You know what's my favorite? Teenage girls with an unearned sense of entitlement who come into the office and won't talk to "the help," or who act as though every person they come into contact with is an inferior species, unfit even to wash their perfect little feet.


By the way, I'm "the help."


So, for all you girls out there who fit this description, let me give you a peek at what your future holds:

Yep. Even Tyra Banks isn't immune to the effects of age and too many Doritos. You don't look nearly as good as she did, either, so you don't have nearly as far to fall. So, yeah, maybe you don't act like such a little snot, and maybe I won't mock you mercilessly when you lose the only thing you've got going for you.


Okay, that's a lie. I'll still make fun of you, but maybe I won't do it to your face.

I've figured out the real problem. We're getting more self-absorbed and worse at having face-to-face contact with other people. That's why Facebook is so great. We can post anything and have no real fear of contradiction or criticism because we can always delete the comment. We can also post just about any sad status update, and at least one FB friend will write an "Oh...poor you!" comment.


Yeah, don't do that. It's fake and emotionally manipulative.


Have real contact with people, maybe put some pants on and go out; FB isn't a suitable substitute for real-life experiences. Play a game...one that requires a board and some other people. That can always involve copious amounts of wine and someone acting stupid, which is the most fun of all.


Stop making obtaining the desired reactions from your FB friends the sole focus of your life. There's too much to do that's way more fun, and they probably don't appreciate being made to feel guilty all the time. It's like we're all best friends with the Mother from Everybody Loves Raymond.


This isn't pointed at any one person, mind you. I'm sure I'm just as guilty as anyone else; I'm just getting tired of reading postings that are obviously cries for attention. Call me and make plans if you want to spend time with me; don't post a status that says that you're lonely. Everyone is lonely. Life is about coping with that. I'm going to do my best to not post statuses that just make everyone else feel guilty about the time they don't spend with me. Also, if you'd, maybe, write and ask a friend how she's doing, she'll probably reciprocate, and then you'll both actually feel better. It's amazing how actually giving a crap about another person can do that.


Also, while I'm at it, if we could all stop posting the things that say, "If you're against animal cruelty (or child abuse or poverty or pollution or forcing people to listen to Yanni...just fill in the blank with a monstrosity), re-post this. If you don't, then you don't care, etc." I would be thrilled. What good does it do to make that a status? How does publicly saying a person doesn't like something make it go away? I don't re-post those because I feel like the person is trying to push me to repeat some inane slogan that sounds pretty and is completely meaningless, and I just don't want to participate in that. So let's knock it off already. No one likes child abuse, and maybe if people donated some time or money to helping correct the issues they choose, it would do more than giving those people a short-lived feeling of self-satisfaction.


Just a suggestion. Yep, I've got a million of them...just call me cranky (actually, I think I prefer the term, "persnickety").

Last night, we're walking in the sweat-inducing, madness-causing heat-tasticness, and I see a person walking towards us. I don't realize I know her, as I'm not really looking at her face, but I notice that her outfit was fantastic, and I can't avert my eyes. It's a pretty long, straight stretch and I have a long time where I can legitimately stare, so that's pretty fun for a people-watcher like me. Really, how often do I just get to ogle somebody's interesting outfit choice without worrying if she's going to catch me?


She has on workout clothes,consisting of a sports bra and a pair of spandex short-shorts. Now, this sounds perfectly reasonable, until I mention that she is at least as large as me, if not larger. I'd actually say around 30 pounds larger, and about six inches shorter, and I usually under-estimate other people's weight, so....yeah. There's a lot of skin coming out of there. A lot. We approach her and I realize she's an acquaintance; not someone I know well, but someone I see around town and know well enough to talk to if I run into her at the store. She passes, smiling and giving a short greeting, and I realize that she has absolutely no discomfort about being seen in those clothes.


Oh my goodness. She is comfortable with herself.


How does that happen, and where do I sign up?


Just the thought of doing that makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. I would NEVER walk in public in short shorts and a sports bra. I would rather die from the heat than just wear less clothing and feel comfortable. As a matter of fact, I bought walking pants that are really yoga pants because I like that extra layer of fabric between my skin and the world. It's as if that fold-up top on the yoga pants is somehow going to disguise the voluminousness of my stomach when the wind blows my ginormous t-shirt against it. Oh, and don't even get me started on my arms. I'm uncomfortable enough even with clothes covering them. That's mostly because I have two giant hams concealed in my sleeves, only these aren't your garden-variety hams; these are attack hams, and if too much of them is uncovered, there will be a nuclear holocaust.


That's pretty much how I feel about that.


So, why does she get to walk around, oblivious to the extra poundage seeping out from between the bottom of her sports bra and the top of her spandex? I don't think that's the way it's supposed to work. I'm pretty sure there's some kind of law, requiring our kind of people to wear a muumuu or a Hefty bag when venturing out-of-doors. I think I read about it somewhere. Somewhere on the internet. I certainly don't get that kind of freedom. Am I just super neurotic? I mean, good for her and all, but even as I'm admiring her level of self-esteem, I'm cringing inside at the thought of how I'd look, out in public, with all my bits and pieces on display.


I realize this is ironic, in a week where I've posted about cheese and doughnuts, but I didn't actually eat those things. Well, not the doughnuts, anyway. 


