I thought they were gorgeous.
Turquoise silk, trimmed with red lace. Matching bra.
And not to brag, but I've been on the Wii fit everyday and I have completed nearly two whole workouts in the Slim in 6 fitness program.
I thought I was looking pretty good.
So I pranced my fancy pants into the other room to show the Pastor.
"Those aren't my favorite" said the man who's not bought a new pair of underwear in six years.
Perhaps the Pastor should skip over to Chapter 17 of that Proverbs book. He who loves a quarrel loves sin.
-Robyn
Thankful for: a cupcake.
Good about me: I look pretty good for someone pushing 40 and eating cupcakes.
1.20.2011
1.16.2011
so glad he's home from his trip
to demonstrate the proper way I should be collapsing cardboard boxes before I put them in the trash
to show me how to properly hang up my razor
to tell me things he finds interesting at 3 a.m.
to remove the lid from my crockpot - the most heinous of all crimes in the kitchen
and my personal favorite - to interupt my workout three times to ask me where something in the fridge is, and when I say the bottom shelf he requires me to finally stop my workout completely and go into the kitchen where he has pulled everything out of a drawer and can't find the item located on the shelf
At least I'm not lonely.
-Robyn
Grateful for: good iron and being able to donate blood yesterday
Good about me: I like to try to cook new things
to show me how to properly hang up my razor
to tell me things he finds interesting at 3 a.m.
to remove the lid from my crockpot - the most heinous of all crimes in the kitchen
and my personal favorite - to interupt my workout three times to ask me where something in the fridge is, and when I say the bottom shelf he requires me to finally stop my workout completely and go into the kitchen where he has pulled everything out of a drawer and can't find the item located on the shelf
At least I'm not lonely.
-Robyn
Grateful for: good iron and being able to donate blood yesterday
Good about me: I like to try to cook new things
1.14.2011
Who's the Boss?
When I think about the dream house I'd like to have someday, I'm not picky.
It doesn't have to be in a particular neighborhood or have a certain square footage. No marble floors necessary. Deep down inside I'm not a fancy person.
I just want a house that looks like nobody lives there.
When I look at a magazine, I don't salivate over the furniture or fixtures. I am envious of how perfect everything is. How there is no clutter or piles.
Is it too much to ask? Yes I realize that this would make me the creepy guy and not the Julia Roberts character in "Sleeping with the Enemy." It brings me such great feelings of joy to open up a cabinet and see like items grouped together and all the labels facing me like they are looking at me.
Sometimes I will just walk through my house and open up a cabinet or drawer just so I can admire it. Sometimes I will lay in bed sleepless, wondering if someone else emptied the dishwasher (ha!) and put the wrong utensils in the wrong drawers.
The Pastor came home from his trip and claimed to be distressed because all of his piles had been put away. He said "You are not the only person who lives here."
No, I may not be. But I'm the boss.
-Robyn
good thing about me: I'm really skilled at organizing.
thankful for: a date with the Pastor
It doesn't have to be in a particular neighborhood or have a certain square footage. No marble floors necessary. Deep down inside I'm not a fancy person.
I just want a house that looks like nobody lives there.
When I look at a magazine, I don't salivate over the furniture or fixtures. I am envious of how perfect everything is. How there is no clutter or piles.
Is it too much to ask? Yes I realize that this would make me the creepy guy and not the Julia Roberts character in "Sleeping with the Enemy." It brings me such great feelings of joy to open up a cabinet and see like items grouped together and all the labels facing me like they are looking at me.
Sometimes I will just walk through my house and open up a cabinet or drawer just so I can admire it. Sometimes I will lay in bed sleepless, wondering if someone else emptied the dishwasher (ha!) and put the wrong utensils in the wrong drawers.
The Pastor came home from his trip and claimed to be distressed because all of his piles had been put away. He said "You are not the only person who lives here."
No, I may not be. But I'm the boss.
-Robyn
good thing about me: I'm really skilled at organizing.
thankful for: a date with the Pastor
1.13.2011
if you can't take the heat stay out of the kitchen and if you make your bed you better lie in it
The Pastor will be home soon.
I'm glad he'll be back, but I'll miss the heat.
I'd rather have his warmth than a warm house.
Guess I'd better turn down the thermostat. And maybe open a door and let the cold air in so he'll think I've been thrifty? I have made some of my coffee and cooked some meals in his absence, so a little heat should be ok.
Guess I'd better make the bed too.
I hate hate hate making the bed. It's my least favorite chore. I even washed the sheets today, so I've really boxed myself into this whole making the bed thing.
Maybe he will appreciate the clean sheets more if I save the bed making to have him help?
Where's one of those kids around here when I need someone to assign a chore to?
I'm even writing this blog post to avoid making the bed.
And watching Jersey Shore. That's how much I hate making the bed.
My only incentive is that I get to crawl into it with the Pastor.
Ok, I'll do it.
-Robyn
Good thing about me: I washed the sheets and made the bed because I'm nice and it'll make my husband happy.
Thankful - in advance - for a good night's sleep.
I'm glad he'll be back, but I'll miss the heat.
I'd rather have his warmth than a warm house.
Guess I'd better turn down the thermostat. And maybe open a door and let the cold air in so he'll think I've been thrifty? I have made some of my coffee and cooked some meals in his absence, so a little heat should be ok.
Guess I'd better make the bed too.
I hate hate hate making the bed. It's my least favorite chore. I even washed the sheets today, so I've really boxed myself into this whole making the bed thing.
Maybe he will appreciate the clean sheets more if I save the bed making to have him help?
Where's one of those kids around here when I need someone to assign a chore to?
I'm even writing this blog post to avoid making the bed.
And watching Jersey Shore. That's how much I hate making the bed.
My only incentive is that I get to crawl into it with the Pastor.
Ok, I'll do it.
-Robyn
Good thing about me: I washed the sheets and made the bed because I'm nice and it'll make my husband happy.
Thankful - in advance - for a good night's sleep.
1.12.2011
Oh Yeaahh
I have been drinking the Weight Watchers kool-aid on and off for 7 years now.
I mixed up another pitcher today. It was either that or try to find a way to shut down all the Mexican restaurants. And Which Wich. Even though the new Points Plus plan seems complicated, and even though I once shut down a Burger King, I just didn't think I had that much power. Off to a meeting I went.
I exercise every day. I try to make healthy decisions when I'm not eating Mexican food and hot, customized sandwiches. I just wish the number on the scale (and my Kardashian-like physique minus the well-endowed chest) was smaller.
What can I say? Weight Watchers works for me. Strangely enough for reclusive me, it's going to the meetings. Of course if you've ever sent me an email, facebook message, text or looked at my paper calendar, you already know I'm horrible at electronic things and the on-line program would never work for me.
But I remembered today what doesn't work for me about Weight Watchers meetings. The same thing that irritates me everywhere.
Stupid people.
Obviously I am excluding myself as one of the stupid people at WW, you know, me who wisely keeps gaining and losing the same 15 pounds.
Weight Watchers is like the Internet. You know how maybe once a year some old relative finally sets up an email account and discovers the wonders of the chain email and must forward them to you? A great deal of time is spent at the meetings by people like that who have just discovered Equal or zero-calorie spray butter.
One of the questions the leader asked today was "I feel satisfied when I eat (insert food here)."
Good, new Weight Watchers were shouting out good answers like salad and chicken and Greek yogurt.
I kept my mouth shut, but all I could think about was Mexican food. C'mon people! Let's be honest. There's a reason we are here and it's not our issues with eating lettuce.
Maybe the meetings work well for me, because each week I go and I listen and sometimes it feels so torturous I think to myself if I would just stop eating tortilla chips I'd never have to come back to one of these things.
That's not likely to happen though. At least I know, worst case scenario, I can always change my last name to Kardashian and dye my hair dark.
The Pastor is on his way home from his Israeli adventure. Maybe seeing all those camels made him miss my humps and curves. I hope he likes an ample woman.
-Robyn
Good thing about me: Seven years later and I haven't given up. This bodes well for my relationship with the Pastor.
Grateful for: coats, gloves, scarves, heat, my tea kettle and anything warm!
I mixed up another pitcher today. It was either that or try to find a way to shut down all the Mexican restaurants. And Which Wich. Even though the new Points Plus plan seems complicated, and even though I once shut down a Burger King, I just didn't think I had that much power. Off to a meeting I went.
I exercise every day. I try to make healthy decisions when I'm not eating Mexican food and hot, customized sandwiches. I just wish the number on the scale (and my Kardashian-like physique minus the well-endowed chest) was smaller.
What can I say? Weight Watchers works for me. Strangely enough for reclusive me, it's going to the meetings. Of course if you've ever sent me an email, facebook message, text or looked at my paper calendar, you already know I'm horrible at electronic things and the on-line program would never work for me.
But I remembered today what doesn't work for me about Weight Watchers meetings. The same thing that irritates me everywhere.
Stupid people.
Obviously I am excluding myself as one of the stupid people at WW, you know, me who wisely keeps gaining and losing the same 15 pounds.
Weight Watchers is like the Internet. You know how maybe once a year some old relative finally sets up an email account and discovers the wonders of the chain email and must forward them to you? A great deal of time is spent at the meetings by people like that who have just discovered Equal or zero-calorie spray butter.
One of the questions the leader asked today was "I feel satisfied when I eat (insert food here)."
Good, new Weight Watchers were shouting out good answers like salad and chicken and Greek yogurt.
I kept my mouth shut, but all I could think about was Mexican food. C'mon people! Let's be honest. There's a reason we are here and it's not our issues with eating lettuce.
Maybe the meetings work well for me, because each week I go and I listen and sometimes it feels so torturous I think to myself if I would just stop eating tortilla chips I'd never have to come back to one of these things.
That's not likely to happen though. At least I know, worst case scenario, I can always change my last name to Kardashian and dye my hair dark.
The Pastor is on his way home from his Israeli adventure. Maybe seeing all those camels made him miss my humps and curves. I hope he likes an ample woman.
-Robyn
Good thing about me: Seven years later and I haven't given up. This bodes well for my relationship with the Pastor.
Grateful for: coats, gloves, scarves, heat, my tea kettle and anything warm!
1.11.2011
the fate of the world is in the hands of one beautiful girl
I spent the day at the beach and did something my little girl self never got to do - I built a sandcastle for Barbie. Barbie's Mermaid Palace.
My Palace had a shell-lined walkway from the driveway where Barbie could park her Winnebago and purple Trans-Am. Yes, my internal Barbie is a 1970's Malibu version.
My Palace included a formal living room with a table, shell-back chairs and even a floral arrangement. There was a kitchen, a powder room, a heart-shaped pool, a hot tub, a master bedroom with plenty of closet space and a big round bed.
And let's not forget this was prime beach front property.
I stood back from my sand construction and was pleased. Then I realized that when I was building my palace I had done exactly as I wanted with absolutely no regard for Ken.
