Thursday, January 31, 2008
JUST CALL ME FORREST GUMP
Forrest's mother once told him "Stupid is as stupid does." and I just did something I'm regretting severely today. I've been eyeing the wallpaper in the hall outside the bathroom. I've not been happy with the wallpaper and it extends into the dining room. We're redoing the laundry room which connects to this hall and it seemed a good idea to strip that paper and paint it the pale yellow I'm painting the laundry room. My reasoning was that if it came off easily in that hall, I'd move on to the dining room and redo that too.
There was only one layer of paper and in the upstairs rooms we'd peeled off layers and layers of wallpaper and paint--enough to fill 20 garbage bags from one room. So how hard could it be to do this one little area. Read my lips. H-A-R-D! You should see this space now. As the wallpaper has come off, PAINT has come off with it! The whole thing will probably have to be skim-coated with drywall compound before we can paint it. I've never had paper this hard to remove.
Now I'm looking at that paper and wondering why I hated it so much. LOL It was really rather pretty. Much prettier than the peeling pain under it. And really that space needed wallpaper because of the wide oak trim and the big built in oak cabinet in it. So this is one of those moments where you look back and wonder what you were thinking. You ever have one of those trials? I've had my share of remodeling disasters but this is one I brought on myself, that's what makes it so bad. There was no reason to be in this mess other than my own stupidity. LOL
posted at 7:30 AM
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
I admit that I don't follow politics very closely, but every year when the president gives his State of the Union Address, I'm there.
This year, it was a family event. I'm not sure what brought my boys to the TV set that night. Probably the fact that all their shows were ditched because of the address. (If they think it's bad now, they should've been born back in my day when we had a total of 3 channels to choose from and all three were covering the address. And yes, I did tell refute the whining with that statement.)
Now for the big admission. I don't watch the speech to hear what the president says. Not that it doesn't matter or that I don't find it interesting. I just don't find it near as interesting as watching Congress acting like a bunch of babies. Hey, it's where I'm at.
Who's sitting? Who's clapping? Who's yawning? Who's snubbing? It's a people-watchers delight, that speech. My boys stayed around for the whole thing.
"Look, he's not even clapping."
"Why is only half the room applauding?"
"Why is she reading that paper while the President talks? That's rude."
Ah, American politics at its best. My kids are learning early.
posted at 7:07 AM
Monday, January 28, 2008
My daughter says I have some kind of weird magnetic energy. I think she's right.
I go through laptops faster than anyone I know. I'm not abusive or careless. These things don't come cheap, so I'm careful, okay?
But with the last four laptops I have had a power problem. It's like they suddenly go black and we can't get the screen up and running again.
Then last week something really weird happened. I picked up our daughter's TV remote and the TV went black. That's when the word "alien" was uttered.
I'm wondering if this has anything to do with all that techno stuff my husband has around the house. I've told you about all that. No doubt I clapped one too many times to get the lights turned off.
But last week when the microwave zapped to silence the minute I walked into the kitchen--well, I'm starting to get a complex, that's all. I'm quite certain my presence in Vegas could shut down business for days.
Do you think there could be some kind of correlation between my electrical impulses and the hot flashes?
I need help.
I need chocolate.
I need a battery recharge.
But don't even think about telling me to go outside with a kite during a lightning storm. There's only so much I'm willing to do, just so you know.
posted at 8:13 PM
Sunday, January 27, 2008
I was watching "Project Runway" the other night, and this designer who won in the 501 Jean design competition started getting teary. So our hostess with the mostest, Heidi Klum, asks him what's going on, and he stammers out something like this, "This is such a roller coaster. Do I suck? Do I not suck? It's just a crazy ride." And designer Michael Kors said, "And it never ends."
I was stunned. It's the same in designing as it is in writing? Are all creative people stuck on this wild ride? "Jane, stop this crazy thing!" (For you youngins, that's a reference to the Jetsons." Working in the creative field feels like such a battle some days. You love it, you hate it. You fight every inch of the way to get the idea on paper into a cohesive story while juggling everything else in life. Then, you battle editing and marketing and distribution and it really is that daily question...do I suck? Do I not suck?
