Shirts and Skins Tennis

Good evening!

Our forefathers died so we could
eat hot dogs on red, white, and
blue everything.

First of all, to all my American friends and readers, Happy 4th of July!  Let's celebrate by grilling dead animal flesh on a pile of charcoal, drinking adult beverages, and blowing things up.  It's what the founding fathers had in mind, I'm sure, when they spilled their blood on the battle fields against the British...who are now one of the U.S.'s best friends.  Fun how things work out.  Given the mess the U.S. Government has made of the place I'm starting to wonder how things would have looked had we just stayed under
the rule of good old crazy King George.

I digress.

Yes, this is why the Revolutionaries
fought the war.  Right here.  This is
Exactly what the framers of the
Declaration of Independence wanted
to protect.

Anyway, today being the country's birthday and all, most people are off work...unless you work at a grocery store, a retail store, a furniture store, a place that sells gas, any emergency medical facility, a car dealership, a fast food place, Denny's, any bar, any bowling facility...you get my drift, a lot of people still have to work. But not me, and not hubby.

So we slept all the way in to 7:30 this morning, got up, had some coffee and pancakes  (I love it when hubby cooks for me.)  We got Skippy off to work at his job  (he's working his sixth consecutive 4th of July at Culvers.  This year he works open to close.) We kissed Peaches, who went to the late viewing of "Despicable Me" last night and was therefore tired, and we went to tennis.

Hubby found this nice, secret, out of the way tennis court.  The fenced area is way wider and the fences are taller, so I'm really happy to announce I did not hit anything over the fence this time!  I have also figured out how to hit a back hand shot without sending it behind me...I use both hands on the racket and fire it like I'm hitting left handed in a baseball game.  Hubby is impressed 1) that I actually hit some back hand shots in the right direction and 2) that I don't grunt when I do it.

We were having a lovely time and then THEY showed up.  You know that couple that wrecks normal people's fun just because they show up.  They're young, they're fit, they ride their bikes everywhere so they've already got a nice shine to their skin whenever they show up.  They drink water from glass bottles with foreign names instead of those super thin plastic bottles that flatten when you drink from them.  (Seriously, we're about one step away from juice bags with these water bottles.  I'm all for using less plastic and whatnot, but the other day I folded my empty water bottle and put it in my pocket.)

These are the kind of people who are so gloriously in shape they truly make the rest of us feel like hiding in a hole because we are too ugly to be in the same world. They looked like this: 

 

I'm not exaggerating.  Okay, maybe a little.  But they pulled up on the bikes and he was talking all rude about her bike.  And she looked like she hated riding her bike.  She parked it behind the dumpster near the tennis courts. He said something smug about the dumpster guys picking up and then he would buy her a new bike. You known that tone some guys take when they think they know everything about this machine or that and whatever machine you have doesn't measure up?  Yeah, he was that guy. 

 

I lost all interest in tennis.  I wanted to hide.  There she was in her sports bra, and not under a big giant T-shirt like I wear it, no just a sports bra...a WHITE sports bra.  And those little shorts that super fit women wear, the kind that hug your thighs...unlike my shorts which hug my thighs because the material is stretched to the max and the shorts have no other choice. She and I might both be female, but we are NOT of the same species.

 

He was wearing a muscle shirt.  I hate muscle shirts.  Muscle shirts are always worn by guys whose big move to impress a woman is to remove the muscle shirt.

 

I was not disappointed...it was only 70 degrees  (Fahrenheit) and there was a cool breeze, but that muscle shirt was OFF about nine seconds after they hit the court. So they were going for a shirts and skins, or maybe a skins and skins match.  Fortunately for me, they opted to play on the courts in the OTHER fenced area as opposed to playing on the court next to ours.  This gave Hubby and me a chance to tennis without apologizing to our neighbors when I whacked a ball into their court...and it gave me the chance to really focus on what they were saying and doing without looking more creepy to them than I already did.

 

Turns out...she was as bad at tennising as I am.  She just looked way better at being bad at it.  My guess is she's a gym rat who got those abs like my friend Dee did at Golds, through hours and hours of classes and weight lifting.  That would explain why, after dismounting her real world bike, she walked like I do when I get off a bike:  Like her whole body hurt and she wanted to lie down and let her female parts stop throbbing...in that bad way they do when you spend time on a bicycle.

 

He, meanwhile, was clearly that guy that rides his bike to work and work is in another county.  He strutted around like he wasn't just watching the Tour de France for the fun of it, but that those were his peeps. 

 

He was definitely the guy trying to teach his girl how to tennis correctly.  And he didn't care who knew it.

 

See, Hubby might give me a few pointers, but mostly he just chases after my balls when I'm blessed enough to actually hit them over the net.  Sometimes we talk about stuff in our day.  Mostly though, we just hit the ball back and forth and laugh when something really funny happens.

 

This guy...well he was trying to coach her.  Loudly.

 

At one point we collected our balls and met at the net and Hubby kissed me and said, "There's no way you're going to be as mad at me as she will be at him when this day is over."

 

Truer words were never spoken.  See, after we finished tennis, Hubby took me to get an iced coffee.  We drove, in a vehicle.  And then I read a little and took a nap.  Sports Bra and Muscle Shirt had to get on their bikes and ride off to the next thing he was going to force her to learn.

 

I like my 4th of July much better.

 

So happy 4th to all you who celebrate.  Let's appreciate and be thankful for the freedoms we have.  Let's show love to those in uniform who have continued to protect those freedoms. 

God bless America!  Land that I love.

 

Sarah's (semi) triumphant return to Gold's!

Good afternoon!

As many of you know I was in a car accident this past July.  Since then, my life has been a whirlwind of doctor's appointments, physical therapy, chiropractor's appointments, and rest.  Well, finally, last week, the physical therapist cleared me to go back to the gym...to swim.

See, the injury to my neck was sort of mysterious for a while, and now that they've figured out I won't die if I exercise  (which blows my theory about exercise) they feel it will be okay if I swim a little.

So, eager to be back at Gold's gym, I packed my bag and headed to the pool after work.

Here's the thing:  It's November.  It's Wisconsin.  It's COLD right now.  So I was cold when I get to the gym.  I was cold when I checked in, cold when I went to the locker room, cold when I changed into my new swim suit which looks fantastic on me  (well, it looks as good as a swim suit can on my body) except it has a snap at the waist band that keeps popping open.  It's not like it's a load bearing snap, it's just there and it pops open all the time.  Annoying.  Anyway, I was cold getting to the pool and really cold looking at the water.

I stood there, telling myself that once I got into the pool I would be okay.  I would swim a few laps and feel really good about myself.  So I stepped down on the first step into the pool. 

I'm not saying the water was cold.  Maybe my foot was already in the first stages of frostbite.  Who can say?  All I know is, sticking one foot in the water was quite enough for one day.  I decided we were going to take this return to Gold's slowly...baby steps...like today a foot in the pool, and maybe next month I'll go in up to my ankles. 

Perfectly satisfied with my progress for the day, I hit the hot tub. 

My time in the hot tub, because I have a weird form of eczema, had to be short as well, but being warm for the first time all day was sort of intoxicating, so I sat in the water a bit.  Two young women (I'm guessing they were young, women over the age of 30 and the dress size of 12 shouldn't wear string bikinis, but I didn't have my glasses on.) entered the pool area.  There was no one else in the entire space, no one in the hot tub, no one else in the pool.  Not wearing my glasses, I had a hard time really making out features and was shocked at first to think that one of the women was bottomless.  Then I realized that her string bikini bottom was the exact same pale pink as her skin.

The two women got into the pool and stood there.  Just stood there, talking.  Now, I've had a lot of conversations with friends, and many of them in the pool.  But I can't think of one time I had a conversation with someone in a pool while I was standing completely still, unless watching children was involved.  So here these two women are, in the tiniest of bikinis, each of them, standing in the pool at Gold's, doing nothing.  (Which, by the way, is completely different from me...I stuck a toe in and moved along.  That's doing nothing, but doing it out of the way of everyone else.)