When did I start giving so much deference to Ken anyway? I suppose it was at some point in my emerging womanhood when the Barbies got packed away because some adolescent Ken didn't like girls who played with dolls and preferred someone who had the sophistication to read Nancy Drew books instead.
What options did Barbie have anyway? There was G.I. Joe. The Great American Hero! Joe was always off defending Barbie's right to have all the shoes, outfits and any career she wanted. Come to think of it, what was so great about Ken? Why was he working on his tan while Joe was fighting the enemy?
Maybe Joe was the occasional furlough visit, scratching an itch and fulfilling Barbie's patriotic duty. Bye, Joe. Go, Joe.
For a time there was some guy named Allen. Red hair and freckles. I just assumed he was Barbie's gay husband. Barbie needed someone around to appreciate all her looks and highlight her hair. That three story dream house - with elevator - wasn't going to decorate itself.
I thought maybe there was no hope for Barbie to have a fulfilling relationship. A plastic soul mate. How was I ever going to figure out my life if I couldn't make sense of Barbie's? I was about to write Ken off as just a piece of plastic. A girl's first significant formed plastic, non-vibrating.
But then I went to Target and there he was.
Sweet Talking Ken. He's on amazon.com if you want to take a look at him. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And heard.
You push a button. You say whatever you want. Ken records it. You push a button. Ken says your words back to you - in his voice! You can make Ken say whatever you want. Now Barbie can have it all. The dream house. The cars. The clothes. The handsome man who says the right things and can be posed any which way.
Maybe there is a happily ever after - for Barbie and for me. As for the Mermaid Palace, the tide came in.
-Robyn
Good thing about me: I've gained and I've lost but I've never gained more than I lost. Bonus: I did good drinking water today.
I am thankful for: the Pastor coming home soon so I can snuggle up to his warm body in bed.
1.10.2011
now just 13 more minutes!
I'm baking.
And simultaneously eating cheese.
And I cried today. At an item I looked at on ebay.
And the Pastor is conveniently out of the country.
And I have a massive headache and I weigh about forty kabillion pounds.
You don't have to be Angela Lansbury (and I'm making dated pop culture references) to solve this mystery.
-Robyn
the Williams Sonoma Butter Pecan muffins will be done in 16 minutes
one good thing about me: I'm a thoughtful person.
one thing I'm thankful for: stretchy pants
14 more minutes
And simultaneously eating cheese.
And I cried today. At an item I looked at on ebay.
And the Pastor is conveniently out of the country.
And I have a massive headache and I weigh about forty kabillion pounds.
You don't have to be Angela Lansbury (and I'm making dated pop culture references) to solve this mystery.
-Robyn
the Williams Sonoma Butter Pecan muffins will be done in 16 minutes
one good thing about me: I'm a thoughtful person.
one thing I'm thankful for: stretchy pants
14 more minutes
1.07.2011
Mad Gab
Fun games I like to play while the Pastor is away!
Jenga - see how long I can go without emptying the trash cans
Mouse Trap - see how long I can go without taking out the trash bags
Sorry - see if I can get away with not putting gas in the car
Light Bright - see how many lights I can have on at once
Candyland - see what I can come up with for dinner
Boggle - deal with all the stuff the Pastor normally deals with
Monopoly - don't blow the budget, and don't use the credit card
Twister - sleep on the whole bed, all to myself
Don't Spill the Beans - finally! I get to have the heat on!
As fun as these and others are, I miss him. I wish he'd come home.
-Robyn
good about me: I got out of bed and did the Wii even though I didn't want to
thankful for: a change in plans which gives me opportunity
Jenga - see how long I can go without emptying the trash cans
Mouse Trap - see how long I can go without taking out the trash bags
Sorry - see if I can get away with not putting gas in the car
Light Bright - see how many lights I can have on at once
Candyland - see what I can come up with for dinner
Boggle - deal with all the stuff the Pastor normally deals with
Monopoly - don't blow the budget, and don't use the credit card
Twister - sleep on the whole bed, all to myself
Don't Spill the Beans - finally! I get to have the heat on!
As fun as these and others are, I miss him. I wish he'd come home.
-Robyn
good about me: I got out of bed and did the Wii even though I didn't want to
thankful for: a change in plans which gives me opportunity
1.06.2011
yawn
No Pastor.
Arty Crafty tonight.
Peacocky eyes - in keeping with my resolution that I would not be avoiding the MAC counter. Some resolutions are easier to keep than others.
Too much Asian food. Chinese food? What is Pei Wei?
One hour on the Wii fit. Re-set the snowball throwing record. Ha!
Can't wait for the Pastor to come home so I can sleep again.
Smacked myself in the chest with the Shake Weight. Why oh why in the area where I have the least padding? But on a high note, just a few days using the thing and I've already busted out a shirt sleeve seam. Coincidence? I think not!
-Robyn
Good thing about me: frequent bouts of healthiness
Thankful for: times when there can be peace and quiet
Arty Crafty tonight.
Peacocky eyes - in keeping with my resolution that I would not be avoiding the MAC counter. Some resolutions are easier to keep than others.
Too much Asian food. Chinese food? What is Pei Wei?
One hour on the Wii fit. Re-set the snowball throwing record. Ha!
Can't wait for the Pastor to come home so I can sleep again.
Smacked myself in the chest with the Shake Weight. Why oh why in the area where I have the least padding? But on a high note, just a few days using the thing and I've already busted out a shirt sleeve seam. Coincidence? I think not!
-Robyn
Good thing about me: frequent bouts of healthiness
Thankful for: times when there can be peace and quiet
1.05.2011
Robyn's Spa - open for business
While the Pastor is in Israel no doubt enjoying a Dead Sea Mud Bath he paid thousands of dollars for (actually he took a group of students on a Holy Land trip), I am at home roughing it.
In keeping with my resolutions, tonight I opened my Thursday night spa. Due to popular demand, it opened a day early. Actually, it was because I was home alone tonight and won't be tomorrow night.
At no additional out of pocket cost to the Pastor, I enjoyed the following services:
-Full body scrub
-Facial
-Deep conditioning hair masque
-Mani
-Pedi
-grape-scented paraffin wax dip
-blow out
And there was chocolate.
Now I feel very relaxed and pampered as I blog in my comfy spa socks Santa Mom gave me.
If there was ever a day to open the spa, today was it. After dealing with technological difficulties, Discover Card, missing checks and the Post Office, I needed some relaxation. Turns out credit cards and checks were missing because the Post Office decided to stockpile our mail instead of delivering it. Thanks! The good news is that Nate was glad to find out people actually cared and had not forgotten his December 20 birthday. Oh, and thanks to everyone for the Christmas cards you sent us a month ago.
Nate came home and said I smelled amazing. Said I smelled too good for a Mom.
Even though he can't smell me, I hope the Pastor appreciates my thriftiness. I bet he thinks cheap equals pretty.
-Robyn
Good about me today: I do smell nice!
I am thankful for: That guy who works hard and pays for my beauty indulgences.
In keeping with my resolutions, tonight I opened my Thursday night spa. Due to popular demand, it opened a day early. Actually, it was because I was home alone tonight and won't be tomorrow night.
At no additional out of pocket cost to the Pastor, I enjoyed the following services:
-Full body scrub
-Facial
-Deep conditioning hair masque
-Mani
-Pedi
-grape-scented paraffin wax dip
-blow out
And there was chocolate.
Now I feel very relaxed and pampered as I blog in my comfy spa socks Santa Mom gave me.
If there was ever a day to open the spa, today was it. After dealing with technological difficulties, Discover Card, missing checks and the Post Office, I needed some relaxation. Turns out credit cards and checks were missing because the Post Office decided to stockpile our mail instead of delivering it. Thanks! The good news is that Nate was glad to find out people actually cared and had not forgotten his December 20 birthday. Oh, and thanks to everyone for the Christmas cards you sent us a month ago.
Nate came home and said I smelled amazing. Said I smelled too good for a Mom.
Even though he can't smell me, I hope the Pastor appreciates my thriftiness. I bet he thinks cheap equals pretty.
-Robyn
Good about me today: I do smell nice!
I am thankful for: That guy who works hard and pays for my beauty indulgences.
1.04.2011
1.03.2011
the good the bad and the not ugly
I wish I could tell you what a great day I had and how wonderful I did on my resolutions. But it's been too many days of running the dishwasher nonstop, cooking, waiting for the washer to kick off so I can put clothes in the dryer so I can go to bed, spilling things, dropping things, misplacing things and sleep deprivation.
The Pastor left today, and Nate and I had to face dollar taco night alone. The clerk said I couldn't be his Mom and then a guy tried to slip me his phone number. The Pastor messaged me that it's good to have options, but I says my options are up. Besides, who would ever want to change their facebook status? It's all just too complicated.
I have sat down three times to write this post only to have to scurry up each time. The last reason was that I had to check in on the Wii fit. I hack forgotten to do so earlier. It said I was 28 years old which is fantastic because we all know how dead accurate that thing is, except for when it tells me I am 54.
I did exercise. I did walk at the park. I did try to figure out my iPad so I could write on it. I guess I looked halfway decent. :) I did manage some email cleaning out and some fruits and vegetables. I am thankful and hopeful tomorrow will be a better day, one without such a late start to productivity. I am grateful that just because I had an off day I will try harder.
Now I am going to try harder to sleep.
The Pastor left today, and Nate and I had to face dollar taco night alone. The clerk said I couldn't be his Mom and then a guy tried to slip me his phone number. The Pastor messaged me that it's good to have options, but I says my options are up. Besides, who would ever want to change their facebook status? It's all just too complicated.
I have sat down three times to write this post only to have to scurry up each time. The last reason was that I had to check in on the Wii fit. I hack forgotten to do so earlier. It said I was 28 years old which is fantastic because we all know how dead accurate that thing is, except for when it tells me I am 54.
I did exercise. I did walk at the park. I did try to figure out my iPad so I could write on it. I guess I looked halfway decent. :) I did manage some email cleaning out and some fruits and vegetables. I am thankful and hopeful tomorrow will be a better day, one without such a late start to productivity. I am grateful that just because I had an off day I will try harder.
Now I am going to try harder to sleep.
1.02.2011
11 for 2011
I have the New Year's Resolution list of a crazy person.
That's ok. I'm fine with that. Possibly because I may in fact be a crazy person.
1. Think of one thing every day that I'm thankful for, and one thing that's good about me. Here's day one: I am thankful for my flat-top stove. I made a sheet cake with frosting poured over the top of it; it sure was handy to clean up the mess. One thing I like about myself is that I have nice fingernails. I take good care of them and I'm a decent manicurist. And since I started this post yesterday and didn't finish it until today, here's day two. I'm thankful my Mom still buys me Christmas presents. One thing I like about me is that I am generous.