Well, I guess as much as I want to be a normal, well-adjusted person, this particular thing isn't going to happen. There's just no way I can talk myself into airing out my flab. No matter how convincing I try to be with myself (and I have talked myself into some pretty interesting shenanigans in the past), my comfort will never come before my dignity (I still have a shred of dignity; let me hang onto it). We'll see how I feel when I'm 80. Maybe I'll change my mind.


Good for her, though.

We went for a walk last night, in the hot hotness of the heat. It was quite warm and quite awful, but we did it. In celebration, I think that everyone should buy me a doughnut today. A raised doughnut (not a cake one) with pink frosting (not a particular fruit flavor, mind you, because doughnuts shouldn't have real fruit flavors; instead, they should be fried and covered with a sugar-filled glaze or an artificially flavored and colored frosting), and maybe some sprinkles or coconut. I prefer the oblong sprinkles to the round ones, and either kind to coconut, but I'm not particular. I'll take any kind. This one would be perfect:

Maybe that says a little something about me; namely, that I always reward my good food/exercise behaviors with food and/or lack of exercise. 

P.S. If you're skinny and you always refer to yourself as a "fat kid" because you like to eat a lot, and you're asking yourself if that is offensive to those of us who were actually fat kids, the answer is: YES. Yes, it does. You don't get to be in our club unless you've walked the walk, and from the looks of your size 2 jeans, that's never happened. So shut it. Not all of us get to eat entire bags of Taco Doritos in one sitting (we just dream about it).

No, wait.

You owe me a pink doughnut for trying to appropriate my condition. Maybe a regular Dr. Pepper, too. I haven't decided. Let's just start with the doughnut and see how it goes, shall we?

Since I'm working ever so many hours this week, trying to keep up with all of the work I have in my regular at-home type job, plus extra hours in the office, I'm going to be lazy and write about one of the loves of my life: Cheese.


Cheese is delicious (I realize that goes without saying for most of us, but there are still those people out there that are ambivalent about the power of cheese). I love all kinds of cheese (except head cheese, which is not cheese at all, in my opinion), but my top three cheeses are Gouda, Gorgonzola and Fontina.


Here is a picture of cheese:

Revel in its cheesy deliciousness.

That is all. Your day is going to be so awesome now...can't you feel it?

There are some people who can eat whatever they want and not gain weight. I do not happen to be one of those people, but it doesn't make me hate them. I mean, why would I want to strangle a person for being able to partake in a malt every afternoon while I'm eating my lovely snack that consists of water and air. Equally good, right?

Sure!

Plus, think of all that money I save, eating yogurt every day for lunch (even though I truly hate yogurt), along with an apple. I don't hate apples, but I would much rather have a bag of chips. 

Plus, who wants to be able to go on vacation and not write down everything she eats? That's no fun. It's much nicer for a person to try to find the only healthy thing on the menu every time she goes to a restaurant and then only eat half of it and have to throw the rest away because her husband is not co-operating and helping to eat that particular dish because it basically consists of boiled broccoli and a 2 oz. shrivelly piece of chicken in some ridiculously vinegary sauce. Crazy husband. He wants to go on vacation and eat stuff that tastes good.

Who wants to do that?

I'm not bitter. Not at all, even considering that I split a bottle of pink champagne on my birthday so I now get to eat, well, nothing, at least until I lose the birthday weight that I accumulated over two days. Two days. Not a week, but two days, and I still gained a few pounds. Yeah, that's awesome.

Besides, I just love going out and walking for an hour every night in the 90+ degree weather we're having right now. I think my sweat makes a statement. It's super fun to keep going when you feel as though half of your body has melted off, but it's the half that doesn't actually weigh anything.

So, no, I don't hate naturally thin people at all. Not at all.

I'm just saying they should probably avoid me like the plague. Not that I'll be mean or anything, but deep inside I'll be smacking the crap out of them as they enjoy their guilt-free Quarter Pounders.

In response to a suggestion from a reader, I'd like to present some advice on etiquette at the mall. It seems that quite a few people forget how to behave in this very, very public place, and maybe those people need a quick reminder.


First and foremost, one should remember to wear one's tightest, most poorly-fitting clothing. How are people going to see the goods if they aren't on display, right? Make sure that any tube tops are at least two sizes too small to ensure excitement for the viewer (if the people around you aren't concerned about accidentally getting a peek at the nipple area, the tube top isn't tight enough). A large amount of visible butt-crack is also desirable, but not mandatory. It's probably enough if a person and her teenage daughter have both borrowed something that looks like it came from the toddler section at the Gap, and the daughter's shorts are so short that, not only can they rightfully be called janties, her fellow mall-goers are also treated to a public viewing of her cellulite in all its glory(I know...teenagers with cellulite...the world is a-changing)!


Secondly, please remember to walk very slowly and stay in the very middle of the path that is being taken. The people approaching from the rear need to learn that the mall is not a place one goes to accomplish any specific tasks. The mall is a place for contemplation, meandering, and talking on one's cellphone very loudly about why Veronica's boyfriend broke up with her. If a person is in a big hurry, and has actually come to the mall to attempt to buy something in a timely manner, she should simply push through the people in front of her (without saying a word) and rush past, not forgetting to flip off the people who were in her way. Also, keep in mind that all of the people in the immediate area are really very interested in whatever conversations are happening around them, cellphone and otherwise, so make sure to speak loudly and clearly. Oh, and don't forget the profanity. It adds that special dash of mall color that makes everyone's day brighter.