I don't know if these women got annoyed that I was just sitting there, minding my own business, but I started to feel like they were not pleased that I was encroaching on their chat time.  (Gee, sorry.  Ya know, Starbucks is just across the parking lot, and THEY encourage people to do nothing and chat.)  After a few minutes of trying to just enjoy the hot tub while unable to ignore the fact that both of them were staring in my direction the entire time, (and seriously...it's a big space, you gotta look at me the whole time?)  I finally gave up and got out of the hot tub.

Now, pay attention here, because this is where Sarah starts to believe in Karma a tiny little bit.  See, I was feeling all superior to these women because, hey, I came, I did something, and I was going.  They were just standing there, doing nothing.  So I had a rare moment of feeling superior to someone in a bikini.  That doesn't happen often.

And it didn't last long.  Did I mention I was NOT wearing my glasses?  Oh, and if you have ever been to a gym pool, you know the doors to the men's and the women's locker rooms look waaaaaaaaaaay too much alike. 

Do I really need to tell you more?

Okay, so there I was, feeling superior to the two do nothings who were STILL STARING AT ME.  And, as I made the turn for the locker room, they burst into laughter. 

You guessed it.  I'd headed through the door to the men's locker room. 

Yes, baby steps back to the gym. Like maybe next time I get the courage to go in there, I DON'T go to the men's locker room.  That would be a magnificent next step.

But at least I'm doing it...on Mondays...sort of...and a Conda update!

Good evening!

I promised those who friended me on Face book...and seriously, why wouldn't you friend me...this blog on Monday.  I found that, given my  age and weight class, I needed a couple days to recover before I could...sit up.

Monday night I went to a class at Gold's.  It's called Body Vive.  Dee was SUPPOSED TO BE TEACHING IT on Monday and the sheer force of guilt got me to the gym on a Monday.

Let's talk about the gym on Mondays.

Everyone on the planet goes to their gym on Mondays.  They do this because 1)  They destroyed themselves over the weekend; 2)  They are going to destroy themselves during the upcoming weekend; 3)  they feel tremendous guilt because their friend is teaching a class on Monday and they've been not going for weeks.

Getting into the building was a task.  It took me five minutes to find a parking spot.  I was starting feel that God was trying to tell me something.  Once in the building, yoga mat in hand  (in a fit of optimism I asked for a yoga mat for Christmas.  It's been holding up my dump pile of sensible shoes in my closet for months.)  it took me another five minutes to work my way through the crowds of weekend warriors to get to the locker room.  Once in the locker room, I realized I was NOT going to find a locker easily.  (Again, is there a divine message in this?  I should have read more carefully.)

I battled through to where my friend Shayna was changing.  I don't see Shayna that often, though we are huge Princess Bride fans, so I chit chatted for a moment with her and she nicely let me use the locker she was vacating.

Then I weighed myself.  And let me just say...would the 7 year old child who weighs herself before me please put the scale back to zero?  I'm tired of seeing it set to 102 and then I have to hoist it to the great weight beyond.

But the good news is I lost some serious poundage this week.  Would it be enough to crush Conda?  We'll see.

Now, weighed, watered and matted, I was ready to go back to the room where a mass of women were gathered.  I had to collect a ball and a band  (this is one of those classes that involves props...not a good sign for me.)  I was excited because 1)  I thought Dee was teaching the class and 2)  I hadn't done the class in a few months...9...and I was eager to really get into it.

I even introduced myself to a couple of ladies who looked more lost than I was.  They didn't know they needed a ball and a band.  I felt cool.

That didn't last long.

The instructor...and we'll call her NOT-DEE...okay her name was Sarah and I'm telling you her real name because 1)  I really liked her and 2)  I feel have to counterbalance the bad name my name got when I used the real name of the jewelry hag at Kohl's last week.

Low impact...with playground balls and rubber bands.

So this class is a LOW IMPACT class. 

That does not mean easy.  As my favorite comic John Pinette would say, "nay, nay!"  Low impact, according to NOT-DEE-SARAH, means we get low to the ground.

WE get low to the ground and we have mats.  I smell NAP TIME!

But first...we dance!

Now, I'm looking around the room.  I'm not the oldest, I'm not the heaviest, I'm not the most lost looking.  (I do, however, have the ugliest pants...must get thinner so I look good in some yoga pants.  Yes, I have to diet to buy fat clothes.)  I was feeling good.  I like dancing, I have a good sense of rhythm and very few inhibitions.

Until I started to move and realized that not only didn't I know any of the steps, keeping my focus on NOT-DEE-SARAH meant I wasn't listening to the beat.  And since I couldn't hear what NDS was telling me, I also wasn't doing the right steps.

In short, I looked like a Rhinoceros trying to move gracefully in a small space.

At one point...and I'm not making this up...I stepped on my own foot.  I stepped on my own foot so hard I cannot walk TWO DAYS LATER!

Now this is a yoga class I could
get in to!

That didn't stop me from fumbling, bumbling, and faking my way through 55 minutes.  I was happy to see that the two lost ladies looked as lost as I felt.  I also liked the fact that the bigger girls get to do the push ups against the wall rather than lying down on the floor.  I've never been good at push ups and given my hand situation, I've sort of retired from trying.  So next time I'll sort of lean against the wall.  Or, I could just lie on my stomach and take a quick nap.  That seemed to work this time around.  (I may have blacked out from the pain in my foot...I'm calling it a nap for now.)

This class is designed to work your core and shoulders and muscles and what not.  It does.  Believe me.  My core is raging against me.  Not as much as my right foot, which has officially gone on strike and is sending periodic fireballs of pain up my shin when I need to move in an upright manner, but it's raging.  I like the class.  I like NDS. 

At least I'm doing it...on Mondays.  I'll need
the week to recoup.

CONDA UPDATE.

So, look who managed to lose some weight.  Conda drops 7 this week.  My weigh in, while encouraging, was not the 3.5 I'd hoped for.  It was 3.  BUT, it was also a shorter week, since I weighed in on Thursday last week.  So I guess we call this one a draw.  The good news is that I almost lost all the weight i managed to slap on myself last week, so I'm okay with it.  And yes, I'm aware that Conda is basically losing every week and I'm not.  Well, I'm still crushing her because I'm doing it without a TV show propping me up and giving me trips to Hawaii and oxygen every afternoon.

Look out Conda!  I was close this week...next week, I'm crushing you!

My REAL New Year's Resolution!

Good morning!

On January first, I made a couple of resolutions.  I was going to do the Wii twice a week, go to Gold's 2-3 times a week, and take a multivitamin every day.

Here's an update.

My virtual Yoga trainer
has no idea who I am anymore.

I haven't touched Wii FIT since November.  I have managed to make it to Gold's 2x per week almost every week, with a couple of exceptions, and I do take a multi vitamin almost every day.

But as the first quarter of 2012 closes, I realized something:  I wasn't addressing my REAL resolutions.  That's not that unusual.  Sometimes we can't make resolutions until the year has started because we don't know what a particular year is going to require of us.  This year, I'm finding, is a year where I must have and show NO FEAR.

Let's review my year thus far:  Hubby lost his job in January.  He got a new job, a job that started in a city more than an hour from our home.  His job entails a lot of shifting, working in new places all the time, moving around.  It seems scary for him...but it's also scary for me, because I'm the keeper of the books here.

Skippy finished high school.  He's looking toward the fall with a hazy idea that he wants to go to college, sort of.  While his other classmates already know where they're going and how they're going to finance things, we haven't a clue on either front.  He has not applied to any colleges or anything.  He has a lot of fear, the idea of choosing a career and then paying for it is very scary.  For me, there are two fronts of fear:  first, try explaining why you son, who looks homeless, hasn't been seen by many relatives or his church friends in eons  (because he goes to a different church now) that yes, he was an honor roll student all thought high school, no he didn't drop out, he finished early, and no, we don't know where he's going or what he's doing with the rest of his life. 

