How to flirt with a fluffy girl!

Good afternoon!

I've just spent two lovely days doing nothing much, and yet, since I wasn't at work, I got a lot done! 

Yesterday was going to write a post about how a very fit 20 something tried to flirt with me at the pool at Gold's.  The tentative title was going to be "Wow, my new swimsuit is MAGICAL."

However, since procrastination is the sign of a good two day vacation, I waited until today to write it, and now the post has a lovely chocolaty ending!

So yesterday I was at Gold's pool with Peaches.  She's off of school, because it's state Teacher's-Get-Away-From-These-Children-for-two-days-and-call-it-conference.  She decided not to join me in the pool, mostly because the last time she did a water Zumba class broke out and she has yet to shut out the images of a dozen elderly fluffy women shaking their maracas in the water.  She opted for the bikes and weights.

So I swam laps...but not alone.  The one other person in the pool was a younger gent, very fit, and very tan, and very, very into doing his laps.  I figured we'd swim side by side, (well, I was in one lane and he was in another one and there was a lane between us and he was swimming roughly three laps to my one, but still there were moments when we were sort of side by side, so it counts) and not speak to each other. This has been my experience the other times I've gone swimming at Gold's.

I was also sort of breaking in my new fabulous swim suit.  I can't stress enough how comfortable I feel in it and how much coverage it gives me.  I'm not self conscious at all about fat or...ahem...unshaven areas (Hey, it's practically winter...you think I'm shaving my legs when I'm wearing pants 23.5 hours a day?  Think again!) because this suit is so great. 

What I didn't realize was just how great the suit was!  After several laps  (his, not mine.)  Fit Boy started a conversation with me.  I assume he was talking to me, there was no one else in the room.

Fit Boy:  "You like the salt water in this pool?"

ME:  I didn't realize it was salt water.

FB:  Oh yeah.

ME:  Well, that would explain my dry skin when I get out of the pool.  (I haven't flirted in eons, apparently.)

FB:  Yeah, I like swimming in the ocean better.

ME:  Well, they have pictures of beaches on the wall, so you can pretend.

FB:  Yeah, it's not real though.

After this sexually charged conversation, we resumed swimming.  About ten minutes later, he started in again.

FB:  Do you like swimming laps?

ME:  Sure.

FB:  Yeah, I like swimming laps.  It's good.

ME:  (Getting a little creeped out.)  Sure.

We again resume swimming.  You could cut the sexual tension with a knife...

About ten minutes later, (can you believe I was actually swimming laps for ten solid minutes?  I was quite impressed!)  Fit Boy stopped swimming and started just staring at the water.   Just staring at it....


Just staring....

About the time I felt I should start looking for sharks, since we were, after all, swimming in salt water  (I have my doubts on that.)  FB started talking again. This time, however, we were on opposite corners of the pool so the joke was on him.  I didn't have my glasses on an therefore could not hear him.  All I made out was, "Underwater...."

I paddled a bit closer and realized he was talking about swimming underwater.  And I also realized he was looking right at me.  (Not, I don't know what his face looked like...no glasses.  I know he was fit and he was tan, and he wasn't all that tall.)  so I thought, to be polite, I should respond.

ME:  You want me to swim underwater?

FB:  No, I'm going to swim underwater. 

ME:  Oh.  Okay.

FB:  It's not dangerous.  I've done it before.

ME:  (Wondering why he's sharing this bit of information with me.)  Okay.

FB:  But if I don't surface for a while...

ME:  (surface?  We're in 36 inches of water.)  Oh, if you don't come up for air in like five minutes I should call someone?

FB:  (Obviously hoping I would suggest mouth to mouth)  um...yeah.

ME:  Okay.

So Fit Boy takes several deep breathes and then plunges...into 36 inches of water.  I paddle back and forth, and he swims under water for a very impressive....half a length.

Call the paramedics!  He was under water for twelves seconds!

He tried a few more times to extend his distance underwater, and he was getting better.  Then a couple of folks showed up to soak themselves in the hot tub, so our private time was over.  That didn't deter this soggy Romeo from wooing his modestly suited Juliet!

FB:  Okay, do you think I can go out and back underwater?

ME:  (you do realize, we've known each other about 30 minutes, I have no idea what your face looks like and honestly, in the entire time we've know each other you haven't swum more than half a length underwater.)  Sure...go for it!

