Knocking Some Sense

I'm getting the bedroom ready for our littlest grandson, Nugget. Unpacking his and his brother's suitcase and readying the space for his "binky-time" as it's called.

I stand up quickly from the nightlight I was plugging in and cracked my head so hard on a little overhang in that corner of the room that I literally saw stars. I have a goose egg now that I'd love to call the Gray Goose, but I do color my hair so ha! That, just now, reminded me of a childhood nickname I had in school that I was not so fond of. Goosey. Because I've often been silly and annoying? Probably. I do remember HATING that name. Too sensitive always.

When I was in my 20s and dating my wasband my nickname was Dizzy. I did love that nickname, but there is a pattern emerging? Admit it girl. You can be a goose. Work in progress always and forever apparently.

I was seeing a therapist a couple of years ago and while telling my story (get this - I felt odd monopolizing the conversation - during my own therapy! I don't seem to have that problem in the world - I can monopolize with the best - what a bitch I can be) he asked me why I always feel any problem/situation/concern/conflict is only and always my fault. I have no answer. I have to say in my mind I am a bitcher and complainer so it never seems to me that I am a self-inflicted victim. I bitch incessantly about others - mostly to feel better about myself yes? Sheesh human beings are so predictable.

Yet, while telling him my story I pointed back at myself. Probably to elicit his sympathy. Eventually I ran away from therapy when the going was becoming difficult. Who wants to know why you suck? I need to stop fear around knowing the why of what I am and either keep the receipt for who I am or get my ass to the exchange counter and try harder.

I love Jane Fonda. I was watching her documentary where she is so honest with the things she's done wrong, taking that time to admit and lay it out there. But I sensed no self-flagellation around her confessions. She actually said during an interview in the documentary that, "I am what I am." No guilt around her past behaviors, yet a total awareness of what she had done and how it had effected others. I loved that. I admire her. Teach me Jane how to be so self-aware or strong or accepting of self. Seriously love all of her.

I keep reading that after a certain age we adults know how to maneuver in this world. We do? I think I was absent that day in class.

Knocked myself silly.
Knocked some sense into me.
Knocked off from work.
Knocked off a piece.
Knocked on the door.

It might be time to knock it out of the park.

Start and Stop and Stop and Start

We've had a few birthdays in the past couple of weeks. Our darling Spud is one year old. How on earth? It's really going to tumble on by now isn't it?

As I say over and over, yes, he really is that beautiful.

It was Pup's birthday a couple of days ago. My sweet, sweet Pup. He's been self-reflecting and pensive since shortly after our trip in late September. A couple of unforeseen obstacles and events have shifted his thoughts here and there. The grappling with changes is provoking. It's always good! Love love love.

It was our great-niece's second birthday yesterday and we went to a lovely party at her momma and daddy's house. I was kinda in tears watching that little nugget open all of her presents and watching her oooooh and aaaaaah at each and every present. What a generous little spirit this tiny precious has. I was watching her study each card as she opened her presents. And when she was done opening, she placed all of her cards in a brown box and took a few back out to look at again. Her momma mentioned freezing time and I agree. Moments like that one need to be frozen. I know I'll always remember watching her and how you can already see the woman she will be. Sweet, smart, lovely, attentive, and amazing. Smooches to that little baby!

I only got a few incredibly crappy phone shots of her opening. My hand was not steady, I'm valiantly fighting a fall cold and was empty-headed and fuzzy-minded all of the day. Her essence is shining through even though my skills are not.

Time frozen! Can we do that just for a little bit you guys? I feel like I'm in a vortex and I'm spinning spinning. Stuck and exuberant, but forgetful and vague. Or it's the medication I'm taking.

For us, with Thanksgiving and Christmas approaching, I'm attempting once again to simplify and relax with the festivities. We are sponsoring a few teenagers in lieu of gifts for Pup and myself and that always makes me feel good.

