That's Right, It Is Snack Time

Tick or Mole

Wed, 23 Jun 2010 14:15:22 -0400

I was feeling a little on the pale side yesterday, actually I could see the blood running through my legs….oh look, there’s my anterior blah blah. So I decided to bust out the “air brush” spray tan jazz that works magic on the bod. Sometimes I get a little overboard like I’m some sort of spa worker who does this on the regs. But I’m not. Anyways, I finished with the spraying and buffing and decided to check it out in the mirror. Come to find out, when I turned around to look at my back, a new mole had appeared. Wait, dear lord, could that be a tick? I do love to lay on the floor with the dogs. And I did run into a bush earlier at the Y when I parked too close to the blankin’ curb. Hum, I shall operate. Tweezers out, awkward post on the sink (by the way, spray tan absolutely began running off me as I bust into a cold sweat trying to reach the unreachable on my back). And let me preface this: Well, this is probably a sick problem that needs medication, but I am a total self operator. I perform surgery like it’s my job. Fake Doctor Office: “Paging Dr. Jackson” Doctor Me: Oh I’m right here. Is that lead in your hand ma’am? Patient Me: Why yes it is, 10 year old lead as a matter of fact. Doctor Me: Great! Let’s give you your annual operation. Oh wait… what’s that? That’s right, Dr. Jackson, epic fail. The lead never comes out. It didn’t come out this operation, nor did it come out the last 85 times you’ve tried. Stop self operating. But anyways, I tried to pull this tick mole off my back. Finally, when I investigated the tweezers, all I found was a hair. I’m going to go with mole.

This is what I looked like dodging that bird. Photo creds: ...

Thu, 27 May 2010 13:06:16 -0400

This is what I looked like dodging that bird.

Photo creds: http://www.news.com.au/common/imagedata/0„5684888,00.jpg

Just Call me the Bird Man

Thu, 27 May 2010 12:59:43 -0400

There was an incident this morning that had me totally flustered the entire way to the gym. This morning, as I crept around the house at 5am to make it to the gym on time, I was a little delirious and irritated. Literally, my blackberry alarm is the most obnoxious sound in the world. It takes everything in me not to throw it as hard as possible on the floor and then glare at my husband. I don’t know why the “glare at my husband” part came into that scenario, but I can only imagine he would happen to pop out of a cabinet, because he’s always right there when I don’t want him to be, shaking his head at me like he’s the next freaking Dalai Lama. My bad, Mr. Calm and Collected. That’s right, I just busted up that dumb phone that you are totally obsessed with looking at all day. So let’s move on…. I then proceeded to head out to the car, and as I was locking the door behind me, here she comes. This devil bird literally comes hauling bootata towards my head ready for the strike. I luckily dodged the dumb thing and got out from under the covered porch as fast as possible. Thank the lord no one saw me. The look on my face was probably disgusting. I’m sure I had that head cocked back, eyes wide open, double chin/no neck look going on, trying not to eat it as I do a “break your ankle” move off the sidewalk. So when I got my balance and kept moving towards the car, she made one last territorial come at me and then I heard a little drop. I frantically checked myself to make sure she didn’t take a poo on my shirt. It turns out she didn’t, instead there was a bug in my hair. Thanks a lot Thursday morning. You’re supposed to be a good day, not like Mondays, or even Tuesdays. But Thursday, you just blew it.

Eating Organic

Wed, 19 May 2010 08:40:14 -0400

Last night at dinner I had monster size, steroid asparagus. They were literally as big around as a marker, plus 2 inches in length. All my friend and I could do is stare and say, “yeah, I bet those are organic.” My little baby, that I might have one day, will be wearing a bra in the womb.

Humidity, go away or die.

Thu, 13 May 2010 13:34:12 -0400

The upstairs air conditioner is currently on the fritz. There is a leaky pipe that apparently gets frozen from the coolant and acts like a baby head and turns off. This is typical for about 3 in the morning when you feel like you’re going to kill someone because your hair is stuck to your face like a mask. I can just picture myself sitting up abruptly with a hair mask on my face, going all exorcist on my husband because of the heat. He probably hates me in those moments. I’m sure because I burn him with the fire coming out of my mouth, “MY FACE IS SWOLLEN, MY RINGS ARE SWOLLEN, YOU COULD MAKE BEEF JERKY WITH MY BLOOD, make the blankin’ air conditioner turn on!” So, this is just a preface for this morning. Of course, I take a shower and dry my hair, and what happens? The air conditioner turns off. It probably blows heat on me just in spite of my hatred for the thing. Well, as I was trying to ignore the heat as I ran up and down the stairs trying to find an outfit (my dresses are downstairs), I finally made it back to the mirror. Bam, I was Charlize Theron in the movie Monster. The humidity had turned me into a totally different, unrecognizable person. Then I realized I had stood there and talked to my husband in the few moments before the mirror shock. He probably was considering running for the car and not coming back.

