Top O’ the Muffin to Ya

muffin top

My muffin-top is annoying me. I don’t know what to even do with it anymore. Do I buy a pair of “Mom Jeans” and tuck it in? Do I buy a pair of low-riders and just let it spill over the top all willy nilly? I don’t even know. And somehow, while I was busy eating raw cookie dough, my muffin-top seems to have joined forces with my back fat. The two of them are in complete cahoots, always hanging out together, causing problems and making me look like crap in my clothes. I’m hoping they can at least stay on their side of the fence and not go roaming around looking for new friends because I have two saddle bags that would just love to get in on the action. I’m blaming all this on this horrendous winter. There was literally nothing to do but eat! And shovel the roof. And seriously, if I’m going to be shoveling off a roof, don’t you think it’s important to carb up first? I actually only shoveled off the roof twice, but I totally carb-loaded in the days and weeks leading up to it just so I would be totally prepared.

Not to worry though…because I just ordered the Body Beast Workout by Beach Body. “Go from regular Joe to jacked… Ho-hum to hottie in 90 days flat!” Sign me up! Only two easy payments of $19.99? Even better. I’m so excited. Almost as excited as I was when I bought the Insanity workout… and the T25 program. But this is different because this time I’m not just excited, but I’m SUPER excited. There’s a difference. Plus the Insanity workout really was totally insane. The 5-minute warm up alone was enough to make a grown man declare that he was in the worst shape of his life and quit right there on the spot. T25 was good. It was only 25 minutes long. It was really good…why didn’t I stick with that one? I can’t remember. I’m sure I had a good reason. But that is all neither here nor there because I’m going to be a hottie in 90 days. Flat. That is just in time for bathing suit season.

I figured I would sort of track my progress here. The way I see it, if I’m just doing the workout on my own, then I can quit at any time and it won’t really matter too much. I will forgive myself and will most likely buy myself a prize of some sort to make me feel better (because I’m wicked nice like that.) But the thought of being publicly humiliated, labeled a quitter, and shunned from society for the rest of my life might keep me on track. So I’m going to go that route. As soon as I can fit back into my “fat jeans” I will let you know.

psssst… don’t forget to check out the right-hand nav and click on the ads of some of my favorite peeps!


The Land of Celebration

holy cow

Is it weird that I am considering becoming a Jehovah’s Witness simply so I can stop celebrating holidays? I mean, that sort of falls somewhere on the spectrum of “a normal thought”…right? I don’t want to be a door-to-door, take-this-pamphlet-or-you’re-going-to-hell type of Jehovah’s Witness or anything, but I’m seriously weighing the pros and cons of converting to a holiday-free lifestyle. I think I could really groove to it. I am so sick of celebrating holidays and birthdays. The other day we were 1/2 hour late for school because my 5-year-old wanted to wear a green shirt in honor of St. Patrick’s Day…but the only green shirt that was clean was a green pajama shirt. She wasn’t having it. I finally managed to talk her into wearing a teal shirt by convincing her that she needed to have her eyes checked if she thought the shirt was blue not green. (I don’t feel bad about that, by the way. I bought myself a chai tea latte as a reward for such an ingenious off-the-cuff parenting maneuver.) Last month was Valentine’s Day (cards and candy and red shirts), next month is Easter (candy and, for some reason, small gifts). It’s a never-ending constant hoopla around here, and as if the major holidays aren’t enough to deal with, Feb also kicks off the season of Butters’ birthdays. This is how our celebration calendar goes:

Sept: New school year (new clothes, yay!)

Oct: Halloween (5 elaborate costumes, yay!)

Nov: Thanksgiving (the day before black Friday and a barrage of toy commercials yay!)

Dec: Christmas (5 gazillion presents to buy, yay!)

Jan: New Year’s (nothing to buy? Double yay!)

Feb: Valentine’s Day and a bday (should have shopped in Jan. Double not yay!)

March: So many bday’s. So many. And St. Patty’s Day. Green shirts. (unenthusiastic yay)

April: Easter (Easter baskets. I love jelly beans, so, yay!)

May: Nothing. I love May.

June: Birthday (ugh)

July: Another birthday (blech)

August: Two more birthdays (help!)

So basically we are broke and dog-tired September through August each and every year. By the time the last birthday comes along I’m wrapping presents in old newspaper and using actual match sticks as candles in the ice cream cake. It’s all so mentally exhausting. And mental. And exhausting. Although, don’t get me wrong, some of the birthdays ARE easy and somewhat enjoyable to shop for, (even considering the fact that I would rather cover myself in honey and lay on top of an ant hill than shop.) For some of the kids, no matter what I get them I know they will be psyched.(“Playdough?! Omigod! This is the best day of my life!”)

But God help me as I try to shop for the ornery child who hates everything. Except, I thought, Playdough. (“Playdough?! WHY would I want Playdough? I hate Playdough. Playdough is stupid. I’m returning it.”) And on the inside I’m like, “I don’t really give a rat’s ass if you want Playdough or not. I went to 55 different stores to try to find something that I thought you might not hate, but there was nothing. Nothing. So I bought you a freaking four-pack of Playdough and wrapped it in Christmas wrapping paper that I had to turn inside out so that the ‘Ho Ho Ho’ didn’t show because you all decided to use the roll of birthday wrapping paper as a giant sword after the last birthday and while shopping for the perfect gift, that I knew you were going to decide to hate, I forgot to buy more.” But what I really say is, “That’s okay buddy. You can return it and get what you want.” (As I make a quick mental note to teach him the fine art of politely pretending you like a present until it is appropriate to admit that you actually hate it and would like to return it.)