I've stopped participating in the white elephant-type exchanges with the different celebrations we attend. I know that can make me seem curmudgeonly, but I just don't need anything cluttering up my life. I do a good job with that on my own! But seriously, the stuff generally gets either thrown or donated. God I sound just like Mrs. GrumpyMcGrumpy.

:(

Rambling!

So my lovely friends-in-my-head, tell me how you're entering the upcoming celebrations? What keeps you centered and full of gratitude?

Keep the peace my hooches.

Overheard

I am always lookin for sumthin. 

We are out with Momma Betty. We are in a bar/grill type place. Sitting in a booth. There is a a threesome (ha) of women sitting behind us.

One of the women is talking. I'm not wholly aware of her at first. Then after a few minutes (we were being kinda quiet in our booth) I can't not be aware of her.

She is talking talking talking. About nothing nothing nothing.

I can't stop listening. I listen to her talk about mayonnaise. How she hates mayonnaise. How the restaurant put mayonnaise on her sandwich. "Why would they put mayonnaise on this sandwich?"

I want to hit her. I want to take her sandwich and shove it deep into her mouth, maybe down her throat.

I wonder to myself why she makes me so mad. Why is her being over the top inane bothering me?

Pup and I are in the car today. Talking about people bugging us. I say, "It bothered me that that woman bothered me. What if I'm that woman at times? What if someone wants to chew off their arm to get away from my inaneness? What if I'm that woman?"

We laugh. We laugh at each other. Because we know that sometimes, yes sometimes, all of us are that woman. We dwell on something inane. We tell a story maybe once or twice too often.

Remember that quote? “No matter how good she looks - no matter how sweet she talks - somebody, somewhere is sick and tired of putting up with her shit.” We are all that woman at one time or another.

A foolish man tells a woman to stop talking, but a wise man tells her that her mouth is extremely beautiful when her lips are closed. 
~Anonymous

I Left That Where??

I have a lot of devices.

I have my beloved iMac that is beginning to show his age.

I have my new Macbook Pro laptop (kiss kiss). A powerhouse that I will be loading with all of my powerhouse software so I can do my new job on the fly as I've found working at home all the time is kinda lonely and I need the office culture to keep me lovely and smart and plugged in. This sweetie is gorgeous and I am in love with it.

I have my iPad. I didn't love my iPad at first. I kinda thought it was crazy to have, yet, another thing to manage. I have found that it's a great resource and very portable for my transient ways at the moment. My scary-genius boss set up my work email on this little baby so I have to keep it close. Pup got me a keyboard that holds it and then snaps onto as a cover. That really clinched the deal for me. I hated that touchscreen. My brain loves to work fast; when it's working.

Last, but not least, is my phone. I stopped bitching about it (finally) and find it lovely. Samsung, love has grabbed me, beat me over the head, and left me a slave to you. #overstatingismylife

Why am I talking about these life-helpers? I have a hard time managing everything!

First: the email. I have email everywhere. I have five email accounts for differing reasons. Jobs, transitioning, blog. All five of them are necessary. And all five of them come in on every device. Gah!

It doesn't stop me from losing emails. Forgetting emails. Over-answering emails. Under-answering emails. I am in email overload. I think it's my fault.

Then there is Facebook. I have been goofing with it for the past year and have found it fun and have found it a time suck as maybe some of you with Facebook have found it.

I open Facebook on my iMac, I open it on my Macbook, I open it on my iPad, I open it on my phone. I forget to shut it down. I'm sure if anyone is looking, and I'm pretty certain no one is, it looks like I'm on all the time. #fail

And the pinging. If I don't watch it, all of these things are chiming, pinging, ringing, nagging. Pup will say, "Was that you? Which one is it?" He's no better. He has lots of devices as well.

It's a dinging hell around here. And I'm not even adding in the appliances that ding and ping.

I could turn them all off and sometimes do. Turn off all the sounds that pop out of them. The quiet is good!

How do you guys manage all that you do? Am I missing an app? Don't tell me about it! But do tell me how you manage your stuff.