Wouldn't it be great if we could just dwell in the fact that we're worthy in God's eyes? Well, sure it would, but I'm a girl and what I really want is this incredible Bottega Veneta handbag and even though I should know better, and I shouldn't covet and blah blah blah. I still want the stinkin' supple leather!!! I want my work to matter. And for me, this is measured by Italian leather. Sue me. I'm shallow. But please, let me be shallow with a great handbag.
Okay, the picture is an aye aye -- a relative of the lemur. We used to have some at the SF Zoo, but they're gone now. Anyway, can you look at this thing and not laugh? We need this kind of presence on a Monday morning.
Friday, January 25, 2008
STONES OR REMEMBRANCE
Celeste is one of precious blogger friends who checks in with us every day. Six months ago today her precious 13-year-old daughter Chelsea Rae went home to Jesus after a six month battle with bone cancer. Chelsea is a very special girl. Go to Celeste's blog here http://www.celestemc.blogspot.com/ to see some video. Her faith and courage through this trial is an inspiring story!
Lord, I pray you hold Celeste and Jeff in your arms. Be so close to them that they feel Your breath touch them. Cement the good memories in their hearts and let the bad ones melt away. Thank you that Chelsea Rae and the impact she had on so many people. Let her little sister treasure the memories they made together too. Amen. Amen.
Celeste, you mean so much to all of us here. Thank you for being our friend. Thank you for the courage and faith that inspires us all. You are an amazing woman! I thank God He brought you into our lives!
posted at 7:53 PM
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Life's most embarrassing moments are really, well, embarrassing.
I believe we've already covered this on the blog. I'm probably even the one who brought it up. But it bears repeating.
The current book I'm working on "Bittersweet Surrender" involves a heroine who owns a chocolate spa (aren't you surprised?). Okay, so I don't know a lot about spas. Sure, I've had a few massages, but I needed to know more for my book. It just so happens the place where I get my hair done also has a spa. So I ask the owner for an interview and he agrees. Here's where the embarrassing part comes in.
Remember when I was sick last summer? They thought I had TB, so they made me wear a mask when I went around people? Okay, so the next time I see the owner is when I go in to get my hair done at the end of the day looking very much like Zorro--without the sword. Though now that I think about it, I probably should have carried one.
Mr. Owner wants to know how my trip to French Lick was (don't look at me, I didn't name the town). Now picture this with me if you can. I'm trying to be a professional, okay? I mean, for crying out loud, I had interviewed the man. I'm a full-time novelist. But there I sit in this chair, draped in a Godzilla-sized bib, mask covering my nose and mouth--and did I mention I was in for a highlight? Right. Foil.
Okay, so we've got the humongous bib, the frightening mask, and squares of aluminum that section my head like a U.S. map and he wants to know about my trip to French Lick? Please.
I just want you to know, not only was I embarrassed, but, something tells me I didn't come across all that professional. Could just be me, though.
Please tell me you've been there, done that.
posted at 8:00 AM
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Nothing is more important than family...you get strength from taking care of others...giving is better than receiving. Yeah, yeah, but something happens on the 400th pair of underwear you fold. You say to yourself, I have got to get out of this house before I start to believe that I am a bus-driving/underwear-folding/short-order cooking/dishwashing MACHINE.
This is a job for Girls Night Out! Hubby: "Oh, you want to go to the movies? We can go to the movies." I look at the family's drawn faces, my husband is the type who has to be early to the movie because if he's not, he's one of those people who will climb over everyone to get the perfect, middle seat. And there are six of us! And someone will drink too much and have to pee in the middle of the movie. Then, there are the hubby's questions, "You're going to eat that candy AND the Diet Coke? Is that really good for you?" Me: "How many times MUST you explain that they cancel each other out!
"Mom? Can we get Popcorn?" "I saved my own money for a soda!" "Oh, you buy the candy, I've got allowance for the video games. We can play during the previews..."
"STOP!! Everyone Stop!!! You're not going to the movies. I
am going to the movies. I am seeing a chick flick ! With Beth (BFF since four.)
We had popcorn. We had a salty pretzel. We had a big Diet Coke, AND we had sour candy. And here's the coolest part, some woman in front of us got a free coupon for her movie being broke, and we got all this loot, a cash value of oh, about $60 for $8.75.
We saw 27 Dresses, a most excellent chick flick. Some nights you just need to be with someone who can say Bay City Rollers and make you laugh out loud. Someone who knows you so well that your Christmas present consists of truffles shaped like handbags, a bathtub reading shelf for your books and a teapot for your collection with Oscar Wilde quotes.