As a side note, the mall is definitely a good babysitter, so feel free to drop off unwanted adolescents there for the afternoon. Everyone enjoys watching twelve-year-olds run through the mall, screaming and pushing down little kids to their hearts' delight. Ah, to be a child again...


Anyhow, I digress. There is one more aspect of mall attendance that is of the utmost importance, yet is frequently overlooked by the average mall-goer: The large soda. Please, no matter what else is done during the course of the day, don't neglect the large soda. It's practically a requirement. One should purchase the beverage at the beginning of one's day at the mall, so as to have maximum drinking time, and carry it throughout the mall. Including the bathroom. If that drink hasn't had time to sit on the counter while its owner is taking a whiz, it's missing out on a vital part of the mall day, and so are the people who get to try to work around it as it takes up valuable, germ-filled counter space. As a side note, it's really not necessary to wash one's hands after using the facilities. They're probably pretty clean; I wouldn't worry about it. After the bathroom break, it's time to take that soda everywhere you can. Make sure to take it into stores and hold it, drink-sweat dripping down onto whatever is being viewed, while perusing the selection of silk blouses at Macy's. Be sure that one's fellow shoppers are offered a drink, as well. It's lovely to be mindful of one's neighbor's thirst and whatnot.


There. Now everyone is prepared for the big day at the mall. Be sure to be extra aggressive in the parking lot, as walking an extra two feet really is a hardship, and don't forget to buy a bunch of crap! Happy shopping!

Well, this is my 100th post. I'm almost tempted to stop blogging here, because, really, 100 is a great number, but maybe I won't. We'll see how I feel about it tomorrow.


As I've been loading our hundreds and hundreds of CDs onto our computer, I keep coming across CDs that we purchased only to be completely underwhelmed, and irritated that we spent $15 or so on a CD with only one good song on it (thank goodness we now have iTunes, even though it's sort of killing the music industry and ruining the whole concept of an album...I won't even start on that one). It gets me thinking about how crazy it makes me that we've decided that songwriters have to be performers, and vice-versa.


Why is it necessary for someone who is really good at writing lyrics to be good at composing the music to go with them? Is it so ridiculous that someone could be an amazing singer and have no talent for arranging? Pavarotti never wrote any of the stuff he sang, and everyone liked him pretty well. Elton John has his Bernie Taupin. What's wrong with that?


I totally see the value of multi-tasking. There are definitely people who can do it all. I get that we want people to be multi-faceted, and we want the most for our money, but this is art; no one should be expected to be as great at writing as he is at singing, or composing, or arranging. 


It makes me want to scream every time I hear the comment, "Yeah, she's got a good voice, but she doesn't even write her own music." Really? First of all, I don't write my own music, either. Does that, in some way, diminish what I do? Does that make the hours I spend at the keyboard, trying to perfect each little note, meaningless or even worth less than the 15 minutes some pop musician took to record a track, because he's a great songwriter but can't sing a note so they'll just go over it with Auto-Tune and he'll be fine?


I think not.


I think that mindset is absolute crap.


I'm glad the music industry is tanking. Maybe we'll get some new people in there, with new ideas and a better appreciation of what it is to be an artist. Britney Spears is no artist. She's a glorified prostitute, but with lower moral standards. Think about it: If she gained fifty pounds or started wearing turtlenecks to hide her lady bits, there's no way she could sell an album, right? Yeah. And, unlike real working girls, she doesn't even have the integrity to admit that that's what she's doing, and she doesn't work half as hard for her money. Plus, her voice is, at least to me, like nails on a chalkboard. Baby-talk is highly unattractive, especially in singing form.


We all need to realize that writing lyrics and writing music are completely different art forms, and requiring a person to be as good at one as she is at the other is like requiring a painter to do equally well running an art gallery, or wanting a children's book author to be able to direct a movie based upon one of her books. It's ridiculous. We're encouraging mediocre talents to do a mediocre job at putting out a bunch of mediocre music. It's not realistic, and it's insulting to those of us who spend a great deal of time on our instruments and our craft. It's catering to the lowest common denominator.


Plus, it means that I have about seventy-five CDs that only have one good song each, and that just irritates the heck out of me. At $15 each, with 9 crap songs on each CD, that's like I threw away over $1000.


Okay, so really, that's what it's all about. Argh. 

Yesterday, something monumentous (that's a combination of momentous and monumental; it's called a portmanteau...look it up) happened: I had to talk to a guy on the phone!


Okay, that doesn't sound that exciting, but if I mention that he had me on speakerphone and he was using the bathroom (I'm not talking about tinkling, either), does that sound little more shocking?


Yeeeaaaaahhhhh.


This guy calls me to change an appointment time, and I keep offering him openings. All the while I'm hearing toilets flush and water running, so I'm guessing he's calling from a bathroom. It's only when he starts talking funny and pausing a little that I guess what's actually going on is that he's using the bathroom while talking to me. I think that maybe he was trying to multi-task, but no one ever told him that speakerphone is not a good idea when you're, you know, taking care of business.