FB:  Okay, I will! 

He took several deep, and very dramatic breaths, and then dove down deep...probably 34 inches at least.  I continued paddling back and forth, keeping a motherly eye out for him. 

He made it a length and one body length.  I cheered for him when he surfaced.  Hey, you have to encourage the youngsters!

He got out of the pool shortly thereafter, but not before he spoke one last time to me.

FB:  I'm giving it up today.

ME:  You'll do it next time!

FB:  You think?

ME:  Sure, why not?

He then popped out of the pool...had I known I was speaking to someone in a SPEEDO  I probably would have kept quiet....and then he left.  And my world was dark.  Mostly because I decided to swim underwater for a bit.  I made it half a length.  Of course, I didn't take the big dramatic breaths....

But that's not where this story ends.  It was where I was going to end it, but then I went cheese and bread shopping with Hubby to Brennan's.  For those of you familiar with Brennan's, you know it's impossible to get out of there for under $50.  I generally have lunch there with all the samples and then even the score by buying tons of fruit and cheese.  So we were getting bread and cheese when I texted Skippy about something.  An older gent saw me texting and said, "If you're texting my wife, tell her I'm not here."

We all shared a good laugh.

Later, while I was shopping for cheese, Hubby joined a group of men loitering between the beer case and the butcher's counter.  Because that's where men are men.  I heard them discussing Hubby's sister's bar in Lake City, CO.  (The Packer Bar, if you're that way.  Tell Lynn and Gavin I sent ya!)  I picked my cheese and ambled over to them.

The older guy asked me what I got and I showed him.  Then he said, "Do you like chocolate?"

ME:  Yes.

OG:  Just a minute.

ME:  Okay.

OG:  Here ya go.

He handed me a cupcake from his package of half a dozen.  It was a lovely cupcake...thick sour cream chocolate frosting.....yum!  I carried it like the Holy Grail while we finished our shopping.  Older  Guy sort of stalked us around the store.

OG:  You gonna eat that or watch it?

ME:  Well, I'm sort of messy, if I eat it, I'll get frosting all over my face.

OG:  Well, this is the place for that kind of thing! 

ME:  Okay.

So I stuck my finger the in frosting and then licked my finger...much to his delight. 

OG:  I told you it was yummy!

See, my friends, THAT is how you flirt with a fluffy girl!  Maybe it's because he gave me chocolate. Maybe it's because he wasn't wearing a speedo and trying to impress me with his lack of swimming prowess.  Or maybe it's because I was wearing my glasses...but I'll never forget that older man.  He was a darling, and I hope he makes his way to Colorado.  He says he was once a professional ice sculptor.  I'd like to see his work!

THE GROSSEST STORY I'VE EVER TOLD!

WARNING!  TODAY'S POST CONTAINS MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR MEN AND THOSE WITH LOW TOLERANCES FOR GROSSLY FUNNY STORIES. 

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.  THAT MEANS YOU, TODD!  :)



I'm moderately certain I scared a Direct TV saleswoman back to California.

Here's how it happened:

Friday night Hubby, Peaches and I were shopping for a new TV at the local warehouse membership club store.  The TV we've owned for almost 5 years was starting to show signs of falling apart, and we'd been saving for one of those new fangled HD dealios anyway, so Friday night was the night. 

We found the model we wanted and, since you can't just buy a TV, you have to buy all sorts of props and cables and players and what not, Peaches and Hubby ran about the store whilst I stood guard over our new PRECIOUS.  The Direct TV sales person was standing there and, since I'm incapable of standing next to someone for five seconds without talking to them, I started chatting with her.

The topic of our old TV and when and where we bought it came up.  As luck would have it, I have a great...but very gross story...to go with the purchase of our last TV.  So I thought since the Direct TV person was a lady, and since we'd been chatting for about 10 minutes, we were obviously close enough friends I could share this story with her.


The Last TV we bought we had to buy during the Winter Olympics of 2006.  Our older model died in the middle of the ski jumping events and there was no way I was missing ski jumping.  So we got into our 4 door sedan and drove around to every Walmart in the area  (Because actual electronic stores are too expensive and hey, we're smart enough to get our own TV to our own house on our own.) looking for the biggest model we could afford.  Finally, we located one in a town about ten minutes from home.  It was a flat screen, but the old kind  (You know from way back in 2006 when flat screen meant the screen was flat, but the butt of the TV weighed about 65 pounds.)