2. In thinking about my resolutions it made me think about the me I used to be. The me I used to be wasn't a person who went to Starbucks every day and got mani pedis. The me I used to be pulled out all of her mani pedi supplies every Thursday night and would have a spa night while watching Friends. What happened to that poor college student? I'm reinstituting Thursday night spa nights and hopefully a little bit of the me I used to be. She was a smart girl.
3. And that leads us to all the stuff I'm not going to spend money on. No more new nail polish or lotions or potions or hair products or underwear until I use up everything I have. Starting tomorrow. Because after I started this post but before I finished it, I may have gone to the semi-annual clearance sale at Victoria's Secret. At least one meal planned per week that's based entirely on things we already have in the pantry, without having to go to the store. We have too many groceries while others go without.
Notice I'm not starting out resolving to not go to Loft or the MAC Counter. I'm not that crazy-ready-to-fail yet. Maybe later. Baby steps. : )
4. Do Yoga at least weekly. Continue exercising. I made a goal in December to check in on the Wii fit everyday I was home. With the exception of 3 days, I did. That's pretty good!
5. Read everyday. Write everyday.
6. Find a place to volunteer. My last volunteer gig has fizzled out. It's time to find something new.
7. Kiss the Pastor for an extended period of time every single day. This will be the easiest resolution to keep.
8. Make sure I'm eating at least five servings of fruits and vegetables every day before putting other junk into my body. Drink my water! Lately I've been doing a poor job of drinking enough water each day.
9. Work on one creative/artistic project every week.
10. Organize something every day. Spend at least eleven minutes daily organizing. Clean out eleven emails daily.
11. Wear different makeup, shoes, jewelry, perfume and carry a different purse every single day. No ruts. Look pretty every day.
I also wanted to resolve to stop cursing, but that wouldn't be 11 things. To say that I curse like a sailor, now that we don't ask and don't tell, could be an insult to some sailors who are more ladylike than me.
That's it. I guess it's not too ambitious. It's not like I'm trying to give up Mexican food.
Wishing all a happy 2011. The year I turn 40.
I wish I could resolve to not do that.
-Robyn
the spell checker on my new I-Pad keeps changing pedis to penis.
That's ok. I'm fine with that. Possibly because I may in fact be a crazy person.
1. Think of one thing every day that I'm thankful for, and one thing that's good about me. Here's day one: I am thankful for my flat-top stove. I made a sheet cake with frosting poured over the top of it; it sure was handy to clean up the mess. One thing I like about myself is that I have nice fingernails. I take good care of them and I'm a decent manicurist. And since I started this post yesterday and didn't finish it until today, here's day two. I'm thankful my Mom still buys me Christmas presents. One thing I like about me is that I am generous.
2. In thinking about my resolutions it made me think about the me I used to be. The me I used to be wasn't a person who went to Starbucks every day and got mani pedis. The me I used to be pulled out all of her mani pedi supplies every Thursday night and would have a spa night while watching Friends. What happened to that poor college student? I'm reinstituting Thursday night spa nights and hopefully a little bit of the me I used to be. She was a smart girl.
3. And that leads us to all the stuff I'm not going to spend money on. No more new nail polish or lotions or potions or hair products or underwear until I use up everything I have. Starting tomorrow. Because after I started this post but before I finished it, I may have gone to the semi-annual clearance sale at Victoria's Secret. At least one meal planned per week that's based entirely on things we already have in the pantry, without having to go to the store. We have too many groceries while others go without.
Notice I'm not starting out resolving to not go to Loft or the MAC Counter. I'm not that crazy-ready-to-fail yet. Maybe later. Baby steps. : )
4. Do Yoga at least weekly. Continue exercising. I made a goal in December to check in on the Wii fit everyday I was home. With the exception of 3 days, I did. That's pretty good!
5. Read everyday. Write everyday.
6. Find a place to volunteer. My last volunteer gig has fizzled out. It's time to find something new.
7. Kiss the Pastor for an extended period of time every single day. This will be the easiest resolution to keep.
8. Make sure I'm eating at least five servings of fruits and vegetables every day before putting other junk into my body. Drink my water! Lately I've been doing a poor job of drinking enough water each day.
9. Work on one creative/artistic project every week.
10. Organize something every day. Spend at least eleven minutes daily organizing. Clean out eleven emails daily.
11. Wear different makeup, shoes, jewelry, perfume and carry a different purse every single day. No ruts. Look pretty every day.
I also wanted to resolve to stop cursing, but that wouldn't be 11 things. To say that I curse like a sailor, now that we don't ask and don't tell, could be an insult to some sailors who are more ladylike than me.
That's it. I guess it's not too ambitious. It's not like I'm trying to give up Mexican food.
Wishing all a happy 2011. The year I turn 40.
I wish I could resolve to not do that.
-Robyn
the spell checker on my new I-Pad keeps changing pedis to penis.
12.31.2010
math lesson
When he says how much did you spend
and you say it was like $300
and he sees the receipt
and it was $378
he thinks you should have said like $400
I say it's just a difference in rounding
and you say it was like $300
and he sees the receipt
and it was $378
he thinks you should have said like $400
I say it's just a difference in rounding
12.29.2010
free assocation with 2010
Started the year off after a grand tour of the Grand Canyon, Arizona, the Hoover Dam, Las Vegas and most importantly - In-N-Out Burger. Spent New Year's Day in Sedona with the best Mexican food I've ever eaten. No pithy New Year's Resolutions for us! We made decadal goals! We'd rather set ourselves up for failure on a much larger scale! The Pastor had a sabbatical. We went to Cancun. We ate a cup of guacamole per day. We went to England. We went to Wales. We went to Scotland. We went to France. We ate bread and cheese. After all the travel and bread and cheese, I promised myself I would come home, get the kids and the Pastor back in school and sit on the couch. We went to Washington, D.C. We went to Tulsa, OK. The Pastor went to D.C. by himself. The Pastor went to Cali by himself. I went to D.C. by myself. The Pastor went to Costa Rica by himself. The Pastor went to Chicago by himself. Now maybe you are beginning to see why there are not more endearing blog posts about the Pastor - he hasn't been around to entertain me! We went to Vegas. Again. We went to In-N-Out Burger. Again. We went to Seminole, OK. We went to New Braunfels, TX. We went to the oldest bakery in Texas. We went to Southeastern, OK. We went to San Antonio. I finally got to go to the River Walk. We determined Five Guys Burgers is not better than In-N-Out Burger. We went to South Padre. We went to North Padre. We went to Mustang Island. We camped on the beach. We went to Galveston. We paid a ton of money to Uncle Sam. The Pastor finally got to be my prom date and we rode in a pink limo. We made it to our 5th anniversary. We moved. Again. Nate graduated Middle School and started High School. Yet I haven't aged a day. I survived his first girlfriend. Every Monday night we had "Taco Night." It was really tacos til the Which Wich opened, then it was "Taco Night" at the Which Wich, but that's ok, because sandwiches and tacos are practically the same thing. We ate a whole bunch of Mexican food. I lost weight. I gained weight. I lost weight. And so on and so forth. I saw the Sleeping Beauty Ballet. I built Barbie's Mermaid Palace - a dream house in the sand for Barbie. I watched the Sleeping Beauty DVD. The Pastor was busy with stuff like Peace, Praying the Devil Back to Hell, Carl Wilkens fellowshipping, Eupan and meeting with Senators. I became a crockpot fool. Even had me some dueling crockpots. The Pastor and I became the couple who asked should we have a baby, or wouldn't it just be easier to try to find some way to acquire Boo the Dog? You can see how that worked out for us. Really the only way we added to our family was Antoine Dodson. We sing the Bed Intruder song. Every. Single. Day. I went to Yoga. I got mani pedis. I went to Cafe Nero. I went to Starbucks. I fed the homeless. I had high tea. I made my coffee at home. I gave up caffeine. I took a writing class. I started a book. I took a pottery class. I taught myself how to make tamales. I walked on the treadmill. I walked on the treadmill. I walked on the treadmill. I drove an awful lot. I may have gone shopping, but I'll never tell the Pastor. He seems to continue to live under the delusion that 2010 was the year I wore what I had.
2011? Who knows. I am getting a shake weight and my Mac Nicki Minaj lipstick is on it's way. Maybe I'll blog on this thing some more, instead of my secret blogs you people can't find : ) People, if you are counting on me to entertain you, then you need to make your own resolutions. Or come over and watch me do the shake weight. Happy New Year.
2011? Who knows. I am getting a shake weight and my Mac Nicki Minaj lipstick is on it's way. Maybe I'll blog on this thing some more, instead of my secret blogs you people can't find : ) People, if you are counting on me to entertain you, then you need to make your own resolutions. Or come over and watch me do the shake weight. Happy New Year.
12.10.2010
11.03.2010
No. Don't. Stop.
Help.
I've been invaded by a pod person. She's a lot like Martha Stewart.
My Christmas tree is up. And decorated. And there are wrapped presents.
The crockpot has been running non stop for days. I'm not just cooking things - but making things to freeze in the deep freeze. Did I mention I made a special trip to the store to get special freezer containers? Then I cleaned out and defrosted and organized the deep freeze.
I have meal plans! I baked cinnamon sugar pinwheels! I started hanging pictures on the wall. I'm not just cooking and cleaning. It's so much worse than that. I'm a full-fledged organizing maniac.
Whoever has taken over my body has not only found the time to do all of this, but she's also managing to blog! I hate her.
Has the Pastor been piping some sort of hypnosis recordings into the bedroom after I power down like a robot? He's always claiming he's listening to his I-pod after I fall asleep, but perhaps he's plugging it into my ear and secretly brainwashing me.
I need to be rescued. I need to do something seriously non productive.
At least I know a piece of me is still in there. After all, my Halloween decorations are still out. And when I took those cinnamon sugar pinwheels out of the oven, I forgot about how pans that have been in your 400 degree oven tend to be hot and there's these little things called potholders.
Ouch.
I've been invaded by a pod person. She's a lot like Martha Stewart.
My Christmas tree is up. And decorated. And there are wrapped presents.
The crockpot has been running non stop for days. I'm not just cooking things - but making things to freeze in the deep freeze. Did I mention I made a special trip to the store to get special freezer containers? Then I cleaned out and defrosted and organized the deep freeze.
I have meal plans! I baked cinnamon sugar pinwheels! I started hanging pictures on the wall. I'm not just cooking and cleaning. It's so much worse than that. I'm a full-fledged organizing maniac.
Whoever has taken over my body has not only found the time to do all of this, but she's also managing to blog! I hate her.
Has the Pastor been piping some sort of hypnosis recordings into the bedroom after I power down like a robot? He's always claiming he's listening to his I-pod after I fall asleep, but perhaps he's plugging it into my ear and secretly brainwashing me.
I need to be rescued. I need to do something seriously non productive.
