me as well???  Do you want me to get arrested?  Have you no shame?    Obviously not, because on top of it all is a sore back and really, super sore boobies.  I should call in sick for two weeks out of each month - one for PMS-ing and the other for MS-ing.  That'll go over well, right?  I'm sure. "Ya hi.  Uh...me again.  Yup.  Yup, I'm calling in...uh, woman...this week...again..."

My family and friends notice it.  They're all like, "Why are you being so mea....oh.  Really?  Didn't we just do this last month?"  And I'm all like, "Um, ya.  You think I'm enjoying this?"  To be clear...I'm not.  At all.  One colleague (male) actually had my cycle pegged by the moon.  Interestingly enough, my PMS begins around the time of the full moon, when the gravitational pull of the earth....oh, whatever. 

This time, because I'm 5 days late, I have been uber-bitch for 9 days.  It is exhausting being mean.  It really, truly is.  I'm the happy, bubbly, fun, nice one.  It's way better being that way.  I don't want to be the mean one.  Mean is ugly.  I want to be the pretty one.

Almost nothing is so beautiful, serene, calming, and wonderful as when my body finally decides it is ready to shed the lining of my uterine wall.  It is like my body immediately sighs a huge sigh of relief and suddenly I am ME again. 

Until the cramps start. 

And the headaches.

And then I want to lie in bed for another 4-7 days.

It really makes me mad, like irate-mad,  that men complain about getting their prostate checked every year.  Like seriously, that is the worst thing you got?  Why don't I get a vacuum and suck the lining of your stomach out for 4 to 7 days?  Let's see how much you like getting your prostate checked after that little experiment. 

Lose Yourself in this Harem...I mean, Book

Ladies, I found a really good read.  "Some Girls - My Life in a Harem" by Jillian Lauren because let's face it...we all really want to know.  I know it's not just me.  And seeing as how being in a harem is all *taboo* and how do you even bring up a subject like that to begin with?  How does someone get to that point in their life, when their decision is whether to accept the job in retail or get on a plane to be in a Prince's harem?  She has an incredible writing style - she's funny, she's vulnerable, she's nice (on my "severely under appreciated qualities" list).  It reads like a novel, not a documentary.  It's sexy without being porno.  It's how we battle that which is inside us, to become a better person in the end.  I highly recommend it.

http://www.jillianlauren.com/publications/

Swim, Little...uh...Fish, Swim

You know that as mothers we (I) always freak out when our (my) children don't hit certain milestones as early as we (I'd) like.  Who's really kidding who here?  We all want over acheivers.  We all want  that child that doesn't really have to *try* at anything but is really, really *good* at everything they do.  For me, there is the added worry that something is actually *wrong* with my child and a delay in this or that is just the early signs.  That's what research has done to me.  It's made me wiser than I need to be and paranoid at everything. 

I always wanted Q to be in the highest percentile of the growth chart.  Not because it meant (or means) anything to me.  I still don't even get the whole growth chart/percentile thing.  I just wanted him to succeed.  If he was in the 99th percentile...that's gotta be awesome, right?  Like way better than the 50th percentile for sure.

I really wanted him to walk, just like every single mother out there.  And when he walked at 9 months, I was ecstatic!!!  9 months!!!  I mean, that's a pretty big deal, wouldn't you say?  About a month after he started walking, and then running everywhere...I would remember the days before he moved at all, quite fondly.  I was exhausted running after him all day long.  How could someone so little be so fast?

When he wasn't potty trained by the time he was 2 1/2, my mother looked at me and said, "How many 20 year olds do you know of who still wear diapers?  It'll happen when it happens.  Some things just do."  So while I couldn't brag about my 18 month old using his *big boy potty* I could brag about the fact that his potty training was probably one of the easiest experiences ever.  One day he said, "I want to use the big potty!" and we were done.  My mom was right, he wasn't 20...he was 3!

Some milestones we hit right on target, some we hit a little behind the curve, others still we were light years ahead.  I freaked out no matter what. 

Q was just a baby I took him to mommy and me swimming classes.  I wanted to be one of *those* moms.  The first time was oodles of fun, the second time he screamed bloody murder the whole time.  Not the whole time we were in the pool, but the whole time we were there - from the moment we entered the Y to the moment we left.  The third time he also screamed the. whole. time. The fourth time, he fell asleep in the car on the way to the Y and I decided it was a sign, and we never went back. 