Crapfest food for Movie: $8.75
Homemade roast the next day for thank you to family, $22
Time with BFF to be a child for the night: Priceless
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
IS IT CHANGE, AGE, OR . . .?
I never thought I'd see the day but it finally happened. My husband has had a Dell laptop for several years for church work. He's the treasurer. He has to use a computer at work but he's always CLAIMED he hated it. Every since Christmas when our baby girl got him a wireless modem for his laptop, I glance over at him in his chair and he's surfing the web! My staid, controlled husband has turned into a geek! How did this transformation occur?
I used to think age determined who loved computers and who didn't. I'm a computer geek and have been ever since they first came out. I still have a love affair going on with my MacBook. I turned 56 on Saturday so I'm hardly a spring chicken anymore though. My parents use a computer. My in-laws wouldn't touch one if you paid them, but they're a good ten to fifteen years older than my parents. My Aunt Edith loves email.
So what makes the difference between someone who takes to the computer with gusto and someone who distrusts them? I thought Dave's advanced years (he's 4 years older) was what made him dislike them but he's proved me wrong. So it's not age, though I know young ones have computer chips in their blood. There are folks at church younger than me who don't have a computer nor do they want one. Now THAT'S an attitude I don't understand! LOL My MacBook is attached to me at all times.
Have you thought about this? What is it you love about the computer? And what makes the difference? By the way, I was a computer geek way before the Internet too. I wrote my first book on a little Radio Shack TRS 80. It didn't even have a hard drive! How far we've come. Now I so adore my MacBook, I'm not even tempted by the new Mac thin and light laptop.
So what's your opinion, Universal Mind?
posted at 7:21 AM
Monday, January 21, 2008
Some people get attached to a comfy pair of shoes, others get attached to a favorite T-shirt or a recliner. My husband? He’s attached to his pillow.
I’m not sure how long Kevin’s had it, but it came into our marriage with him almost 19 years ago and I think it was his dad’s pillow before that. So this pillow . . . well, it’s seen better days. Nevertheless, I did steal it for a while several years ago; It was firm and just the right thickness.
Several months ago, tragedy struck. The Pillow came up missing. I’ve looked high and low more than once, checking under every pillow case, in every closet. And still, no Pillow.
Kevin had the audacity to accuse me of throwing it away. I confess I considered it after watching an Oprah special on microscopic creatures and discovering that the Pillow was so heavy because of dust mite droppings. Ick. I think that’s when I bought an allergy-proof cover and gave his pillow back.
Kevin has tried every other pillow in the house and none of them measure up. Everything now gets blamed on the missing Pillow. Headaches, backaches, toothaches—all because he’s sleeping with an inferior pillow.
So, if anyone comes across a really heavy, king-sized, dust-mite infested pillow with an allergy-proof cover, can you please let me know? At the very least, the thing deserves a proper burial.
posted at 9:31 AM
Thursday, January 17, 2008
I'm the queen of indecision--wait. Do I really want to write about this? It's something I struggle with, but will anyone else relate? Still, if I don't write about it, I'll probably wish later that I had. On the other hand, if I do write about it . . .
Life is made up of choices.
Think about it. The alarm clock goes off and we have to decide whether to turn it off and get out of bed or punch it into snooze for another ten minutes. Then we have to decide how many times we'll hit snooze before we'll finally slug our way to the coffeemaker.
And if we decide to stop at Starbucks on the way to work in the morning, by the time we decide on a coffee order (Short? Tall? Grande? Vasto? Latte? Espress? Blended? Over Ice? Hot? Whipped Cream?), it's lunchtime.
And if you need a good diet to shed a few pounds, what do you do? Read a book? Go to a class? Do a journal on-line? Go low carb, no carb, low fat, no-fat, alkaline, fish, cabbage, soup, all chocolate (just seeing if you're awake). WHAT do you do????
Don't even get me started on that whole hormone cream versus no hormone cream thing. What about holistic medicine, traditional medicine or NO medicine????
And how about that what-should-I-wear-today deal? For me it's a matter of what still fits in the closet. Unfortunately, my choices there are narrowed down to two outfits. It's a matter of if I want to wear black or BROWN (I just wanted to throw that in, in case Colleen reads this).