At least I know a piece of me is still in there. After all, my Halloween decorations are still out. And when I took those cinnamon sugar pinwheels out of the oven, I forgot about how pans that have been in your 400 degree oven tend to be hot and there's these little things called potholders.
Ouch.
10.12.2010
playing pretend
Today is going to be a better day.
That was the last thing I told myself before I fell asleep last night. As soon as I woke up and realized I hadn't died in my sleep I knew I was off to a good start.
I dropped the kid (errrr, man) off at school and went to The Park. The Park that I have been going to since I was young enough that my Mom was the one taking me there. The Park where I learned to swim and played on the jungle gym and most importantly, swung.
With my just rolled out of bed cotton candy hair I pretended that I looked more like a little girl than a scary middle aged woman in her exercise clothes. I put in my ear buds attached to my first generation I-Pod shuffle, yep, old school. No display. Just a wonderful surprise with each song as I crunched through the leaves. Nevermind how old school some of those songs are.
I walked and sipped my Caramel Macchiato. I pretended it was a better drink than all of the 10 cent kool-aid I drank in this park. I pretended like I could run really fast, if I wanted to, and I don't have a twinge in my ankle and a pinch in my neck which means I probably need to go to the chiropractor. I made an effort and smiled and said good morning to the other park walkers. Maybe they are lonely and could use a friendly greeting. Maybe they, too, are trying really hard to have a better day. I even said good morning to the lady who had on a Christmas sweater. She definitely needed a better day, but her Christmas sweater just made it easier for me to pretend it's fall.
I pretended it really was fall. I pretended that it was the cold that was making the leaves crispy and brown, and not because it's been so hot that they are probably just sun-scorched. It made me happy the morning was cold enough that I could zip up my hoody, even though by the end of my walk I was quite toasty. I left it zipped though. I didn't want to stop pretending.
I stopped off at the swings. I always stop off at the swings. I swing until the velocity makes me remember that I'm a grown up and my body doesn't like to swing as much as my mind does.
Then I walked to my car. Worry starts to cloud The Park for me. What if my purse was stolen out of my car while I walked? What if I have to get a new driver's license made? I really like my picture, and while my cotton candy hair is just fine for playing in the park, I don't want to memorialize it. I'm trying to find an excuse for today today to not be good. The purse is still there. I'm awake and alive and walked at The Park and had my coffee. It's going to be a good day.
Maybe I'll pretend I have something to say and write a little bit too.
That's good.
That was the last thing I told myself before I fell asleep last night. As soon as I woke up and realized I hadn't died in my sleep I knew I was off to a good start.
I dropped the kid (errrr, man) off at school and went to The Park. The Park that I have been going to since I was young enough that my Mom was the one taking me there. The Park where I learned to swim and played on the jungle gym and most importantly, swung.
With my just rolled out of bed cotton candy hair I pretended that I looked more like a little girl than a scary middle aged woman in her exercise clothes. I put in my ear buds attached to my first generation I-Pod shuffle, yep, old school. No display. Just a wonderful surprise with each song as I crunched through the leaves. Nevermind how old school some of those songs are.
I walked and sipped my Caramel Macchiato. I pretended it was a better drink than all of the 10 cent kool-aid I drank in this park. I pretended like I could run really fast, if I wanted to, and I don't have a twinge in my ankle and a pinch in my neck which means I probably need to go to the chiropractor. I made an effort and smiled and said good morning to the other park walkers. Maybe they are lonely and could use a friendly greeting. Maybe they, too, are trying really hard to have a better day. I even said good morning to the lady who had on a Christmas sweater. She definitely needed a better day, but her Christmas sweater just made it easier for me to pretend it's fall.
I pretended it really was fall. I pretended that it was the cold that was making the leaves crispy and brown, and not because it's been so hot that they are probably just sun-scorched. It made me happy the morning was cold enough that I could zip up my hoody, even though by the end of my walk I was quite toasty. I left it zipped though. I didn't want to stop pretending.
I stopped off at the swings. I always stop off at the swings. I swing until the velocity makes me remember that I'm a grown up and my body doesn't like to swing as much as my mind does.
Then I walked to my car. Worry starts to cloud The Park for me. What if my purse was stolen out of my car while I walked? What if I have to get a new driver's license made? I really like my picture, and while my cotton candy hair is just fine for playing in the park, I don't want to memorialize it. I'm trying to find an excuse for today today to not be good. The purse is still there. I'm awake and alive and walked at The Park and had my coffee. It's going to be a good day.
Maybe I'll pretend I have something to say and write a little bit too.
That's good.
8.10.2010
solitary confinement
I went 39 years of my life without knowing how to play Solitaire.
Why did someone feel the need to teach me this game?
I won the first time I played. That was the only time I've won.
Infuriating.
Why did someone feel the need to teach me this game?
I won the first time I played. That was the only time I've won.
Infuriating.
6.23.2010
6.17.2010
Hola!
I'm right in the middle of hedonism. Gluttony. All-you-can-eat and drink. All-the-guacamole-and-chips-you-can-eat. The all-inclusive resort.
Apparently, this includes insults too.
I went to the spa, and the guy doing my facial explained to me how the facial I was signed up for was for much younger skin. Wouldn't I prefer this other facial that was more appropriate for mature skin? Skin over thirty?
Thanks. I guess he didn't want a tip. If I had wanted to make myself feel bad, I wouldn't have gone inside the spa. I would have stayed outside, with all the bikini bodies.
The good news? When I leave here, I may never want guacamole and tortilla chips again. I'm finally full.
Gracias.
Apparently, this includes insults too.
I went to the spa, and the guy doing my facial explained to me how the facial I was signed up for was for much younger skin. Wouldn't I prefer this other facial that was more appropriate for mature skin? Skin over thirty?
Thanks. I guess he didn't want a tip. If I had wanted to make myself feel bad, I wouldn't have gone inside the spa. I would have stayed outside, with all the bikini bodies.
The good news? When I leave here, I may never want guacamole and tortilla chips again. I'm finally full.
Gracias.
6.09.2010
baggage claim
I have traveled a lot with the Pastor. I have packed a lot of bags. I'm really, really good at it. Every time I pack, I think of an old "8 is Enough" episode where one of the girls is in a beauty pageant and her talent is packing a suitcase.
That could be my talent.
If anyone deserves a nice suitcase, it is me.
Most of the time, I use my backpack, which is a perfectly nice piece of luggage. There's just one flaw - you shove everything in and you can't see it. You want one thing, and you have to pull out everything.
So I mentioned to the Pastor it would be nice to have a suitcase. Then I could open it and see all my clothes and pull out the one thing I want!
Nowhere in this mentioning did I say anything about Goodwill.
Then I got a phone call:
Him: I got you a present.
Me, wise after five years: Do you really want to get my hopes up like that?
It's the thought that counts, right?
I pull into the driveway and there it is. At least it's red. I like red. N8 was with me. I said to N8 "do you think if I hit it with my car I can roll it down the driveway, or will it crumple under my car?"
It's the thought that counts, right?
It didn't do either. It kind of rolled off to the side. Lame.
Then we went into the house where the Pastor began to excitedly show me the special features of this $3 suitcase. To start with, "Where's the Lysol? I need to spray this down!"
This pully thing doesn't work, but it's a perfectly good suitcase!
This outside pocket zipper is broken, just don't put anything in this compartment, and it's a perfectly good suitcase!
Maybe to stuff a body in, I'm thinking.
Needless to say, the Pastor's sweet gesture just ticks me off in the days leading up to a trip when I'm packing and cleaning. Now I feel like I have to deal with taking a junky suitcase to a dumpster. (Body, optional. I can get kind of cranky when I'm showcasing my talent.) Also, it made me feel like, even though I have this perfectly good - although somewhat inconvenient - backpack that I needed to all of a sudden go suitcase shopping. I didn't buy anything though, I couldn't decide.
Note to Pastor: $3 junkaroo suitcases are perfectly fine. For you. They make wonderful presents. For you.
Off to pack some more. This time I'll be wearing my evening gown and practicing my arm gestures while I do it. I won't get the new suitcase, but maybe someday I'll get the crown.
That could be my talent.
If anyone deserves a nice suitcase, it is me.
Most of the time, I use my backpack, which is a perfectly nice piece of luggage. There's just one flaw - you shove everything in and you can't see it. You want one thing, and you have to pull out everything.
So I mentioned to the Pastor it would be nice to have a suitcase. Then I could open it and see all my clothes and pull out the one thing I want!
Nowhere in this mentioning did I say anything about Goodwill.
Then I got a phone call:
Him: I got you a present.
Me, wise after five years: Do you really want to get my hopes up like that?
It's the thought that counts, right?
I pull into the driveway and there it is. At least it's red. I like red. N8 was with me. I said to N8 "do you think if I hit it with my car I can roll it down the driveway, or will it crumple under my car?"
It's the thought that counts, right?
It didn't do either. It kind of rolled off to the side. Lame.
Then we went into the house where the Pastor began to excitedly show me the special features of this $3 suitcase. To start with, "Where's the Lysol? I need to spray this down!"
This pully thing doesn't work, but it's a perfectly good suitcase!
This outside pocket zipper is broken, just don't put anything in this compartment, and it's a perfectly good suitcase!
Maybe to stuff a body in, I'm thinking.
Needless to say, the Pastor's sweet gesture just ticks me off in the days leading up to a trip when I'm packing and cleaning. Now I feel like I have to deal with taking a junky suitcase to a dumpster. (Body, optional. I can get kind of cranky when I'm showcasing my talent.) Also, it made me feel like, even though I have this perfectly good - although somewhat inconvenient - backpack that I needed to all of a sudden go suitcase shopping. I didn't buy anything though, I couldn't decide.
Note to Pastor: $3 junkaroo suitcases are perfectly fine. For you. They make wonderful presents. For you.
Off to pack some more. This time I'll be wearing my evening gown and practicing my arm gestures while I do it. I won't get the new suitcase, but maybe someday I'll get the crown.
5.25.2010
say cheese!
I admit it. Some days, I hate everyone in my family.
OK, some weeks.
OK, some months.
I'm sure, deep down, they don't mean to irritate me. They don't mean to touch my stuff, insult my cooking (or lack thereof) or taste in fashion. They don't mean to track stuff on my clean floor. They don't mean to change the radio station six times in ten seconds. I'm sure they don't mean to have all the good computers while I try to type a blog entry on a prehistoric iBook with a keyboard that skips around. I'm sure they are completely innocent.
But they still annoy me.
This doesn't just cost me emotionally, it robs me monetarily too. I actually had to buy a new camera today, just like the camera I bought last year. (Calm down, Pastor. It was $80). Oh how I remember last year. I was so excited. My very own camera. It was even pink. It was my birthday/mother's day present.
Then the Pastor used it and I haven't seen it since.
