Bye Bye, Pie!

Waiting and Watching

Can you believe January is gone already? My father once tried to explain to me some weird, advanced scientific explanation about time, and how time actually does move faster when you get older, but mostly I just waited for him to be done so I could ask if I might have some of his sweet potato fries.

And speaking of fries, you know my progress a la mode thingamajig at the side of this blog? And I am just too lazy to go back and put the little accent mark over the "a la" part, so you'll just have to relax. I measured myself today, and the only thing that got smaller were my bosoms.

Now if that isn't depressing. And also, my hips grew an inch. Oh, and supposedly I lost half an inch in my waist, which absolutely cannot be true, because my midsection is the last to go when I lose weight, and the first thing to puff right up when I gain weight.

This whole thing leads to me believe I measured badly last time. And that I have not changed my shape one iota this month. Well, except for the Olive Oyl lack of breasts thing.

So, I joined Weight Watchers today. I know I said losing weight wasn't really the goal this year. But a few years ago I joined Weight Watchers on line with my friend, and I was impressed with how you can eat what you want, but if you get an extra value meal at McDonald's you cannot eat anything else all day. But vegetable soup? You can eat that till it comes out your ear holes.

In other words, it encourages healthy eating without being really restrictive. And all you do is go online and tell the computer what you ate, and after it's done pointing at you and guffawing, it tells you how many points you racked up during that eating-Parmesan-cheese-out-of-a-can-with-a-spoon extravaganza.

I lost ten pounds on Weight Watchers last time, but more important, I remember thinking, "Geez, I FEEL better."

The reason I ended up going off it was because I got my job, as opposed to being a freelancer, and it was easier to eat the fried food in the restaurant in our building than to bring a turkey sandwich in. Goodbye, ten-pound weight loss.

So, here I am again. So far today I have had 3.5 points (Life cereal and coffee. If you drink too much coffee, you get points for it. I forget why. I mean, I drink my coffee black, like my moods, but if you have 48 cups, they start counting it against you).

Anyway, this means I am not going to meditate during the month of February. I will take that up in March. This is going to be a big enough change. Oh, and if anyone else is on Weight Watchers online, I have a little profile on there and Ativans or whatever those little icons are called that you put up to tell about yourself. Mine are books, yoga and S&M.

Okay, there is totally not an S&M icon on Weight Watchers. Maybe on Welt Watchers...

June is musing!

I may be musing, but I am rarely amusing.

Today I have guest posted on dcrmom's blog, Musings of a Housewife. See you over there!

Seattle's Best Coffin

You know what might have been smart? Maybe I should have told you all yesterday why I was considering giving up coffee.

People certainly are opinionated about coffee. You would think all my readers were Juan Valdez and his family. Or Mrs. Olsen.

The REASON I would consider giving it up is I have:

• migraines
• insomnia
• really bad anxiety
• and I grind my teeth so much that they have changed shape, despite my mouth guard.

Other than that, I feel fine. So, with all of those issues listed above, doctors recommend (a) giving up caffeine and (b) taking up heroin.

On the other hand, it's a fact that meditation reduces stress, as well. They did something with people's brain waves and heart rate and such, so it isn't just a bunch of hooey.

But heroin really calms the nerves, too. That Sid Vicious was like a cat in a sunny window, he was so mellow. And Billie Holiday? Did not seem like she had jangled nerves.

But I have to tell you. About coffee. Me loves it. There is no reason to get up in the morning if there is not coffee. Not that I would know this, because I never, ever sleep away from home without ensuring coffee is within 50 feet of me after awakening.

A few years back I had outpatient surgery and even though the operation wasn't till1:00, I couldn't have anything to eat or drink all day. Do you know what the only unpleasant part of the surgery was? It was not the shots or the IVs. It was not the blue puffy cap or the tie-in-back gown or the scary operating room. It was the LACK OF CAFFEINE! I was so complain-y and headachy that as soon as I woke up? A nurse was standing there with black coffee.

I think I have never loved anyone quite so much.

So I guess I'll try meditation. And yesterday I wrote "mediation" instead of "meditation." I have since corrected that error. I am a readist, not a typist, as my proofer friend Jerry always says. Well, he doesn't ALWAYS say that. Sometimes he says other things like "You writing a book?"

