A Very Quick True Story

One weekend a loooong time ago, before cell phones and facebook and blogs,  HH and I were house-sitting for his sister in NYC.  After an evening out we went to bed.  HH went to sleep and I stayed up watching a naked talk show or something on channel J.  Remember Channel J??  This was before we had 10000 channels, people.  Channel J was exotic.

Anyway, I'm watching, slightly embarrassed about HH waking up and catching me when suddenly he sits straight up in bed, looks at me with a huge smile on his face and exclaims

"I feel like a pair of 

freshly-painted airplane wings!"

The man was still asleep.  I know because I asked him if he was and he said "Uh-huh!" with the same glee in his voice.  

After I told him to go back to sleep he did.  Simple as that.  I sat there wishing we weren't alone and wishing it wasn't 3 am so I could call someone to tell them.

HH woke up the next morning with no memory of having said anything but feeling strangely refreshed.

Dreams are weird.

The Gregarious Homebody is...

Reading

 

Drinking

Hating

Loving

 

and

 

Dreaming of

 

Week Two

Geez, Jill, I'm TRYING!

The Burn

There is a game I love to play and I'm sure I'm not alone.  It's called The Lottery Game and What You Would Do With All that Money if You Won It (I've never spelled out the game before.  That name is LONG).  After the first couple of things I always say I would do--take friends and selected family on a big cruise, set up a college account for a nephew and a suh-weet retirement account for two friends--I would hire a personal trainer to come to my house, say, 3 mornings a week, to scream at me to GET OUT OF BED AND MOVE MY ARSE.  Specifically, I would want to hire 

Hello!  LOOK at her.  She's fit but still looks like a woman.  And she's mean.

her-->


Unfortunately, I have not won the lottery (sorry friends with no retirement account!), so I've decided to try something that Meg is trying.  Jillian Michael's Ripped in 30 Days is a 30 -day (duh) program in which you do one week of level 1 and then progress to, you guess it, levels 2-4.  

I just did level 1 today.  I felt like I was having a heart attack.  On level 1.  This should be "interesting" but I am determined to keep it up.  Jill (we're friends now) suggests you do it 5-6 days a week. I'm going to shoot for 4-5 days because I'm committed to mediocrity.  But I'm going to do it.  I've been running off and on for almost 2 years and I'm still not loving it and I'm still not even running the whole time I'm out there.  Someone tells me that if I keep at it, I'll get there.  But a huge part of me (probably my butt) thinks I need to get into shape a little more before I run successfully.  Weird, I know, because most people get in shape by running.  But I think I am so OUT of shape that I need a push with some strength training and cardio.

I used to be SO STRONG.  I could crack a walnut between my thighs, people (ask HH...  teeehee).  I am someone who puts on muscle easily.  Alas, I am also someone who puts on weight (fat) easily too.  And I'm 41. Double bummer.

I am aware that this is probably one of my most boringest posts ever but I'm putting this out there so I have some level of accountability.  Help me, Rhonda, I hope this keeps up.  I don't want to be older faster than time is doing its thing.  I want to be strong and energetic (to the level that people think I am because of my personality).  I want to feel great!

I don't think I'll be exactly RIPPED in 30 days, but I'm pretty sure I'll tear something. 


**I just read this post and noticed the glaring irony of my masthead.  But who wants to look at something healthy?

Happy Birthday to Me

Healthy.

Happy.

Excited for the future.

Loved.

(And only occasionally frustrated by my children)

On Strike

In my memory, this iconic sign said "Strike." 

Okay, I'm not really on strike. I'm just considering it.  Having a pre-teen daughter and a teenage son is not all it's cracked up to be.  Not that many people think it's tons of fun but I guess I thought it would be.  Well, that's not it either, really.  Here's what I thought, honestly.  I thought that my OWN teenage years were so recent that not only would I be sooooooooo understanding, I would also be an ally instead of Other.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!

I'm sure those of you who have already been through this just fell off your chair at how dumb I am.  But I really did think that.  I can remember, almost tangibly, how tortured I felt--stuck somewhere between I Want My Mommy and Why Won't She Just Leave Me Alone.  Because I remember it so well, I thought I would understand from the parent perspective as well.  

Turns out it hurts.  A lot.  I didn't realize how much it hurts my feelings that I seem to be the punching bag for my daughter and invisible to my son.   This is just one of many moments that I wish I could talk to my mom about how she felt.  And to hear that Everything Will Be Okay.  

She looks nice here. Don't be fooled.  She crazy.

Since, short of calling up that Medium wanker (and what a bee-eye-tee-see-aitch she turned out to be!), I can't talk to my mom, I'll have to lean on my friends.  Lynn, Judy...you've been warned.

I Think I Just Peed My Pants

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