Thus began the seven year fear of water for my lil Q.  I'm talking like terrified of water...any body of water, really.  In a tiny pool, "NOOOOOO, I'm going to drown.  You're going to DROWN me...." (side note: have you ever noticed how echo-y pools are?)  In a lake, "NOOOOOOOOOO, I'm going to DIE.  Don't let GOOOOOOOO!!!!"  Lakes carry sound pretty far too, interestingly enough.  Not one to push things, after learning they usually come on their own...I mean, how many adults don't know how to swim?  Okay, bad example...or at least not as good as the whole *potty training* one...but, still, I've just patiently waited for him to be ready.  My only thing was I'd say, "Q, I just don't get it.  When mommy was your age, she was swimming like a little fishy."

Last week, Q decided he wanted to go swimming.  Within an hour, he had taught himself how to swim.  Literally.  It was one hour.  Now, I'm not saying his technique is all that great.  In actual fact, he looks a little (a lot, really) like he's drowning.  His arms flail all over the place, his legs move this way and that.  He likes to twirl his body around and around, like an aligator that's just caught its prey.  Then, his body goes completely limp (from exhaustion? Experimenting? I don't know).  Next, he does this little 'bum in the air' thing, and he's out of the water.  I freak out the *whole* time, because until he actually comes up for air, there is this little voice inside me that says, "If he looks like he's drowning, he probably is..." but then up pops his head, a huge, proud grin on his face, and I'm reassured that he is alright. 

I think swimming lessons are in our future this fall...

the deets...

Okay folks, these are more for my own reference later on down the road when I'm uber fit and skinny and I want to look back on how fluffy I was way-back-when than they are for you.  Because if I were you, I'd totally laugh.

Weight: 171 lbs (I weighed myself on a cargo scale at work...and no I wasn't naked...I took a few lbs off for clothes and steel toed boots and such...)

Measurements:  I still couldn't find a measuring tape, so I borrowed my brother's tape.  He uses it for construction and such.  It's 200 ft long, which I figured was enough....maybe a little bit of um...overkill...

Boobies: 43 inches

Waist: 38 inches

Hips: 46 inches (!!)

Thighs: 25 1/2 inches

Arms: 14"

A healthy weight for me, a woman 5 ft 5 1/2 inches, according to *them* is between 111lbs (um...too skinny) to 150 (a lil too fluffy still) so I'm gonna split it somewhere down the middle and my goal is 135lbs.  That means  I have to lose 36 lbs. 

*gulp*

I've worked out 5 out of 7 days.  Twice swimming, once spinning, twice on the elliptical.  Oh...and once we walked to/from the ice cream shop...

That totally counts, right?

Dear Q (My Love)

Seven years ago at exactly 9:51pm on August 13 you took your very first breath.  Then, you announced your arrival with a gigantic wail.  It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.  When they said, "It's a BOY!!!" I felt my heart jump for joy.  But really, I had always just known you were.  I looked into your beautiful blue eyes and it felt like I had known forever that you were my son, and finally I got to meet you face to face.

And now, you are 7!!  We've made it through the sleepless nights (mostly!), the terrible two's, the potty training, and dude, you handled it all just like a pro!  The terrible two's weren't nearly as terrible as I had heard or expected, you were the perfect little angel to be honest.  Potty training?  You took charge of that situation - one day you were just ready, and you've never looked back (thank goodness!!)  You call me Mommy, and my heart just melts.  You hold my hand, and I want to hold it forever.  I could kiss your forehead all day long if you'd let me.  But not your toes anymore...they're smelly.  It's hard to believe I used to put those things in my mouth.  BLECK!

You love hockey only a little less than you love me (at least you're honest!), you're an amazing soccer player.  I'd say you're a gifted athlete and shine, no matter the sport.  You have four adult teeth and are willing two more to be loose, eager for another visit from the tooth fairy.  You are going into grade two!!  TWO!!  You're a math whiz and love using money to "practice".  Reading is just on the tip of your tongue.  It's almost there, if you'd just trust yourself sounding out all those letters.  You've mastered the monkey bars after many, many attempts...but look what practice can do!!  When you smile for pictures, you look like a stroke victim, so let's work on that...okay?  You're totally into video games, which I tell myself enhances your hand/eye coordination, which I've never really had, so you're lucky...