Humidity: Go away or die Picture from: moviepatron.com

Thu, 13 May 2010 13:34:00 -0400

Humidity: Go away or die

Picture from: moviepatron.com

Toast

Thu, 06 May 2010 16:18:54 -0400

Yesterday was a tough day, a toast day. When I got home from work, I had to get a haircut and go to the gym, while still being in bed early and having plenty of TV time. In order for me to still eat dinner before 8 o’clock, I had to eat as soon as I got home, due to all of the activities that had to be accomplished. I really wasn’t disappointed about this situation at all. I was actually loving that I had to eat dinner at 5:30. Normally at 5:30, I’m having my pre dinner feast. It involves standing in front of the fridge, eating cheese, pinching off pieces of bread so that I don’t feel like I ate a whole piece, and maybe having a Hershey kiss. So, after I ate my geriatric dinner, I thought I needed a little sweat treat, without too many calories. What do I go for? Trusty cinnamon toast, with splenda and fake butter of course. I absolutely love toast. I am mildly addicted to it. Yesterday morning, I started the day standing in the kitchen trying to decide what to have for breakfast and thought I would have toast. When I got to work, I remembered having decided not to make the toast, but it’s such a habit, that I had to drive all the way home and check the oven. I had sworn that in a breakfast toast coma, I had turned the oven on and began with the toast making process. Well anyway, before going to bed, I was having a starving attack and I immediately made more toast, 2 pieces actually. So besides my dinner, I basically had two sandwiches. I’m trying not to go back to yesterday, because I vaguely remember pulling out an extra piece of bread, toasting, and spreading peanut butter. This can’t be anything but my mind playing tricks on me. This morning I went to go see the man, hopefully my bff if I get skinny, that is whipping me into shape. I started chatting it up about my day and what was going on with work and blah blah, and before I knew it, I was talking about how many pieces of toast I ate yesterday. Then I realized it was a problem. He suggested that maybe I was allergic to something in it and my body was craving it. I’m now wondering if there is a shot or something to become allergic to vegetables (say like snoop dog, “veg-te-bowls”). The reason I’m so depressed about the toastamatic day is because I had just said the night before that I was going to cut down on my carbs. Total failure.

Steak and Eggs

Thu, 29 Apr 2010 16:07:01 -0400

Two major incidents took place last night. The kind that make you want to freak out. In this case, I didn’t cry or say awful things, and afterwards I kind of wondered why. It was that bad. So bad…I couldn’t even cuss. To begin with, as soon as I walked in the door last night, I was dying for dinner. I had talked myself into an insane food frenzy on the ride home and couldn’t get fried eggs off my mind. I decided I would make an egg, bacon, and yes, mustard sandwich. I love mustard so much. So I was frantically in the kitchen, knocking stuff all around trying to make the fastest bacon and egg sandwich in history. If I didn’t make it immediately, I would have started eating shredded cheese and cereal. So needless to say, I made the sandwich and loaded it down with mustard. My husband and I always eat in the living room, regardless of how disturbed my mom is about us not eating at a table. Each night when we head into the living room for dinner, I threaten my husband with his life about spilling something on the couch or the rug. Well, here I go, the most hungry person in the world, running into the living room….my entire sandwich goes flying onto the couch. I didn’t even know what to do. I stood there, then started eating the mustard off the couch. Wow, was that seriously my first reaction…eat the mustard, eat the mustard, go go go. I finally get that cleaned up/flipped the cushion over, and the husband gets home. We make him a little bacon and eggs dinner as well, and he sits down to eat. All of a sudden sparks are flying from his plate…banging, clinking, knocking. I look over, and all he’s doing is cutting his eggs with a fork. “It’s not like you’re cutting a steak over there Husband.” He just glared at me. Seriously, since when are eggs like cutting steaks. I had no other words.