(We used to work together, and if he got up I might ask, "Are you going to the lunch truck?" so he'd, you know, maybe get me a rice pudding. He hated being asked where he was going. So he'd always say, "You writing a book?" ) (He was not married.)

(Love you, Jerry!)

I did like your other suggestions. I am all curious about chi running, and remind me to tell you about my stint as a vegetarian and the pretty evening when I returned to meat. You will never be attracted to me again.

I have to go now, because we got a Netflix envelope with more Six Feet Under episodes. I am completely obsessed. We got two envelopes today, actually, and I opened the first one with glee, and you have no idea how close Marvin Gardensalad came to being six feet under when that first envelope contained The Captain and Tenille in concert. I am not kidding. He is lucky the second envelope was something good.

Oh, wait, one more thing, then I'll hang up, I promise. When I woke up today? Before the sun was up and I was covered in cats, as usual? My first thought was, "Ooo, I get to run today!" Seriously. I GET to run.

Wow.

Running and Raleigh

Yesterday, Marvin Gardensalad and I went to Raleigh, because I have never been to Raleigh, and guess what? Turns out I like Raleigh.

It is a real city, with cool shops and Manolo Blahniks and gay men and all the things I require. There was also a man with gray hair and a mohawk, which I think is great. Maybe I'll grow my hair gray, as I have been threatening to do, and then finish off the look with the hawk of the mo.

So, there we were, shopping somewhere cool in Raleigh, when the back of my leg itched because I probably have rickets, which I don't even think is an itchy disease, I just wanted to say rickets. When I reached down to scratch my own self, the back of my leg felt...firm.

Firm! The back of my leg did not squish when I felt it! Only one month of running and I can already feel a result.

Also, last night when I ran on the treadmill, my pace was a little quicker! And I didn't feel as much like vomiting, either, which is always a plus.

So that is all good news and now, guess what? January is nearing its end, and remember when I said the first month I would just try to eat right and exercise, and then each following month I'd try something new? It is time to try something new, which is sad for me because I hate new things.

Here's my query to you, fair reader. Should I try giving up coffee, or should I try meditation? These are my options. Please weigh in. I may ignore you completely.

XO,

June

On the Lamb

For those of you wildcats still up at 10:44 p.m., which is when I am beginning this post, you will not HAVE to wait a whole night to hear about June's Adventures in Albemarle. That is because I am telling them to you now, Colombo. I would have thought the first sentence was self-explanatory.

First of all, the drive there is all country roads take me home, all the time. There are rolling hills, cotton fields, deer, cows, and do you know what else? SHEEPS and BABY SHEEPS!

Every time we drive past the sheep, I squeal and wave and carry on in my generally undignified way. But today? When I saw there were bitty lambs out there, too? I just pulled into the people's driveway. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I sat in their driveway for like 15 minutes, just staring at those lambs. One was so young he could barely walk, and he kept chasing after his mom for titty dinner, as my grandmother used to so eloquently put it.

It was a farm, obviously, so these people had a driveway that was 75,000 miles long (or maybe it was a meter), so they probably did not even notice the woman in the VW Bug waving at the lambs. Anyway, it was delightful and I barely even worried about getting anthrax.

Finally, I made it to Vac and Dash, the running store that also sells vacuums. Do you know I was in there for more than an hour? I was the only person in there, and I got a parking spot right in front of the store, like they do in the movies. I had the best time! The owner loved my line "I suck at running, so I'm getting my shoes at a vacuum store" so much that he's putting it on a Tshirt.

I got me some fancy shoes, and some padded double something-or-0ther socks, and he threw in a free long-sleeved Tshirt from the store that reads, "Vac and Dash. We'll get there eventually."

He hosts many running events in Albemarle, this guy. He was encouraging me to join him, and when I told him I ran a 14-minute mile, he and his employee laughed like they thought I was kidding. Sad.

Finally, I got home just in time to join Marvin Gardensalad and many of his teacher friends for a night of bowling. They had completely changed their original plans and were (a) bowling at night and (b) bowling in a different city, because THAT bowling alley sells drinks. Did I mention all of Marvin's other teacher friends are like 24?

We had a great time. I bowled a STUNNING 83, and when I said, "Eighty-three! The year I graduated!" two of the teachers said, "Eighty-three. The year I was born." Could someone just beat me with a pin?