Speak or Quell?

Get on your horse and ride.
~Marshall Matt Dillon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Complicated? Nope.

Long-winded? Nope.

Charmingly simple? Yes.

I am full of annoying advice. I had an argument with myself last week about just how annoying. My intent is always good. The antithesis of that line from one of Amy Winehouse's songs, "The message was brutal, but the delivery was kind." My delivery seems kind in my head, but brutal in its content.

As a blurter I have a long relationship with remorse.

I just thesauru.comed remorse. The note reads: Regret carries no explicit admission that one is responsible for an incident, while remorse implies a sense of guilty responsibility and a greater feeling of personal pain and anguish. Both of those seem a bit heavy-handed, but I am at a loss for a better word. My blurting sometimes causes me a pang, but is it regret or remorse? I have to think on that a bit longer.

Okay, let's go with regret.

Again - where am I going with all of this on this windy, hot morning?

I appreciate the early-morning ramblings that go on in my head, but harnessing this content is sometimes like herding cats. Good luck with that! Don't forget to write! 

Here's the thing, the thingy-thing of it all - if you say nothing, if you sit and observe with no participation, that's when you might feel a pang of regret. I should reword that to read, that's when I'll feel a pang of regret.

So! Say what you mean, but don't be mean saying it. (I stole this entire line from a reality show I confess with chagrin.)

And I'll get on that horse and ride.

Mexico 4.12

April 22

Flight wonderful! Pup developed horrible migraine so waiting for the room wasn't easy for him. Had a quick lunch, finally got the room, and Pup slept all afternoon and night.

I took a nap, unpacked, and read/slept all night.

Random:

1. Playa is very international. We hear very little English.
2. I am skinnier in Playa. ;) Who really knows if this true. I am a believer.
3. The beach is topless. Pup is a happy man.
4. I am very sorry I didn't remember a Spanish dictionary.
5. Ears are still plugged from flight!
6. I am loving how everyone does not worry about their bodies.

April 23

1. My husband is not the only man to sneak a feel, a paddling, or a squeeze while applying sunscreen.
2. Listening to the different languages all around me is quite soothing.
3. I sleep really good in Mexico. Nine hours per night and naps during the day. It is heavenly.
4. I have decided that Mojitos contain no sugar.
5. I'd I get out of here the same size it will have been not only a fun week, but a miraculous week.

April 24

1. I am never going to worry about my body ever ever again. The different bodies seen in the past couple of days is amazing. It's mind-bending in a way. Not to mention freeing. At home (at least for me) I'm so worried about body image and what others are thinking. Here, it's like, "who gives a rat's ass"? Gotta love that.
2. American's are so arrogant, dumb, and stuck. We eat fast. We talk fast. We mostly speak one language. A lot of us are rednecks. The American smokers start smoking no matter where they are with no regard for their surroundings. Truly disgusting. Yes, I used to smoke. Are former smokers always critical of smokers? They are loud and smokey.
3. Europeans take their time. I like that. They relax into their dinner. They talk to each other and enjoy the meal. Much smaller portions as well. Americans wolf their meals while downing all the free drinks they can swallow. Sigh! I am a bitch today.
4. I could live here. I don't think Pup shares my enthusiasm. He likes it well enough. I'd love to have a tiny place to do family vacations. Wouldn't that be amazing?
5. Loud people are even louder than me. 
6. I'm darn quiet at times! I know - hard to believe. 
7. I do a lot of poopin' in Mexico.
8. Turned out to be way more than just poopin'. Just sayin'.