Walk It Out

Wed, 28 Apr 2010 14:29:00 -0400

At this point, everyone knows my obsession with weight, diets, exercise, calories, the scale, mirrors, the refrigerator, carbs, and all things health related. Anyways, the above list rules my life. The other day someone mentioned that they knew someone who had a pedometer and tracked how far they walked and lost some weight using the dumb thing. So oh ok… pedometer, just track my walking, lose inches immediately, be the skinny hot B that I see in my head…done. I went straight to Target (say with an Alabama/French accent) and bought a little $20 pedometer. All I want to do now that I have this thing is march around the house, march while I work, march in the shower, march when I’m talking. Well, after reading some ridiculously long instructions, I stick the thing in the side of my pants and started walking. Of course when I went to work, I totally forgot about it, and when I went to the bathroom it went flying across the floor. Obviously I don’t want anyone to see this little piece of gold, so I grabbed it up as fast as possible. I should have just gotten one of those that clip on the side of your pants and made everyone think it was one of those insulin meter things, or maybe they would think it was a pager. Pagers are old school, but let’s all remember who still uses those things…that’s right, doctors. I could have played that role as well. Anyways, I “heard,” probably from the WebMD/fake website that I believe everything it says, that you should walk 12,000 steps per day to lose some weight. At the end of the day, I took a look at the number and I didn’t even hit 2,000. I was mortified. I had just spent $20 on a little contraption that didn’t even work. Today’s three o’clock snack….I am going to march at my desk.

My Shirt

Tue, 20 Apr 2010 08:59:00 -0400

This just happened and I’m so mad. This morning I had absolutely nothing to wear, either it was dirty or too tight. So I found these pants that I haven’t worn in forever and I was able to put them on. Well obviously I went with those due to a total fatness weight-loss milestone. The pants are slightly bell bottom-ish, so I was a little hesitant to wear them to work, so I went with a simple black shirt and black cardigan. Safe and conservative for the office. I was feeling fresh, let me tell you. When I got to the office, I headed to the bathroom to do a teeth check, after I’m sure I had been talking and smiling for 20 minutes already with berry seeds in my teeth (Dannon smoothies…the bomb). Anyway, I got in to the bathroom and it’s like my black shirt was glowing skin tones. Bow chicka wow wow! You could see straight through my shirt. So now, instead of feeling awesome, I have two buttons buttoned on my cardigan and I look ridiculous.

Sushi Bomb

Tue, 20 Apr 2010 08:48:00 -0400

I’ve never had sushi in my life, but the other night I was needing it. It was kind of a strange craving, having never have had it, but I’m thinking it was a texture thing. I was expecting this super dense rice log that I could drench in soy sauce, low sodium of course. Not that low sodium soy sauce really means anything, kind of an oxymoron in my opinion. So anyway, my husband and I walked into the restaurant, and I was immediately creeped out because we were the only people there. That’s never a good sign. I of course ordered an asparagus roll because I don’t like seafood in the slightest bit (yet another reason sushi was an obvious bad idea). This rice log I had envisioned was far from what I got. There was a one-granule thick coating of rice, and then just a bunch of seaweed and asparagus. Absolute sushi bomb. Fine, you know what, I’m over it, I don’t want to be skinny, give me a glass of wine, and a giant order of Dan Dan Noodles. Yes, the Dan Dan noodles. All it says is garlic, noodles, chicken, and onions. I will scarf that down and call this Chinese/sushi experience a success. An awkwardly fast 2 seconds went by and the Dan Dan Noodles appeared. There was the strangest smell coming from the bowl and I really couldn’t put my finger on it. So I took a bite and was totally grossed out. My husband took a bite and said immediately, “ah, it’s like a bowl of egg drop soup.” Someone shoot me. How could I have picked the one dish that was a giant bowl of egg smell. Nothing is more disgusting than egg yolks number one, but egg smell. There might not have been eggs in the Dan Dan disaster, but the mixture of it all had hatched baby chickens.