So, I guess we could say I got in some physical activity today. If bowling really counts. One of the other teachers and I decided we needed to lift weights and come back to the alley in a few months, because by the second game, I could barely throw that eight-pound ball. I also stuck the ball under my shirt and tried to imagine being really pregnant, and I do not know how you women ever did that while maintaining a happy attitude. It seems like it'd be uncomfortable.

Maybe I should join that running group in Albemarle, even though I'd be the loser slow runner. Maybe it'd increase my time. Maybe I could move in with the sheep farmers so I'd have a slower commute. Those babies were sweet!

Running in a vacuum

I have started reading my half-marathon book, and of course he talked about running shoes right away.

Having run one marathon (and by the way, could I have had more stuff in my hand?), I remember the importance of the running shoe. If you have the wrong shoe, your feet basically fall off and you have to walk around on stumps. I am not even exaggerating. If you have the wrong shoe, you actually fantasize about running on your hands,  having a fellow runner grab your legs and you wheelbarrow to the finish line.

Shoes last for about 500 miles. I have no idea how many miles I have on my current shoes (wouldn't it be great if they put little mileage ticker thingamabobs on your running shoe?) (what the Sam Hill word am I trying to come up with? pedometer? ODOMETER! That's it! Oh, thank heavens I thought of it because I'd be a nutbar trying to figure it out all day), but keep in mind I did not buy anything last year, so we know these shoes are at least a year old.

I remember going to Pasadena with Marvin Gardens one year, and we bought running shoes together and then we went to this sweets shop where they have caramel apples covered in all sorts of elaborate things like nuts, dark chocolate, white chocolate, Barbie shoes, M&M's, red-hots, and things of that ilk. It is a good kind of a store.

Anyway, the point is I ended up getting a nut down my windpipe and I choked in public and Marvin got mad at me. I didn't do it to draw attention to myself, but at this point Marvin automatically assumes my every move is calculated to have the spotlight. I am sure he figured after Heimlich-ing  me, I'd stand up and shout "Ta-DAAAAAA!" to the room.

So that is the last time I remember buying a running shoe, which I really think was like 2005.

Therefore, I am abandoning my plans with Marvin to go to Rockingham to go bowling, and instead I am going to Albemarle to the running store. Yes, I realize every town around us has an American Idol. I do not know what this means, although I certainly know it does not mean that I am the NEXT....American Idol. Recently I scared my cat to death singing "Climb Every Mountain" in front of him. He wanted to climb every mountain to escape my voice.

The running store in Albemarle is also a vacuum cleaner store. It is called Run and Vac or Vac and Dash or something. The owner is really, really into running, though, and they have a wide selection. It's kind of perfect for me, because I suck at running. Get it? Get the funny vacuum joke I worked in there?

So tomorrow you have June's Adventures in Albemarle to hear about. I know, it's gonna be hard to sleep tonight, isn't it?

Half Time

So, my book came today. It is a book on running a half-marathon, which by the way I bought on Amazon through dcrmom's blog.

Apparently, if you go to her blog and click the Amazon ad, she gets money for it. It was no skin off my nose, which is a really disgusting phrase, to go to her site to get to Amazon as opposed to going straight to Amazon. In fact, why don't you all save your noses and order your Amazon goods through her site? Let's turn her into a millionaire, simply because it might be fun to watch. What say you?

So, the person who wrote my half marathon book is Jeff Galloway, an Olympic marathoner (me, too) who also wrote the book on running full marathons that I read back in 2000, when I was young and nubile.

When Marvin Gardensalad saw that I bought this book, he said, "Why don't you just read half of your marathon book instead?"

Really, the hilarity. How do I get through the day without stitching up my sides, with that jokester over here?

My plan is to sit around all weekend reading it, which kind of defeats the purpose of training for a half-marathon, so maybe I'll throw some physical activity in there.

I ran on the treadmill again yesterday, and one wonders why I am so dinglity danglity slow. Perhaps I should set up a screen behind me with images of a man chasing me with a knife, or a lion charging me or something.

One time, someone told me this hideous story, and I can't remember who told it to me, but if you are home alone, do not read the next paragraph.