Try saying that to yourself about your own child.  See if that doesn't scare you just a tiny bit.  Then try saying it to your judgemental parent/relative/neighbor.  In this society, a kid that doesn't have his life planned at the end of his junior year of high school must be a loser, right?

Nope, not a loser.  Just not interested in spending $20K a year on general education when we don't even know what we want to do.  But there's fear there every time says, "So, what's Skippy going to do?"

He's 18...I don't know if he knows what he wants to do with the rest of his DAY.

One would think that Peaches is the one I don't fear for at all, and one would be wrong.  She's a hard core vegetarian.  She's getting new friends.  She's also, I'm finding, far more opinionated and militant about her opinions than Skippy ever was.  This scares me like you have no idea.

As I look at all of this...I realize that this is a year where I could curl up in a ball of snot and hide.  I could just open a bag of Cheetos and dive in, never to return.  I could get really fat, and hide from the planet because I'm too scared to open my eyes.

That would be easy.

No my friends, 2012 is officially, for me, the year of no fear.  I have to resolve to battle against my internal fears and not only function, but excel.  I have to bite the bullet, and just write the book I want to write and hope that readers will read it.  I have to get my rights for "Dream in Color" so I can control that book as well and build my e-book empire on my values as an author. 

I am okay with the fact that I'm an e-book author.

I am okay with the fact that my son looks like a homeless person, and will probably live in my basement until lightning strikes and he decides to make a career choice.

I am okay with never really knowing here Hubby is going to be working week to week.

I am okay knowing I will be getting emails from Peaches' teachers asking me why my daughter did or said something they didn't like.

I am okay with the fact that  my mother is never going to stop hounding me about getting a vial of corn put on my belly button so that she can prove i'm fat because I like corn on the cob.  (That's another post for another day.)

I am okay with the fact that I may never be thin again.

Yesterday at my Mad City Romance Writers meeting, wonderful romance author Christine Merrill spoke on how to rouse emotions in a reader.  She is a very funny lady who has us in stitches every time she speaks.  Yesterday she said something that rang true with me.  People who are happy, cheerful all the time probably arent' that funny.  It's the unhappy, uncertain, distressed people who used humor as a defense mechanism.

Maybe that's why this blog works so well.  If you look at the list above you might think I have a lot of reasons to be sad, nervous, bitter.  Sometimes I am.  But most of the time humor is my sheild.  It protects me from being sad, from pain.

So, my friends, 2012 is officially the year of no fear for me.  I'm not going to be afraid to face my life.  Armed with my sense of humor, I will use this blog to crush my fears about life.

Buckle up.  I am going to make you laugh until you injure yourself, or die trying.

It's going to be way easier than actually getting to Gold's 3x a week.


A couple updates: 

THREE CHEERS TO DEE!  Dee just completed another body challenge at Gold's and is down to 137.5 pounds.  Friends, my good friend Dee has lost now 68 pounds since August of 2010.  She's kept it off.  She's gone from an inhome daycare provider to a Body Vive instructor at Gold's.  I could NOt be more proud of her!

Conda once again crushed me this week, but Ifeel big numbers coming on in my next weigh in.  My friend and critique partner, Marie, thinks Conda is purposely staying heavy so she can get to the final and destroy everyone by losing the weight at home.  So I guess that's going to be the way I'm playing it, too.  I'm just going to hide from the TV audience for 3 months and drop 90 pounds that way.

Oh wait...I have NO TV audience!

Well look out Conda...because I just dropped a ton in water weight this week and I've been to Gold's for actual sweat producing work outs.  I feel a reverse crushing coming on!

All I wanted was a pair of earrings...what I got was a blog post.

Good evening!

My good friend Dee tells me that I shouldn't write angry, but that I can blog angry if I want to.  I needed to vent to Dee for about 45 minutes today because of what happened.

You all know I LOVE Kohl's department store.  LOVE IT.  If they sold groceries, I truly would never shop anywhere else.  True, I said that about Walmart, but I really do mean it about Kohl's.  I love their clothes, I love their prices, I love their housewares.

I thought I loved their jewelry.

Let me back up.

Yeah, she probably worked with Elsie, too.

This has been a very rough week for me.  Last week Friday Elsie decided she was mad at me for DOING MY JOB and for DOING HER JOB BETTER THAN SHE DOES and she shrieked at me on the phone at the end of the day.  Realizing that for whatever reason, she was never going to get fired, I decided I had enough, and I cleaned out my desk.  I haven't quit my job but to quote Alison, the Basket case from "The Breakfast Club,"   "You never know when you might have to jam."

Rough week at work often translates into a rough week at home, and this week was no exception.  Skippy was dour, Peaches was sour, Hubby was non communicative and I don't know what we are feeding the cats, but the cat boxes have been super foul this week.  Oh, and thanks to my weird schedule and the fact that I felt like crud, I didn't get to Gold's.

So this morning I was feeling very, very low.  And then I realized that I've lost about half my earrings, all my favorites, of course, and that didn't make me all that happy.  I don't have a lot of earrings to begin with, and the ones I have I really do love.

So hubby, being the good guy he is, gave me the Kohl's card and a coupon and told me to get some pretty earrings.

At first it was a great trip to Kohl's.  I was also looking for a pair of semi dressy shorts. I didn't find any, but I found some Capri pants that slim me, and frankly, a slimming pair of Capri's is far better than a pair of shorts.  Besides, at my age and weight group, I shouldn't be revealing that much of my legs.

So I was very excited about myself when I got to the fine jewelry counter.  I was even MORE excited when I got to the counter and saw that everything was 60% off PLUS another 15% because I was there before noon. 

SCORE!

A couple things caught my eye, but they were locked in a case and I couldn't see the price.  I looked for a clerk.  There were two, at the other end of the counter, talking to each other.  I was the only customer at the counter.

The one caught my eye, walked down, looked at me, sniffed, and said, "someone will be with you in a minute."

Um...someone?  How about you?

She left.  No matter, another girl came up, a young thing, named...Sarah.  I pointed to the earrings and said, "May I see those please?"

Now, maybe I don't understand fine jewelry counter etiquette.  But she looked at me like I'd just asked her to strip down and wrestle.  Then she looked very, very bored.  "Which ones?"

"Those, the blue pearls, those...."  I pointed.

She pulled them out and I looked at them.  I thanked her and handed them back.  "How much is the matching necklace?"

"Which one?"

"The one that matches the earrings I just handed you...that one...THAT ONE."

"That's two necklaces sitting together."

She could haven't sounded more bored...but then I'm pretty sure she'd be dead.

"The wiry one."

She pulls out the necklace, I look at it, love it, but am not ready to part with quite that much room on my Kohl's card.  So I thank her, tell her I'll be back and walk around the counter looking at other items. 

I never actually leave the counter.  Never, not once.  I finally find what I really need, some simple good hoops, little hoops to wear with my other gold hoops from Kohl's.  Again, I can't see a price.  I look around for Sarah, who is also not visible.

I finally lean way over the counter and see her kneeling on the floor, HIDING FROM ME.

Yes, you read that right. In a store where everyone is super helpful and cheery, I managed to come across the one department where they hide from customers. 

"Excuse me?"  I say in my most polite voice.

She ignores me.

"EXCUSE ME!"  I say in a far less polite voice.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to look at these earrings please."

She sighs heavily.  "In a minute."

Now, normally, the wild, loud angry fat woman in me would come raging out.  But it's been a rough week, and I've haven't been well.  So instead, my insecure, nervous, fat girl who thinks she's not worthy of anything makes an appearance and I all but crumble at the humiliation of it all.  This little twenty something in her Dana Buckman (the only reason I know this is because I have the exact outfit in fat girl size at home) suit has crushed me with her witheringly bored sighs.  It was all I could do to stay at the counter and wait for her to stand up, get out her key, unlock the case, and ask "Which ones?"