You want to be a policeman when you get older, which I think is a very noble choice.  Part of me hopes you'll change your mind because of the dangers that come along with a job like that, but the other part of me is so proud that you are choosing a career that exists in order to help others.  Now, I get that you're seven so if things change between now and then...I'm totally okay with that, just so you know.

You really want a baby brother (absolutely not a sister) so you can *teach* him all about sports.  You're having a difficult time understanding why you're daddy can't be the daddy of a new baby too.  You're having an even more difficult time figuring why I can't just have a baby tomorrow without a baby daddy, and yesterday you were positive you could hear a baby moving around in my tummy.  I'm pretty sure I was just that I was hungry, though.  And I think you're still a little young for the sex talk, considering you still believe you came out of my belly button...

You're kind.  I've often thought that this quality is sorely under appreciated and it just makes me so proud to see you interact with children who have special needs, in a quiet, gentle manner.  It makes my heart just love you even more.  You're thoughtful.  You think things through to the end, and even when I've forgotten about something, you're still pondering the intricacies of it.  Sometimes your intelligence just blows me away..."Maybe that's the fastest water slide only because it's the shortest..." whoa.  Deep little dude, deep.  You have a sense of humour and you get sarcasm, which is awesome because I'm one of the most sarcastic people out there.  You're comedic timing is priceless.  You're always right (well, you think so anyways....) and you love to argue your point, even when we've all made it clear you have been misinformed.  But that's okay, little buddy.  Your confidence is inspiring.  You think in absolutes, which I think is a *youth* thing.  There's no grey area with you.  It's a "yes" or a "no" and there's nothing in between.  You're honest with me,  even when you know being honest might find you in a big heap o' trouble, which is so, so good because a man is only as good as his word.  You're a little cuddle bug.  You love snuggling deep into my arm pit, whether you're watching t.v., reading, sleeping, or playing - some part of you always has to be touching me.  You're a worry wart, and you come by it honestly (sorry!) but, don't worry!!!  You won't 'catch' polio, cystic fibrosis is something you're born with, and you're as healthy as a horse! 

But holy moly, how I love you!  I love you more and more every day and more than you'll ever know.  It's a love I cannot describe, but I've never experienced anything more pure and all encompassing.  The possibilities for you are endless, my love.  So dream big, work hard, and I'll stand behind you!    I can't wait to see the man you'll become...well, actually, I can totally wait...time goes by so fast as it is.  But I'm excited to see what the coming years hold for you and me together.

Words of wisdom?  Always be yourself.  Spend the time to get to know who you really are, and don't change for anyone.  Be kind.  Don't be a bully.  Stand up for those who don't have a voice.  Treat women with respect.  Find out what you believe, and then fight for it.  Smile.  Choose to be happy, because it absolutely is a choice.  Remember honesty is always best.  Work hard - there's nothing better than earning what you have, rather than having it handed to you.  Save your money.  And love.  You can never love too much and you can never run out of love.

Love,

Momma, Mommy, Mom <3

Anybody Got a Spare Scale??

I've made absolutely no secret about the fact that since I quit smoking 9 1/2 months ago, I have gained a horrible 30-40 pounds.  It's an average weight because I don't know exactly.  I haven't weighed myself...but I've gone from a size 6 to a size (gasp) 11-13 depending on the brand.  

I've never been one to be uber-self conscious about my body.  In fact, in grade 12 I was horribly ill and lost 40 pounds in a month (can you say anxiety??)  At 110 pounds, I can tell you that I didn't think I looked any different than when I was 150.  Now that I'm roughly 10lbs less than when I was 9 months pregnant with Q, I can see it.  I see it in my face, my stomach, my feet have gone up a size and my fingers have gone up two.  I feel uncomfortable with my body, I feel self conscious, I feel fat.

