It's Friday, and that means it's my day to get my body dysmorphia on at Five Full Plates. This week's post has something to do with skinny jeans, and suddenly I'm having flashbacks to the 80s. (Trippy, man. Very, very trippy. Hey, are you using those safety pins...? Because I could really use them to peg my pants....) In other news, my town is slated to receive AN ENTIRE INCH of snow today, so naturally, chaos has ensued. Oh how I love southerners. BLESS THEIR HEARTS!
The setting: Our kitchen table. The time: Any given night around 6:15 or so. The preset: Food on table, I open my mouth and yell "DINNER!" because I'm classy and stuff. And... begin scene. "Where is Monkey?" "Bathroom." "Didn't he hear me call dinner?" "Yeah, that's why he went to the bathroom." "Do you think that he'll ever go BEFORE I call dinner?" "Do you really want me to answer that?" "No, nevermind." "Whose book is this?" "It's mine." "Why is it here?" "Because I didn't take it upstairs yet. BECAUSE I CAME WHEN YOU CALLED DINNER. LIKE A GOOD CHILD." "Uh huh. Please take it up after...
You are all lovely, everyone who commented on yesterday's post. You are my favorite. [Quick addendum to yesterday: I defensively feel like I need to point out that the ruined pants in question are track pants (nylon blend), and thus impossible to patch. Yes, of course, I patch holey jeans. Holey wind pants? They're toast. Alas.] I can only sustain the Mushy and the Heartfelt for a day, you know, so thank GOODNESS today is Friday, which means it's my day to weigh in over at Five Full Plates. Today brings good news and ugly shoes. Two great tastes that taste great together! Come on over, won't...
I know, I know; I completely missed Love Thursday this week. In my defense, I spent most of yesterday trying to figure out how the heck I sprained my ankle doing nothing. (What can I say? I'm unbelievably klutzy fragile talented.) You can read about that and my general hatred of everything fitness related this week over in my weekly post at Five Full Plates, but here is the summary: WAH WAH WAH THIS SUCKS. You're welcome. One spot of good news, though, is that Dr. Fancypants came through and supposedly a contact lens prescription has been faxed to our local place for Chickadee. Is it true? I...
After a week of having a bookcase sitting squarely in the middle of my office (don't ask), yesterday the Grand Office Redesign of 2010 was completed. Basically I spent half the day wallowing and the other half realizing that my aversion to the work of getting reorganized was steadily being outweighed by the annoyance of HAVING A BOOKCASE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM OH MY GOD. Plus, you know, it was really stressing out the dog. The bookcase was creating a wall between the futon where she likes to snooze all day and the chair at my new desk, so she couldn't BOTH be a slug AND keep watch over...
I spent much of the weekend licking my wounds, except it was figurative, of course, which was a good thing, because if I'd been trying to LITERALLY lick anything on my body I might've screwed up my neck more than it was already screwed up. [Typical conversation with my chiropractor over the last few days: Her: Does this hurt? Me: IT ALL HURTS. Her: But does it hurt MORE? Me: Maybe. Can you make it hurt LESS? Or could you maybe just KILL ME?] So my neck was hurting and my ego was hurting and my everything-is-going-to-be-fine meter was freaking out and I figured I would just sulk for a few...
I spent most of yesterday feeling very sorry for myself, and have a good head start on doing more of the same, today. My neck is out. This used to happen with a fair amount of regularity, but it hasn't happened in a long time. I think I thought I was "over" it; that whatever was injured in that long-ago car accident had finally been healed or at least cracked into submission by the chiropractor. And here as I stand on the brink of what is perhaps the healthiest period of my life---I am eating a high protein, low fat, mostly fresh, antioxidant-rich diet, and exercising daily for the first...
... dear Otto, dear Otto... a hole in my de-esk, dear Otto, a hole. Dear Otto. Dearest, darling Otto. He's the one putting holes in my desk, by the way. Okay, I probably need to back this up. When I first started freelancing, I marveled at the wonder of being able to make a job out of late nights spent hunched over my laptop in the middle of my bed. This is GENIUS, I thought! Who needs an office? Eventually, though, I moved operations down to a desk in our family room, lest I end up a chiropractor's dream. And as time went on, I dreamed of having an actual office; a room where I could...
The fact that I am constantly hungry is my excuse du jour for why I am cranky. I have no OTHER reason to be cranky, really---the children are taking turns being rotten, as I've always taught them to do; work is somewhat under control; no one in the house is sick or having a crisis---so it's only this stupid "getting in shape" and "always being hungry" thing to blame for how grouchy I am. Make no mistake, I am incredibly grouchy. If someone were to stuff some Godiva chocolate into my whining yap I'm pretty sure it would improve my mood immediately and significantly, but alas, that cannot...