When I bought my camera today, the clerk asked me if I wanted the 2 year warranty. Yes, I said, only if it protects my camera from being stolen by my husband or touched by anyone I live with.
I live with, at times, four other individuals. One fully grown, and three others who are grown enough that if they lived in any other country they would be working 80 hour weeks in a sweatshop.
How can they be so needy and so not self-sufficient? Did I do this to them? How come they only like my chocolate bars and my camera and my computer?
Sometimes I think about new, unannoying babies or well-trained puppies. I'm sure some people would think if you can't stand your family, why would you make it bigger? How would a mini yorkie or maltipoo help?
Maybe if I was focused on something else and wasn't at everyones beck-and-call they would remember their own lunch money or where to find any given item in a cabinet. Maybe I would have time to take pictures.
Or, maybe, just maybe - I'd have another set of eyes to look into who would totally understand that every other person in this house is annoying. Another set of eyes, and absolutely no ability to change a radio station.
OK, some weeks.
OK, some months.
I'm sure, deep down, they don't mean to irritate me. They don't mean to touch my stuff, insult my cooking (or lack thereof) or taste in fashion. They don't mean to track stuff on my clean floor. They don't mean to change the radio station six times in ten seconds. I'm sure they don't mean to have all the good computers while I try to type a blog entry on a prehistoric iBook with a keyboard that skips around. I'm sure they are completely innocent.
But they still annoy me.
This doesn't just cost me emotionally, it robs me monetarily too. I actually had to buy a new camera today, just like the camera I bought last year. (Calm down, Pastor. It was $80). Oh how I remember last year. I was so excited. My very own camera. It was even pink. It was my birthday/mother's day present.
Then the Pastor used it and I haven't seen it since.
When I bought my camera today, the clerk asked me if I wanted the 2 year warranty. Yes, I said, only if it protects my camera from being stolen by my husband or touched by anyone I live with.
I live with, at times, four other individuals. One fully grown, and three others who are grown enough that if they lived in any other country they would be working 80 hour weeks in a sweatshop.
How can they be so needy and so not self-sufficient? Did I do this to them? How come they only like my chocolate bars and my camera and my computer?
Sometimes I think about new, unannoying babies or well-trained puppies. I'm sure some people would think if you can't stand your family, why would you make it bigger? How would a mini yorkie or maltipoo help?
Maybe if I was focused on something else and wasn't at everyones beck-and-call they would remember their own lunch money or where to find any given item in a cabinet. Maybe I would have time to take pictures.
Or, maybe, just maybe - I'd have another set of eyes to look into who would totally understand that every other person in this house is annoying. Another set of eyes, and absolutely no ability to change a radio station.
5.23.2010
I am just full of information this week. And fat.
1. If you start your bikini/beach diet in October for your June trip, you will lose the weight.
2. In that same eight month time period, you will also be able to gain it back. Back and front actually.
3. But when you think about it, who really needs the perfect bikini body, when you can purchase the perfect sarong. (Thank you, Ann Taylor Loft.)
4. Why not get some harmful uv action at this point? If I was really concerned about my health, I would have stopped going to Mexican restaurants. Tan, brown-ish fat always looks better than white fat. Think about it - this is why you cook pork and chicken. That, and the deadly diseases and gross-ness.
5. Frankly, I blame all the leggings and maxi-dresses. I knew I should have stayed away from the leggings! How are you supposed to know when to stop shoving food into your pie-hole when none of your clothes are constricting? Stupid stretchy fabrics! You may be forgiving, but I am not. Thanks for nothing.
Oh well. You live and learn. Or maybe you don't. I was at least smart enough to have that really smart, techie kid who is good with the photo editing. Note to self: increase his allowance before trip.
2. In that same eight month time period, you will also be able to gain it back. Back and front actually.
3. But when you think about it, who really needs the perfect bikini body, when you can purchase the perfect sarong. (Thank you, Ann Taylor Loft.)
4. Why not get some harmful uv action at this point? If I was really concerned about my health, I would have stopped going to Mexican restaurants. Tan, brown-ish fat always looks better than white fat. Think about it - this is why you cook pork and chicken. That, and the deadly diseases and gross-ness.
5. Frankly, I blame all the leggings and maxi-dresses. I knew I should have stayed away from the leggings! How are you supposed to know when to stop shoving food into your pie-hole when none of your clothes are constricting? Stupid stretchy fabrics! You may be forgiving, but I am not. Thanks for nothing.
Oh well. You live and learn. Or maybe you don't. I was at least smart enough to have that really smart, techie kid who is good with the photo editing. Note to self: increase his allowance before trip.
5.20.2010
Shop til you drop! Sadly, I've been dropped.
I made a terrible, awful, horrible mistake.
I let my husband see all of my shoes in the same place, at the same time. He's in bed now, with the lights out and a cool cloth over his face, muttering something like "my eyes! my eyes!"
You think I would know better than this. Stupid moving to a different house! Stupid tempting large cabinets with the stupid shelves to put shoes on! How could I have been so stupid?
Please, I implore you, learn from my mistake.
Since I won't be shopping for a very loooooooooong time and am basically grounded to my room to blog, I will offer you everything I know that you need to know about how to shop and get away with it. Yes, I am paying it forward.
Robyn's helpful tips, in no particular order:
1. Leave bags in trunk. Duh! Keep decoy items in trunk (dead body?) to cover bags. Bags go directly from trunk to closet. This bag-to-closet-transfer is akin to moving the President of the United States from one secret bunker to another.
2. Dispose of all plastic tags and price tags. Get over it Environment! These are things we cannot and will not ever recycle. Only God knows what could have been built with all the plastic tag thingys (what are those called anyway?) that have been removed from the clothes I have purchased in my lifetime.
3. Tear receipts into teeny, tiny pieces. Trust no one, not even the shredder.
4. Practice convincingly saying "No, I've had this for a long time. In fact, I think I got it when I was in high school." Then not only will your man think your parents paid for it, but also that you are as thin as you were in high school.
4a. Rule of thumb - any article of clothing/purse/shoes should be treated just like you would a new car - once you drive a new car off the lot it depreciates instantly and is no longer considered new. This is the same for mall shopping. Once you walk out of that mall? It is no longer new, therefore you can always truthfully answer "no" when asked if something is new. I have been married to the Pastor for over five years now, and yet have managed to not wear anything new during that time (And the man has a Ph.D.? Who's the smart one here?). Pretty amazing, huh?
5. Cash is great because it doesn't leave a trail but nothing will rat you out faster than some kid you are forced to take shopping with you. Schools are not so helpful by teaching kids about things like math and money. Decimal confusion works here. If you spend $90.00 say isn't it great that mommy bought all of that for $9.00? Granted this may be harmful to them in the future, but this is shopping survivalism. If you have one of those smart kids, you will probably have to resort to bribery.
6. Stores do not make it easy on us with their helpful size stickers. I know, I know - sometimes it's a real struggle just to hastily remove the price tags when you are getting dressed in the morning, but don't be sloppy - give yourself a final once-over in the mirror and make sure you have removed that tiny, circular XS/S/M/L/XL sticker too.
7. Multiple shopping bags only confuse men. If possible, don't even let the store give you a bag. That's what those large purses are for. As far as I am concerned, caring for the environment was the best thing that ever happened - those reusable shopping bags were not created by tree huggers, they were created by desperate women who love to shop. Shopping bags send a message to the world that says "I care" and conditions your man. He won't know if you are bringing home cans of green beans to donate to the poor or a new outfit.
7a. Keep some cans of green beans in your reusable shopping bags.
8. Sometimes you should buy stuff you don't want just so you can make a big deal about how you don't need it, you care about the budget, blah blah blah and make a huge production of returning it in front of your husband.
9. Save this one for when you need to buy something really fabulous/expensive. Sometimes you have to buy something extra when you've been shopping. That's really why places like Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood exist. Men are easily distracted and nothing throws them off quite like buying crotchless panties or stockings.
10. Consider changing your religious preferences. The Amish with their modest dress, Indian women wearing sarees, Muslim women and their burqas - you and I both know these ladies are wearing whatever they want under those cover ups and their husbands? None the wiser. Once they get to lunch with their girlfriends? The wraps come off and the great outfits come out.
11. I especially love it when I can find those racks of clothes that are 70% off, then 30% off, then take an extra 10% off. 70 + 30 + 10 = 110. Whatever I bought must have been free and therefore doesn't count as shopping!
There. I've taken one for the team. Go forth, little shopping Jedis. Oh, one more little tidbit. If you get caught, if you get desperate, just say you didn't buy it for yourself - you bought it for me and send it my way (in plain, unmarked wrapping). In the meantime, don't worry about me and my shopping-free existence. With all this extra time at home I'm bound to find some new secret hiding places.
I let my husband see all of my shoes in the same place, at the same time. He's in bed now, with the lights out and a cool cloth over his face, muttering something like "my eyes! my eyes!"
You think I would know better than this. Stupid moving to a different house! Stupid tempting large cabinets with the stupid shelves to put shoes on! How could I have been so stupid?
Please, I implore you, learn from my mistake.
Since I won't be shopping for a very loooooooooong time and am basically grounded to my room to blog, I will offer you everything I know that you need to know about how to shop and get away with it. Yes, I am paying it forward.
Robyn's helpful tips, in no particular order:
1. Leave bags in trunk. Duh! Keep decoy items in trunk (dead body?) to cover bags. Bags go directly from trunk to closet. This bag-to-closet-transfer is akin to moving the President of the United States from one secret bunker to another.
2. Dispose of all plastic tags and price tags. Get over it Environment! These are things we cannot and will not ever recycle. Only God knows what could have been built with all the plastic tag thingys (what are those called anyway?) that have been removed from the clothes I have purchased in my lifetime.
3. Tear receipts into teeny, tiny pieces. Trust no one, not even the shredder.
4. Practice convincingly saying "No, I've had this for a long time. In fact, I think I got it when I was in high school." Then not only will your man think your parents paid for it, but also that you are as thin as you were in high school.
4a. Rule of thumb - any article of clothing/purse/shoes should be treated just like you would a new car - once you drive a new car off the lot it depreciates instantly and is no longer considered new. This is the same for mall shopping. Once you walk out of that mall? It is no longer new, therefore you can always truthfully answer "no" when asked if something is new. I have been married to the Pastor for over five years now, and yet have managed to not wear anything new during that time (And the man has a Ph.D.? Who's the smart one here?). Pretty amazing, huh?
5. Cash is great because it doesn't leave a trail but nothing will rat you out faster than some kid you are forced to take shopping with you. Schools are not so helpful by teaching kids about things like math and money. Decimal confusion works here. If you spend $90.00 say isn't it great that mommy bought all of that for $9.00? Granted this may be harmful to them in the future, but this is shopping survivalism. If you have one of those smart kids, you will probably have to resort to bribery.
