It’s About Juicing. And Smoothies. And a Little About Algae.

I did another Pilates workout yesterday. Because apparently, I like pain now. I’m in love with it. It’s my new boyfriend.

No it’s not. I hate pain. Actually, I hate discomfort. Of any type. But pain too.

Ouch.

Okay, complaining portion is over. I swear.

Let’s talk about juicing and smoothies. A good long while ago, my husband found a info-mentary on Netflix called Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead. In it, this man who lost a bunch of weight by juicing, convinces some folks to follow his plan and juice-fast themselves to slimdom. Needless to say, I ran out and borrowed a juicer the next day. Eventually, I bought one, buoyed by the success of a weeklong juice fast.

JUICE ALL THE VEGETABLES! (Credit to Allie Brosh, author and artist at Hyperbole and a Half. Any time you see that image of a primitively drawn person, holding a stick arm out in victory, with the caption *blank* all the *blank*, that’s from Allie’s original artwork. It’s all funny, but never as funny as her original post, which I’ve helpfully linked for you. Follow that link. Now.

Finally back? You’re fucking welcome. I told you.)

Anyway, I’ve not reached slimdom.

At the time, I recognized the “documentary” as a naked attempt to sell Breville juicers. I bought a $40 GE juicer and Walmart and it did the job. I felt great. But I missed real food. A LOT. 2 years later, I’m still fat, not sick and not even remotely dead. My juicer is dusty. A year ago, my husband bought me a Vitamix. So I’d start juicing again. What a lovely and expensive way to tell me to get off my fat ass and lose some damn weight. As a middle finger to  my thoughtful spouse, I gained ten pounds. Because I’m me.

But Pinterest being what it is, I eventually caved and started making smoothies. Green smoothies. They look like swamp algae and taste like a peanut butter milkshake, so it’s been a fairly great thing in my life. Not to mention each smoothie has 4 servings of fruits and veggies. Yeah, 4. I’m a health machine, baby. But a stealthy one, because you don’t expect a health machine to weigh 240 pounds. I sneak up on you. Watch your back.

Sorry, I’m in a mood.

Because I’m nice and respectful of copyright, I’m linking you to the blog that has my favorite green smoothie recipe. It really is delicious. You can’t taste the spinach at all. I swear.

And now, I’m going to clean my house. We’re having friends over for dinner tomorrow and I find people eat more if your kitchen doesn’t look like it might give them gastro-intestinal disease. And fyi, I’m counting the housework as my workout today. Sparkpeople said I could.

Pilates, Workout From Hades

Some time ago, an acquaintance was raving about Pilates. “It really makes you pay attention your core,” she enthused.

My core could use some attention, so her recommendation stuck with me.

A few months later, a friend gave me a couple of Pilates DVDs. She was having a lot of success with them and being a really good friend, was looking to share that.

I’ll confess, they spent a bit of time lingering on top (not in) my DVD player. I like the elliptical because I can listen to music while I do it. Flip side of the coin is I hate DVDs because there’s always some skinny bitch in coordinated workout clothes, talking through a workout that makes me pant like a sex worker. Also, there are NO piles of laundry to be folded behind the skinny bitch. I call bullshit.

But yesterday, I felt the need to change things up. I got a little crazy. I did Pilates. As usual, I’m about 5 years behind the trends.

You know why Pilates makes you “pay attention to your core”? Because people tend to pay attention to things THAT ARE ON FUCKING FIRE!

Hoooolllleeeeeeeeeee shitsnacks, my waist and abs are singing a pain opera today.

Yes, I know that’s good, I realize that means it’s working. Come closer so I can punch you in the gut and you can feel a fraction of the ouch that I am experiencing.

I’ll keep doing it because it’s worth the results everyone promises are a sure thing. And because Skinny Pilates Bitch is a lot of fun to cuss at. But I’m going to be crabby for a while and if you ask me to reach for anything, I’ll go for your throat.

 

What I Love

Confession: This post started life as a rant. I lost steam about halfway through, and thought, “fuck this. I’m through letting a random shit head give me angry feelings.” Hear that, random shit head? I hope you have an awesome fucking day. I know I’m going to. Here are some of the things that make me smile:

I really love that the DMV sends me a letter saying, “CONGRATULATIONS! You can renew your license online!” It’s like they’re acknowledging what a huge drag it is to visit them.

I love that I’m not required to attend a conference with Selby’s teacher this term. It’s as if he’s given up on us. As it should be, Mr. C. As it should be.

I love that feeling when all the bills are paid and there is still a little money left over. I also love the times when there isn’t enough money for all the bills and I’m stressing like mad, then I get a nice little extra deposit of child support, via the DA lien on my ex. I’m a terrible person but the fact that he’s being forced to pay what he owes makes me extremely happy.

I love those mornings when I’m awake when my husband leaves and I get an actual goodbye kiss, not just a lovey-dovey text. I like the texts, but nothing, and I mean nothing, beats a kiss.

I love being 40. I also love being 41.

I love the first sip of a fresh cup of coffee in the morning, with a little sugar and a lot of half and half.

I love walking into my garden and seeing nothing but thriving plants, damp soil and a lady bug or four.

I love Target, especially the end caps where they keep all the clearance.

I love a new book full of old friends. I’m a sucker for series.

I love writing the last word of a perfect chapter and knowing, for a brief moment, that I am have a talent.

What do you love?

Also, I hope you too, have an awesome fucking day. The kind that makes a glitter-farting, chocolate-covered unicorn bearing great wine on a silver platter anti-climactic.

It’s Confusing For Me Too.