I think the kicker was when he actually...um...went, and he made a little, "Ah!" sort of sound. Why did I need to hear this? Why did I need to hear any of this? It was a pretty long call, I'd say about five minutes, so I think I must've been there for the majority of his bathroom visit. Is his time so important that he can't just wait to call me until he's finished? Or could he maybe have not put me on speakerphone? I mean, maybe he was grabbing onto something and pushing for dear life, but I didn't need to hear it. Plus, he should have some kind of headset for when he's driving and needs to use his cell phone (he probably doesn't want to be unsafe and talk while driving, though).


Talk about unsafe.


I was in shock for about 15 minutes after I got off of the phone. I was also proud that I didn't, even once, say anything along the lines of, "Who does Number Two work for?" or, "Hey, partner, have a good one!" (from the toilet scene from Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery). I'm guessing that this means I'm an adult.


Come to think of it, though, I am devoting an entire page of my blog to the event, so maybe I'm not as grown up as that. Oh, well. I leave you with the aforementioned bathroom scene. If you don't find bodily function humor funny, you won't enjoy it at all; however, I'm guessing that if that's the case, you won't have made it through this whole post, anyway. So there.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BC8dL8_80YM

Your Personal Guide to Internet Safety

Yes, folks, I've decided that it's time to share my vast knowledge of internet safety with you. What inspired this post? Well, I came into work this morning and none of the computers were working, and a bizarre flashing page with expletives on it was up on the main machine, so I know someone clicked on something they shouldn't have. This isn't what cause the malfunction, as it was on a different server, but it could've caused a problem.

Am I annoyed? A wee bit. So here we go!

1. Never click on anything that even resembles an ad. NEVER. If it's on the border of your page, it's probably junk of some sort. Just don't click on it. If you want to look at a particular product, go to amazon.com and look for it. They have everything.

2. Never download anything onto a work computer. Just don't. You don't want that screen saver/game/funny picture, I promise. At least, you don't want it badly enough to download some kind of virus along with your diversion that takes down your boss's whole system and requires a visit from a computer guy. Then you'll have to explain what you were doing looking at pictures of Angelina Jolie's new lips and why you were playing Tetris when your time card clearly shows that you were supposed to be working. Yikes.

3. Don't use my computer for any reason, unless I have approved of you and your germs. I don't want them. I realize this has nothing to with keeping your computer safe; this is more of a personal safety issue. YOUR personal safety.

4. Be aware that anyone can make a realistic looking logo. It's very easy. Just because an ad or a webpage looks like it's legit doesn't mean you should click on it and/or purchase something from it. Your bank account will, mostly likely be cleaned out. It happens all of the time, and I promise that I will laugh at you behind your back if this happens to you. I realize it's not funny; I feel that mockery is the most effective way for me to teach other people life-lessons.

5. Finally, since you are on a work computer, realize that most of us have, at one time or another, been on a site that required us to enter a password. When you compromise our server, you are compromising all of the sensitive information on the system, including info belonging to other people. If you don't feel comfortable differentiating between legitimate links and potential virus-containing links, you should just not click on them. Or don't use the internet. Your call.

Do you get it now? The overall theme of this page is, "Don't Click on That Link!" You are putting everyone else's info at risk, not to mention potentially sensitive information from your job. Plus, if any of my accounts get hacked into because of your slip-up, I will totally take you out to the parking lot and we'll have to throw down.

Those are the rules, and yes, someone did die and make me boss. Deal.

Tomorrow is my 34th birthday. I'm curious as to how much longer I'll be comfortable saying my age out loud, in public. I hope I'll never be embarrassed about it, but you never know. My mom has always been cool with whatever age she's at. I remember her 40th birthday party, and thinking, "Wow! We're going to have to put her in a home soon." 


40 doesn't seem so old anymore.


Actually, every year I seem to alter my definition of the different categories of age. Now, middle age doesn't start until 45. I'm much more comfortable with that. Old age doesn't begin until 80, so I've got a long way to go, plus I don't like thinking of my parents as being old. It creeps me out.


It makes me wonder if being old was always something dreaded and avoided, or if we were ever able to just accept the fact that everybody does it, and the alternative is being dead, which isn't exactly easy on your body either. 


I say this, knowing full well that I will look at my wrinkles in the mirror the next time I go into the bathroom and despair.


Why can I not have some fricking pigment in my skin? I'm so pale and my skin is so dry that I had crow's feet by my eyes when I was in my late teens. Seriously. I've mended the huge frown line in the middle of my forehead with a lot of moisture and a conscious effort not to furrow my brow when I'm thinking deep thoughts (which is all the time...I don't just have fart jokes running around up there 24/7...okay, maybe I do, but let me pretend that I'm thinking about world peace or the cure for some disease), but the eye lines just will not budge.


I try to think that my wrinkles come from my grandma, who is probably the coolest lady around, so that's not a bad thing. My big hands and ape-arms come from my grandpa on my dad's side, so I don't mind them at all (well, maybe a little, but not as much as the pruny action on my face). Why can I not accept the wrinkles in the same way?


Aw, who am I kidding? The wrinkles, the arms, everything bothers me. Except this year will be different. Not only have I become a better person through being positive and not worrying so much about everything, but this year, my age is an even number. I love even numbers. They are divisible by two. 