April 25

1. We seriously sleep about 12 hours a day. This is awesome to me, a sometimes insomniac.
2. We have decided to broach a family vacation with the kidlet's and their respective boys. To Mexico. Next year. My Pup is the best. His idea!
3. Today, we decided to get crazy and sit in a different place around the pool. So adventurous. You should have seen our vacation representative when I mentioned I'd never been snorkeling. He said, "What is wrong with you"? Hehehe. I will never tell him.  How could I when I don't know?
4. I've been awake since around 7 a.m. or so. It is 10:30. I could totally take a nap. I think I will.
5. Observation: never wear a one piece bathing suit to Mexico. Peeing is very tricky. A wet suit is not fun to pull up over your butt.
6. Chatted with the most charming man from Newcastle, England. I could listen to him all day. He wouldn't teach me any bad words. Shit.
7. Pup's favorite phrase this trip is "o-blay e-may." You do your own translation.
8. We decided we are going to fry in hell because we are mean bitches.
9. I'm sure we have been made fun of as well. I mean, we're not a bag of tortilla chips.
10. I love tortilla chips.
11. We were chatting with a couple from Kentucky that won their trip. Now that's spiffy. They were appalled, yet couldn't stop talking about the bare breasts they were seeing. Sparked a conversation about the inappropriateness of breast-feeding in public. My hand is bloody from biting it. No arguments in Mexico please Deborah!
12. I am no funnier here than I am at home. But I still look skinnier in spite of all the food I'm eating.
13. Really good food. Every day, at lunch and dinner, there is a new and delicious veggie dish I can eat with a bit of rice. Pup gets his share of ice cream. He's a very happy man.

April 26

1. 9-10 hours of sleep every night. I cannot get over this.
2. I have a mysterious rash high on both cheeks. I suspect a sensitivity to whatever the linens are washed  with.
3. We have not checked our email since Friday, April 20th. Wha???
4. The ocean is amazing at night.
5. Pup thinks I need to trip his fantastic every day. He thinks he's on vacation or something. :)
6. Pup thinks I need to show my boobins. I think I will save these magnificent specimens for those who love me. Again, just sayin.
7. We were craving some American snacks. Pup went to the drugstore and $25 later we had Doritos and Ruffles. You can take the ugly American away from home, but you can't remove all the ugly.
8. We wear wristbands like we're part of an entourage. At least that's the story I've concocted in my head.
9. I love Mexican people. They're so tiny! I'm 5'7", which is not that tall, and most of them come up to my armpit. They are sweet and tolerant.
10. It's 10:45 a.m. and I am needing a nap.
11. It's 12:45. No, I didn't sleep that whole time, but a bit of it.
12. We are inexplicably homesick. Truth be told, Pup and I are homebodies. We like our family, our pets, our home around us. Vacation is fun, but home is lovely.
13. But I can't lie; I sleep like nothing else here. I'd like to take that home with me.

April 27

1. We are on our last day. It's gorgeous, warm, I'm sated and happy.
2. I can't remember the last time I was so relaxed.
3. Pup has read four books.
4. I finished the Keith Richard's autobiography. Finally! Of course I am reading four books at the same time. I really am so weird.
5. We broke down and bought one day of internet access.
6. We are now on the beach, goofing on the internet like real American idiots.
7. The couple I met from Newcastle does not even have an email address! No staying in touch with them! They were truly lovely people
8. The couple from Kentucky never knows when I'm trying to ring their bells. Or they do and are too polite to call me on it.
9. We leave at 7:00 tomorrow morning. I'm sad and glad at the same time.

April 28

1. I am eating my goodbye-Mexico breakfast. It is still the most delicious bacon and coffee I've ever had. What is the secret?
2. I shared my bacon with a skinny hotel cat. My cat at home is seriously spoiled.
3. I am excited to be going home.
4. Goodbye Mexico! I adore you so.

Observations

1. Being sick for the third week (I am not lying) doesn't give much back regarding the cute-quotient. I am not cute right now. I am a sniffing, snorting, achy, fuzzy, ball of mess.
2. Cooking isn't my forte anymore. I cooked yesterday and it was, "meh."
3. Shopping for smaller sizes really is much more fun. 
4. I love my daughters with a powerful, laser-like love. They are everything.
5. The boys in their lives are pretty awesome as well.
6. My boy is pretty good too. Love you Pup!
7. Even sick, when everything tastes like ass, my coffee is the thing I look forward to.
8. Baseball has begun. I have a new hat and a new t-shirt. I love my Twins even though they've already lost two.
9. I am excited because we leave for Mexico on April 21st.