At that point I knew I didn't dare look at a pair of earrings without buying them.  She had me in her power, and I had to do it so she could be left in peace again.  "I'll take these."  I said in my "I know I'm fat, please sell these pretty things to me anyway" voice.

"You done shopping?"

Well, I wasn't...but then I guess I was.  "Yes,"  I responded meekly.

"You got other stuff?"

"Yes."

She sighed heavily.  "You got a lot of stuff?"

"I have three things, that's all."

Another weary sigh.  "Come to the other side."

While I was making my way around, an older lady walked up to the counter and very nicely asked Sarah if she could look at the sales flier tucked next to the cash register.  Sarah gave the older lady a completely blank face, the kind teens give the elderly when the elderly utter words, and said, "I don't even know if it's a current one, so you can't have it."

The older woman stared at her, shocked at the response.  "Well, I wanted to check something."

"Well," says Sarah, "I'm not giving you this flier, so maybe go up to customer service...they probably have a flier up there."

I was enraged.  How dare this wan little blight of a person talk that way to that nice older lady?

NO COUPON FOR YOU!

Oh, but wait...I still had to pay for my earrings. 

It was sort of like buying soup from the Soup Nazi in Jerry Seinfeld.  (See Skippy, that show is important for something.)  I stepped to the counter, handed her my four things, and then said, "May I use this coupon?"

She looked at it. "This is expired.  So no, you can't"

Now, I've been to Kohl's when they've let people use coupons that are expired, or they've given people coupons, I've had it happen to me.  Not this chick.  She didn't tell me how much I saved...and she didn't ask me to take the survey.  She handed me my receipt.  She didn't even say thank you.

Now, I should have stopped at the customer service counter.  I should have.  But I was in such a mental black out...and you women, you know what I mean. You can't believe someone has just treated you the way you've been treated, and then you think you deserved it for whatever reason.  My mother always felt she had to take it because she was the Principal's wife, and she wasn't dressed nicely enough.  My grandmother felt she had to take it because she was the pastor's wife, and she wasn't dressed nicely enough.

I felt I had to take it because I'm fat.  (I was dressed just fine, thank you.)

I have, by now, broken out of that mental black out, and I know two very important things.

1)  Oh, I will be taking that survey this time.

2)  I may have to stop in at Kohl's tomorrow, "Pretty Woman" style, and inform them that the next time I need to buy earrings, or any jewelry, I'll be going to Walmart.

Granted, not quite the effect Julia Roberts got in "Pretty Woman" but it's a big step for me.

Some things should just stay in the privacy of one's blog!

Good evening!

I am happy to report, my friends, that I have completed my word goal for "Stupid."  I am at 30,000 words, where I thought I would be when the first draft was completed.  Here's the thing:

I'm about halfway through my outline for the book.

What this means, my friends, is that I must rely on your patience a while longer.  "Stupid" won't be out for Christmas, mostly because Elsie continues to give me amazing material every single day.  I do plan on being done with it and having it out during the winter months yet, so please stay tuned.

In the meantime:

Ladies...you know that uncomfortable itch you get every once in a while?  You get it from wearing a swimsuit all day, or nylon panties, or maybe using toilet paper that leaves pieces behind?  Well I had that recently and my usual treatments of taking an acidolphilus tablet and ignoring it until it went away didn't work.  Which means I had to go to my local All-green's to purchase something a bit more medicinal.

Now clearly I'm not a person who is easily embarrassed.  At least, not in the world of blogging.  I've spent many hours regaling you all with my feminine punctuation issues, my unwillingness to dirty a glass, and pretty much every moment I've spent at Gold's gym.  (which reminds me:  Dee convinced me to sign up for another body challenge.  Will I post the embarrassing "before" picture on this blog?  Only if the "after" picture makes me look something like Catherine Bell.)

There's something about this itchy issue, however, that will make even the boldest of women whisper.  I've been in a group of women that have been shouting out the most intimate, gory details of their labor and delivery, but conversation will silence if someone whispers  "You know...I've been having some...feminine itching lately."

So late one night last week, under cover of darkness, I decided I needed to run down to my local All-greens and pick up a tube of something.  The errand actually started out as Hubby running back a copy of "The Town" to the local video store.  (Never did watch it.  Just forgot to.)  Well, I just can't be that cruel to Hubby to make him have to buy something I'm not even able to pronounce.

Thing is, it was late.  I was already in my jammies.  But ladies, you know, when you need something like this, you need it.  So I slipped on my stylish pink Merell clogs and got in the car.  Oh yeah, Peaches came along because, well, she wanted a reason to get in the car late at night.

We dropped off the movie and headed to the All-greens.  As we got out, I said, "Here I am, breaking my number one fashion rule:  I'm wearing lounge pants in public."

Peaches said, "The only thing that will make this more funny is if Tick Nelson is working."

I should explain Tick.  Tick is a boy who was Skippy's best friend in first grade and then, over Christmas break, turned into Eddie Haskel.  Tick is now 18 and works evenings at yes, you guessed it, our local All-greens.  I'm sure he's a lovely boy now, but he still looks like Eddie Haskel and, since I have to see him in church on a regular basis, I wasn't all that excited about the fact that 1)  I was in my jammies and 2)I was about to buy something with the words "Anti fungal" in the title.

Sure enough, there he was, right at the check out counter.  "Good evening Mrs. Bradley,"  he said in that sugary sweet voice that I've known since the boy was five.

Crap.

I sent Hubby and Peaches into All-greens to find something, anything to purchase to cover what I was really buying.  As if buying large amounts of crap would cover the tiny tube.  Wouldn't you know it...the ONE time neither of them needed a single thing.

I slunk my jammied self to the feminine aisle where I found several products that would suffice.  However, I was at war with myself.  Did I want to purchase the high priced, euphemistically titled item, or did I want to save 50% and go through the humiliation of buying the store brand that shouted out "ANTI FUNGAL TREATMENT FOR YEAST INFECTIONS!"

I am, first and foremost, frugal.  Besides, I knew, even as I bought three bags of candy  (don't judge me on how much I spent to save myself $4.)  to cover up my real purchase, that THIS was going to be a good blog post.

My courage wavered, I'm not going to lie, as I approached the counter.  Tick addressed me pleasantly, ignoring the howls of muffled laughter emitting from the hand covered mouths of Hubby and Peaches.  I managed to get through the encounter without making any eye contact, an odd experience for me.  ( I don't have this much trouble when I'm buying the BIG BOTTLE of Jack Daniels and a former Sunday School student is working the checkout lanes.)

Maybe I'm old fashioned.  Maybe I believe there should be a woman on every shift at All-greens so that I don't have to suffer this shame outside the privacy of my blog.

Maybe I'll just eat more yogurt.

Um...is there any chance Gold's offers a Remedial Body Vive class?

Good morning!

The things I let Dee convince me to do.

Saturday she asked me to meet her at Gold's so that we could work on our "journey" essays.  She said she was taking a couple classes in the morning.  (because for her, working out five days a week is just not enough) and that I should join her for "Body Vive."

The way she described it:  "It's a super easy class that involves bouncing a ball and pulling on rubber bands.  You'll love it."

Those of you who have read this blog before know that when it comes to exercise, Homey don't LOVE anything.  Homey tolerates exercise as a way to balance out the snack food on which she lives.  So to say I was skeptical about loving this class was, I believe, a flat out lie on Dee's part.  A lie for which she must be punished.

I am a woman of my word.  (A trait that, as I have found in the last several days, seems to be something most people simply do not possess.  Anyone else tired of being the one who has to fix everything when other people let you down?  Let's see a show of hands.  If you aren't raising your hand, you are part of the problem and also, like Dee, need to be punished.  So go to your nearest Gold's Gym and take a Body Vive class.)

As I was saying, I am a woman of my word.  If I say I'm going to be someplace or do something, I do my very, very best to fulfill my commitment.  Therefore, while I do believe I need to have my brain examined, I showed up bright and early for Body Vive on a crummy, rainy, cold Saturday morning when all I really wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee and a good book.