In 5 short months, my brother will be marrying his beautiful fiance, Alice.  I am excited beyond belief.  I haven't talked about it, because as a blogger who's life is basically an open book, I firmly believe other's are not.  Some stories are not mine to tell, and this is one of them.  Suffice it to say, I do not want to be the fat, bubbly sister at the wedding.  You know the one everyone looks at and thinks, "She's so cute. We all know why she's single!"  My goal is to be comfortable with my body by January.  I choose to do something about it.

Now, you have to know I have never been an athletic person.  Ever.  I used to dread gym class and then when it wasn't required that I go, I joined a girlfriend at a *ladies only* gym when I was in high school and passed out from exhaustion, literally.  I came to with the personal trainer, Goliath, I called her (her one thigh was the size of both of mine, and it was sheer muscle) standing over me, talking in slow motion, "Arrrreeeee yooooooooouuuuuuu oooooooo-kkkayyyyyyyy?"  I have never worked out since.  Every so often I'd get all  inspired and go for a walk, but it was always short lived and never really accomplished anything.

I have a gym membership.   

BWAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH!

No, seriously.  I did.  But it's still so hilarious to me, that I have one and that I intend to use it.  In fact, I've used it!!  Twice!!

First time, I did this tidal toner.  See, running for me - while it may burn calories galore - could never ever work.  After a baby, I'm afraid my bladder control is not what it once was.  I figure under water classes gives good resistance, and guess what, guys!!  It was so much fun!  I went with Alice, we're gonna try to get through this weight loss thing together.  Plus, I'm pretty gun shy after my last incident with working out, so having someone there with me makes me feel like I can tame this beast.  Makes me feel stronger.  There is something about getting into the water, hearing the music and following steps that makes you feel like a synchronized swimmer....or at least, it made me feel like one.  I was moving my head to the left and the right, pointing my toes, smiling!!  And the instructor - if she weren't so cute, I'd hate her.  She jumps and nothing moves.  I have a little bit of a girl crush on her.  It didn't burn or feel as though I was going to die, but when I left the pool my legs were jelly.  Absolute jelly.  That's a good sign right?

I conquered the water, so what's a bike, right?  Then next day we decided to spin.  Spinning!  It sounds like fun, doesn't it?  I had no preconceived notions, let me tell you.  I've heard horror stories.  I knew it would be no walk in the park.  I knew I may die.  My one goal was to keep pedaling, just keep pedaling.  Feeling like a total fool, and a wanna-be cyclist, I walked in the room and picked the bike closest to the back, in the corner.  I couldn't even figure out how to adjust the bike, and had to ask the instructor.  She said to me, "Don't get discouraged, okay?  This is gonna be tough.  Don't get discouraged."

I went through an array of emotions, defeated first.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to take my hand towel and my water bottle and run.  Next, I felt anger.  These women, their bodies are incredible.  They've allowed themselves the opportunity to use their bodies to their maximum.  What their bodies could do was so awe-inspiring.  I was so mad at myself for not giving my body the chance to show me what it's capable of.   And so while the upped their tension and pedaled harder, I just made sure that I kept pedaling.  I did.  For one whole hour.  Two days later, my legs still ache and my butt feels like it was raped by a bicycle seat, but I'm gonna go again. I want my body to amaze me!  However, when the instructor said, "Wasn't that fun, guys?"  I can assure I was not nodding in agreement.  Who, besides her, does this because it's fun?

Now of course, my diet has to change as well.  At one point, I had a two/three chocolate bar a day habit.  I've had to squash that habit.  I'm trying to drink lots and lots of water, which is torture in itself because I hate the taste of water.  To make it a little less horrid, I put some sort of 0 calorie flavour in it.  Lots of fiber, again - not so much fun...but I've discovered I love the taste of prunes!!  Who knew!  And Oat Bran bars.  Lots of fruit and veggies.  Fish!  Lot's of that too.  As little red meat, and sugary items as possible.  Low carbs - no bread, whole wheat pasta.  But of course, I cannot resist the occasional ice cream cone or donut.  I'm not going to deprive myself, hence the exercise.

Wish me luck.  I really hope it works...

Here's the place where I give my measurements, but I can't find one single measuring tape in this damn house.  We don't have a scale, either, so I can't even tell you how much I really weigh.  I'm a size 11.  Or 13, depending on the store.  I've fit into a 10 recently, too...

Your Office or Mine?