For dinner, do we want chicken, beef, fish or turkey? Or maybe go vegetarian? Shoot, maybe we should go straight for the dessert.
By the time I crawl back into bed at night, I'm exhausted from all the decisions I've had to make in my day. I turn over, stare at my alarm clock and sigh. What do I want to get me up in the morning, the buzzer, the radio or the chirping crickets?
posted at 10:23 AM
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I love the City. At some point, I am going to live in San Francisco. When my kids are grown and gone...someday. Anyway, we were up there this weekend, and in the Bay Area right now, all the talk is on the tiger, Tatiana, who killed that teenager. The general consensus is that this boy deserved to die, but the tiger didn't.
I'm a practical girl. Tigers out of their cages need to be killed, and this one (we go to the zoo about once a month) she looked mean, so personally, I don't want her out and about. But whatever. Let's say these boys did taunt her. I've seen them. They looked like troublemakers, there is no question. It's odd that three young men would be at the zoo at closing time on Christmas Day, isn't it? That sounds like mischief in the making.
Either way, I don't think the boy deserved to die for his stupidity-- if he and his friends were taunting the tiger. My son's environmental teacher told him otherwise. Which didn't surprise me, but last night at church, I heard the Christians saying the same thing!
Gosh, don't we all deserve to die for our sins? What is it about this one that gets people so deeply and where is our compassion for parents -- who perhaps weren't the most responsible -- but still, they lost their son. Isn't that heartbreaking? I'm sorry, but a tiger can be replaced. Their son can't. People love to watch vindication, don't they? It's our nature, but as the mother of three sons...boys do stupid things. I've done stupid things. I've gotten a pass so far, and it just saddens me that this kid didn't, I guess.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
I know I'm not alone. Fear of public speaking tops the phobia survey, even above heights, flying, and death. I was forced to face my fear this week.
Okay, so it was a taped interview and not live, but the scary thing is, this interview was being taped for my church--people I care about, people I see every week, people who don't necessarily know I can't string two coherent words together when the pressure's on. To make matters worse, we worship in a movie theater and my interview will play on the big screen. Yeah, I've always wanted to see my face in a 5' by 10' format.
On the other hand, I can't exactly turn down a request from my pastor, now can I? Especially when the options he gives me are "would you like to do a live interview or taped one?" knowing very well I'd rather eat raw snake flesh than speak in front of any group.
Taped it is. I have a full week to dread the event before it takes place and naturally, I wake up with a monumental zit the morning of the interview. They show up at the appointed hour--Allen, our frequent blog friend, is taping and my pastor is asking the questions, which, in all fairness, he did email me beforehand.
I just want to get it over with, the sooner the better, you know? I keep wishing it's twenty minutes later and time to edit the thing down to the two coherent sentences I managed to utter.
But as they set up, they discover someone forgot to bring a tape. I won't say who, but his name starts will Al and ends with len. They have to run to Target to get one. While they're gone, I try to stay busy so I don't get any more nervous.
It doesn't work.
They get back and we finally begin taping. It's going pretty well, I think. My answers might not be revolutionary, but I feel like I might be making sense. Twenty minutes later, it's over, and I'm downright giddy with relief. Woohoo! I survived. Now, if I just come down sick the morning they show it at church, all will be well.
"Uh, Denise . . . " I hear from Allen who's been reviewing the interview with headphones. "Do you have a few minutes more?" he asks.
Come to find out, someone forgot to test the sound before the interview and we need to do the interview over. I am dragged kicking and screaming into another interview.
I can't remember a thing I said the second time, but I'm trying to look at the bright side. If the congregation gets bored, they can always play connect the dots with my pores.