6. Stores do not make it easy on us with their helpful size stickers. I know, I know - sometimes it's a real struggle just to hastily remove the price tags when you are getting dressed in the morning, but don't be sloppy - give yourself a final once-over in the mirror and make sure you have removed that tiny, circular XS/S/M/L/XL sticker too.
7. Multiple shopping bags only confuse men. If possible, don't even let the store give you a bag. That's what those large purses are for. As far as I am concerned, caring for the environment was the best thing that ever happened - those reusable shopping bags were not created by tree huggers, they were created by desperate women who love to shop. Shopping bags send a message to the world that says "I care" and conditions your man. He won't know if you are bringing home cans of green beans to donate to the poor or a new outfit.
7a. Keep some cans of green beans in your reusable shopping bags.
8. Sometimes you should buy stuff you don't want just so you can make a big deal about how you don't need it, you care about the budget, blah blah blah and make a huge production of returning it in front of your husband.
9. Save this one for when you need to buy something really fabulous/expensive. Sometimes you have to buy something extra when you've been shopping. That's really why places like Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood exist. Men are easily distracted and nothing throws them off quite like buying crotchless panties or stockings.
10. Consider changing your religious preferences. The Amish with their modest dress, Indian women wearing sarees, Muslim women and their burqas - you and I both know these ladies are wearing whatever they want under those cover ups and their husbands? None the wiser. Once they get to lunch with their girlfriends? The wraps come off and the great outfits come out.
11. I especially love it when I can find those racks of clothes that are 70% off, then 30% off, then take an extra 10% off. 70 + 30 + 10 = 110. Whatever I bought must have been free and therefore doesn't count as shopping!
There. I've taken one for the team. Go forth, little shopping Jedis. Oh, one more little tidbit. If you get caught, if you get desperate, just say you didn't buy it for yourself - you bought it for me and send it my way (in plain, unmarked wrapping). In the meantime, don't worry about me and my shopping-free existence. With all this extra time at home I'm bound to find some new secret hiding places.
4.21.2010
here.
everything you need to know about our relationship
http://imarriedthepastor.blogspot.com/2005/05/ultimate-commitment.html
http://imarriedthepastor.blogspot.com/2005/05/ultimate-commitment.html
here.
Re-run.
Pastor - I'm recycling your video card.
Happy Anniversary. Living with you makes every day just as happy as the day you found 13 pairs of pants at Goodwill.
Pastor - I'm recycling your video card.
Happy Anniversary. Living with you makes every day just as happy as the day you found 13 pairs of pants at Goodwill.
4.19.2010
cookie monster
So I was reading a blog.
It belongs to a mommy who started planning months in advance for her toddler's birthday party.
I felt all smug. Who needs months and months to plan for a toddler party? I have thrown together some fantastic soirees in much shorter time.
Then I realized I was guilty of spending months and months and months getting ready for a little girl's party.
My own.
As far back as January when I was at the Mexican market, I saw this fantastic princess cake for a Quinceanera. I made a mental note that I wanted that cake for my birthday (seriously don't try to go get it - it's approximately the size of a Volkswagen Bug).
I've thought about my need for candy necklaces and bracelets, but this may not have as much to do with my birthday as my secret plan of having strings of sugar around my neck and wrists to get the Pastor to nibble on me.
I've dropped some not-so-subtle hints that maybe it was time for Mom to finish recuperating from her knee replacement surgery and get busy making me some oatmeal cookies.
I've thought about my pre-birthday diet - the key word being thought - how I want to look amazing for my special day. Or, more likely, how I want to make sure I have plenty of room to gorge on cake and Mexican food.
I apologize to you, random blogger. And I offer you this warning: be careful of how elaborate you make her parties now. You may create a monster.
It belongs to a mommy who started planning months in advance for her toddler's birthday party.
I felt all smug. Who needs months and months to plan for a toddler party? I have thrown together some fantastic soirees in much shorter time.
Then I realized I was guilty of spending months and months and months getting ready for a little girl's party.
My own.
As far back as January when I was at the Mexican market, I saw this fantastic princess cake for a Quinceanera. I made a mental note that I wanted that cake for my birthday (seriously don't try to go get it - it's approximately the size of a Volkswagen Bug).
I've thought about my need for candy necklaces and bracelets, but this may not have as much to do with my birthday as my secret plan of having strings of sugar around my neck and wrists to get the Pastor to nibble on me.
I've dropped some not-so-subtle hints that maybe it was time for Mom to finish recuperating from her knee replacement surgery and get busy making me some oatmeal cookies.
I've thought about my pre-birthday diet - the key word being thought - how I want to look amazing for my special day. Or, more likely, how I want to make sure I have plenty of room to gorge on cake and Mexican food.
I apologize to you, random blogger. And I offer you this warning: be careful of how elaborate you make her parties now. You may create a monster.
4.14.2010
sa-batty-cal
Today I was just a typical mommy - running errands. While I was in the bank filling out my deposit slip, my darling angel ran around the lobby, through the maze you have to go through to get to a teller window, and went through all the suckers until he found a red one. He took a few licks off a sucker and then started to search for a place to stick the sticky mess, with a helpful teller shadowing him to make sure it ended up in the garbage. After the bank, it was to home where I made us lunch and he went down for his afternoon nap!
Only this wasn't a toddler, it was my husband.
The P is on sabbatical. I'm not really sure what that word means, but I think it might be Latin or something for "annoy your wife."
I am literally wolfing down an entire Godiva chocolate bar as I write this. Stressed much? He's always been like a tasmanian devil the way he tornadoes through the house and leaves piles here and piles there. Now it's even worse. There are books everywhere, and trust me they are books no one wants to read.
And he's so helpful.
Maybe a little too helpful. It was nice to have his company on this beautiful errand running day, but he feels the need to (when he hasn't lost all patience and turned into an unruly toddler at the bank) give me helpful hints on how I can be much more efficient on everything I do. In fact, he was just standing over my shoulder as I write this giving my helpful hints on this post. He didn't want me to include the part on orange juice (below). He said that doesn't mean he didn't say it, but for some reason he thought the post was better without that tidbit.
Maybe I need to stick a how-to-listen-to-your-wife book in one of these piles or perhaps download one to his Kindle. Hmmmm.
Anyway, while I have spent the last five years trying to find as many ways as I can to make things take as long as possible (there's a lot of hours in the day) he thinks I should be faster and more efficient, so I'll have more time to do what, I'm not sure.
Then there's the issue of the household budget.
The P's got these elaborate schemes to fly here and there. While I appreciate the lovely trips, I also like the idea of having luxurious items in my fridge, like I don't know, orange juice. Yes, not only am I a very bad girl for my daily Starbucks, I'm also completely decadent for having luxurious oj in the fridge. I will admit I like the fancy kind where someone has taken care of getting rid of all the pulp for me. I don't like pulp.
On the plus side, I never thought I'd be so happy to go to the gym. My safe place. My girl's only gym where I can go "work out" for hours.
I may seem a teeny bit cranky. I'm not, it's just that I didn't have my coffee - and juice - this morning.
Only this wasn't a toddler, it was my husband.
The P is on sabbatical. I'm not really sure what that word means, but I think it might be Latin or something for "annoy your wife."
I am literally wolfing down an entire Godiva chocolate bar as I write this. Stressed much? He's always been like a tasmanian devil the way he tornadoes through the house and leaves piles here and piles there. Now it's even worse. There are books everywhere, and trust me they are books no one wants to read.
And he's so helpful.
Maybe a little too helpful. It was nice to have his company on this beautiful errand running day, but he feels the need to (when he hasn't lost all patience and turned into an unruly toddler at the bank) give me helpful hints on how I can be much more efficient on everything I do. In fact, he was just standing over my shoulder as I write this giving my helpful hints on this post. He didn't want me to include the part on orange juice (below). He said that doesn't mean he didn't say it, but for some reason he thought the post was better without that tidbit.
Maybe I need to stick a how-to-listen-to-your-wife book in one of these piles or perhaps download one to his Kindle. Hmmmm.
Anyway, while I have spent the last five years trying to find as many ways as I can to make things take as long as possible (there's a lot of hours in the day) he thinks I should be faster and more efficient, so I'll have more time to do what, I'm not sure.
Then there's the issue of the household budget.
The P's got these elaborate schemes to fly here and there. While I appreciate the lovely trips, I also like the idea of having luxurious items in my fridge, like I don't know, orange juice. Yes, not only am I a very bad girl for my daily Starbucks, I'm also completely decadent for having luxurious oj in the fridge. I will admit I like the fancy kind where someone has taken care of getting rid of all the pulp for me. I don't like pulp.
On the plus side, I never thought I'd be so happy to go to the gym. My safe place. My girl's only gym where I can go "work out" for hours.
I may seem a teeny bit cranky. I'm not, it's just that I didn't have my coffee - and juice - this morning.
4.11.2010
I hate you Skype.
Videochatting with the out of town Pastor.
Could he see me when I had the Sephora candy colored eyes? No. (N8 said it looked like my eye makeup had been done by a preschooler with a box of crayons, but I don't care. I know it looked good.)
Could he see me when I had on my false eyelashes? No.
My big earrings? My big bumped up hair? No. No.
But when I just woke up? Of course. Let's just say I'm not a natural beauty.
I remember before Mrs. Jetson videochatted she could spray her makeup and hair on instantly.
Where's that technology?
Could he see me when I had the Sephora candy colored eyes? No. (N8 said it looked like my eye makeup had been done by a preschooler with a box of crayons, but I don't care. I know it looked good.)
Could he see me when I had on my false eyelashes? No.
My big earrings? My big bumped up hair? No. No.
But when I just woke up? Of course. Let's just say I'm not a natural beauty.
I remember before Mrs. Jetson videochatted she could spray her makeup and hair on instantly.
Where's that technology?
3.25.2010
taxing
The Pastor proposed to me in March.
We got married three weeks later.
I attributed this whirlwind courtship to the things my fantastical romantic imagination usually comes up with: love, passion, romance, unmitigated desire and spring fever.
Five years later, I have removed the rose colored glasses. I had to in order to work with all the receipts, numbers and spreadsheets.
Now I know it wasn't any of the things I thought. It was tax season.
I have been saving receipts, organizing receipts, filing receipts and entering numbers into spreadsheets all year. And people? Let's just say Math Barbie wasn't my favorite doll. Each year the Pastor is - very sneakily - growing more and more removed from the entire process. All he had to do this year was sit with me for an hour and read some data so I could finalize everything.
It was at that meeting that I had to make a choice. I was conflicted - should I put up with my whining, petulant husband ("I don't wannnnnnnnnnnnnna look at the receipts!" I'm sleepy!") or start making up stuff, commit tax fraud, and go to prison.
It was a tough call, but don't worry, I did the right thing.
The Pastor owes me big time now. My fantastical imagination is at it again - wondering what he is going to buy me for all this hard work.
