Okay, now I've go to lose 5 more pounds

In my last post I talked about how my upcoming 15 year high school reunion was going to be the catalyst for my new healthy lifestyle.

Well, it hasn't been going all that great so far. I give you exhibit A. The Monte Cristo:


Now if you've never had a Monte Cristo before, well you should. It's like a ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in a funnel cake - and if that's not enough to turn you on then I think you should probably consult some sort of professional.


My friends and I have been in love with the Bennigan's Monte Cristo for quite a few years, and things were looking pretty black when they announced a few months ago that they were closing half their restaurants. Thankfully though the one in our city remains open for the time being but my friend Carrie and I still harbor some fears that the current economy will rob us forever of the joys of the Monte Cristo and so we made it our mission last night to discover the recipe for the monte cristo and to learn how to prepare it to perfection at home so that we would never have to go without its greasy goodness.


We found a recipe online, purchased our supplies and set to work. We prepared the sandwiches:

We dipped them in the batter and placed them in my ancient fry daddy.

We dowsed with powdered sugar - we were a little more generous than the usual dusting you get at the restaurant. Less is not always more my friends!


And then the moans of satisfaction commenced!

Notice the contented faces, the powdered sugar on the lips and the shirt. Ah, it was a beautiful thing.

And we ate it all!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check and make sure my little gazelle workout machine will still hold my weight.

Is 15 Years long enough for them to forget how much of a loser I was?

I got a call today from an old high school classmate. She was calling to verify my address so that she could send me an invitation to the upcoming 15 year class reunion.

What I found most amusing about this is the fact that this will be the first class reunion invitation I've received. It's not as if I've vanished. I simply got married and moved to the city. My parents and even my brother still reside in my hometown and have their phone numbers and addresses listed in the local phone book. However, the coordinator for this year's reunion is the only one that has taken the initiative to actually call my mother and get my information. And that's a perfect illustration of my ranking on my high school's social ladder - an afterthought. Okay, maybe I'm a little bitter. Aren't we all when it comes to high school?

Something unexpected happened though when I recieved this call today. I actually wrote the date down on my calendar. I had known the dates of previous reunions because I keep in touch with an old classmate and she had recieved invitations but I never for a moment entertained the notion of attending, and now here I was marking it on my calendar.

Why? Nostalgia? A sick and twisted yearning to rediscover my awkward social ineptitude?

I can't really say. Maybe because I saw this event as a motivational opportunity. What better way to convince myself to start improving my health and self than the thought of being on display to the homecoming court of '94?

Sure, I'm hoping that the prom queen has gained 200 pounds and lives in a trailer court. Of course I want the guy I had a crush on throughout junior high to wind up drunk and make a complete ass of himself by re-enacting the music video of "Hanging Tough" in only his boxer shorts. But even if she's still gorgeous and he's still Mr. Wonderful it will be fine. I've got nothing to prove. I'm happily married to a wonderful man, I have a good paying job, two wonderful children and a good life.

Yeah, whatever. Now I just have to figure out how to lose 50 pounds and get my tits lifted before June.

Ladies, put on your camo undies and dab some "Doe in Heat" on your wrists!

I don't think any further comment is needed on this one.

So much for the spirit of the season

I’ve been so busy preparing for Christmas that posting has been pretty slow. And the holiday fun is not over yet. I’m headed out of state over New Year’s to celebrate a late Christmas with more family. But I didn’t want to leave you empty handed while I was gone so here is an email that I sent to my very best friend Shawna around the 15th of December after my husband called to inform me that some asshole had stolen my vintage bicycle directly from our front yard.

It was completely non-functional (tires were shredded, chain was rusted) but it was charming and I had put a basket on the front which I decorated throughout the year with seasonal items, and I’d place potted plants or pumpkins on the vintage metal child’s seat on the back of it. I loved that thing and I was planning on writing a blog post about its theft. But looking back, I think the raw unabashed hatred and sense of helplessness that I felt after that theft could not be conveyed any better than in this excerpt from an email that was composed directly after I found out it was stolen:

Some Mother Fucking, Son of a Bitch is going to die! Die a horrific death. If only the fury of my hatred could be fired out of me like a bullet out of a gun, and magically seek out the asshole who has done this, it would be a thing of beauty!

Some jerkoff has stolen the bicycle from the front yard. The vintage bicycle that I saved from the curb and gave a new home to. The one I lovingly added a basket to the front and filled with seasonal flowers and decorations. The one that added charm and whimsy to an otherwise shitty front yard.

Gone. Stolen. I haven’t been this pissed for months, years maybe.

You know how sometimes for fun or an ice breaker people will ask you what kind of super power you would have if you could have any super power, and people say , flight, or invisibility, or super strength etc. Well my super power would be the ability to recognize the people who steal stuff from people’s lawns. Yes, I’d want the ability to look into their souls and recognize what they are and then I’d want the power to punish them for the rest of their lives by making their things disappear. Maybe not even their lawn ornaments but just anything – one day they’d wake up and I’d have removed every pair of underwear they own, including the pair they had on. The next day I’d remove every mirror from the entire house, the next day I’d take the steering wheel out of their car, the spoons, their toothbrush, every pair of shoes . . . on and on until the last day of their life.

They’d wake up every morning and find something gone – just like my bike was gone – and my payback would be complete. . .

And while my reaction might seem a little dramatic for the theft of a bike I got for free, I think it speaks to that feeling of helplessness and violation that you get when something is stolen. You can’t do a damn thing about it and it’s frustrating. Not to mention that if you sit and think about it long enough to realize that some stranger was inches from your front door at night with evil intentions (okay maybe evil is a little overboard but they certainly weren’t friendly) and that you were at home alone with your kids, then it compounds that feeling of helplessness and even mixes in a good dose of fear as well about what “could” happen.