Okay, so maybe I'm not actually a better, less neurotic person. Maybe I'm just trying to be, and the trying itself is the part that matters, right? Sure it is. Plus, I get presents and cake and I'm going away for the weekend on a surprise trip with my wonderful husband, who knows how much I love surprises.


And cake. Did I mention cake? I'm pretty sure I did, but I think cake is worth two mentions. Oh, and wine. Wine is also worth two mentions. 


I am going to gain about 50 pounds between now and Monday. Awww yeah!

Perhaps it would be good if everybody just knew how to do everything. That way, I would be free to do my baking and crafts and whatnot. But that might also mean that everyone else would be better than me at everything, and I don't know if I could take that kind of a situation.


I don't have a ton of self-esteem, and I don't imagine that I know everything, but I do have things that I feel comfortable with, and even slightly proud of, and I think it would be a terrible blow to my already fragile little ego if everyone else was comfortable and good with them, as well.


For instance: I am a great speller. I have always been a great speller, and it's not something I worked at. It was a gift. Of course, computers with spell-check weren't in common usage when I was born, so that gift is pretty useless now except when someone's writing a note or something and doesn't have a computer handy. Then I get to be the dancing monkey.


I am also VERY good at making up alternate dialogue to movies, TV shows, songs, and pretty much anything that could have different words. This gift mainly comes in handy when I'm alone, because for some reason, people find it annoying when they're trying to watch a movie and I'm talking over the actors. Go figure. I think I'm terribly funny and they can all kiss my patootie.


I realize both of my skills are pretty limited in scope, but they're mine and I find them amusing. If everyone else in the world was good at those things, I'd probably feel pretty sad. Everyone would be talking over the film at the movies, and I'd probably be telling them to shut up, since another one of my skills is being a curmudgeon.


So maybe it's good that we're not all good at everything. I don't know. It's awfully early in the morning and I just couldn't think of anything else to talk about. Coming up with good blog topics is definitely not one of my skills.

In my quest to become the ultimate baker, I have a acquired a new tool:

Isn't it just the prettiest thing you've ever seen? I love it so much, I am going to make stuff with it right away, to compensate for six months of using an old tiny mixer that has started to make loud grunting noises at me whenever I try to mix anything with more substance than cake batter. Seriously. I made muffins yesterday, and it was whining even before I put in the flour (yes, I'm lazy and I mix the wet ingredients in muffins with a mixer...I know that's not the preferred method, but my muffins come out just fine, so deal). My good mixer has long been gone to a better home and the one I received as a gift (that was supposed to be an upgrade but broke immediately after I gave my good mixer away and turned the new one on) has been sitting on a shelf in my garage, unable to be fixed.

So I've been using an old hand-me-down to fill in the gap while I tried to find a way to afford one of these bad boys (I got a great deal on it at Costco, in the warehouse, but it still hurt). I have a lot of trouble making large purchases, due to my indecisiveness and inability to decide if it's really worth that many hours of work. Plus, the old one really is just fine. It's quite small and makes for a lot of extra cleanup because it leaks gear oil and you have to constantly bang the pin that holds the top part on back into place and it gets stuck on the base so I have to leave the dirty bowl on there for my husband to remove with a strap wrench when he gets home. Other than that, it works okay. It's just that since I use it about five times per week, it gets a little tedious having to deal with all of those issues plus having to do everything in smaller batches because the bowl is close to half the size of the bowl I'm used to working with. Yes, I am whining. I realize I could mix this stuff by hand, but then we'd be eating Chips Ahoy instead of homemade cookies, now, wouldn't we?

This totally is worth it, though. I've been agonizing for three weeks or so, waiting to buy it until I felt like it was the right time. When we saw it on that shelf at Costco yesterday, all shiny and $70 cheaper than it had been online, we knew it was time.

This is the best week ever. EVER. Maybe that means my priorities are skewed, or maybe it's just the happy spilling over from all of the good things that have been happening lately, or it could even be that my birthday (which is coming up on Saturday, for those of you who are interested...I accept checks, money orders or gifts from amazon.com) is making me in a better mood than usual. Whatever.

I'm off to mix stuff. Gourmet, fancy stuff (or cake).

Why, oh why, is everything someone else's fault?


So you get to work late and it's not your fault because you got stuck in traffic. Your kids act out in school but it's not your fault that you don't have enough time to spend with them because you have to work so much. Your house is full of a bunch of crap because you don't have the time or inclination to throw anything away, but that's not your fault because you're just too exhausted/emotionally attached/busy to get rid of anything or clean up after yourself.


I think if I hear the phrase, "It's not my fault!" one more time, I'm going to go all the way to insane. It's not that far from here.


I'm not trying to say that I have no faults. I do, and just as many or more than everyone else. The difference is this: It IS my fault. I acknowledge, accept and embrace it (probably a little too much, but that's what cake is for).


I am fat because I've eaten too much and not exercised enough my whole life. I am tired for the same reasons, plus the fact that I've decided I need to read my book instead of going to sleep at night. I have less money than I would like because I chose to go into a field I love, rather than taking a full-time job that would pay much more. I will take the blame for that every time.


Can we all just ban the phrase, "It's not my fault!"?