I should have known I was in trouble when I checked in at the front desk.  I asked where the class was being held, and the front desk folks, people who have seen me come in all the time, looked at me like I was insane.  Seriously.  Their collective expression said to me, "Seriously, Sarah, you're going to do Body Vive?  YOU?"

Ignoring their unspoken warning, I took a seat on the chair outside the studio where the Body Flow class was finishing up (Body Flow is, apparently a sort of Yoga meets Tai chi thing.  Dee loves it.  I know they get to do the class in the dark, which is a plus.)  and assessed the other people taking the Body Vive class with me.

Two heavier set girls, check.  An older lady who was explaining to a friend why she couldn't take a different class because it was too hard on her feet, but that this one was okay for her feet, check.  A gentleman walking with two canes.  Check. 

I stereotype, and Sarah, you're not the type to take this class!

This was shaping up to be my kind of class!

And now I must respectfully disagree with George Clooney's Character in the movie "Up in the Air."  He said, "I stereotype.  It's faster."

He could not have been more wrong about this group!

I got in to the studio, where Dee was looking fabulous and not at all like she was at the start of her second class of the morning.  I collected a mat, a ball, and a rubber band.  With this sort of Kindergarten equipment, how hard could the class be?

Then the instructor, a very nice lady whose name I did not catch, announced that 1)  She had no microphone and 2)  She had bronchitis and was really feeling sick.

SCORE!

Oh come on, everyone knows when the teacher is sick the class is easier.  Right?

Right?

Again, could not have been more wrong.

The first five minutes were pretty easy.  Marching, waving the arms around, I felt right in my groove with this assemblage of less than top tier physical specimens.  (Well, except for Dee, the woman next to Dee and the blond supermodel by the door they were perfect.  Still, I felt I fell in the middle someplace.)

Once the warm up was over and we picked up the balls it became very, very apparent to me that 1)  The two heavier women were obviously wearing fat suits to make the class even more challenging and were, actually, professional athletes.  2)  The class the older woman was avoiding must involve walking barefoot on rusty nails because she was a whirling dervish in this class and 3) The man on Canes?  That was a case of blatant false advertising, I'm convinced.

Egads, I was actually in worse shape than an older man who walked with two canes.  In all honesty, as I stumbled through routines, and failed miserably with the rubber band thing  (everyone else could stretch it over their heads...I couldn't get past my waist.)  I realized that what I really needed was a slower version of this class...maybe some sort of remedial class that didn't involve quite so much...sweating and pain.

Oh, and bronchitis didn't slow down the instructor on single bit.

Lifting the ball in the air...who knew that could hurt so much?  By the end of that segment, when everyone else slammed the ball on the floor, all I could manage was to let it fall from my burning hands.  I was mildly surprised, my arms didn't actually follow the ball to the floor because it felt like I'd disconnected them from the rest of my body.

Playground toys or instruments of torture?

It got worse.  The rubber bands?  At the end of that segment, every else snapped them so they fell to the floor with a loud snap sound.  Me...I was already pretty much crumpled on the floor, I just set the band neatly in front of me...sort of like a headstone.

At some point we were instructed to lie down on the mats.  I was relieved, thinking it was time for a nap or at least a cool few moments of gentle stretching.

Oh no.

PUSH UPS!

My friends, I am going to admit...I did not do one push up.  I just recently got back the use of my hands sort of.  I wasn't about to do anything  to risk that.  Besides, my hands were too busy trying to ease the pain in my back brought on by the stress of lifting an air filled ball over my head several times.  Hey, it's not as simple as it sounds!

So I sort of faked the push ups....since the instructor is on a platform, I'm pretty sure she saw me, but she was nice enough not to mention it.  When all was said and done, and we were putting away our toys...I mean our equipment...Dee looked at me and said, "You're going to blog about this, aren't you?"

Only when I've regained the ability to move my hands and arms again, yes.

Now, 48 hours later, I'm still feeling sore and very, very stiff in every joint of my body.  Body vive?  How about Body destroy?  That would be a better name. 

Will I do it again?

Of course.

That is..if I get the feeling back in my legs and the searing pain in my back eases.  After all...who needs to sleep in and relax on a Saturday morning?  Torture with children's toys is so much more fun.

Laundry List Friday: 5 things I intend to do...and 5 things I will do this weekend!

Good afternoon! 

We all have plans for weekends.  And then we have what actually will happen on the weekend.  Here's my list of all my best intentions...and what will probably happen.

5)  My intention:  Go to my daughter's play and have a good time chatting with friends and not snacking.

What will happen:  I will go to my daughter's play.  My parents will show up with my niece and nephew in tow.  Said children will be disruptive, my mother will stress, she will also cry because it's Peaches' last school play in grade school. I will escape to the school kitchen where I will stress eat and entire pan of brownies.

4)  My intention:  clean out at least two closets.

What will happen:  I will NOT clean out two closets.  I will spend 6 hours trying to win a game of Spider Solitaire.

3)  My intention:  Go to Bodyvive with Dee at 9:15 AM on Saturday and enjoy a good workout.  Write our "journey essays" after.

What will happen:  Oh, I'll be at Bodyvive.  Dee won't let me miss.  Enjoy?  Well, since this is a new class for me, and it involves stretchy bands, look for some post next week involving an injury incurred by stretch bands.  The essay will NOT get written. We will, instead, sit at my table and chat for two hours until I have to go to Peaches' soccer game.

2)  My intention:  Go to Peaches' Soccer game and have a rockin' time.

What will happen:  It's going to rain and we're supposed to have ridiculous winds tomorrow.  I probably won't get out of the car.  If I do...I will do the following  1)  Spill coffee on myself and the three blankets I'm wearing.  2)  dump the contents of my purse on the soccer field trying to answer a phone call.  Phone will fall in the mud.  3)  Fall down in mud, which will of course necessitate a nap on my heating pad...if the work out with Dee doesn't already.

1)  My intention:  Watch NHL hockey playoffs while folding laundry, catching up on dishes, planning the week's dinners, and wiping the kitchen down with bleach.

What will happen:  Well, Hockey will be on TV.  Not one other thing is going to happen because by Sunday I will be either sick or exhausted and I will be asleep on the couch.  How do I know this?  For the past 20 years Sunday afternoon has equalled a nap on the couch.  You do the math.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Laundry List Friday: Top five things that have amused and horrified me this week.

Good afternoon!

It's one of those Fridays a writer dreams about:  It's damp, rainy, dreary, and everyone seems to have lost my office number so it's very quiet here.  Who knows?  I may actually get some writing done today!

This has been a very strange week.  I've seen some things that are that rare combination of humorous and horrifying, and that's the list I'm going to share with you today.  Aren't you the lucky ones?

5)  My tax returns.

Ah yes...2010 was an exciting mix of unemployment, aging children, and a new job that didn't take out enough federal taxes from each check.  The end result?  Well, we're getting a decent refund from the State of Wisconsin.  Which should just about cover what we owe the US government.  Yay me!  Meanwhile, we lost $1000 in deductions because Skippy turned 17 last year.  Who ever heard of THAT?  Anyway, in a twist of irony that's NOT lost on me...Skippy is a getting a $3 REFUND from the feds. 

4)  Peaches practicing for cheer tryouts.

Just when I thought we were safe from cheer leading for a while...high school tryouts happened!  For the last three days Peaches and various combinations of her friends, have been practicing a dance and a cheer for the BIG NIGHT tonight.  What amuses me is how very earnest they all are, working on the dance.  It's that sort of single minded focus we need to have running the country.  So maybe instead of career politicians who are only interested in getting reelected running the show, we should instead put 14 year old girls who want to be high school cheerleaders.  I bet they have all our problems solved by the end of first period.

On a side note...as a mom...I was horrified to watch Peaches do the dance routine.  Not because she's bad at it, no, quite the opposite.  After 9 years in parochial school, I had NO IDEA her hips could move quite that...smoothly.  Hubby best start thinking about buying that gun he's always talked about.  I have a feeling high school boys will not have quite the fear of me the grade school boys do.