So now that I’ve given you a good dose of reality after the fantasy and charm of the holiday season. I’m heading out for more holiday cheer. Have a Happy New Year everyone.

oh and don’t ever think about stealing anything from my front yard. I’m installing motion sensors and stockpiling weapons by the front door so they’re within easy reach when the next person tries to steal my Malibu lights.

Tacky Treasure time - cast your vote!

The tacky treasures are awaiting your vote! Go to www.freewebs.com/tackytreasures to cast your vote!

Santa Snob

We recently made our requisite December journey to the Mall. Not for shopping, not for an orange Julius, though that would have been nice, except the Julius has raw eggs in it doesn’t it – isn’t that what makes it frothy or is that an urban legend? Maybe just a smoothie would have been better or some ice cream from the creamery – sorry – off topic.

It was time to see Santa – that jolly old soul. The most ironic thing about seeing Santa is that it’s never jolly. We knew the line would be horrendous, and it was. We knew it would be packed with snot nosed impatient children – and it was; ours fitting in perfectly with the rabble.

We’ve gone to the same mall every year since Aaron was born to see this particular Santa. I’m a bit of a Santa snob – I’ll admit it. I’m not going to sit my kid on just anyone’s red velvet robed knee. Oh no, if I’m going to perpetuate the myth that is Santa then by God I’m going to do it right by choosing a Santa that could actually BE Santa.

He’s round, he’s jolly, he has a REAL beard of snowy white, a gentle voice and a genuine way with children. This way when the kids get old enough to realize that we’ve been lying to them for the entirety of their childhoods, they might at least appreciate the fact that we were damn good liars and picked a heck of a good actor to aide and abet us in those lies!

How about you? Are you picky about which Santa you take your kids to see?

Nothing tops the black fuzzy poster

The Christmas season is here and I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get everything done. There are cookies to be baked, cards to be sent, photos with Santa to be taken, shopping to be done, gifts to be wrapped, family feuds to begin, or end . . . and the list goes on and on.

Due to economic issues, and the fact that I am kind of crafty, I’m making a lot of gifts for people this year and while I think they are fantastic, I sometimes wonder if the recipient might think they are completely lame. To combat these fears I try to focus on some of the worst gifts I and people I know have received over the years and in comparison to some of these gifts, my hand knit scarves seem like the most thoughtful and beautiful gifts ever!

Potpourri.

Now in general there’s nothing wrong with Potpourri. It’s not my cup of tea but I suppose it serves some sort of purpose, doesn’t it?? Like an alternative to cat litter when you’re in a pinch? Anyway, it wouldn’t have been such a bad gift had it been paired maybe with a candle or a lovely bowl or something to put it in except there was nothing else. Just a plastic baggie full of potpourri from the dollar store, with the price tag still on it. If you couldn’t afford to give me anything that’s fine, just get a card or a scrap of paper and write a lovely note wishing me a happy holiday. A 99 cent bag of potpourri is like leaving your waitress a 2 cent tip, it just shouldn’t be done unless you want her to spit in your salad the next time you eat there.

Ch-Ch-Ch Chia!

While there is something intrinsically fascinating about watching something sprout from the back/head of a terra cotta (insert your shape – sheep, tweety bird, Homer Simpson, Garfield) figure, I don’t think the Chia Pet has ever been or will ever be elevated to “good gift” status. My husband got one of these as a gift one year and quite frankly he’s still insulted by it. Though he’ll deny it, I think the true insult came from the fact that it wasn’t even the terra cotta one – it was one of the cheaper heads made out of nylon with a face painted on it - you know like the ones you made in kindergarten from your mom’s pantyhose. Perhaps if it had been the actual terra cotta variety, he might have gotten over it by now.

KOOL t-shirt

I think this might have been a birthday gift actually, but a bad gift is a bad gift so it makes my list. When my husband was in grade school his grandparents were pretty heavy smokers and they used that habit not only to supply themselves with lung disease but also with countless gifts for their grandchildren, and I’m not even counting the second hand smoke as one of the gifts! They’d save up their cartons and packs and send them into the company for free merchandise. So Matt was often gifted with a KOOL or Salem T-shirt as a gift. What could a 13 yr. old want more?? Hey at least they didn’t pair it with a carton of ciggies.

Black fuzzy poster

Now in general I try not to make fun of hand made gifts. Because even if they are absolutely hideous, if somebody put the effort into making something for me, I try to look past the fug and appreciate the time and the thought. However, I don’t think coloring in one of those black flocked posters really counts as hand-made so I have no qualms about poking fun at this gift.
It would have been a different story if it had been a gift from say a 9 yr. old, or even a 15 – 16 yr. old. But, no. This was a gift from a grown woman. A black fuzzy poster that she was incredibly proud to announce that she had colored in all by herself! I can’t even remember what the image was – perhaps a unicorn or a kitten or something, shockingly I did not keep it.

Panties

Everyone had that grandmother who bought them socks or panties every year. Well my friend’s grandmother took it a step further – actually 2 steps further because not only was she gifted with panties every single year up to the age of 15 (yikes) but she also was forced to put them on and model them for her as if it was a festive holiday sweater instead of a lacy pair of undies with the days of the week printed on them. No wonder the poor thing is in therapy now.

Mini bottles of shampoo/conditioner from a hotel

While it’s a great idea to share mementos and photos from recent trips with friends and family, it’s not usually looked upon fondly when you share your trip by gifting them the bottles of shampoo from the hotel you stayed at in Hoboken. A friend was once given mini bottles of Super 8 shampoo by her husband’s grandmother. So either her grandmother is very cheap or perhaps she’s not well liked by the in-laws – or maybe both.

What’s the worst gift you’ve ever received??