You notice I put an exclamation mark in there. The indignant nature of the statement kind of demands that extra oomph at the end.


I'm not saying we should all be self-hating or anything like that. I just wish we could all be grown-ups (those of us who are grown-ups) and admit our mistakes and problems without trying to find someone else to share in the blame. (If you're nine, you can disregard this. Go ahead and blame other people. That's part of being a kid. If you have a sibling, it's kind of the law that you have to blame them for every bad thing that happens. This prepares you for life in the workplace.)


I think I'm going to go around taking all the blame for everybody today. I will revel in my martyr-ness and be the bad guy. Maybe it will make me a better person and I can actually learn from situations that suck, rather than just saying, "It's not my fault!" and choosing to disregard the problem that caused the issue in the first place. Or maybe it will just add to my smug sense of self-satisfaction and moral superiority. You know, whatever.


Where did people grumble before blogs? This is fantastic.

In my infinite wisdom, a few months ago, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor this morning. I don't know why I picked a Monday morning to get poked and prodded, but I did and now I'm looking forward to the inevitable question:


Have you ever thought about losing weight?


I get it every time I go in, no matter what I'm going in for. Not to the dentist or eye doctor, but everybody else. Hurt foot? Lose weight. Tore your rotator cuff? Lose weight. Sinus infection? Lose weight.


The best part is, right about now, all the people who are reading this that are at a normal weight have no idea what I'm talking about.


Oh, it's completely true. I'm guessing the doc isn't aware that I own a mirror or a scale, or that I buy clothes, so I know exactly what size I am. Nope. I've had to shop in the large sizes section for the past 26 years or so, and I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary.


Not to mention that I'm about 80 pounds lighter now than I was ten years ago, and there's no way that stuff just melted off by itself.


So, yeah, I've noticed.


I have so many good comebacks for the question, but I always feel too bad to use them. The doctor always seems so happy, like he's solved some great mystery for me, as if now that I know that all of my problems can be solved by losing weight, my life will become perfect. What I'd like to do is stare at him with a shocked face and say, "No! Really? I had no idea I was overweight. What do you think could've caused this?" 


Couldn't pull it off with a straight face.


I know this, because I've almost done it about ten times, but every time I'm in there and I even think about it, I start smiling, and once that happens, the giggles aren't far behind.


I think that maybe this time I need a printout. Just a sheet that says, "Yes, I know I'm overweight, and that all of the evil in the world is caused by my inability to put down the Twinkies. I'm working on it. Thank you for your concern." Maybe that would help. I could just hand it over at the beginning of my appointment, and then he'd say, "Oh, so you know that your [insert health condition of your choice here--preferably a funny one] was caused by your mega-super-morbid-even-more-mega obeseness? Alright. Have you tried working on it?" Then I could just point to the second sentence and say, "Have you tried working on your reading? Because the answer is right there."


I just played that out in my head. It was hilarious. I put the word "gonorrhea" in there, because it's fun to say. Hemorrhoids was a close second, but it looks funnier than it sounds so gonorrhea won.


Okay, I don't think I can do it, but at least now I have a dream. A dream of, one day, finding a doctor that doesn't think he or she is the first to inform me of my excess flab. If that ever happens, I think I will probably go into shock. Primarily because of the obeseness, but also from having a doctor that doesn't think I'm an idiot.


Mondays are fun.

I'm pretty proud of the fact that I have survived this week. Not that it's been bad; it's actually been really nice and I've been productive. So I'm tired. Like everyone else on the planet. To celebrate, I'm going to share a list of my ten favorite cereals. Why? Because it's Friday, and I'm tired.


10. Grape-Nuts. I love them, but I don't buy them anymore because my teeth are bad and every time I eat them I feel like all of my teeth are going to crumble. Every once in a while, though, I have to buy a box.


9. Apple Dapples. As I've mentioned previously, it's the best darn generic out there AND you can feel virtuous about eating it, since it has so much fiber.


8. Cocoa Pebbles. They aren't as good as the fruity ones, but the cocoa milk they make totally makes up for it.


7. Honey Smacks. They are just fricking delicious. Plus, they look a lot like the puffed wheat health cereal my mom used to buy occasionally, so I get to pretend I'm being healthy, except these have absolutely no nutritive value.


6. Reese's Puffs. They'd be a lot higher on my list, but they're never on sale, and paying that much for a bowl of cereal sucks out some of the delicious peanutty goodness.

5. Regular Frosted Mini-Wheats. They're like miniature frosted bales of hay, so you can pretend you're a cow while you eat them. I highly recommend mooing, but if you have a weight problem, people might misunderstand and think you're a wee bit crazy.

4. Chocolate Frosted Mini-Wheats. Same as the above, but CHOCOLATE. This is another cereal that rarely goes on sale, so I don't eat it as much as I'd like to; however, when it does go on sale, I clean out the store and eat it for every meal until I run out.

3. Fruity Pebbles. The fruity milk is delicious, and it's pink. The texture is good, it's rainbow-colored, what's not to love? I realize these also have no nutritive value, but I really don't care. They are outstanding.

2. Boo-Berry. Of the three Monstery cereals (Frankenberry, Count Chocula and Boo-Berry), this is by far my favorite. I think it's partially because Frankeberry looks a little unbalanced in his picture on the box, and Count Chocula just makes me sad. I don't know. I just love the blueberry-flavoredness.