posted at 9:57 AM
Monday, January 14, 2008
I have a motherly soul. It comes from being the oldest and the only girl. Growing up, I mothered my brothers to within an inch of their lives, and I still do now that they're adults. Poor guys. I tend to want to "fix" things and so people call me for advice and I'm happy to give it. LOL
But I realized this week that sometimes I've taken it too far. I've totally traumatized Diann. She was giving Lonestar Secrets a quick read-through before I sent it to my editors. The next thing I know, Diann is on the phone demanding to know what is wrong with me. I've put Shannon in a BEIGE dress. I don't let anyone wear beige or brown, she says. I then have to explain that Shannon is a SPRING. She can wear creamy tones. She would look terrific in camel. And then here we are talking about Shannon as if she actually exists. Writers are just plain weird and I can't blame this on the Lyrica. LOL
But here's how the traumatizing happened. We were at conference. She'd bought a new pantsuit and it was BROWN. The worst possible color for a Winter. Now mind you, I'd told her before she shouldn't wear brown and she goes out and buys a brown pantsuit because it was on sale and she liked it. Hello? Did you see what it does to your skin, I asked. Then I'm speaking at a conference a bit later in the day, and she walks in the back after I've started. I think I'm talking about my writing critique buddies and I say something like, "Diann Hunt just came in the back. She's the one wearing brown which isn't a good color for a Winter." I have NEVER lived this down. And let me just say that it took me actually draping her and Denise to prove to Di that she shouldn't wear brown. She thought since she had brown hair and eyes that meant she should wear brown.
And speaking of weddings, did you see the news this morning about the millionaire guy who is actually at the altar ready to repeat his vows and says "I'm sorry, I can't do this," And he vamooses. I could have told that girl she'd jinxed her own wedding by wearing the wrong color. She wore a red wedding dress and it was a deep red--not a blond's color. LOL
posted at 7:04 AM
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I have a confession. Socially, I'm a bit inept. I'm actually pretty shy if you can believe that, but I can turn it on and be as obnoxious as you please if I'm with old friends. New people give me the hives. So last night, my DH and I start in a new small group at church. All of the women are not there, they're at Bunco (which I tried to play once and found myself too lame to talk, play bunco and move a Diet Coke from table to table -- so not my thing.) Anyway, we are talking about this great verse in Colossians 2:16 about not letting people judge you by what you eat/drink, not having false humility -- all good stuff.
But the leader talks about how there were so many rules that these pagans brought with them, like worshiping the cow god -- for some reason, immediately, I get a picture of the McDonald's glowing, golden arches in my head and I am giggling like nobody's business. I know, it's not funny -- but last night? HILARIOUS TO ME! So now, everyone is looking at me, and I say, "No, no...go on, I was thinking about something funny."
My husband gives me this look and I start bubbling over again, and now I am cracking up. I try to explain what's so funny, which only comes out as more gobbledygook (hence why I write, not speak) and now everyone is watching me, and again, I am laughing and no one knows why -- other than some mental deficiency. So we get home, and I apologize to my DH for embarrassing him in front of new people and explain the neon McDonald's sign and he goes, "OOOH, that's what you were saying. I didn't get that." Yeah um, no one did -- but I had some rousing entertainment. And next week, I get to face these people again. Ugh!
Once, when I was in a figure skating competition. I won first place and I went to get my trophy and I left my skate guards on, and I fell in front of the audience right on my bum. That was such a telling childhood moment for my future ineptitude.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
I'm losing my mind. I know it. What else do you call it when someone talks to herself. I'm not talking about an occasional, "Oh that was stupid." No, no, nothing that normal. For nearly a week now, I've been talking to myself CONSTANTLY. I talk to myself like one of the "girls" are here. I'm seriously scared, friends.
Can it be I need company? True, I've been stuck here in the house for weeks. WEEKS, I tell you! Shingles pain hit Dec 1. It is still raising its head and I suspect its the medicine I'm on. Right now I can blame Lyrica for everything. I can't drive. It's Lyrica's fault. I just dropped one of my favorite dishes and it broke into three pieces--blame it on Lyrica. I struggle to find the right words when I talk--it's all Lyrica. I'm a total airhead and I've got something to blame.
But this talking to myself thing. That's really new. I'm blaming Lyrica right now, but tell me this is normal. When you talk to yourself, do carry on total conversations? Or should I go see a therapist tomorrow? Er when I can drive again.
posted at 9:21 AM
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
MOOOOVE OVER ELSIE
Word on the street (and in the papers and on the news) is that the Food and Drug Administration is all set to put their stamp of approval on meat and milk from cloned animals. Moreover, there will be no special labeling on these food products.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to be eating and drinking from genetically altered cows. I guess the FDA didn't feel the hormones and pesticides in our food supply is bad enough. Even Congress recommended this act be delayed until more studies could be conducted. Already there have been offspring of clones that have made it to our dinner tables completely unbeknownst to the consumers. Yum, yum.