Whoever this woman was, she was home alone in a big house -- she may have been house sitting, in fact -- and she was upstairs in bed, and in the middle of the night she heard a music box downstairs! Which meant someone was down there and had opened it! Doesn't that just give you chilblains? Isn't that awful? Now, what I would do in that situation is completely freeze, giving the bad person ample time to get upstairs and find me and chop me into mince meat pie. The friend, I recall, called the police and all was well.

Who TOLD me that story? Is it any of my old friends reading this? Because apparently I was so traumatized I blanked who you were. I hope the reason I know this story is not because the friend called ME for help and I am just coming back to reality right now. Which could totally be the case, because, folks, you do NOT want me in an emergency situation. I will get breathless and flap my hands. I will turn into Aunt PittyPat. Do not get ill or die on my watch, please.

Finally, I just figured out that this weekend is the Super Bowl, isn't it? That is why my Google homepage is giving recipes for potato skins, which sounds delicious, and also why every commercial is for large-screen TVs.

I couldn't be more indifferent to sports. Honestly, if you told me Joe Namath was playing, I would totally believe you. It'll be hard to tear myself away from my half-marathon book to watch that game. Wooo! Go, whoever!

Chocolate by Death

Once summer, my mother and I were at a fair. There was some sort of fund raiser -- I forget now what cause it was -- and for ten dollars you could hold a baby lion or tiger, and have your picture taken with it.

I wanted to go so bad, and my mother said no, no, it's getting hot, let's not wait in line. I said please, please let me go.

"If I can hold a baby lion, I'll never be sad again," I told her.

Now, here is the part where I was gonna scan in the photo of me holding the baby lion, because what's funny about this story is that I was 38 at the time, and I know it sounds like I was, you know, four. But do you think I can find that DING and also DANG picture? When I packed up to move here, I put the picture in a book. I said to myself (and don't you hate people who say, "I said to myself, 'Self...' " Okay, stop. Stop now.), I said, this is a good idea. The picture won't get crinkled, and I will find it some day when I am rereading this book.

I just spent the last hour, opening every book in this entire house. I have dust up my nose holes, and my legs hurt from squatting. I cannot find that picture ANYWHERE! I did discover that we own a copy of Look Homeward Angel, though, which I have always wanted to read, particularly now that I am in North Carolina.

This is turning into the longest story ever.

My POINT is that holding that baby lion was the happiest moment of my whole life. I know that is a terrible thing to tell you. I should say it was the day I met Marvin Gardens, or the day I got my diploma or the day I got lipo. But no. Really? My wedding day was a wonderful day*, and it's for sure my best day, but as for moments? Holding the baby lion was really it.

I have, however, been sad since then, and my mother has to point out all the time that I promised her if we stood in that hot line to hold that baby lion, I'd never be sad again. Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a tad. Has my mother ever met me? Geez.

Today, before I exhausted myself looking for that picture, I got home from my pressing four-hour workday, and I got out of my car and went straight to the mailbox, and I am delighted to tell you that NetFlix sent me not one but TWO DVDs of Six Feet Under, with which I am obsessed. It was all I could do not to squeal.

Just then, a red truck pulled into my driveway, and one of the parishioners at church brought me an enormous piece of dark chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting that his wife had just made. She made him take me over a piece. Wives are wonderful people.

So, I am sorry to report that I had ANOTHER unhealthy eating moment today, which I know isn't very inspirational of me. I promise I will do better tomorrow and I am going to run today right after Miss Lilly time.

But really? Between you, me and all the other people reading this? Sitting there, eating my dark chocolate cake and watching Six Feet Under? Two things I did not know I would be doing when the day began?

Right up there with baby lion day.

*(Perhaps had Marvin actually looked at me when I walked down the aisle on our wedding day, that might have been a nice moment. But seeing as I looked at the back of his HEAD all the way down, no.) (Oh, he is gonna be so happy I brought this up. This is like how every time I meet one of my father's friends, I waste no time telling them how he cut off all my hair when I was two and had my cat put down when I was six.)

Sonic Youthful No More

Your close, personal pal June has to tell you something.

Remember yesterday, when Heath Ledger died and I said I was off to do Australian yoga lady? Well, not DO Australian yoga lady, as I am married and not allowed to pursue those sorts of activities any longer, but rather work out to the yoga DVD hosted by an Australian lady?