Babies and Lunch Meat

Mon, 12 Apr 2010 16:48:00 -0400

Today, I have major baby on the brain. I almost just wrote “baby on the brian.” I’m such an awful speller. I constantly have to look back at words like that and make sure I didn’t write something totally messed up. But anyways, yes, baby is all over my mind today. I always picture myself being pregnant and how cute it’s going to be. The problem is, I always just put a giant stomach on this picture of me in my head, then shrink my arms a little. I always tell myself I’m going to be so fit when I have a kid and am only going to gain like 20 pounds…but obviously I’m smoking some kind of skinny psycho crack, because there is no way that’s going to happen. I’ll probably just walk around with a bread bag tied around my neck and fart and blame it on other people at the grocery store or at target. My face will probably be swollen 24/7…and I think I’m obsessed with my weight now, gah I can only imagine. My husband will probably think there is a stranger creeping around the house with a giant gut and jack-o-lantern pumpkin face stealing all the food. I might just camp out in the kitchen on the floor and yell for more food when we run out of canned gravy. Bread and gravy…give it to me, give it to me. I was reading some dumb girl’s blog earlier today about how she loves her spinach salad and turkey wrap to help her stay fit through pregnancy. That is disgusting. How does she eat lunch meat anyways? Lunch meat is sick. When that baby comes out of me, I’m immediately going to tell HER how sick lunch meat is, and that it’s slimey for no reason, and sometimes has strange purple spots on it. And I’ll tell her it’s ok to dry heave when someone wants to give her lunch meat. Oh my, my kids are going to be messed up. Three o’clock snack…I can tell you one thing, it ain’t going to be turkey.

The Mirror vs. The Camera: Who to Believe...

Tue, 06 Apr 2010 17:19:13 -0400

I saw a picture that someone is claiming is a picture of me. It is true, I was there, I was in the room, I was sitting in that exact spot where the picture was taken, but it can’t possibly be me. I am maybe feeling like I’m about to go through a major crisis moment or have a total freak out fit. There is no possible way that this chunk chunk girl in the picture is me. I’m not sure if the mirror lies to me every single day, or the camera added 85 pounds, or if that’s really what I look like. I wish I had a life size mannequin that was my exact shape…then I could check out what I really look like and not feel so fooled. It’s always a reality shock when you see that one, tell-all picture. All day, I constantly went back to it, just to see if maybe I felt different about it. I think it was the shirt I was wearing. Surely my husband’s undershirt that I decided to wear that day was a total mistake. I always thought it looked cute, just like a plain white tee. Who knew it actually looked ridiculous, like I was wearing big and tall clothes. Maybe I need a haircut, or some anti bloat meds.

Kate Moss Is On My Nerves

Wed, 31 Mar 2010 17:19:10 -0400

I just saw on someone’s blog the ridiculous quote by Kate Moss, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” She obviously hasn’t had cheese toast.

Big Ol' Head = Obese Brain

Tue, 30 Mar 2010 19:24:00 -0400

Currently, I’m out of town….oh yeah, I’m always out of town. But anyways, I have officially had about 90 peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the past week, with 100 calorie packs as sides. I’m over it. I’ve been counting my calories and trying to watch my weight, but it’s turning me into a psycho. All I can think about is whipping my car out of this forsaking parking lot and peeling wheels into Bojangles. I would biggie size everything, kill someone for their seasoned fries with extra honey mustard (which I’m sure somehow is made of mayonnaise…which disgusts me, but everything good seems to have that base)…and eat chicken fingers inside a biscuit. I must have an obese mind. That’s just it…my mind is so large and genius that it is obese and wanting to make the rest of my body that way. Today’s three o’clock snack….100 calorie pack…followed by a peanut butter and banana on a dumb English muffin. Hum, I am tempted to get a little snack snack at the hotel concession.

When People Turn Into Cows

Sat, 27 Mar 2010 12:13:00 -0400

Some people are normal, great people all day long…love them, good conversation, smart, blah blah blah. But then, there is meal-time. Something happens when it’s time to eat. I mean, I probably turn into some sort of raging B who swears her blood sugar is low, even though I don’t really know what that means…but that’s a different story. The people I’m talking about are the ones that turn into cows. It’s all about the chewing, smacking, open mouth disgustingness. I’ll tolerate it for a few minutes, and just tap on the table or talk really loud to drown out the heinous chewing noise, but then my blood starts to boil. Sometimes I feel like I might just freak out and throw their food in the trash. I don’t really understand the chewing concept anyways, because typically I swallow my food whole. I’ve been working on that, but it’s difficult. This one time I ate an asparagus without chewing…very interesting. How is it that people like that can date, or find spouses, or get jobs. It blows my mind. I can’t help but stare, even though I feel like I might instinctively punch them. Those people, they need to skip their three o’clock snack for fear of my wrath.

