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.