I love the office.  Love it!!  I was watching it last night and it just makes me feel so, so good, because I don't feel so alone.  There are incompetent companies out there, other than the ones I have worked for.  Sometimes I have to ask myself, "Is it really that hard, or am I really just that good?"  I don't think it's that hard.  I've never been a brain surgeon, nor a rocket scientist...so no one's life has ever depended on me...entirely.  I mean I did load aircraft's for a living, not literally...but on paper, like the weight and balance of the aircraft's...which is pretty important...but there was always a pilot double checking my work.  All I can say 'bout that is, *Phew* because holy moly math was not my strong suit.  Secret - I still count with my fingers, like 8 + 5 = 9, 10, 11, 12, 13...13!!!

Last night's *rerun* episode was all worrisome because the company was on the brink of bankruptcy, and they were all waiting by the phone, literally, to see if they're out of a job (uh....I've been there a time or two...two...I've been there twice...and both times, it was bad news, bear) and so to get their minds off the stress, Michael forces them all to play a murder mystery game.  I love it.  The ship is sinking, lets throw a party.  Recently, I found out that a boss I once had - who told me I should always carry a clipboard because it makes me look more *professional* has been further promoted.  Geez...sometimes I think just even showing up at work and breathing puts me ahead of the game.  I guess I'm still just a supervisor - I do not carry a clipboard around with me everywhere I go.  It gets in the way, I put it down, I lose it.  I'm more of a *hands on* supervisor...

Sometimes I have to just turn it off because it's so incredibly near to my reality...

Lose Yourself

I have started reading again. 

I put the iPhone down, picked the book up, and had a hard time doing anything else.  Isn't it just the most amazing thing in the world?  Getting lost in a book?  Coffee time, lunch time, ever single chance I got, I had my nose in that book.  I started narrating my life, kinda like the author narrates her book...with a southern accent.  You know, just like I was raised in Jackson Mississippi in the 1960's.  I even walked out of my office after reading my book at lunch, and found myself saying to an employee, "well lordy, lordy."  True story, those words came out of my mouth.  Those words have never, ever come out of my mouth - just in case you're wondering.

That's right, I was reading "The Help".  And woot woot, I finished it before the movie came out, which is really very important to me, but I'm not quite sure why, but it is.  Now, I don't believe it was the most important piece of fiction since "To Kill a Mockingbird" but it certainly tells a story and makes a point - All us ladies, no matter colour, stature, age, or size need to stick together.  

Then as soon as it began, it was over and I was moving on to a travelling circus, amidst a love story...you know, one of those love stories that spans decades and sucks you in from the first 'and their eyes met, across a crowded room',  That love story held me captive in 'Water for Elephants'.  I was in the middle of a circus tent during the great depression, watching Rosie the brilliant Russian elephant, riding the train at night, setting up for the circus during the day.

Now, I'm crossing the globe, chapter after chapter, between Bombay and San Fran as two families lives are forever changed by one little girl.  I'm reading an International best seller, 'The Secret Daughter'.  

The thing is this...there are books that you lose yourself in.  You can taste the wine, feel the breeze, smell the grass, hear the sound of the train rumbling by, and then there are books that feel like books.  You read every sentence, but you know it's a sentence.  It doesn't feel like you're in the middle of a story, it feels like you're in the middle of a um....sentence.  This is the case with The Secret Daughter.  It feels like a story, filled with cliches.  It's almost painful.  I'm forcing myself to read this book which is soooooo disappointing because, I mean, come on...what a great premise for a story.  And you guys, it's an international best seller.  This means that people all over the world bought this book and read it.  Although....just because it sold well doesn't mean everyone enjoyed it, right?  I don't know.  It just tells me that if pieces of literature (if you can call it that) are selling internationally, then there must be a huge, huge void in the literary world.  

If I could only come up with a good idea.  Think, think, think!!!!!  Every time I come up with a "really good" idea, I realize after about three pages and two months that the idea really sucks and is completely unbelievable. The author of 'The Help' says her novel was rejected 60 times.  60!!  She had to rewrite her novel 60 times.  There were 60 people who said, "Your book sucks" and she kept going.  I'm pretty sure I would have found myself huddled in a corner sobbing after the first *no* and given up.

Think.

Think.

Think.