Buying the TV was not a problem.  When they brought the box out...I looked at that and said, "There is no way that box is going to fit in our car."

Hubby replied, "True, but we are going to take the TV out of the box and then put it into the car."

(For the record, this is sort of how every electronics purchase we make goes.  I have yet to bring home a TV/Computer/Stereo/Microwave box.  We always leave it at the store because our car is too small to handle the big boxes.)

I had my doubts, but hey, he's a smart guy, so I followed him out of the store to the windswept frozen parking lot.  How windy was it?  Well, when we opened the box, the first thing I had to do was catch the thing foam packaging sheets that flew out of the box.  While I was chasing that, Hubby was dragging the TV, which weighed about as much as a husky third grader, out of the box (the size of said third graders' bedroom) and trying to get it into the back seat of the car. 

Yeah.  The basic rules of Geometry have to apply.  You cannot shove a TV that is four feet deep and four feet wide into a space that's...less than that.  I don't care how cushy the seat it, or how hard you shove, that TV is NOT going to fit.

Didn't stop Hubby from putting a hole in the plastic lining of the car door, however.

At this point, I stop chasing rubbish around the icy parking lot.  Hubby says he might need a bit of muscle to help.  I give it my best shot, but let's face it, I'm not much muscle in the best of circumstances.  Standing there, trying to cram a massive piece of outdated electronics into the back of a car that simply will not bend its shape to help, while Arctic winds are swirling around us...that's not when I'm at my strongest. So I went back to the the store, where no less than three slacked jawed teen male employees were standing, watching us do this  and LAUGHING.  I looked at them and said, "We need a bit of help."

Two of them couldn't stop laughing long enough to refuse me.  The third one, who must have felt sorry for me or thought I was some sort of Walmart corporate spy looking for good customer service, put on a pair of gloves and followed me back out to the iceberg where hubby was still wrestling with the car and TV.

Walmart employees at your service!

(The big box had, by this time skittered itself about a mile away on the ice.  None of us bothered to even acknowledge it was gone.)

After about ten more minutes in the frigid air, Hubby and Helper decided that the best route was to fold the passenger seat all the way back and put the TV in there...like a weird shaped older relative you have to put in the front seat.  It was all okay.  The TV was in the car, Hubby was in the car.  And I squeezed myself into the tiny space in the back seat.  And that's when I realized something very shocking...and very gross.

My maxi pad had frozen.  Solid.

I rode home, cramped in the back seat while the TV had the prime spot...and my nether regions were FREEZING because of the ice pack down there.

Ladies, ponder that for a moment.  And, as you're laughing, don't forget to breathe!

So I was telling this story to the Direct TV lady on Friday and she looked at me in horror and said, "It's gets cold enough that that can happen?"

Wait until she has to shovel her first "wet snow."

The good news from this is yes, we got a shiny new TV that's actually FLAT.  It fit in the car just fine, and I may stop reading and writing altogether because I'm in love with this thing they call HD! 

Oh, and no maxi pads were injured in the writing of this post!

I'm a Wii bit crippled today, and I think I just called myself a bad name.

Good afternoon!

Wow, do I feel like an underachiever today!  Seriously.  New Girl and I are being very quiet in our separate offices, neither working and neither doing much of anything.  So of course, when Dee called I was overjoyed to talk to her!

A side note:  Dee has lost 21 pounds since August!  YAY DEE!

Now, while talking to Dee and growing very jealous of her success, I realized that even though I haven't lost a measurable amount of weight (Though I am wearing heavier clothing so I get to subtract more from the total on the scale at work, which gives me a flicker of encouragement), I have been far more faithful in moving my carcass around in an exercise sort of mode.  In fact, my legs have been pretty sore the last couple of days, and I wasn't sure why.

Until I thought about it.

Wednesday I worked out HARD on the Wii.  I did the ten minute step thing where you just step up and down on the board.  You're supposed to do 800 steps in 10 minutes.  I, of course, saw this as a challenge to beat because hey, I'm not that out of shape, right?

Apparently, I am.