3)  Our grocery bill for March.

Seriously, we are a family of four and two of us do not eat meat.  Also, there is NEVER ANY FOOD in our house...so my family tells me at 10 PM when we are all sort of trolling around looking for that magic snack that will end our day on a most perfect note.  I look at the checkbook.  I spend the GNP of some small countries every month for food...and our various food storage units are always full.  So full, in fact, that we had to buy a small fridge just for flavored waters and that got so full we now keep our flavored waters in the garage...right next to the garbage cans.  Yeah, that's healthy! 

So how can there never be ANY FOOD? 

A better question is...who does all the shopping so that the only thing we do have is spring roll wrappers, cherry pie filling and a can of potatoes?  (Yes, a can.)  Who are these people doing the shopping?  Did a blind monkey suddenly get a hold of my cart and my check book and now we are left to eat what said monkey flung?

2)  The mother and child outside the post office this morning.

I've had small children and I've done extensive babysitting.  I've had to take children to public places while running errands.  So I know how stressful it is to take a kid who does not want to go with you.  I understand that. 

But the scene in front of the post office this morning first horrified me, then made me want to laugh.

Mom and young son, maybe he was 3, were walking out of the post office.  I was approaching the doors.  We were the only people in front of the post office.  Young son took off out the door at a run, a run which, if left unchecked, would have put him directly into the path of the oncoming city BUS.  (A vehicle that, of course, was empty as most city buses in Waukesha are.)  Mother followed young son out and, unable or unwilling to run after him, she shouted in a voice that would have frozen a longshoreman in his tracks.  I haven't heard that tone of voice emitting from a woman....since I babysat. 

Young son stopped running.  I stopped walking.  Hey, when someone yells STOP that way, you just do it. Mother grabbed Young Son by the arm and started shouting at him.  That sort of horrified me, because, well, he's just a little kid.  BUT, it didn't take much for me to remember the days when Skippy and Peaches would roam away and I would see imminent danger and shout at them for a bit.  If you have raised children and you've never had that "losing it" moment where you just have to yell at them, then obviously your child is a saint and you need to stop reading this blog immediately and go get in contact with the people who pronounce sainthood on people.  My kids...nope, they made me yell.  A lot.

Mother kept her grip on Young Son's arm and we began walking toward each other.  I kept my eyes averted because, well, she was still yelling at the kid and who wants to be caught staring at that?  I looked up just at the moment when we were about to pass each other and she looked at me.  Her expression flipped like a switch to a HUGE SUNNY SMILE and she said, "Good morning!" in a tone of voice that made me think a completely different person was speaking. 

Moms have all had this experience.  You know a stranger is seeing you at a tough moment in parenting.  Do you ignore the stranger and just keep scolding the child?  Do you stop the scolding and give the stranger that, "We've all been HERE" looks?  (This is what I generally do.) 

Or do you, as this mother did, act as if the whole scene had never happened?

But that's not what amused me.  Nope, not even that.  What amused was, once we'd passed by each other, she dropped the facade and CONTINUED YELLING AT THE KID. 

If you can picture it...it was

Panic-yell-yell-smile and act like you've never had a cross moment in your life-pass the stranger-yell.

1)  Finally...MY BEFORE AND AFTER PICTURE FROM GOLD'S, and the fact that I have to hate Dee for a moment now.

Oh I knew this moment was coming.  I expected it.  But after all the flattery at my Party lite party last night (People greeted me as "Skinny" and exclaimed at how thin I looked.)  I thought I was ready for it.

I wouldn't have known the pictures were in, had Dee not texted me SUPER EARLY and asked me to look at hers.  Hers looks amazing, fantastic.  She did the work, and it paid off.  I'm not sure why she asked me to judge whether or not her after picture was good enough to share with her trainer...of course it is!  But hey, thanks for reminding me that I FAIL at weight loss.  :)

Meanwhile I looked at mine...how is it possible my "After picture" looks WORSE than my before picture?  First of all, my hair is bad.  Second, I'm in my stocking feet, and wearing socks always makes my legs look stumpy.  Third, I'm smiling in a weird way.

And then I realized something...I look worse in the picture because I'm looking at something other than my fat!  This is a new experience for me. 

Then I looked at the fat.  Yep, still there.  BUT, maybe a tiny, tiny, TINY bit less of it is visible. 

After that, I was able to once again focus on the funny.  I stopped hating Dee, too.  And all was well with the world.

My pants aren't any looser, but my skin is...does that count?

Hello my friends!

So my twelve week body challenge at Gold's gym is over as of Saturday.  My final numbers aren't as impressive as I'd quite hoped back in January when Dee and I swore we were going to win the big honkin' cash prize.  (Okay, Dee might just win...she's lost so much weight she looks like a completely different person, and I'm sooooooo proud of her...and jealous.  But mostly proud...and a little jealous.  Okay, I'm way jealous because she's been really sucessful, but I'm mostly proud.  Really.  I am.  Honest.)

I also have to give a shout out the to the trainers at Gold's.  There's been a little misunderstanding about how I feel about the trainers and about Gold's in general.  So I'll clear it all up by saying this:  The support I get from the folks that work at Gold's could NOT BE BETTER.  I have my emotional ups and downs, like everyone, but KRAM has been pretty awesome at not taking my general whiny crap.  If I actually paid for acutal sessions, he'd probably beat me over the head with something, but I'm sure I would deserve it.  And I have to say, since I'm one of those folks who only consults a personal trainer when the session is free, I am so pleased at the amount of attention I've been given by the trainers.  I adore KRAM  (can't wait 'til his wife has her baby so that he understands what I'm talking about when I say my time is not my own.)  and Dixie and Kira  (Not their real names of course) have been literally cheerleaders through this process.  While I haven't met all the trainers at the Gold's in Waukesha, I get the feeling, just in my contact with these three, that N.B. M., the gent who manages the place, has a talent for finding excellent trainers.

Too much?

Well every word is true.  If it weren't, this blog would not be nearly as much fun to read.  Then it would just be fiction and hey, you can get your fiction anyplace.  Here you get my real life in blazing color.  Or whatever.

Back to my weight loss.

So I'm not super thin yet, still, I'm happy that things are moving in the positive direction.  I lost 6 pounds, most of them in the last 10 days, which brings my total weight loss since 11-1-10 to the big 20 pounds.  I've also managed to firm up my fat enough that I'm a total of 14 inches smaller.

Where those 14 inches went, I'm not sure.  The biggest thing, people tell me, is that I should notice my clothes fitting better.  I'll be honest.  I don't.  But that's not anyone's fault really.  Maybe I'm just not that observant.  Or maybe Hubby's been switching out my normal clothes for skinnier versions so that I keep thinking I'm fat and I stop eating the ice cream during "Biggest Loser" and then he can have some. 

What I have noticed, is that my skin is looser.  This is something women of a certain age start to fear when talking about weight loss.  So you lose the weight, but your skin is no longer as springy as it used to be and then you're stuck with a lot of skin that just hangs on you like a very weird, sort of ugly sweatshirt. 

I actually had a conversation the other day with someone who decided it was just better to be fat.  Oh wait...I think I may have said that.  Let's NOT share that with anyone at Gold's...okay?

You know what I'm talking about.  You get to a certain age where you realize that if you truly do lose that pesky 90 pounds you've spent the last 10 years building up, your skin might not read the memo. Then what?  Then you're one of those people who goes on Discovery Health  (Oh, wait, there isn't a Discovery Health Channel anymore because Oprah took it over. Thanks Oprah.  Thanks a ton.)  or The Learning Channel and get one of those full body lifts where they just carve chunks of loose skin off of you like some weird Captain Ahab/Moby Dick nightmare.  And then they make a fake belly button for you because the skin you're using as belly skin now is actually from you ankles, and I haven't met a person yet who has belly buttons on their ankles.

I don't love my belly button, but it is one of the few body parts I'm not that interested in replacing.