64% of Americans are uncomfortable with animal cloning and 43% believe food from clones is unsafe, yet the FDA is going to put it on our grocery shelves with no labling? I can buy organic, I can buy lactose-free, I can buy kosher, I can buy free-trade, but I can't choose milk that comes from a normal cow? What's wrong with this picture?
posted at 8:20 AM
Monday, January 07, 2008
My husband and I love to go to the movies (decent ones). Our kids know this and gave us a generous portion of gift certificates for the movies for Christmas, which will go a long way toward our date nights. But here's the rub. Do you all know how much it costs to see a movie? The price of the ticket here is $8.00--times two, we're talking $16!
And then there are snacks. I'm tempted to sneak food in, but there's just something, well, sneaky about that. But after eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner (we had to save money for the movie), we're hungry.
And get this. They even charge us for the 3-D glasses! Of course, we wear them! We take our grandkids, after all--well, most of the time. (We could pay off our mortgage for the price it would cost to take all of six of them.) Okay, so we wore the glasses once without the grandkids.
And get this: After we paid for the glasses and after we watched the movie, they encourage us to drop the glasses into this big barrel for recycling!! Excuse me??? Didn't I just pay for those?!
Yet, despite all this, we go--and love almost every minute of it (especially if we're eating chocolate caramel popcorn). One evening after choir practice we decided on the spur of the moment to go with another couple to the 10:00 showing of "Nanny McPhee". By 12:30 a.m., we were laughing our brains out at Steak & Shake. We should have eaten apple pie. There was just something very Americana about it all.
By the way, we've already gone to see "Bedtime Stories," and "Marley & Me". Anybody else seen those? I'm curious what you thought. I'm keeping my eye out for upcoming flicks. I'm thinking that Bride Wars looks kind of fun--in a sadistic sort of way.
Any other movie buffs out there? Do you stay home to watch them or go to the theater?
posted at 10:00 PM
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
This time of year, one question always comes up when a crowd of people gather. "What's your New Year's Resolution?" It's an easy one for me to answer. Mine is the same it's always been: To have no New Year's Resolution.
What's so special about Jan 1 anyway? Only 8% of people end up keeping their resolutions, so maybe we should make commitments when feel motivated and not when the calendar declares it's time.
If you want to exercise more, wouldn't March 3rd work just as well? You could even buy a used treadmill from one of those people whose New Year's Resolution didn't work out so swell.
"Get organized" is another popular resolution. Come on, if you haven't done it by now, do you really think '08 is going to be any better?
Give up sweets? Why don't you just wait til, well, never, cause chocolate is good for you and hey, is life really worth living without it?
"Enjoy life more". Do we really need to set a goal for this? Goals equal pressure, and pressure equals stress, and stress equals, well, not enjoying life more.
I'm all for lists. Shoot, I live by lists, but the New Year's Resolution list is one that's going to stay blank for me. That's my resolution.
posted at 8:00 AM
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
So I'm happily cleaning my bedroom (well, that's not entirely true--I'm not happy about it) when suddenly I ram my foot into something--steel. After the dog and I stop howling (yes, she's deaf, but she can howl with the best of them), I decide to investigate what in the world I had stumbled upon. I start peeling through mounds of clothing and bedroom debris, tossing things this way and that to uncover the mystery to my throbbing toe. To my everlasting shock you will never guess what I found! A treadmill!! Who knew?
I think I must have covered it the first week of January 2007. (By the way, that's a great way to get rid of those irritating New Year's Resolutions things--out of sight, out of mind, all that.)
Still, there it sits in all its exposed glory, so I have to do something about it, right? I mean, seriously, can you look your treadmill in the, well, handlebars and not feel guilty on New Year's Day? Exactly.
I step onto the runner and turn it on (are you hearing the theme song for Chariots of Fire?). I totally get that I'm not at my wedding weight. I understand I've put on a few pounds since last January. Maybe even since last week. Okay, since yesterday. But please. The sound this thing is making is the magnitude of a national alert.
All right, the truth is that after five minutes, I don't know which is making the most noise, the treadmill or me. (That missing lobe thing, you know.) Anyway, I decide I've done my civic duty and I grab a bag of Oreos.
My New Year's Resolution this year? Dust and polish that thing then cover it up for another year.
So what's yours?
posted at 5:00 AM