I managed to do almost 1200 steps in that 10 minute time frame.  I ignored the smooth female voice admonishing me to slow down, keep a steady beat, stay with the beat that was ticking away. "No way, Voice,"  I said, "I'm going to beat this game and show it how in shape I am!"

Result?  I am all but crippled.  My left calf muscle is so tight and sore,  I nearly fall over every time I get out of my office chair.  Let's add this to my already full force heel pain and you can picture how graceful I am moving from a sitting position to a standing position.  I should actually try out for that commercial where the older folks can't get out of their recliners without some hydraulic lift.  Or maybe I could get a part in one of those scooter commercials.  Or, I could always be that woman shouting, "I've fallen!  And I can't get up!" 

I suppose I should admit to something else as long as we're on the topic of the Wii.  I actually called my Mii a bad name.  I was doing the hula hoop thing, you know where you have to move your hips in a circular motion and every so often try to "catch" a hula hoop that someone else has tossed.  You do this by leaning to one side when the hoop comes toward your Mii.

It looks simple enough...until the sadists throw a hoop at Mii.

The problem is there's a certain amount of timing needed for your Mii to catch the hoop and if you don't keep your hips moving you'll drop the hoops you're already spinning and, well, that won't give you good results and the Wii will probably age you by 25 years.  So I work really hard on this game.  It's supposed to tighten your core, after all.  (A nice by product of something I see more as a challenge since Peaches is really, really good at this one.)

So Wednesday I was hula hooping like crazy, but I didn't seem to be able to catch any of the hoops.  At one point I leaned over so far, I fell off the board.  I got up, but not before my Mii dropped all her hoops.  That's when I let the colorful insult fly.

From the kitchen, Peaches yelled, "MOM!  Don't call yourself that!"

I was going to tell her that I wasn't calling myself anything...until I realized that I actually was.  See, your Mii is you...on the Wii.  And my Mii, except for the fact that she's way more adventurous than I am, and thinner  (there is a limit to how fat you can make your Mii) does look like me.  So, I basically called myself a bad name...That can't be healthy.

Okay, score one for Gold's.  At least at Gold's I don't have to watch myself exercising, and therefore I'm not tempted to call myself anything.

And on that note, I wish you all a great weekend!

Every group of Barbies needs a Fluffy Girl!

(Okay, this is a shameless rerun of a blog I posted last spring on my writer's blog.  However, for those of you who didn't read it...and that would be most of you...I think this fits better over here, mostly because it's my blog and I'll do with it as I please!  Happy reading!)
Last spring I attended what I like to think of as Rick Springfield's annual week vacation in lovely Milwaukee.  Let's ignore that it was yucky and storming out there the week of his four day stint at Pottawatomie Bingo and Casino.  Dee and I attended his concert and had a great time!  We also met a couple of wonderful women, Wendy and Vicky, who, may I say, gave me the biggest thrill in my writing life!  (More on that in a late blog.)
 At the concert, I was sitting in the second row of the balcony, so my attention was not as focused on Rick as it would have been if I'd been in the second row on the floor. Which means I actually took a few moments to absorb impressions of the folks around me. (Hey, I'm an author, it's what I do.)

Can you spot the Fluffy Girl?

The group of women in front of me really caught my attention, not because they were wearing glow in the dark bunny ears (those ladies were sitting to my right) and not because they had a blow up dog dressed as Ron, the dog on the cover of Rick's "Working Class Dog" album. (those ladies had seats on the main floor.) No, what struck me about the women in front of me was the fact that there were two very skinny ladies and one...fluffy girl.

You see this all the time, but especially at concerts. In a group of women, there will be at least one girl who is a bit more...healthy. (I'm that person in my group, so I get to write this without offending anyone.) I've always wondered if the fluffy girl feels like a fifth wheel or anything like that. I know I do sometimes, which is probably why I make up for it by being a bit louder a bit funnier, a bit more jovial.

As I watched these three women I realized that I was looking at this all wrong. The fluffy girl isn't the tag along. She's not the one the Barbie dolls have to bring along. She's the anchor! She's the most important person in the group.
What do I mean? Easy. Sitting in the balcony, Barbie one and Barbie two were slamming plastic cups of white wine at a pace well beyond their weight class. Since they were precariously perched on spiked heels built for altitude, as they got tipsy, they started wobbling as they leaned on the railing of the balcony. Leaning to the point of nearly falling into the laps of the partiers below.