I made these delicious little tarts yesterday for an appetizer.  Leeks, garlic, and cream. Used little potsticker rounds, but I'm working on a better option.

Brie-Leek Tartlets

1 medium leek (white portion only), finely chopped
3 tbl butter
1 minced garlic clove
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
salt and pepper to taste
dash of ground nutmeg
tart shells of your choice
8 oz Brie cheese, rind removed

In a small skillet, saute leek in butter until tender. Add the garlic, cook 1 minute longer. Stir in the cream, salt, pepper, and nutmeg; cook and stir for 1-2 minutes until thickened.

Place tart shells in muffin pan. Slice cheese into pieces, placing one piece in each tart shell. Top with a tablespoon or so of the leek mixture.

Bake at 350 for 6-8 minutes or until melty and nummy.

I sent the leftovers home with Lorenzo because I'd be all garlic and smeary mouth from sneaking the rest of them.

What did y'all do for the weekend?

Grin and Bare It

I work in a small consignment store.

There are a few men that come into the store. Pretty fucking amazing men frankly. Men that think outside of the norm when it comes to shopping. Men that are curious and stay because it's awesome. Men that are stuck there with their wives (I'll never in a million years figure that one out - go home - go to the Home Depot - go anywhere but following your wife around looking like an idiot). Men that are gay and therefore (in a sweeping general sense) more savvy to shopping. Men that consign.

I had a guy come in yesterday that said, "Your men section is small, like in all consignment stores, but I always find something awesome."

I just nodded and smiled at him. Maybe I even winked. Because he's in. He gets it.

Our store deals with customers and consigners. Clearly that's how it works. Customers come in and shop. Consigners come in and consign. Many of the customers are also consigners. Some consigners would drop dead before they'd shop the store.

The consigners are mainly women. The customers are mainly women.

In the past few weeks:

• I was called "her highness" by a disgruntled consigner that doesn't like to follow rules and told me in a Russian accent, "I am so sorry I am not up to your standards your highness, but I cannot follow the rules because I blah blah blah fuckin' blah." Bite me.
• A woman argued with me on a piece of designer clothing that was soiled around the collar. The consigner kept telling me, "This cost a lot of money. Someone will want this. It's a great party outfit. Do you realize who Oscar de la Renta is?" Bite me. First of all, wearing an outfit that makes you look like a piece of wedding cake (sorry Oscar) is heinous; just because it cost lots of "money" doesn't make it good. It's dirty - get the hell out.
• A woman was staring at my name tag and said, "Do you WORK here? When did you start wearing name tags?" Bite me. WTF? She also insisted on wearing a bracelet around the store because, "She wanted to see how it feels. I won't steal it." Yes, of course, she stole it. Get your husband to bite me. I'm guessing it's been a few years since he's had any fun.
• A woman stomped her foot and pouted when told she couldn't leave all of her stuff for consigning and go have lunch. "I'm late! Can't you just do this?" Bite me. Get in line. And plan your day better.
• A woman walked out in a huff saying, "I am not bringing stuff here anymore. It never sells." Bite me. Her stuff was usually pity-takes; which, frankly, I don't condone.
• A woman who had to tell me a story about every pieced she brought in. Bite me. What the hell do I care? Do you see the consigners waiting their turn behind you?
• A customer brought a pile of stuff up to the counter, said she was ready, and then while I was organizing her items, she's still deciding. "Oh! Maybe I should try that on again! Let me think about it. Oh, I saw a top - let me run get it." Bite me. People are stacking up behind you. Decide before you come to checkout.
• A customer indignantly marched up to the front of the store exclaiming, "Who put that top away I was looking at?" Bite me. WTH are you talking about? She found it. Right where she left it. Sigh
• A consigner that has consigned one piece of clothing and calls every day to see if it's sold. Frets every time she's told, "not yet." Bite me. There are thousands of pieces in this store. Not all of them sell.