1. Lucky Charms. Leprechauns AND marshmallows? Yes, please. They ARE magically delicious, and you know me and magic.

Happy Friday. Happy weekend. Happy happy joy joy.

It's Thursday. Not quite Friday, but close. Hooray.


I realize that isn't very enthusiastic, but you'll have to manage.


I was thinking, as I was brushing my teeth, about how everybody decided to be a super-mega-thoughtful-profound person way back in the 90s. Because this annoys me, I think I'm going to be as superficial and shallow as possible.


No deep thoughts for me.


Don't people get tired of analyzing the crap out of every thought that pops into their pointy little heads? And this isn't one single person that I know (although I do know a lot of deep people, but they're not deep on purpose, they just happen to be interesting without trying); this seems to be an epidemic. At least, it's a Facebook epidemic. Not that I don't analyze my every thought, but at least I keep it to myself, and don't try to turn it into something that I can use as a Facebooks status, in order to make all my FB friends ooh and ahhh over my super-mega-intelligence.


Now, I am all for inspiration. It's great. It's really wonderful to feel as though you have a higher power working within you, making you a better, more productive, kinder person. Or whatever it is that you want to be. Just don't let it make you think that you're the new Gandhi. You're not. I know the new Gandhi and she's outstanding. 


Really. Just really. Can we all just agree that Facebook is not real life, and it's just a place where we extend the best possible version of ourselves and connect with other people that we may not have time for in the real world? That's all it is, people. You're most likely not going to meet your soulmate on there, and he or she is not going to be impressed because you quote yourself, saying things like, "In order to gain perspective on a situation, you must look at it from above."


I just made that up. Gosh, I'm special.


Maybe I should drink more coffee and write these posts a little later in the day, when I don't feel annoyed at everyone and everything.


Or maybe people are just getting dumber.


This is one of those situations where it's not clear to me who has the problem, but at least I don't take myself too seriously. In case you aren't aware, most of what I put on here is crap, and I know that. I just wanted a magical place to empty the contents of my head, so I can go about my day empty-headed and happy.


I think it's working.

There's a moderate amount of excitement in my house on any given day. I get pretty worked up about most things, and I tend to be really enthusiastic about anything I like. For instance, if I'm teaching a student a new piece and I really like it, I get kind of dorky about it. I hope it's entertaining for them.


This morning, my excitement about the mundane seems to have bitten me on my bum.


First of all, I am loading CDs onto my computer, bit by bit, which has taken me two years so far and I'm still only halfway done. We've got a lot of CDs, but I also conveniently forget about this little project and stop doing it after loading approximately three CDs onto my computer, which doesn't get me very far. This time, however, I will endure. Anyway, I found these CDs that I didn't remember owning, which are old copies of an old recording of a symphony that I like a lot, so I was pretty excited about that. My excitement was short-lived, however; I couldn't load it onto my computer. Apparently, the first CD has some sort of fatal error in it and it made my computer go insane and attempt to commit suicide, which meant I had to restart and completely lost all unsaved work.


Yeah, as many times as I've lost work to this kind of thing, you'd think I'd know better, wouldn't you? Not so much.


So, I get that all straightened out, and then I remember that I haven't had my coffee yet. So, of course, I start singing the Folger's song. I don't drink Folger's, but I do have an appreciation for the fine advertising jingles I was subjected to as a child. Plus, singing the ad for a product and then having that kind of product just makes me super happy. So, I walk out to the kitchen and pour my first cup.


Guess who forgot to put coffee in the machine?


At first, I assumed the machine was broken, so it was almost a relief when I realized that I had just forgotten to put in the grounds. Got the water and filter in there, though, but two-thirds of the way just isn't enough.


I haven't learned my lesson. I will continue to get excited about stupid little things. I think maybe I'll sing the diarrhea song from Parenthood for the whole rest of the day. That always makes my day a little brighter, and I like to think it makes everyone who gets to experience it with me a little happier, too.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58YNYqN6lko

For me, there are many moments in life that are awkward. This is probably because I think everything's funny, and I don't think everyone else sees situations the same way I do. However, one of the most awkward, to me, is when you meet someone's significant other, and you think, "Ugh," but you can't really say anything about it, because it's too late.


Recently, I met some old friends, whom I hadn't seen for ages, and I finally got to meet my friend's husband. Ugh. Just awful. One of those people who is fairly unintelligent, has no sense of humor and isn't attractive enough to pull off the amount of stupid in his head. Now, my friend is pretty and smart and funny and just an altogether awesome person. So what can I say?


Later, I talk to her on the phone and she asks me, "So what did you think? Isn't he the best?" I have, fortunately, prepared myself for the question, so I answer, "I'm so glad I got to meet him! You two seem so happy together!"


This was not true, mind you. They did not seem happy. They seemed miserable, they had no chemistry, and their only eye contact occurred when discussing an appetizer.


Ugh.


I am so happy I'm married to someone I actually like.


I think maybe I should start a marriage consulting service. You know, tell people if they're horribly mismatched. That way, it will be easier on their friends and they won't be known forever as The Couple With The Awful Wife (or Husband). Those are just the worst. I'm pretty sure there are people out there who would disagree with my taste in these matters, but I'm just as sure that they would be wrong. Have we not learned yet that I am always right?