Fluffy girl to the rescue!

Fluffy Girl steadied both those Barbies and kept them from crashing over the railing several times during the concert. She helped them out of their seats after the concert and I'm sure she drove them home and tucked them into their beds.

So, thinking about it, I realized that every group of Barbies needs a fluffy girl to act as an anchor so when the Barbies play too hard, Fluffy Girl protects them from harm.

If you are a Barbie, be kind to your Fluffy girl friend. She's the one you'll be leaning on someday. If you are a Fluffy girl, I salute you! You are my sister, and this world needs more of you! (And, by the way, I wrote Dream in Color with the Fluffy Girls in mind.)

Wii aged Mii

Good afternoon!

So, the other day, after being declared by my Wii to be 10 years younger than I am, I decided I was going to Wii more.  Hey, Wii is more fun, you get immediate feedback on how successful you are, and, biggest bonus, Wii tells you you're 10 years younger than you are.

I made the conscious decision to do the Wii in the morning, before everyone else gets up.  In my house...well, that's 5:15 AM.

Yep, you read that right.  5:15 AM.  That means, if I'm going by my normal night schedule, if I go to bed after the second episode of Friends, which ends at midnight, I get a full five hours of sleep.  That's with a 15 minute time to fall asleep built in.  Even with the help of Tylenol PM, I don't fall asleep that fast.  And sleep deprivation, they keep telling me, is a bad thing.  I don't know how bad it can be, though.  I haven't slept more than 7 hours any night of my life since 1992 and it hasn't affected me one bit.  NO, I DO NOT SUFFER FROM SLEEP DEPRIVATION!  I LOVE EVERY SECOND OF IT!

Getting up this early to exercise also forces me to ignore the fact that I loathe, loathe, LOATHE getting up in the morning!  I love the early morning hours, but I usually love them more when I'm in the process of going to bed rather than getting up.  I am not one of those people who gets lost in the magic of a sunrise.  I look out the window and say, "Well, I obviously got up too early since I'm up before the SUN!" 

Nonetheless, I set my alarm for 5:15. My plan was to get up at 5:15, and do a half an hour, which would put me done with the work out at 5:45, about the same time Hubby gets out of the shower and the "Wake up Skippy" time begins.

Those of you familiar with the Wii Fit Plus programs know that this is, of course, impossible.  First of all, you have to do the body test.  That takes, I know now, five minutes.  Then you have all the time between the little games you play for the "ready set go" you get from Wii Fit plus.  An actual half hour workout on Wii Fit Plus, unless you're doing the Advanced Island Biking, and you get lost for exactly 30 minutes (It once took me over an hour to find all those stupid flags.) will take about and hour.  It just does.

Overachiever. 

Then let's add the 20 minutes it took me to actually rouse myself to the point of standing up. (My cell phone alarm clock has the most annoying ring tone...it's like little bluebirds in Mr. Rogers' neighborhood.  You'd think the rage factor in me would make a snooze alarm obsolete.  Not so.)  Then we also have to add the  five minutes it took me to find all the remotes I needed to get the Wii Fit fired up.    By 5:45 I started the body test.  Which is when I realized that doing something like the Wii Fit Plus in the early hours of the morning, before the brain has plugged in to the rest of the body, was a big mistake.  See, the Body test doesn't just score on your balance.  No, those games also include brain activity.  Today I was supposed to look at a list of several numbers and bend my knees when the largest number was in the middle.  And then the Wii covered up some of the numbers. Oh, and I get marked down if my balance wavers.

Okay, fully conscious and after three cups of coffee, I'm barely able to bend my knees, keep my balance, and recognize random numbers.  At 5:45 AM, still in my jammies, and already running behind, I was doomed.    I'm fairly certain I slipped off the Wii board at one point.

Wii is a gentle trainer, however.  "The memory balance game isn't exactly your cup of tea, is it?"

All I could think is that now I wanted a cup of tea.  Or some strong coffee.  Or just a caffeine IV.

After the Body Test, the Wii gives you your body's actual age.  I always look forward to this, because the last time I did it, I was 32, a full ten years younger than my actual age. 

Lights, camera...

52.

I'd aged 20 years in the span of three days.