I live in the land of constant celebration. I see no way out…except… to become a Jehovah’s Witness. So keep your eyes out my friends, and if you see me bopping through your neighborhood with a big smile on my face and a stack of pamphlets in my hands just smile and wave. Just smile and wave.

p.s. Check out the right-hand navigation bar (or if you are on your mobile device, scroll to the bottom) and take a peek at some products and services offered by some local peeps. Click on their links and delight in their offerings. Go on. Do it.


Would You Rather…

chased by a bear

Sometimes I think I am really rocking this whole parenthood thing. Killing it. “I’m number one, and no one could be prouder, and if you can’t hear me, I’ll yell a little louder…” THAT kind of awesome.

But then.


Then, I’m driving in the car and my 5-year-old wants to play a game of “Would You Rather” (See? Killing it!) and this happens:

5yo: Would you rather be hit by a car, or eat a brownie?

Me: What?! That is NOT how you play the game. You can’t choose one awful thing and one good thing. It has to be a hard decision. Try again. (See how patient I am?)

5yo: Okay, let’s see… would you rather be stuck in space forever or sleep in your bed?

Me: No.

5yo: Would you rather be eaten by a bear or snuggle on the couch?

Me: What?! No! That’s not… It’s not even… that doesn’t even make sense! It has to be like two things that are terrible. Repeat after me: Would you rather lick the bottom of someone’s shoe or eat a bug.

5yo: Gross.

Me: Exactly!

5yo: That’s not how you play!

Me: Yes it is. Trust me. I’ve been playing this game since my sophomore year of high school.

5yo: We’re playing my way.

Me: Fine.

5yo: Would you rather be smacked by the biggest stick in the world or get a present.

Me: I’d rather get a present.

5yo: Me too! We’re totally twinsies!!

Me: My turn. Would you rather get bit by a snake or have the coolest cat in town as your mom? (wink, wink, smile)

5yo: Neither. I’d rather have you as my mom.

*sigh* Forget it. Alright, alright, maybe I’m only KIND OF killing this whole parenting thing…but I’m still going to do little cheers for myself. “I’m number one…”


Bruce Jenner and the Pegged Pants

bruce jenner

Anyone who knows me knows I love Bruce Jenner. Love him. As in a totally obsessed, completely fascinated, president of his fan club, real love forever kind of love. I’m a Brucer. For life.

So I was as shocked as everyone else about the, er, changes, going on in Bruce’s life lately. Some confusing changes. But never fear, because as the pretend president of his make believe fan club I think I’m able to speak with complete authority about what (I believe) is actually going on with the former Olympian.  I think he needs to get away. To break the spell.  I have a feeling that if Bruce went into an isolation chamber for a month he would come out scratching his head like, Why is my nose so skinny, and why do I barely have any nostrils? What happened to my Adam’s apple? And Holy f*#%, where are my balls?!

Bruce Jenner needs a good Kardashian detox. And he needs it STAT.

I get it, Bruce. I get it. You’re in the middle of it so you can’t see how things have taken a strange and unexpected twist. You are all day surrounded by lifted faces, botoxed brows, sculpted noses, plumped lips, implanted boobs, and tucked tummies. That’s your normal. That’s what surrounds you all day every day. And we all know what happens when you are around something all the time. You become just like that thing or person. (Which is why you should be mindful of who you surround yourself with, and you should be careful what kind of dog you get because people always seems to end up looking like their dog…but I digress.) The women around you look beautiful and age-less. So it’s no wonder that lots of plastic surgery seems like the next logical step in your life. And if that’s what you want to do, have at it. But you’re not a Kardashian, dude…you’re Bruce JENNER. You’re a man. Looking like a beautiful age-less woman may not be the cards you were dealt. If you want to get some work done maybe get some hair plugs. Some sort of face lift. Christ, maybe even get a penile implant if you want to change things down there. But don’t cut off your junk…that’s just crazy. You might need all that someday, and I have a feeling it is waaay easier to cut off than to sew back on.

I totally understand the misguided “everyone around me is doing it so it must be normal” mentality. I do. Let’s not forget…I grew up in the 80s. I TOTALLY get thinking you look very regular when, in fact, you look sort of odd. I was all gigantic hair, banana clip, and Aquanet Extra Hold hairspray. Wet & Wild #528 frosty pink lipstick (pinched from the local Brooks Pharmacy), light blue eye shadow, and blue mascara. I looked like a moron. My parents thought I looked like a moron. My parents’ friends thought I looked like a moron. I thought I looked like the cat’s ass. I thought I looked totally normal because this was the way EVERYONE around me looked. We all looked absolutely bizarre…and since we ALL looked bizarre, none of us felt bizarre. We felt average, run-of-the-mill, oh-my-god-these-pants-are-so-easy-to-peg, normal.

You need to un-peg your pants, Bruce. Just for a minute. Un-peg those pants and walk away. You just need 90 Kardashian-free days to get your head back on straight. Like Team Beach Body, only this is Team Bruce. 90 days to total transformation. Back to basics. Back to who you really are. 90 days back to Bruce.