I tell Pup stories every day when I come home from work. He laughs his ass off and can't believe what he's hearing most of the time.

It makes me feel good to laugh along with him because, hey, you have to laugh!

But for now, I'm buying myself the hugest tiara I can find and changing my name-tag to "Her Highness."

Who Are You?

What is this place called Fashion Plate? The blog with the name-that-makes-no-sense?

Am I a fashion-blogger? Nope.
Am I a design-blogger? Nope.
Am I a mommy-blogger? Nope.
Am I a funny-blogger? Nope.
Do I write poems? Nope.
Do I write life-lessons? Nope.
Do I photograph awesome stuff? Nope. Not much anyway.

What the hell do I do?

• I twist my hair like it's my job.
• I stand in the middle of rooms and wonder where to start.
• I laugh abruptly.
• I cry easily.
• I procrastinate as though I'm training for a competition.

I kind of meander along. Scattered a bit.

Um, yeah. Note flip-flops and awesome pedicure.

This is why I love the fall season. It is a beginning to me. The season marks the beginning of all the new fall fashions, all the new fall television shows (come on - we know it's fun to watch a few new ones), all the new fall classes, all the new fall students returning to school, all the projects to list down that couldn't be done during the hot summer season.

Leaves get picked up, gardens get plucked, cars get vacuumed and scrubbed, windows in houses get cleaned. Shiny and new and lovely as a new penny.

What are you about? What is your favorite season?

How Many Pups Can I Have?

I call my darling husband "Pup" on this blog.

When I started the blog I wanted a name for him and "Pupcake" popped into my head. It seemed to fit him perfectly! And, of course, I thought I was brilliant for thinking of it.

I didn't think of it! My dear friend, Teri, called her darling husband Pupcake and while I had not forgotten about them, I had certainly forgotten that she had penned that original nickname. I'm telling you! I bet over HALF of what I say and think has been plagiarized! I'm a word-thief!

I know; we all are to some extent. We take things we've heard, read, seen, and shake some of our personal sea salt on them and put it on the table. "Nummy Deborah! You are the best!" Deep inside I'm a thief.

Creative thinking my hooches!

In a not too distant past life I'm a graphic designer. Ideas never came over easily to me. If I had to come up with something right out of my ass I'd have to hunker down with stuff I had collected (inspiration folder I always called it - I'm so clever!) and shut my office door and start brainstorming - and alone when I was working my corporate job.

A few hours later, hopefully, I'd have a few ideas to present to my manager and we'd cull it down to the one that would work. Then I'd get designing. It was always painful. The thinking of it, not the execution of it.

On other fronts in my life I have no problem with inspiration. Decorating is painless. Clothes styling is instant. Vignetting is a see-in-my-head process. Even writing is like pooping. It just happens.

But graphic design; painful.

I was waaaaay better at the building of the project. I ROCK at that part. I was way better at the collaborative projects than the alone-with-my-thoughts projects. I had a job where we were a huge team of art directors, writers, project managers, photographers, and production artists. Awesome process. When I worked alone; hard to jump start.

Back to Pupcake. He is now, happily I might add, Pup to me on this blog. And how many Pups do I need to make a blog?

Querulous

I looked up the spelling of this word yesterday for a completely different reason, and then came to the realization that this is exactly how I spent the summer.

Granted, I have spent the past five-plus months at The Tumbler in a smallish, unventilated room that is not air conditioned; sharing it with a large, heat-producing, fume-spewing, cranky-ass printer along with an overheated iMac.

Yes, I would sweat all day and usually around 3:00 in the afternoon was so exhausted that by the time I went home I was querulous. I wasn't pretty.