Remember that?

Guess who went to Sonic instead and had her an extra-long chili cheese dog with onion?

Could my path have veered any further from the whole yoga-with-Aussie plan? Instead of clearing my chi, I cleaned the cheese off my steering wheel when I was done. Man, it was good.

And then, guess what? Who woke up at 2 a.m. sick as a pooch?

Why is it when you wake up at 2 .m., you somehow feel sicker than if you got sick during the middle of the day? It is such a panicky feeling, feeling ill in the middle of the night. Oh, I felt bad. I felt like my insides were on fire from my throat to my distended abdomen. I wanted to barf and cry and never, ever eat anything chili-cheese related again.

I made myself go back to sleep and I am perfectly fine today, but I'd say this is my punishment for blowing off course. I almost blew off course, all right. Yeesch.

Also, I forgot to tell you yesterday that when I was reading to Miss Lilly, she asked me what a peacock looks like. This did not just come from out of the blue; our book has a whole peacock theme going on, and I am afraid I did my peacock-calling impression for her, which I can do because I spent about 85 hours a week at the children's zoo in my hometown from birth until I moved away at age 27. I should have been a vet or a farmer or something.

The point of my story is, have you ever tried to explain what a peacock looks like to a person who is blind? It was not so easy. I went on and on when I got to the whole tail feather part, and when I finished, she said, "Sounds like a turkey to me."

Again, the whole you-should-write-a-book thing? Maybe not so much.

Gifts and yoga and death

Other than the part where Heath Ledger died, this has been a lovely day.

Wasn't that shocking? Here we all are waiting for the Britney news, and he has to up and die. I thought he was a wonderful actor, and also cute. Who knew he was all up in the valley of the dolls?

In my actual real life, I got the news that my friend Blanche had a baby. I called her (I want you to know she called ME and TOLD me to call her, otherwise I would never call anyone who had a newborn because my mother would flip her lid and then poop a brick, which you have to admit is kind of tempting to inspire, isn't it?), and instead of baby discussions, we ended up talking about her golden Retriever, Daisy, for twenty minutes. And yes, capitalizing "Retriever" and lowercasing "golden" is correct.

Do you know what I hate? People who say "golden Lab." It is a YELLOW Lab or a GOLDEN Retriever. There is no such thing as a golden Lab. And what's with the word "golden," anyway? What's wrong with just "gold"? Don't they mean the same thing?

I have been proofreading all afternoon. Can you tell? I have been cleaning up after another proofreader, who is usually better at proofing than I am but I think she was smoking the golden bowl while she worked (see that? I got the word "golden" in, even though it made absolutely no sense), because she was making all KINDS of bizarre changes. "Italicize this! Even though up until now we never did! Make this all caps just for fun! Wooo! smoke smoke smoke..."

Chase that dragon, girl. Get that monkey off your back. Whatever.

My other good news is that when I got home from work -- the secretary work, not the clean-up-after-Courtney-Love-the-proofreader work -- there was a package waiting for me from coffeegal, who not only has a blog that I like, but now she is selling cute kitchen-y things, as well, and if you guys think you're gonna snatch up that heart apron before me, you are sadly mistaken.

Anyway, she sent me some fitness gee-gaws, which includes one of those large water jugs that looks like a miniature version of an at-work water cooler. Only it has a handle. Do you feel like you're right here looking at it with me? See what I mean, when people say I should write a book, and I ignore them? This is why. Anyway, she got me a cute water holder.

And also too, she gave me the prettiest blank book, and I do love me a journal. And she had good gift presentation too. I like me the coffee gal. I mean, I liked her before she plied me with gifts, too.

My third and final piece of good news is that today when I went to the nursing home to read to Miss Lilly, there was a beautiful long-haired black kitty hanging outside! I plan to seduce him and bring him home. He looks exactly like my cat Ruby, so I can totally fool Marvin Gardensalad for weeks, at least. "No, that's Ruby! I know she was just in the bedroom. Now she's here! What?"

I am off to do yoga with the Australian "meter" lady again, and this time I will have all of your jeering comments on how big a meter is to aid me. By the way, is it a bad sign that I sound like I am crinkling up a Doritos bag every time I move into another position? I sound like this: crickle, crackle, crackle.

Is that bad?