That'll be one receipt that mysteriously disappears.
We got married three weeks later.
I attributed this whirlwind courtship to the things my fantastical romantic imagination usually comes up with: love, passion, romance, unmitigated desire and spring fever.
Five years later, I have removed the rose colored glasses. I had to in order to work with all the receipts, numbers and spreadsheets.
Now I know it wasn't any of the things I thought. It was tax season.
I have been saving receipts, organizing receipts, filing receipts and entering numbers into spreadsheets all year. And people? Let's just say Math Barbie wasn't my favorite doll. Each year the Pastor is - very sneakily - growing more and more removed from the entire process. All he had to do this year was sit with me for an hour and read some data so I could finalize everything.
It was at that meeting that I had to make a choice. I was conflicted - should I put up with my whining, petulant husband ("I don't wannnnnnnnnnnnnna look at the receipts!" I'm sleepy!") or start making up stuff, commit tax fraud, and go to prison.
It was a tough call, but don't worry, I did the right thing.
The Pastor owes me big time now. My fantastical imagination is at it again - wondering what he is going to buy me for all this hard work.
That'll be one receipt that mysteriously disappears.
3.16.2010
remember the Sabbath and keep it skinny
Today I was once again reminded how my weekly weigh in and weight loss meeting is more of a religious experience for me than actually going to church.
There is definitely prayer. No one prays harder than a woman on a scale.
There's confession and contrition as I review the journal of every morsel of food I've put in my mouth over the past week. And the food I conveniently forgot to write down. And the food I was too horrified to write down.
There's a bible. It's confusing too - with numbers and calories and fat grams and points and exchanges.
There's a sermon about what I'm supposed to do, or not do.
I feel moved to be a better person. A thinner, healthier person. A person who doesn't hate exercise. The kind of person who will go forth and eat Mexican food no more. (This usually lasts about two hours.)
There's an offering. What - you thought you could lose weight for free? Then you must be a guy and probably don't even care about the number on the scale.
What's even worse is I'm better behaved. I must be more afraid of getting fat than I am of ticking off Jesus, because I do not play with my cell phone, doodle, whisper or watch Sex and the City in my head. I concentrate. And unlike church where I dress to the nines, I never care about how I look. I even wear the same outfit every single Tuesday ever since I determined it weighed less than anything else I own. Yes, there was valuable time involved where I could have fed the poor or ministered to the homeless, but instead I weighed all my clothes.
One more similarity - just as soon as it's over, I'm headed to Starbucks.
There's always next week.
There is definitely prayer. No one prays harder than a woman on a scale.
There's confession and contrition as I review the journal of every morsel of food I've put in my mouth over the past week. And the food I conveniently forgot to write down. And the food I was too horrified to write down.
There's a bible. It's confusing too - with numbers and calories and fat grams and points and exchanges.
There's a sermon about what I'm supposed to do, or not do.
I feel moved to be a better person. A thinner, healthier person. A person who doesn't hate exercise. The kind of person who will go forth and eat Mexican food no more. (This usually lasts about two hours.)
There's an offering. What - you thought you could lose weight for free? Then you must be a guy and probably don't even care about the number on the scale.
What's even worse is I'm better behaved. I must be more afraid of getting fat than I am of ticking off Jesus, because I do not play with my cell phone, doodle, whisper or watch Sex and the City in my head. I concentrate. And unlike church where I dress to the nines, I never care about how I look. I even wear the same outfit every single Tuesday ever since I determined it weighed less than anything else I own. Yes, there was valuable time involved where I could have fed the poor or ministered to the homeless, but instead I weighed all my clothes.
One more similarity - just as soon as it's over, I'm headed to Starbucks.
There's always next week.
2.26.2010
Lent Vent
Dang that Pastor. The longer I am around him, the more stuff he teaches me, and even worse - he makes me think. Shhhhhh! Don't tell him!
You know what that amounts to? One un-funny blog.
I typically (try to) give up something for (most of) Lent. I'm usually pretty successful at denying myself one of my petty indulgences.
I've given up nail polish and cursing and shopping and cupcakes in the past. How sad is it, that a person would consume so many cupcakes, something that used to be reserved for elementary school birthday parties, that it would actually be sacrificial to not eat them?
This year, I decided to tackle Lent on a week by week basis. The first week I gave up sugar.
Wow. Turns out I have a lot of sugar. If you think that as a result of my Lenten sacrifice that I lost a bunch of weight, well you would be wrong. Because as I was going through sugar detox, did I pray and reflect and contemplate? No, I ate a bunch of other junk instead. Tortilla chips anyone?
What did I learn? I need to have a lot less sugar in my diet. I need to cut it out, a little at a time - not cold turkey.
What a stupid thing to learn during Lent.
Moving on. Week two, I decided to turn off the t.v. A quick historical background. The first couple of years we were married, we didn't have cable. Then we got cable. Then we got the dvr. Then we became the biggest tv whores on the planet and never looked back.
The Pastor was busy a couple of nights and left me home alone with the kiddos. I didn't turn the tv on, and you know what? Not one of them asked to watch a thing. We all hung out in the living room. Doing our own things. It was quiet. And no one needs to panic! All that stuff we didn't watch, waited for us on the dvr. People got voted off American Idol, someone on 16 and Pregnant realized their boyfriend wasn't going to change, and our lives were not severely impacted.
How lame is it to think that I - someone who's biggest accomplishment for the month of February was not wearing the same thing twice - could really give up anything in a sacrificing way? Would it really mater in my life if I gave up coffee or tortilla chips? Baristas, waitresses, waiters and salespeople know me. I have probably have 90 pairs of underpants, a dozen tubes of mascara, dozens of lipsticks and a dozen coach bags. My life is superficial and meaningless and unimportant - even if I do look nice while I'm doing it.
I can remember the things that I gave up in the past, all the cupcakes and the shoes I did without, the things that I denied myself, but I cannot remember a single solitary thing I did for another human being. I can't remember a single thing that I learned or said or did that actually mattered.
As I move forward with the rest of Lent, I don't plan to give anything else up - I am giving of myself. I hope that I will write a part two and tell about that. More importantly, I just hope that I do it, and remember it in Lents to come.
You know what that amounts to? One un-funny blog.
I typically (try to) give up something for (most of) Lent. I'm usually pretty successful at denying myself one of my petty indulgences.
I've given up nail polish and cursing and shopping and cupcakes in the past. How sad is it, that a person would consume so many cupcakes, something that used to be reserved for elementary school birthday parties, that it would actually be sacrificial to not eat them?
This year, I decided to tackle Lent on a week by week basis. The first week I gave up sugar.
Wow. Turns out I have a lot of sugar. If you think that as a result of my Lenten sacrifice that I lost a bunch of weight, well you would be wrong. Because as I was going through sugar detox, did I pray and reflect and contemplate? No, I ate a bunch of other junk instead. Tortilla chips anyone?
What did I learn? I need to have a lot less sugar in my diet. I need to cut it out, a little at a time - not cold turkey.
What a stupid thing to learn during Lent.
Moving on. Week two, I decided to turn off the t.v. A quick historical background. The first couple of years we were married, we didn't have cable. Then we got cable. Then we got the dvr. Then we became the biggest tv whores on the planet and never looked back.
The Pastor was busy a couple of nights and left me home alone with the kiddos. I didn't turn the tv on, and you know what? Not one of them asked to watch a thing. We all hung out in the living room. Doing our own things. It was quiet. And no one needs to panic! All that stuff we didn't watch, waited for us on the dvr. People got voted off American Idol, someone on 16 and Pregnant realized their boyfriend wasn't going to change, and our lives were not severely impacted.
How lame is it to think that I - someone who's biggest accomplishment for the month of February was not wearing the same thing twice - could really give up anything in a sacrificing way? Would it really mater in my life if I gave up coffee or tortilla chips? Baristas, waitresses, waiters and salespeople know me. I have probably have 90 pairs of underpants, a dozen tubes of mascara, dozens of lipsticks and a dozen coach bags. My life is superficial and meaningless and unimportant - even if I do look nice while I'm doing it.
I can remember the things that I gave up in the past, all the cupcakes and the shoes I did without, the things that I denied myself, but I cannot remember a single solitary thing I did for another human being. I can't remember a single thing that I learned or said or did that actually mattered.
As I move forward with the rest of Lent, I don't plan to give anything else up - I am giving of myself. I hope that I will write a part two and tell about that. More importantly, I just hope that I do it, and remember it in Lents to come.
2.17.2010
nice guys finish last?
The Pastor has been doing many nice things lately. He said to me the other day, "I better be getting some good press on this out in blog-land."
Oopsie. Poor Pastor. I guess when he is well-behaved, there's not much in the way of writing material, huh?
He did get me the Hope Diamond (genuine refrigerator magnet).
He did upgrade my big diamond ring. So now we are on BDR 2.0
He did get the transmission in my little red Honda fixed so I don't have to drive a van anymore.
He did take me to a lovely bed & breakfast.
He did get me an appropriate present on Valentine's Day. No candy, flowers or card, but this is progress for a man who would rather celebrate holy-days than holidays. His words, not mine, from his sermon this past Sunday. The Valentine's Day sermon entitled "Can't buy me love." I knew I was in trouble when I heard that.
Stupid Beatles. I was always more of a fan of Madonna's "Material Girl."
Oopsie. Poor Pastor. I guess when he is well-behaved, there's not much in the way of writing material, huh?
He did get me the Hope Diamond (genuine refrigerator magnet).
He did upgrade my big diamond ring. So now we are on BDR 2.0
He did get the transmission in my little red Honda fixed so I don't have to drive a van anymore.
He did take me to a lovely bed & breakfast.
He did get me an appropriate present on Valentine's Day. No candy, flowers or card, but this is progress for a man who would rather celebrate holy-days than holidays. His words, not mine, from his sermon this past Sunday. The Valentine's Day sermon entitled "Can't buy me love." I knew I was in trouble when I heard that.
Stupid Beatles. I was always more of a fan of Madonna's "Material Girl."
2.11.2010
1.31.2010
white madness
signs that you have been snowed in way too long
1. You mastered the art of making tamales.
2. You cleaned your house.
3. You keep going to check to see if there's enough clothes to wash another load, but all the laundry has been done.
4. You washed your sheets.
5. You contemplated baking, but thank goodness, you are out of vanilla.
6. You started reading a book.
7. You cleaned out your spices. That's how you figured out you were out of vanilla.
8. You watched everything on your DVR, including "The Pregnancy Pact." You are contemplating recording other movies on Lifetime.
9. You are high score #1 - 10 on every single one of your Wii games. You have invented new Wii games, for instance only hitting the shoes or the panda heads in soccer. You are playing the Wii games just so you can spend time with other people, like Timmy the Trainer.
A few more days, and I may even get desperate enough to do my taxes.