Plenty of people have worked in places that are not air conditioned. I'm certain plenty of people have had it MUCH worse. But, this described issue, along with many many more I won't go into (I wrote a hilarious, yet mean, job description for them to put in their next ad. I only shared it with one of the other designers.) made me think, "Hey! Life is fucking short. This isn't working for me."

Querulous. I didn't even know that's what I was.

One night I walked into the house and Pup bounded out from the office - so excited to have me home from the day's work.

"What's for supper dahline"?

I put my bags down and wanted to cry.

Instead I turned on him and screeched, "You eat four things! Pick one"!

Of course it's true that Pup only eats four things. No reason to be a beast. No reason to let my querulous ways explode on him.

I'm out just a few days from The Tumbler and the fresh air is so sweet! I'm happier than a clam. I have no idea what the hell that means, but I am.

I even made Pup one of the four things he eats for supper last night. Smooches my Pup. He was never querulous while I was going through all of this. He was simply supportive and when I decided I had had enough and had taken a different, not-so-fiscally-beneficial job, he didn't even blink. He just supported.

Love that man of mine. It's true, he only eats four things and that pisses me off from time to time, but he's my soft place to land and what could be more important than that?

Hot Men Friday

The new year is nearly here.

I'm excited for the new year. I feel very sanguine about the coming year. That all by itself is a pleasing feeling (More than a Feeling - sigh - I still love Boston). I haven't had that particular pleasure for a bit of time. So,

"Hello delight - where the fuck have you been? I've been very sad and lackluster without you."

As most of us bloggers/writers know, even though we share a slice of ourselves to anyone who stumbles onto our blog, there is, like an iceberg, much more below our surface.

We don't really know what motivates some bloggers to be endlessly entertaining, we don't know the creative force behind some of the brilliant fashion and decorating blogs out there, we don't entirely know the process behind those thoughtful and provoking blogs we love, and we don't know what could motivate a blogging-asshole. We just don't know. We think we do. But we don't.

For instance, the face I show here in my blog is a mostly happy face. I am mostly a happy girl. With that is the mostly dark girl as well. I kinda like the dark girl, but I never want to foster her because, truth be told, she can scare the shit out of me from time to time.

So, on this forum, for me, I let the happy girl out. But never confuse upbeat with weak.

We bloggers are a convex and rectilinear sort and to ever assume you can know what to expect - well, that could get your arse in a vice. That's what keeps me coming back. Isn't it fun not really knowing?

Happy New Year my friends. I am embracing the great and gristle. It keeps it interesting!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris Noth

 

 

 

 

 

I have a thing for big, dark, men. I kinda love a bit of fluff and especially love a goofy grin and broody face. That juxtaposition sends a Bullet to, if not my heart, then someplace I can't talk about here. Yes, I said it. I'm not ashamed. Don't lie peeps, you all do it too

I am a great big Sex and the City fan. I own the deluxe boxed set and love to pull out episodes from time to time. Some of my favorite scenes are with Mr. Big. I loved it when his tanned, smooth, brown, and a tiny bit hairy, chest would be in Carrie's bed.

I'm enjoying The Good Wife for his good guy persona and the underlying bad bad boy that he's trying like hell to squash.

LOVE HIM!

Observation

Have you noticed all the acronyms in advertising lately?

LBL

ED

UTI

IBS

Millions more yes?

LBL - light bladder leakage. Hmm . . . can the word "light" ever be in the same sentence as "bladder leakage"? I don't think so.

ED - erectile dysfunction. Let's be clear; who's feelings are we trying to not hurt? Shouldn't we really be figuring out why the wiener isn't working?

UTI - urinary tract infection. Oh, let's just not go there - ever.

IBS - irritable bowel syndrome. What does this mean really? Why are anyone's bowels in a bad mood? Can't they just drink vodka?

Every time I turn around (in my princess finery - I spin!) I'm unwillingly listening to a commercial talking about some set of letters I never knew described a "syndrome."

One of my newest peeves is the RLS. Really? Restless legs are now a syndrome?