Some people need a lot more training than others.


Athough it would be kind of rough, I think being The Couple With The Awful Wife would have its advantages. For instance, you'd never have your weekends booked months in advance. You'd also never be asked to go to birthday parties or wedding/baby showers, so that's a lot less gift-buying. 


Wait. My paranoia has just kicked in. Maybe we're that couple. Maybe I'm The Awful Wife. 


Hahahahahahahaha. No way. I'm flipping awesome. Anyone who thinks that is probably The Awful Wife herself, and anyone who'd say that about my husband had better prepare for surgery. You know, the kind it would require to remove my foot from her insidey parts. Because he is just outstanding.


Okay, so maybe it's mean to think someone's spouse is awful. Maybe I need to look for something nice to say. Or maybe I shouldn't say anything at all. Yep. I think that's the answer. Keeping my mouth shut. Not saying a word.


This is going to be difficult.

Living as close to Santa Fe as I do, you'd think I would see a lot of famous people. I guess they come to Santa Fe to see if we still have the whole "cowboys and indians" thing going on, or to make sure we have running water out here in the sticks. Plus, they don't get swamped with reporters and all, and they like to think they're giving the little people a thrill.


Not so much.


I am one of those people who always has so much going on inside my head that I rarely pay attention to things like that. I'm usually busy looking at minute details, worrying about whether or not I remembered to lock the front door, and wondering if people are staring and/or laughing at the voluminous stomach action I have going on in the front part of my shirt. I rarely, if ever, notice famous people.


My husband, however, notices all that kind of stuff, so if he's with me, I'm good.


We've seen Judge Reinhold (I forgot about that until just this very second) at the Plaza Café in Santa Fe, UB40 right before a concert they were giving at the Kiva in Albuquerque (their autographs are hanging in my bathroom), and Starla from Napoleon Dynamite in Las Vegas when we were going to see Stomp. I've seen Tommy Lee jones at Chocolate Maven in Santa Fe (they must use a lot of makeup on him because I think if I saw his wrinkles and pores in hi-def, I might throw up), and once, when my husband was a teenager, he waited on Elliott Gould at Rancho de Chimayó. That's our list. Up until now.


Drum roll time.


We went to the DeVargas Mall on Friday to watch The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (great movie, by the way) and on our way out, we stopped to refill our large Diet Coke to take home and stick in the fridge (it's like two drinks in one), and CHARO was at the counter, getting some popcorn. Charo! In real life! At first I thought maybe it was a drag act because she was wearing so much makeup and sequins, and the lady she was with was too, but upon further inspection, you could totally see that it was her. In all of her tight-skinned, small-nosed glory. Fabulous.


High point of our celebrity-spotting careers. For reals.


I wanted to ask for her autograph, but I'm too shy and my husband wasn't about to do it. So we stood outside and watched a little through the glass, hopefully unobtrusively, and then left. It was so awesome.


I hope she appreciates us for not bothering her and asking her to say something hilarious in Spanglish. We are just tremendously cool like that. Sigh.

On the side of my email inbox, there's always these stupid ads. Today's ad is for a weight-loss program, and the picture on it is a lady smiling creepily at me while holding a brownie in one hand and an apple in the other. I generally ignore the ads because they're stupid and irritating, and really, who clicks on things on the side of a page anymore? We all know about viruses and stuff like that.


This one, however, is too much to overlook.


Really, lady? Really? You're judging me by whether I'd take the apple or the brownie? Anyone who wouldn't take the brownie is insane. An apple is just an apple, but brownies are delicious magical goodness in a little square package. You never know what could be in there. There could be pecans (not walnuts; I'm allergic to those) or chocolate chips, or even butterscotch chips.


You'd miss out on that for an apple?


Not only that, but you're judging me for my snacking choice? Granted, I know I should take the apple or even not have a snack at all; I have enough fat stores to live on comfortably for years. I could just go hibernate right now and not have to emerge until I'm 40. Naps are great.


That is beside the point, though. My snack should be my choice.


In addition, lady, you look like you weigh about 100 pounds. Do you really want to tangle with this? Get up in my face? I'm a big girl, and I'm pretty sure that before I curl up in the fetal position on the ground and start crying because I feel bad that I hit you, I could do some damage. There's muscle lurking under this protective outer layer.


So maybe you want to wipe that smarmy little smirk right off of your perky little face.


Oh, and that's another thing: She's perky. Really perky. I can tell from her picture. She's obviously a professional aerobics instructor or something like that. I'm sure there are very nice people out there who lead those kinds of classes, but this lady's not nice. I can just picture her, wearing her little headset microphone and standing beside me as I struggle to get my feet moving properly to do the grapevine move, saying something along the lines of, "I don't see that smile!"


Bite me. I can't exercise and smile at the same time. That's like asking me to yodel underwater. It can't be done.


I wish I could've ignored this ad. The demonic smile on her face will haunt my dreams. Of course, I can always beat her up in my dreams and it'll be great. That's what I'll do: Dream that I'm beating her up, then make some brownies. Brownies with butterscotch chips. 


Bahahahahahahahaha.....take that, Oh Perky One.