Oh yeah...you think you have a hard time finding jeans that fit?  How about jeans with the "excess skin" pocket?

So I noticed the other day, as I was drying my hands at Gold's, that the skin on my hands and arms is definitely looser than it was 12 weeks ago.  See, Gold's doesn't believe in paper towel.  A lot of public bathrooms have gone through the air drier/paper towel/nasty cloth ring thing that never gets changed argument when it comes to folks drying their hands after using the facilities.  I know there's a section of the population that might go for optino 4, no hand washing at all, which is why it's a good thing the country isn't run by 8 year old boys. 

At Gold's they've gone with the hand drier.  But, because it's Gold's, we're not dealing with any sissy half power electric drier that will blow for ten seconds and you wind up drying your hands on your pants anyway.  Oh no, Gold's has a hand drier that will, under the right circumstances, send a light weight person into orbit.

Since I am not a light weight person yet, I have to be satisfied with the fact that the powerful hand drier at Gold's ripples my skin sort of like those beach pictures where the sand is the shade of a lovely tan and has measured ripples where the tide has left its mark.  Yes, that's what I think of when I'm drying my hands at Gold's.

AT first I thought it was funny...now I'm just scared.  How long until I'm able to star as the skin dress in "Silence of the Lambs II:  How to Make a Dress of Your Own Skin?"  Honestly, if my arm skin, and my hand skin, both of which are still pretty firm becuase I do pay attention from time to time and put lotion on them, are rippling like that, what's going to happen when my weight loss reaches the less elastic skin of, say, my butt?

I haven't had the courage to hoist my hamhocks up under the hand drier to see if I get the same ripple effect on my fanny as I do on my hands. I haven't done this mostly because just picturing how awkward that would be makes me laugh out loud.    You know, the type of laughing you do when someone you already don't like too much falls down into a pile of snow?  There's no injury, so a deep down belly laugh is okay.

Well, I'm on this planet to make people laugh...I'm just not sure I'm ready to be that funny yet!

Wearing the swimsuit backwards and other stuff I managed to do at Gold's this week.

Good morning!

I was in the pool at Gold's last night, sort of pondering the last two weeks.  I've been in the body challenge for four weeks and the first two weeks I managed to lose five pounds.  And then in the last two weeks I gained four of them back.  So I went over my past week, searching for a reason for this unfortunate fluctuation.

This week actually started last week Thursday when my doctor, Dippy Dudley and I believe I will be calling him from now on, informed me that I'm old and my hands are just going to hurt, but here's a prescription for something that hasn't been working, will probably shut down my liver and by the way, I'm probably allergic to...if the heinous rash on my collarbone was any indication.

I didn't work out Thursday.  I did get Skippy signed up for a membership, at his request.  He hasn't actually been there yet, but it's a good start that he asked for it.

I didn't work out Friday because  I had the weekend free and was writing.  Skippy and I shared pizza and a nice family moment while Peaches and Hubby drove across the state to eat vegetarian fare and smelt.  (That's a fish, for those of you who aren't sure.)

Saturday, I went to Gold's, feeling great and fully intending to work out big time.  As if the gods of Gold's had smiled upon me, they were playing "ROBIN HOOD" in Cardio Cinema!  SCORE! 

Unfortunately for ME, some dingbat female decided that she needed to SHARE her iPod selections with the rest of the group.  Sharing is only good if it involves chocolate, toys, and a bottle of wine.  If you really look at things you shouldn't share, I do believe music from your iPod is one of them.  And how deaf is this woman going to be when she hits 25 if she's got it blaring in her ears so loud that I, sitting ten feet in front of her and focused on the movie in front of me, can only HEAR HER MUSIC? 

Now, I'm not a combative person by nature, I spend a lot of time trying to avoid conflict and keep from falling down.  In this case, I thought perhaps the music was coming from overhead.  So I asked the lovely folks at the front desk to maybe check on that, please, when they had a moment.  It never occurred to me that an actual person in Cardio Cinema would 1)  be using an iPod...after all, there's a MOVIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!  and 2)  be using an iPod so loudly that not only could we all hear it, but it was actually LOUDER THAN THE MOVIE. 

When I realized it was actually the woman on the elliptical behind me, I knew I wasn't going to say anything to her.  I tried to give her my very best death stare, and then I left.  I left and I went home and I watched Robin Hood on my own TV with a bowl of popcorn and a Vernor's.

Sunday afternoon I was going to go to Gold's, and then I didn't.

Which brings us to Monday.  Monday I actually gathered up enough self esteem to go back to water aerobics class.  By this point I'd been off the Aleve for five days.  My rash was definitely better, so I felt confident that I wasn't going to infect anyone in class with it.  (I still have claw marks on my arms from scratching, but everything else has healed.) 

I don't know who the instructor was.  I don't wear my glasses in the pool, so I can't really see faces.  (I can't hear well, either, but we've covered that.)  Anyway, this was a lady who I hadn't had for class before.  She seemed really nice, but really, really, REALLY focused on a couple of moves that she had us do over and over and over and over and over....

Yes, the suspended jumping jacks.  My nemesis.

To her credit, the instructor did look concerned  (I think so, again, I couldn't actually see her face or hear what she was saying.)  when she realized I wasn't gripping the wall with my hands when we were supposed to kick in the water  (ala every swim lesson you ever took as a little kid.)  and she was relieved when I told her it wasn't her fault.  So I was able to make her feel good, which was nice. 

I will say this:  It was a good work out.  I felt like I'd done something positive, plus, I finally figured out how to do that rocking horse move.  Now if only I could coordinate the suspended ski thing she wanted us to do.  Really I just sort of flail around on that one.

Tuesday I was going to go, but then we started the big giant blizzard which carried over into Wednesday.  Now Wednesday I did spend a couple hours shoveling snow. For those of you who have never shoveled a pile of snow, this is a serious workout.  Especially in our case, since there was so much, we really had few choices of where to put the snow we were moving.  In shoveling out the driveway, we carried the snow across the street to the lane divider in the middle of our boulevard.  So it was scoop, walk, fling, walk, scoop for about 90 minutes.  Solid work out.  Of course, by this point I'd been off the aleve almost a week.  My hands swelled and the pain was so intense by the time I stopped I actually toyed with the idea of drinking my coffee through a straw.  The good news is that since I can't grip much of anything, I can only eat what I can pick up with my fingers.  Very small pieces of food only...

Which brings me to yesterday.  Yesterday Peaches and I went to Gold's.  I was going to get on the bike, but the movie in Cardio Cinema was "Step up 3" and since I hadn't seen 1 or 2, I figured I would be lost in the plot.  So I hit the pool.

Ah, something you should know, if you haven't figured it out, I hate shopping for swim suits.  HATE it.  Almost as bad as shopping for jeans used to be.  The difference is that now I know what jeans fit and I can just go and get them.  Buying a new swimsuit involves hours of humiliation.  So, instead of subjecting myself  to the bad lighting of a fitting room, I get my suits online.  And, since I'm CHEAP  I get them used...on eBay.  (Oh don't get all "EEEEWWWWWW"  The suits are clean.)  I found two really great ones this year.  One's sort of a one piece top and shorts with a tummy control panel.  Nice for water aerobics, but not great for the hot tub because the shorts fills up with air or water and then I just look like I have really unfortunate fat pockets...which would be okay if the air didn't the release...then it just looks like I have horrifying gas.

The second suit, my "ladylike" swim suit, is a two piece tankini deal with a dainty skirt.  Okay, dainty might not be the word for something involving as much material as that suit does, but I feel somewhat dainty in it.  There are no tags in it, since it was second hand, but it's very comfy and I like it.

Since Peaches was with me, I changed from my warm clothes to the suit in a stall.  No need for her to see what time and love of Cheetos has done to me just yet.  Wait til she's my primary caregiver.