1. You mastered the art of making tamales.
2. You cleaned your house.
3. You keep going to check to see if there's enough clothes to wash another load, but all the laundry has been done.
4. You washed your sheets.
5. You contemplated baking, but thank goodness, you are out of vanilla.
6. You started reading a book.
7. You cleaned out your spices. That's how you figured out you were out of vanilla.
8. You watched everything on your DVR, including "The Pregnancy Pact." You are contemplating recording other movies on Lifetime.
9. You are high score #1 - 10 on every single one of your Wii games. You have invented new Wii games, for instance only hitting the shoes or the panda heads in soccer. You are playing the Wii games just so you can spend time with other people, like Timmy the Trainer.
A few more days, and I may even get desperate enough to do my taxes.
1.23.2010
It was very easy/anyone could see/that the Prince was charming/the only one for me.
Me, asking for something which I think is perfectly reasonable yet the Pastor thinks is completely ridiculous: "I’m going to tell you something else I want, then the thing I’m asking for won’t seem so ridiculous to you."
Pastor: "Oh yeah? What’s that?"
Me: "When I die, I want one of those glass coffins, like in Snow White."
Pastor, laughing hysterically: "Are you serious? You really want everyone seeing your shriveled up dead body?"
Me: "No, I just like the idea of it. Besides, the dwarfs found her beautiful even in death and kept a constant vigil at her side."
Pastor: "Someone is under the spell of the Disney magic!"
*****
OK, it is possible that I have watched Snow White one too many times, but what does it say about me now that instead of wanting to be a Princess or find Prince Charming, the thing I'll settle for is a glass coffin?
1.13.2010
how much is that doggie in the intersection?
what the kids said -
Hey Mom! The Pastor tried to get a little dog for you! He chased after it three times to try to catch it for you but the dog was too fast. Even though the dog had three inch legs, it was faster than the Pastor.
what I thought -
Oh that is sweet! It would be nice to have a little dog! A friend! Something to love me unconditionally! Something that will never grow up and get a girlfriend! Something that will never, ever leave me!
what the Pastor said -
We saw a dog in the street and I chased it out of traffic. It was going to cause an accident.
what I said -
(sigh)
Hey Mom! The Pastor tried to get a little dog for you! He chased after it three times to try to catch it for you but the dog was too fast. Even though the dog had three inch legs, it was faster than the Pastor.
what I thought -
Oh that is sweet! It would be nice to have a little dog! A friend! Something to love me unconditionally! Something that will never grow up and get a girlfriend! Something that will never, ever leave me!
what the Pastor said -
We saw a dog in the street and I chased it out of traffic. It was going to cause an accident.
what I said -
(sigh)
1.08.2010
hormone therapy
The Pastor was telling me about some Mystics who believed in the afterlife a person's punishment and reward was to re-live their entire life. All the joys and all the hurts, with all the knowledge, yet powerless to make any changes.
Those Mystics may have been on to something. I believe we have something just like this, and we don't have to wait for the ever-after. It's called RAISING A TEENAGER.
I now get to live through what I no doubt put my parent's through.
I may be powerless to make any changes, but at least I can pick up the phone, call my parents and apologize to them for ever having liked a boy. And my behavior from ages 12 - 18. Or was it from ages 12 - 34?
Sorry Mom and Dad.
Those Mystics may have been on to something. I believe we have something just like this, and we don't have to wait for the ever-after. It's called RAISING A TEENAGER.
I now get to live through what I no doubt put my parent's through.
I may be powerless to make any changes, but at least I can pick up the phone, call my parents and apologize to them for ever having liked a boy. And my behavior from ages 12 - 18. Or was it from ages 12 - 34?
Sorry Mom and Dad.
1.04.2010
waxing poetic
Once upon a time, there was a 15 year old girl we’ll call Robyn. She was in Driver’s Ed class with a 15 year old boy named Greg. He had a crush on her, and she had a crush on him. They flirted.
Then, one day, Greg said something about a few errant hairs Robyn hadn't ever noticed.
There was no happily ever after to this Hairy Tale. That’s when the tweezing began.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been tweezing for 23 years. That’s longer than I’ve been driving. Longer than I went to school. Longer than all of my marriages combined. Even longer than how long I have been on a diet, and that’s a long time. The only things I’ve been doing longer than tweezing are menstruating – another fun thing – and breathing.
It’s something I dread every single day. I wonder where I will have a stray hair today?!
Do you have any idea how many tweezers I have bought? I wish I did. Wouldn’t you think one would be enough? First, there are the tweezers that are no good because they just don’t pluck right. Then there are all the tweezers that are perfect, yet someone else in the house uses them to perform plantar wart removal surgery. I mourn the loss for these tweezers, and buy more.
Can you even travel with tweezers anymore? I don’t think so. Me with my unwanted hair is a huge security threat. The Pastor takes me somewhere, things start to grow, I get to buy a new pair which gets donated to some hotel maid or T.S.A. agent.
No doubt when I am dead and gone and Nate is cleaning out my stuff he will find tweezers everywhere. All the tweezers – the good ones – I’ve hid so well to avoid their use on stinky feet or clogged drains – that I even hid them from myself. Car tweezers.
I think I’ve given up on my eyebrows though. Several months ago I was at the dermatologist with Nate and somehow the subject of eyebrow waxing came up. The doctor turned away from Nate and asked me “Seriously, you don’t wax your eyebrows, do you? You are fair enough you don’t need to do that.”
I took this as gospel. For the past 6 years I have been waxing approximately once per month, at let’s say the rate of $10 each time. That’s $720 I’ve spent just on my stupid eyebrows. And it’s not like anyone cares! It’s not like anyone has ever said “You have really fantastic eyebrows!”
Here’s how it would go. I’d go to an Asian nail place. Let them wax on/wax off. Then I would be left with huge bright red patches of irritated skin for approximately 24 hours. Then my irritated skin would start to break out around my eyebrows. Then about the time it cleared up, I had stubbly brows again and it was back for another torture session.
Of course the techs at those nail places are always laying a huge guilt trip on you. Without even so much as looking at you they spout off “wax your eyebrows today?” Then if you agree it’s never enough. What about your upper lip? What about your chin? No! Please don’t try to up-sale me any more waxing!
All this trouble for the hair that people CAN see. This doesn’t include the bikini waxes and Nair and Veet and shaving and the laser hair “reduction.” Don’t let the med-spas trick you into laser hair removal, because the fine print will tell you at best you will have less, finer hair - but you'll still have hair!
What does all this hair mean? Do I have too much testosterone? Because I’ve got to tell you, most of the time I FEEL LIKE I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH ESTROGEN. I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if I’m somehow a hermaphrodite.
I will never be impressed by the circus freak bearded lady. Girlfriend let herself go. I’d be more impressed by someone who has managed to find the secret to permanent unwanted hair removal. Then, we’d all live happily ever after.
The end.
Then, one day, Greg said something about a few errant hairs Robyn hadn't ever noticed.
There was no happily ever after to this Hairy Tale. That’s when the tweezing began.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been tweezing for 23 years. That’s longer than I’ve been driving. Longer than I went to school. Longer than all of my marriages combined. Even longer than how long I have been on a diet, and that’s a long time. The only things I’ve been doing longer than tweezing are menstruating – another fun thing – and breathing.
It’s something I dread every single day. I wonder where I will have a stray hair today?!
Do you have any idea how many tweezers I have bought? I wish I did. Wouldn’t you think one would be enough? First, there are the tweezers that are no good because they just don’t pluck right. Then there are all the tweezers that are perfect, yet someone else in the house uses them to perform plantar wart removal surgery. I mourn the loss for these tweezers, and buy more.
Can you even travel with tweezers anymore? I don’t think so. Me with my unwanted hair is a huge security threat. The Pastor takes me somewhere, things start to grow, I get to buy a new pair which gets donated to some hotel maid or T.S.A. agent.
No doubt when I am dead and gone and Nate is cleaning out my stuff he will find tweezers everywhere. All the tweezers – the good ones – I’ve hid so well to avoid their use on stinky feet or clogged drains – that I even hid them from myself. Car tweezers.
I think I’ve given up on my eyebrows though. Several months ago I was at the dermatologist with Nate and somehow the subject of eyebrow waxing came up. The doctor turned away from Nate and asked me “Seriously, you don’t wax your eyebrows, do you? You are fair enough you don’t need to do that.”
I took this as gospel. For the past 6 years I have been waxing approximately once per month, at let’s say the rate of $10 each time. That’s $720 I’ve spent just on my stupid eyebrows. And it’s not like anyone cares! It’s not like anyone has ever said “You have really fantastic eyebrows!”
Here’s how it would go. I’d go to an Asian nail place. Let them wax on/wax off. Then I would be left with huge bright red patches of irritated skin for approximately 24 hours. Then my irritated skin would start to break out around my eyebrows. Then about the time it cleared up, I had stubbly brows again and it was back for another torture session.
Of course the techs at those nail places are always laying a huge guilt trip on you. Without even so much as looking at you they spout off “wax your eyebrows today?” Then if you agree it’s never enough. What about your upper lip? What about your chin? No! Please don’t try to up-sale me any more waxing!
All this trouble for the hair that people CAN see. This doesn’t include the bikini waxes and Nair and Veet and shaving and the laser hair “reduction.” Don’t let the med-spas trick you into laser hair removal, because the fine print will tell you at best you will have less, finer hair - but you'll still have hair!
What does all this hair mean? Do I have too much testosterone? Because I’ve got to tell you, most of the time I FEEL LIKE I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH ESTROGEN. I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if I’m somehow a hermaphrodite.
I will never be impressed by the circus freak bearded lady. Girlfriend let herself go. I’d be more impressed by someone who has managed to find the secret to permanent unwanted hair removal. Then, we’d all live happily ever after.
The end.
1.02.2010
happy
I had the most wonderful, delightful New Year’s and New Decade's Day.
I missed my family though. But most of all I missed Mom’s New Year’s snacks – especially the cheeseballs.
I missed my family though. But most of all I missed Mom’s New Year’s snacks – especially the cheeseballs.
12.14.2009
the Pastor emailed this to me
I think it means I'm not getting a present
*****
excerpt from: God in the Dock/C.S. Lewis
Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connectons with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own frineds. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him to Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.
1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25th everyone is worn out - physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last movement, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one has to go to?
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?
4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.
We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst comes to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than for a nuisance.
*****
excerpt from: God in the Dock/C.S. Lewis
Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connectons with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own frineds. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him to Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.
1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25th everyone is worn out - physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last movement, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one has to go to?
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?
4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.
We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst comes to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than for a nuisance.
11.27.2009
No trip is complete without a trip to one of these
because the Pastor can't ever pass up another cheap, used, old man shirt!
Don't worry, we made it to a Coach store too, but the Pastor didn't take any pictures. He may have been too upset.
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