Thursday, March 25, 2010

I attended a Women's Health Fair last night with a dear friend of mine. Which was great because (1) I am a woman and, (2) I am a big fan of fairs. Except this one had some sort of "health" theme going on which clearly meant no cotton candy or funnel cakes. I was ok with that because - just in case you don't happen to know, Burger King sells Funnel Cake Sticks which are unbelievably glorious in my opinion.

We were handed one of those eco-friendly bags to load up with all those goodies notoriously handed out at events like this. Things like papers, peppermints and well, more papers. You know, papers advertising super healthy things like botox treatments and breast augmentation services. At the orthopedic surgeon booth there were 3D bones and super cool pens. And I mean super cool pens. Not Bic cheap. (No offense, Bic. I use your products consistently because I'm poor and I can afford your kinds of pens.) My point is, I wanted one of those pens. The un-Bic one.

There were only five super cool pens lined up and Ortho Surgeon Security was hovering pretty close, so I knew these were worth it. Bound and determined to get one of those sticks of inky goodness I strode confidently to the table and made some serious inquiries. Surely questions of thought would be rewarded with a pen.

I asked if there were any preventative exercises I could do to prevent total hip replacements. I explained that my knees were bad from several years of intense Army training. (No, that's not a lie. I have actually served in the armed forces. Although it was perhaps a slight exaggeration in that I wouldn't actually say I experienced "several years of intense training." Hey - Don't judge me -- you didn't see the pen.) I demonstrated stretches I claimed to perform on a daily basis to see if I was doing them correctly. I even mentioned that I had swell health insurance that would probably pay 100% for a total hip or knee replacement as a form of preventative medicinal practices. And yet no pen. In fact, the more I talked with him the closer he moved his hand in an attempt to shield the pens from my view (and my very probable quick snag).

You know what, after thinking about it, those pens really weren't that great. They probably looked great on the outside but were barely hanging on inside and if Doc prefers the cheapest products would you want him ordering up your hip? I think not.

We ate a dinner full of healthy items I wouldn't actually be able to identify because, let's be honest, my diet consists of microwaveable burritos with a side of Cheetos. I wouldn't know the names of healthy items if my life depended on it. The food was accompanied by a speaker. A lovely bore of a woman who reminded us that we were going to die.

"You will spend a third of your life in menopause. Menopause will be hell so you will probably take hormone medication which will deplete the much needed calcium in your bones. You will develop osteoporosis. You will get a hip fracture. Of the 300,000 hip fractures a year, twenty thousand people will die in three months; another fifty thousand in a year. If you're lucky enough to live through your hip fracture, the medication you would be prescribed for the osteoporosis will more than likely give you breast cancer. And then you will die. Enjoy the dessert."

Now I'm freaking out about getting old. It's not like she pointed out any benefits...

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

One Hot Feisty Mama!

I have got to be the luckiest girl in the entire world! I am so giddy with excitement I can barely stand it.... Why? you ask. Well let me tell you:  I have won and will have delivered to my front door very shortly -- Feisty Mama Salsa!

Do you even understand? I will walk a thousand miles for this salsa. I will actually trample people I love dearly in a mad attempt to get to a jar of their Really Sassy Salsa. I will take my big bag of tortilla chips and my bottle of spicy veggie blend and hide out in a basement closet while my children are sleeping just so I don't have to share.

I will put it on chips. On tacos. On baked potatoes. I will stir this salsa in with Macaroni & Cheese (oh, yes, you have got to try that!) and in with tater-tot casserole. The ways this salsa can be used is endless. And so delicious!

If you haven't already, you need to get yourself a jar now. I mean right now. Stop reading. Order. And then you can come back.

I'll wait for you.

Welcome back! So you got yourself a jar or two or three? Good. You know, it's only 5 calories a serving -- but those don't count if you're singing mariachi while eating. True fact.

We won the Soooo Hot Salsa which I am positive Big V will love - and not just for the label. (Curious? Check out the website. Here's a hint: there's a topless woman on the label. Oh yes!)

I'll update you all once my shipment arrives. Until then.... OlĂ©!

Monday, March 22, 2010

Shape Up or Ship Out (which might be easier on a boat and all)

Uh, yeah. So I may have crossed over to the dark side. I just spent $105 on a pair of shoes. Not just any shoes, mind you. These are the Skechers Shape Ups. Designed to tone and strengthen and improve my posture. Mind you, they won't do much of anything if I don't strap them on an walk a hundred miles, but it's a proverbial step in the right direction.

I hate spending money to try to lose weight. I think it's foolish. Eat healthy, walk, run - that doesn't have to cost much at all. I thought that until it was ME that had to try to lose the weight. This baby weight does not want to leave me. It loves me as much as the baby himself. I, however, do not love it. The weight, people, not the baby. I love my baby. Save your hate mail for a different post.