Do you know...bathroom stalls really don't have a lot of space for changing clothes. No, I don't use the handicapped stall because that's just rude...unless I really have to and there's no other stall open, of course.  But regular stalls are really sort of tiny.  Hey, I change clothes whilst sitting on the toilet all the time...which you probably didn't know, but whatever.  But changing in a public place where the stalls are little, that's a challenge.  I'm saying this because I'm trying to explain why, when I emerged from the stall, it was abundantly clear to me that I was wear the bottom of my swimsuit backwards. 

In my defense...oh whatever.  The bottoms were on backwards.  In walking back to my locker, I gave myself a delightful spandex wedgie.  I fixed it and went for a swim.

Dee was working last night so it was nice to chat with her for a couple minutes after my swim.  And by chat I mean she gave me a pile of grief for not working out more.  I do love that woman! 

Anyway, in chatting with Dee, (I have a rule about getting naked in front of someone when I'm discussing our kids and their teachers.  I try to avoid it.)  I delayed changing back into my street clothes a few minutes.  Peaches wasn't in the locker room, I figured I had time to get dressed without fighting my way around the stall.

I thought wrong.

Poor Peaches.  She'd rather die than say a word to hurt my feelings or admit she was embarrassed.  But I don't have to think to hard to recall the time I saw my mother's bare fanny....I was seven.  I walked in on her in the bathroom.  The image is burned in my brain.

So...

So in the car on the way home I took the bull by the horns.  "I'm sorry you say my bare fanny."

"It's okay."

"I didn't realize you were coming in so soon."

"It's okay."

Then we went home, made grilled cheese sandwiches, and watched episodes of "Quantum Leap" on Netflix.

So in review of my week at Gold's.  I managed to get Skippy a membership.  I shot a death stare at a rude iPod user.  I lived through a really hard water aerobics class.  I put on my swimsuit on backwards.  I let my daughter see my regal rump.

The only thing I didn't manage was to lose five pounds.

Will I be there tonight?  Well no, and here's why:

After a really good swim last night, hubby asked if I would join him in a futile search for a roof rake.  (Again, for those of you who don't get snow, this is a tool you use to get heavy snow off your roof before it crushes you in your sleep.)  I say futile, because if Vicki  (her real name) at the Home Depot is to be believed, there were no roof rakes available all day and shame on us for being too stupid to buy a roof rake BEFORE we needed one.  "I tell you people to come in before the storm or during the storm because we aren't going to have these after the storm.  Why would you wait until after the storm to buy this?"

Well, after that stellar customer service, we walked back to the car and, in getting into the car, I managed to twist my good knee.  Today, I cannot bend it at all.  I think that having two hands I can't bend and a knee I can't bend is God's way of telling me to stay home and watch a movie tonight.  (and we bought a roof rake at Menard's across the street.  sure it was the last one, but a very nice lady whose name I did not catch helped us find it.)

So KRAM, if you're reading this, I want you to know...I gave it my very best this week, I really did.

Oh, and I'm going to need to change my appointment next week to a later time.

(Maybe an extra hour or two will give me enough time to hit that weight loss goal!)

Redefining the term "business casual."

Good afternoon!

It started out simply enough.  At some point last week I ate or came into contact with something that simply did not agree with my very delicate nature.  By Friday I had the start of a really awesome skin rage happening.  By Saturday I was layering topical anti itch creams.  That only seemed to anger the rash.  I call it a rash, but that's really an understatement.  What was going on with the skin on my chest from shoulder to should and all around my neck was really more of a hostile takeover of some really greedy invisible flesh annoying aliens.  After I scratched my neck bloody, I contacted a friend of mine, we'll call her Keri, who has some experience with the pain of random skin itch.

She suggested Witch Hazel.

Yes, they do still sell it, and I'm here to tell you, it's the magical elixir of peace.  I may carry that with me everywhere I go.  It doesn't smell too bad, plus it returned my skin to its normal sort of pale look that most Wisconsin folks have this time of year.

Anyway, I'm telling you all that to tell you this:  Since I was still painfully...rashy...on Monday, I figured I'd only wear soft clothes, something that didn't irritate my skin further.  Now, since I work alone pretty much in an office, we're pretty casual.  I've worn jeans to work every day for the last almost five years.  I love it!  I tend to wear T's, but I also put on casual tops if I know some one's coming in or I'm going someplace after work.  Business casual....very, very casual it is.

However, on Monday I had my usual winter skin on my legs, which is something I deal with every year when it gets as cold as it does up here.  My skin dries out and because I'm sensitive to most lotions, anything I put on my skin generally irritates it further.  Ah, it's awesome being me!  So, with a nice soft T in hand, I decided to just be comfy, since no one else was coming in, and put on the sweat pants.

Okay, they were Dee's sweatpants.  She handed several pairs down to me because I happen to have a thing about sweats...I look lumpy in sweatpants.  BUT, since I've been hitting the gym, and since it's winter, and since I'm NOT showing off my fantastic alligator skin to the general population  (Water aerobics classes of course have no choice!)  I have need to wear sweats.  I am happy to announce that I've lost enough weight to fit into Dee's fat clothes!  YAY ME!

Obviously someone who is wearing deodorant!

So Monday I put on the sweatpants  and head to work.  Wouldn't ya know it...Bossman shows up!  (Don't get me started.)  This is a guy who likes to comment all things me.  My weight, what I ate  (yes, he goes through my garbage) and what I'm wearing.  Every time I see him.   While that could erode some people's self esteem, I'm delighted to say it has no effect on me because I have NO self esteem to begin with.  What was weird about Monday, however, is that for the four hours he sat in my office with me  (My office is roughly the size of a couch.  Now put two people in there at a desk, and make sure one of the ISN'T wearing any deodorant.  I won't say who, but I will say this:  I haven't forgotten to put on deo since an ill fated camping trip about twelve years ago.  Someone told me deo attracts mosquitoes, so I went without for a couple of days.  The mosquitoes didn't leave me alone, but my fellow campers did!)  he never mentioned the fact that I was wearing sweats.

I figured that he figured I was on my way to Gold's after work.  Which would have been a GREAT idea had I actually done that.  But after spending four hours in a tiny room with his non deodorant wearing self doing tax stuff that really should have been done all year, but now that the deadline is...you know in a couple days, we have to do a year's worth of receipts, credit card bills, EFT transactions...all in one day.  Yes, after four hours of that, I simply could not face the gym.  Besides, I'm so deep into the plot of my newest work in progress, I had to go home and WRITE!

BUT, that gave me an idea for Tuesday.  I would wear gym clothes to work and then go to the gym after work.

Which would have worked, had I not forgotten about a meeting I had at church.  A very important meeting because, well I was running it.

So I had to rush home and CHANGE into something presentable for the meeting.

Undaunted in my new found slovenly wardrobe, I'm now happy to say that I'm still in sweats.  Day three!  My rash is gone, I am going to the gym, but not until after I stop at home, so I really have no reason to be wearing the sweats.  I like to tell myself that if I'm dressed in sporty clothes, I'll feel more like doing sporty stuff at work...like running up the stairs instead of taking the elevator.  (Yeah...I did that one time.  Then I remembered, Homey don't run.)  I do jog in place while riding the elevator, so that's got to count for something, right? 

I haven't lost my entire sense of personal hygiene, however.  I'm still wearing eyeliner  (I haven't gone out in public without eyeliner since the first day I put in on, some thirty years ago.  When I gave birth to Peaches I took two things to the hospital...a toothbrush and eyeliner.  I used the eyeliner.)  and I've got earrings on.  This is, after all, a place of business!

I wanted to pass this on to those who are wondering:  Yes, I do have an appointment set up for my hands.  Tomorrow I see a doctor and hopefully he'll either tell me I need a month off someplace nice like...Nashville...and my boss has to pay for it, OR he'll give me some really exceptional pain killers and call it a day.  I'm blocking the third option right out of my head!  But yes, I am going to see a doctor.  I'd like to not have to wear the brace anymore!

Hey, ya know what doesn't itch or smell funky?  A copy of my romantic comedy:  Dream in Color Digital!  Download it to your reader dealie do and enjoy!