How about these I am coining?

IIG - irritated in general. Is there a pill for this?

CLIM - can't look in mirror. I am skeered what I'll see first thing in the morning. I know I need a pill for this.

BFH - bastard from hell. The guy on the freeway that refuses to let me merge into traffic. There really should be a treatment for this condition.

Tell me your favorite acronyms! Let's start a revolution!

Let Me Know When I Get There

I love hipsters. I love their tight jeans, their pale faces, their self-absorbed air, their deeply-rooted shallowness.

The Twin Cities are awash with these types. I generally lump them into a young un crowd because older hipsters aren't hipsters; they're misplaced hippies or somesuch. Real hipsters are young and self-righteous and I love them.

I love watching them, I love noting what they're wearing (so good!), and if I get a chance, I love talking to them. Sometimes they are incredibly smart and informed and sometimes deep as a deep blue puddle. Just like the rest of us.

Remember when you may have had hipster tendencies? Remember when you were filled with self-righteous indignation? It just might be the only thing I miss about being a young un.

The Club Grunters

Lorenzo (DD2) and I headed with conviction over to the free weight part of our club last night where the grunters live.

This part of the club scares the living hell out of me. It's full of over-muscled men and women that glance at softer versions of the humans they represent with pity and scorn (I could be overstating - ha!).

Okay - but they do look at less muscled peeps with some sort of judging eyes (and they are not even wearing the judging sunnies I need to wear everywhere I go these days). This fear speaks to my state of mind more than it speaks to theirs. Trust me. I'm a fearful girl.

So, we wander over there like we know what we want to do, and we do know what we want to do. We want the 5 and 8 lb free weights to hold while we do some lunges. And we do. It's all cool.

But while we are counting our lunges in our sets we are desperately trying to not listen to the GRUNTING that is going on. Serious sounds coming out of everyone! Red faces contorted and veins bulging. I got scared for a different reason! I thought I was going to have to run and get an attendant.

But no. No one else was concerned about the vocalization going on. What's up with the grunting? Does it help? Is it like bitching about the weather - you just have to do it to blend in?

I kept thinking it was like having a baby in a way. I had two babies with no drugs (hey, it was the 80s). While in labor each time I could feel that if I let go and let the pain take over by screaming I'd never come back. I felt better breathing and staying on top of the pain.

I can't help feeling that lifting is like that. That it would be better for the grunters to breath into their lifting and save that energy expended by grunting and put it into the lift.

But what do I know? I look like this when working out.

Gym Dandy to the Rescue

So, I've been going to the club on a REGULAR basis for three weeks now. The resolutioners I spoke of are out in lovely abundance. I love each of their chubby butts. Including mine.

I am puzzled a bit though dear readers (you're out there I know it!) - the peeps that are on the stationary bikes, what are they doing exactly? Already I've noticed a select group of the same people on the bikes that are reading the paper. Can you really work hard and read the paper? I know I'm in the gender that can multitask, but reading the paper and sweating just does not seem to go hand in sweaty hand.

But there they sit, reading away. Dudes and Dudettes! Just buy a stationary bike and park it in front of your TV if that's what you want to do.

Already I'm all self-righteous aren't I? I have resolutioners fever.

For me - I'm an elliptical girl. I used to hate that damn machine and ran faithfully to the treadmill. But my ortho guy said elliptical and now I'm getting a bit obsessed about it. Quell surprise! Ha!

So I have my earbuds in, listening to the Rod Stewart that was in The Faces, looking around at my fellow rats.

Observations:

1. A few men who suffer from 70s-itis. No lie. Could those shorts be any shorter??
2. Why all the "skullets"?
3. Fellow chubs wearing sweatshirts. Again, Dude!, you'll be sweating here. You're not fooling anyone
4. All young uns are cute
5. Trainers like me. Because I'm a challenge? My elliptical wit? My bright, shining face that is becoming a regular?
6. Lots of machine-jumpers

Love it!