I know starting a new workout routine is tough, but really, I aged 20 full years?  Hey, I'd even lost 8 ounces!  come on Wii! 

I'm going back to Gold's this afternoon.  At least there I don't randomly age a decade while I'm on the treadmill.

Will I try Wii-ing in the early morning?  Probably.  At least after the emotional destruction that was the Body test, I managed a decent 30 minutes which was actually 40.  I started out the day feeling a bit better about myself.  Who knows?  Maybe I even lost another shoe size!

It Can Only Happen to Sarah!: I finally go down a size...but not where I expecte...

It Can Only Happen to Sarah!: I finally go down a size...but not where I expecte...: "Good afternoon! Whew! This Monday is getting away from me big time! My day job is really getting in the way of my observations of my own ..."

I finally go down a size...but not where I expected!

Good afternoon!

Whew!  This Monday is getting away from me big time!  My day job is really getting in the way of my observations of my own boondoggle of a life.  If I didn't love paying my bills and keeping my mortgage on my house up to date, I'd quit and blog all day!

Okay, so after these many weeks of working out under the watchful..I can't use the word NAGGING...eye of dear Dee, I am pleased to say that yes, I've lost about five pounds.  Whoop de do.  But over the weekend, someone far more exciting happened!  I dropped a size!

Unfortunately, it was a shoe size.

Seriously...this is where I'm losing weight?  My feet?

I was sort of hoping maybe gut, butt, or face...but my feet?  Who even looks at my feet?  10 months out of the year it's too cold to wear anything but fully enclosed shoes.  Who looks at a woman and says, "Oh she's really pretty, except for her fat feet!"

But no, after all these weeks of working out and actually watching what I eat a bit, I lost a size on my feet.

I discovered this by accident.  See, I've had problems with my feet for years.  Going back to high school, when I was a waitress and my ankles swelled after a long shift.  College, the swelling got worse, so I got arch supports to relieve the strain on my feet.  Apparently my arches had fallen.  I should have seen then that gravity was not going to be kind to me.

After college and deep into married mom life, I developed a cute combination of heal spurs/plantar faciatis.  This made walking really painful.  Again, more medical appliances crammed into my shoes.  I suppose it shouldn't have been much of a surprise when I went from an 8 to an 8.5. 

Oh, and then there's the fun little fact that my feet are two different sizes.  My left foot, since forever, is half a size smaller than my right.  Which means every shoe I get is so large on my left foot that my foot slides around, causing more stress and more pain.

In the last year, my left foot has given up the fight and now swells up to a half a size larger than my right.

Yes, it's fun being me.

Well, since I've been having far more foot pain than normal in the last few weeks, I decided to break down and spend some serious buckage on new shoes.  Not fancy shoes.  Just solid shoes that would cradle my poor, damaged, Tootsies.  I'm not a person who shops certain labels.  I look for price.  I'm a bargain hunter.  I'll wear any crap shoe as long as the price is right.  Which is probably why I was limping around the Johnson Creek outlet mall on Saturday.

I love Merell shoes, and my favorite pair is my bright pink mules.  That's first pair I had to replace since mine were broken down and made my feet smell really really bad.  I tried on the 8.5.  It's a size I've worn since Peaches was born.  It seemed a tiny bit loose, so I dug out an 8.  Sure enough, the 8 fit light a glove.  My feet were happy! 

Well, my blue suede Merells were also getting nasty, so I looked around for something a bit more wintry.  I found a lovely pair of leather mules lined with fur.  And blue suede!  (Peaches informed me it was a weird color blue, so I had to go with the black, non suede shoes.)  Again, size 8 felt like a second skin.

Okay, that's fine for those bulky hiking type shoes.  But at the Nike outlet, where I searched for an inexpensive pair of work out shoes, I was certain I'd be getting an 8.5  Nike's are always snug on me, so I didn't even both looking for anything smaller than an 8.5

Until I tried a pair on.

Egads...weeks and weeks of working out actually worked!  I HAVE SKINNY FEET!

Apparently, I now need "Fat shoes" and "skinny shoes."

So, I guess I'm just losing weight from the ground up.  Given the rate of sag the rest of my body has, I figure weight loss and fat sag will meet in the middle...somewhere around my rear, say, mid January.

So I've got that to look forward to.