This morning, I dreamed that I beat my son for waking me up at 5 am. Disturbing. So disturbing, I couldn’t back to sleep.

I got out of bed at 6, only to find the boy up and around, stalking me as I tried to find $10 for his oldest sister. She needed to buy a Drama Night shirt. Today. Ugh.

Cue a brief moment of terror and shame, wondering if my dream had not been a dream at all. Had I, in fact, spanked my son for being up at 5? I’m a sleep-walker, a sleep-talker, a sleep-kisser. Once I had sleep-sex with my husband and had NO memory of it. He was non-plussed, to say the least. I’m simply thankful I didn’t call out Joe Manganiello’s name.

Oh, I didn’t spank my son. It was a dream. Yes, I did have to ask him. He thinks his Mommy is really, really weird.

I did put him back to bed with a comic book, got back into my own bed and cussed my dad for cursing me with an early riser, now that he’s gone and can no longer drag me out of bed at 6 am to do chores.

I hope you’re happy, Dad.

He’s totally happy.

Reasons to Walk Your Kids to School (Extremely Cursey)

It’s good for you. The exercise jumpstarts your metabolism. It’s the responsible thing to do for the Earth. It’s fiscally responsible. Your kids talk to you and sing silly songs and generally make you happy you decided to become a parent.

But the best and most compelling reason has to be keeping yourself out of jail.

When I drive my kids to school, it takes twice as long as the walk. I shit you not. Doesn’t seem possible, right? Except it totally is.

We live about a quarter mile from the school, but when I drive, I can’t take the same route we walk. There are so many cars, I can barely make the turn onto the main street. And I have to make a left turn, across traffic. Twice. So I take a longer geographically, but chronologically shorter  route. This one takes me past the middle school. It’s been a while since I did middle school drop-offs, but I’m relieved to say, the parents still drive like brain-dead jackasses. Thank goodness some things will never change. Certainty is so comforting.

I get it. You have to get to work and your teenager is being an ass. Believe me, I’ve SO been there. But when I allow the car in front of you into traffic and pause so that the person turning left can get out as well? That is not a license for you to pull out, blocking me from pulling ahead without blocking the driveway.

And to the person behind Fidiot Number One? If you honk at me again, I will intentionally ram your BMW with my shitty minivan. I fucking mean it. You want to flip someone off? Let me introduce you to Fidiot Number One. She’ll be happy to accept your profanity. I know you’re very busy and important, but I have shit to do too. My kids need to get to school and they’re sort of being asses.

The drop off loops are when we need courtesy and respect the most, you morons.

Fuck all y’all. I’m walking.

Problem Identified

I think I’ve finally pinpointed the single issue that holds me back from being the epitome of a rock star superhero.

I am easily overwhelmed.

I have a lot of weight to lose. I will need to commit to at least a year of rigorous eating and exercise to get to a healthy place. 12 months. Wow. That’s a long ass time, you guys. So my reaction to that is, “Eh, might as well have a piece of cake.”

I have a shit ton of things to do today. Garage sale items to price. 2 chapters to write, 1 to refine. I should clean up my desk and straighten my office. I need to list some stuff on Craig’s list and eBay. Finish the FAFSA. Make a few calls. Clean shit. It’s going to be a slog. Not fun. Instead of breaking out my sharpie and stickers, making a to do list and finishing today with a shimmering halo of accomplishment, I say, “Fuck it, I’m going to Dollar Tree.”

I desperately want to write a novel that will be read and loved and laughed over by thousands, millions of readers. I want to do book signings, even though I’m pretty sure presenting myself to that many people will cause my head to explode. Instead, I write short stories with no redeeming value and publish them under a pseudonym.

I’m a disaster, you guys. And now that I’ve figured out why, I’m not really sure how to NOT be overwhelmed. Yes, I can make a small list of manageable goals, but I’m not a fucking hamster! I totally know that after I finish that small list of things, there are reams of other small lists to tackle.

Sigh. Being smart and self-aware is a mother-fucking burden.

I could hire a professional nag (they prefer the term life coach), but honestly, I’d just lie to them and say, “oh yeah, I totally got that done, I feel so self-actualized!” while shoving the half-finished stuff in a corner and covering it with an unwashed towel.

I’ve considered therapy again, but let’s be honest. I’d just schedule the therapy session to conflict with something I really didn’t want to do. “Aw, man, I just can’t…I have a therapy session.” *sad eyes*

I could bribe myself with wine, but I’d just drink the wine. Let’s not fool ourselves, okay?

OR I could get off the computer, quit navel-gazing and get shit done. Because I’m a grown-up and that’s what grown-ups do, or so I’m told.

Yeah. The last one.

Anyone wanna meet me at Dollar Tree? They’re selling wine now!

I Cuss In This One. A Lot. You’ve Been Warned.

I am not a judgemental person. I sort of pride myself on that. But when I see a 6 year old with a fucking iPhone, I get a little crazed. Why does your child need a damned cell phone? WHY?

*also, why does your elementary student have better technology than me, a 40 year old woman?*

But after getting a free download of Angry Birds Star Wars, I now understand why people buy their first graders iPhones.

Because being asked 6 bajillion times a day if they can play the game on your phone is fucking irritating. And when you DO cave and let the little crumb magnet play to shut them the hell up? Nine times out of ten, they drop it in parts unknown and saunter off without returning it. Then, when you’re on your way out the door and need your fucking phone 5 mother-fucking minutes ago? The little shit has NO clue where he left it. And it is dead. Good luck, finding your phone, asshole!

AAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!

No, he’s not getting an iPhone for his 7th birthday. But I thought about it. Anybody wanna sell me an iTouch cheap?