Once I made the decision that I would get the shoes for added help while walking I felt good. That was until the negative stigma met up with me at the store. If you've never seen these shoes they're, well, obvious. The soles are big and clunky. The styles forced. They scream THIS PERSON IS HAVING TROUBLE GETTING IN SHAPE SO THEY BOUGHT MEEEE!!!! It didn't help that the perky size zero cashier with the really loud voice announced, "ohhhh! You got the Shape-ups! I've never tried them [obviously]  but other people say they work." Thanks, Size Nothing Girl. You're such an inspiration.

I took the shoes home, laced them up, and decided that tomorrow I'm going to actually walk in them.
I wasted a cheery wave on someone completely undeserving. This bugs me because I do not cheery wave on a regular basis. I slightly nod if I know you. I plain wave if I like you. But my cheery waves are usually reserved for the innocent: like children under the age of six.

So here I am walking out of work, bags hanging off one arm, cell phone to my ear happily chatting away, and a car at the stop sign honks not once, but twice. It's the end of the work day, I'm on the phone making fun plans with V, so in a weakened state what do I do? Smile happily and cheery wave. I cheery wave to the car at the stop sign. The car whose driver has done nothing but make it her recent life mission to say completely inappropriate things to me in front of my children. Who has accused me of horrible, horrible things. I cheery waved at a woman who honestly doesn't get it. (How many times have I witnessed the oh-so-innocent, "How would I know she'd get her feelings hurt if I told her I wished you had married someone else. I do wish you had married someone else. I can't help how I feel."

Damn. I wasted my wave.

All in the name of a weekend.

This weekend was a busy one. I like those. They make me feel like I have purpose of some sort. But, since I'm old now, I can only do them once in a while. Because, well, if I do too many busy weekends then I just feel old. And that I should up my dosage of One A Day Vitamins.

Friday night was good. We went and saw Diary of a Wimpy Kid as promised to Dotter. I ate a gazillion pounds of buttered popcorn. She refused to sit by Big V (because he talks through the movies and it's annoying and embarrassing). Big V got a super large soda and wouldn't share when we ran out. (Probably getting back at us for the whole "you talk too much" accusation.)

Saturday was our family's St. Patrick's Day party which is my second favorite event of the year, next to our Halloween party. Let's face it, any family can get together for Easter or Thanksgiving... but it's only the coolest families that gather in green to eat corned beef and cabbage when they're not even Irish!

Saturday evening Big V and I suckered Grandma into watching the younger kids while we did a grown-up dinner date with two other couples. I believe it was the first time we have ever been on a couples date - and it was fun! We ate at PF Changs -- and splurged with that hot & sour soup, pork dumplings, orange chicken and desert. It was so nice to be able to eat without hearing the whines of children: "oh my gawd! What is that? It looks so gross! I'm so not eating that." And it gave us a chance to get to know the other couples.

As soon as I recovered from the "I was in a low budget porn called A Feather for Heather. I played Gaspar, the Good Wizard... he didn't see any action, if you know what I mean. The Bad Wizard - he saw the action." story I leaned over to V and whispered, "Please promise me we can hang out with these people... I can totally blog about our excursions!"

If I could've ended the weekend on that high note I would have. Except there was Sunday I had to get through. That meant:

(1) I Answered the door bell to see the strung out on coke neighbor lady standing there asking if she could talk to me about her concerns over my oldest child. See, the Jelly Bean had some friends spend the night and they went out in the backyard to take those silly teen pics - you know, the ones where they all jump up and look like they're flying through the air. Anyway, they were, as teens do, screaming and giggling and acting a fool. At two o'clock in the morning. Were they fools? Yes. Did I need string out on coke neighbor standing on my porch telling me that she's concerned that there was no parental supervision and next time she'll be forced to contact the proper authorities out of said concern? No. This is the woman who sits for hours smoking cigarette after cigarette on a chair next to their garage, while staring at our house, while holding her baby. This is the woman who will sit on her front steps and yell out, "Hey! Hey! Come here so I can talk to you!" if she sees us walking by. This is the woman who entertains a multitude of creepy people every single flippin night in the summer time; the obvious requirements are that there be no less than four yipping dogs, eleven screaming children and various tattooed, pierced adults that pepper their language with F-bombs on a regular basis. Fireworks are also encouraged.

(2) The Devil Dog got out. Again. And peed on our bed. Note: Big V says it didn't actually pee... it was probably just marking its scent. (Yeah, with urine.)

(3) The dryer doesn't work. Or I'm assuming it doesn't work based on the fact that one load of laundry took two and a half hours to dry.

I'm sort of thinking Sundays are my new Mondays.