Tiny Dancer

Thu, 25 Mar 2010 15:34:20 -0400

I’ve always thought I had a little rhythm in me. I love a beat and like to dance, shake the boota. You know how it is, put something cute on and act sassy every once in a while. Well, a while back I happened to be cleaning the house, messing around with the music on, and I felt a little dance coming on. I mean, half was I felt like shaking it, and the other half was maybe I wanted to see what I actually looked like dancing. Soon enough, I caught myself in front of this stupid half mirror (no full length mirrors in the house), which is slightly tilted upwards, b/c it makes me look a little skinnier, trying to act all ridiculous and bust a move. It was shocking. I looked like a total idiot. I’m going to blame it on the outfit partially, because it was definitely not something cute to clean the house in. Plus, I’ll blame it on my hair. Whenever I’m a little on the greasy side, nothing looks good. All of a sudden I look like I put on 20 pounds and my face is broken out. Wash the hair…then we’re all good. Either way, I was in total horror that this is what I’ve looked like many a night, thinking my dance moves were making people jealous. From now on, I will continue my old lady dancing, where I just sway, keep my hands in fists, and sort of make the train track movement with my arms. Every once in a while, I might bend the knees with a little dip. Today’s three o’clock….I ate it before lunch…

Learn to Regulate the Car Temperature

Wed, 24 Mar 2010 11:05:00 -0400

I’m currently in Bristol, Virginia where it snowed on Monday and has yet to reach about 40 degrees. Unfortunately, the building I’m working in must be cutting costs, because I’m pretty sure it’s colder in here than it is outside. Needless to say, when we head out for lunch, we crank the heat in the car to get toasty toasty and take a break from our endless winter scenario. But, it has come to my attention, that some people don’t know how to regulate the comfortable car temperature. I totally understand warming up, but I was literally gasping for air, trying to decide if it was rude to roll the window down. I mean, 80 degrees is fine for the initial blast to warm up the car, but when hot air is continually blowing in your face, it’s a little intense. My makeup was probably all over my face by the time we got back. I even started laughing in the back seat because I couldn’t believe it was happening, or I was getting dehydrated by the constant sweating. How were they in the front seat able to breathe? I wasn’t comfortable enough with the guy to tell him to get me out of the burning pits of hell in the back seat and turn the dang heat down, so I just slowly boiled my insides and dealt with it. Now that I think about it, maybe I lost a pound from the sweating? Hum…very interesting.

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter

Mon, 22 Mar 2010 17:11:50 -0400

I am always on the hunt for a fake butter, salt substitute, Splenda concoction…anything with no or low calories that I can load up on and somewhat feel satisfied, like I’m eating the real thing. So a few months ago I was on a hardcore “I can’t believe it’s not butter” kick. English muffin, let’s hit it with 8 sprays, “rice, you get 25 sprays”, “pasta, 30 sprays…bam bam spray spray”. I mean, who cares right. Calorie free butter spray deliciousness. Well guess what, it’s a huge lie. A fatty lie. That stupid company was faking me out with their fake butter spray, causing me to chow the calorie loaded grease bomb. “I can’t believe I’m fat butter” is more like the situation a month or so into this endeavor. Come to find out, the bottle in total has over 800 calories in it. So while I was killing everything in sight with fake butter bombs, my jeans were bulging at the seams, fighting me every time I attempted to put them on. How could this have happened. Needless to say, I’m now using an olive oil butter. I mean, that has to be better right? Olive oil….the good oil…the calorie loaded oil! DANG!

Steam Room

Wed, 17 Mar 2010 08:30:00 -0400

The other day I was feeling like I needed a little “me” time, so I headed off to the gym. After the workout, I finally got up the courage to get on the scale, which hasn’t happened in about three months. I tend to flip out sometimes, so after the number was revealed, I immediately had to refrain from throwing the giant towel rack onto the floor or telling the woman who had been trying to start the bike for 45 minutes that all you have to do is freaking start peddling. “This bike just won’t work, hum, I don’t get it.” Yet, they never ask for help, they just keep standing there hitting the quick start button five thousand times. But I didn’t do any of these. Instead, I decided I should go to the steam room and sweat it out…maybe that would bring the number down to something a little more reasonable. I grabbed a few towels, and thought I was 100% comfortable taking my clothes off and wrapping up. But in fact, I couldn’t do it. I finally shimmied my way into a towel and felt totally exposed in the process. No one was watching me. What’s my problem. In my head, I pictured myself just standing there like all the other women, having conversations with a towel wrapped around my waist. Eventually, I make it into the steam room and after my eyes adjusted, there it was. There was a woman, totally naked, sprawled out on the bench. Me, the nervous first timer in the Y steam room, NO flip flops on, so only my big toes were supporting my legs, sat uncomfortably as far away as possible. I’m pretty sure I’m now scarred for life, with a minor case of athlete’s foot from the disgusting floor. Today’s three o’clock snack….my appetite is gone.