When Butt-Dialing Makes You Look Like an Ass

So, I have this newish i-phone. I like it. It does good stuff. But it makes me i-stupid

It's also a little too sensitive for my taste. Either that, or I have monster sausage fingers. Either that, or it's possessed by Satan.

The other night as I was driving home from work, I did my obligatory check-in to the husband. "I'm coming home. See you in 15. You'd better have my dinner ready or I'll have to talk with my fists."

And then this gem came on the radio:

I got all nostalgic. Thinking of 9th grade, jeans with pleats, getting my braces tightened, The Bodyguard, Whitney pre-crack Houston. It called for some majah singing in my car.  Until about 2 minutes into my power ballad when I looked down and realized I had called a co-worker.

Horrified, I hung up.

And then it was time for damage control. So, I called another co-worker.

Me: "Do your phones have caller ID?"
Him: "Uh...No."
Me: "Does your voice mail have caller ID?"
Him: "No...Have you been sniffing glue again?"

So, I confessed. And we laughed until we cried. And THEN bitch talked me out of calling back and explaining it was me and not some stalker.

"It'll be a really fun joke!" he assured me. And he promised me he wouldn't tell.

When I ran into her last week she asked, "Are you going to serenade me again?"

And I died.

And then I went and cut my friend.

Getting Jiggle With It

First off- Happy Memorial Day! Let the beer fountain floweth like golden waters. (I almost said golden showers but showed restraint. You're welcome.)

I don't have to look very far to see why the scale has stalled out and why my thighs jiggle like the jiggle jello jungle of cellulite. (Don't you just LOVE alliteration?)  I just have to take a quick gander at my camera roll to find the perps.

Hello Sailor

What a Good Diet Gone Bad looks like.

And what's a cupcake without a margarita chaser?

Yep. I think I'm going to have to bring out the private investigators with their giant magnifying glasses to figure out this mystery....

Oh yeah, and this week we booked our plane tickets to the east coast. So that means, we're officially going to the beach. So I'm officially going to have to wear a swimsuit. So I'm officially screwed.

And I'm still trying to figure out this diet thing. I need something that demands next to no time and and energy. So that's well, that's like...nothing. Did I mention I'm screwed? Yep, just throwing that out there again. Only I'm the only one screwing myself. Nobody else can be blamed.

That said, a huge THANK YOU to everyone for their emails, text messages, comments, and suggestions about my McFatty post last Monday.  There is nothing like community support.  It takes a village and all that to get my butt in gear. I'm still working on figuring out what's holding me back.  There's something mental going on here for sure.

* I'd like to point out these pictures were taken about 3 weeks ago. I didn't go splurge on a giant cupcake with a margarita chaser after getting everyone's support. Just sayin.

Poopetrators

There's a particular form of terrorism abounding in our household these days.  A disturbing trend in the fecal arena.

I think it started with a mystery nugget under our couch.
Then there was the turd grab & go a couple months ago.

Then there was the time Cassidy ripped off her diaper and left a steamy treat on the floor. Not just on the floor. On the heating vent..... Oh yeah.

But they really outdid themselves with yesterday morning's attack.

Nothing.

We may be cute, but we are instruments of terror. Tremble before our wrath.

(Also- I get that this story is going to paint us as terrible, negligent parents. Don't hate.)


Yesterday morning the babies came across a loaded diaper that had unfortunately been left within reach (side-eye to B).  Unfortunately, they were not being closely supervised at the time (side-eye to myself).

And then I saw Finn had a giant brown streak across his cheek.
And brown fingers.
And brown feet.

It was everywhere.
Nothing was sacred.

Carpet, bedding, walls, doors, curtains, books


Within minutes, what had been contained in a rogue diaper was painting our heretofore baby-proofed master bedroom.


Like my friend, Marina said, sometimes I'm a living advertisement for contraception.

Ummmm.....

This makes me feel better about things like poop terrorism around my house.

Twitter Twister

I don't get twitter.

No really. I don't get it.

Am I going to have to join it to "get it"? Because I'm not sure I'm down with that.

Somebody explain it to me please.

Cause, you know, I'm not a total social media whore just yet.  Just a toe-in-the-water kind of whore.*

*I thought of something way more lewd to say but my parents, in-laws, & a couple co-workers read this blog so I have to show a certain level of propriety. Just know that my brain lives in the gutter and the restraint is KILLING ME!

I Ate My Feelings and They Tasted Like Failure

I've fallen off the proverbial wagon and am lost in the proverbial wilderness of carbs, salt, and proverbial calories.  (It there isn't a proverb about calories, there should be. Somebody go write that sucker up.)

About 2 weeks ago... Who am I kidding?... About 6 weeks ago the low-carby bacon train to skinny town went off the tracks.  The scale consistently gave me the finger every week and my forehead was getting all denty from banging it against the nearest hard surface.

Since then? A typical meal-in-the-life consists of a low-carby morning coffee with lots of creamer and scrambeled eggs, a lunch of  low-carb tortilla with chicken & cheese shoved into my mouth at lightening speed, a snack of Diet Coke and...zzzzzzzzzzzzz.... oh my God, I just fell asleep writing this paragraph, it's that boring.

I have 2 words for you: Beer & Pizza.

Pizza Hut is back on speed dial in our house and the beer flows like the Fountain of Youth. If the Fountain of Youth spewed forth empty calories, that is.

I've lost weight before. I've been cut and toned and skinny and sashayed my way through life in size 4 jeans before.  And for the life of me, I can't figure out how to get back there. I've done it before, but everything that has worked in the past isn't working.

I'm a Weight Watchers drop-out.
Low carb casualty.
Ass-clapping 5K training failure (Side-eye to my 60 hour work weeks)

I know the problem doesn't lie with these programs. I know the problem is me. And I'm the only one who can fix it. I just don't know how to do it.

And the beach is T-Minus-9 weeks away.
Shoot me now.

The Other Side of the Mountain

I was talking to someone the other night about life.

You know, one of those deep, pass-the-crackers-for-all-the-cheese-spewing-out-of-my-mouth conversations.

We were talking about what he wanted out of life. What it would take to get there. And how his life was waiting for him to come and get it.

We decided his life was waiting on the other side of the mountain (a metaphor that works in Colorado cause the mountain towers in front of you. Plus, I totally lack imagination and I'm trite as hell).

It was a good talk. Cheesetastic. But good.

And then he turned to me and said,

"Can I ask you a personal question?  What's on the other side of the mountain for you?"

I thought for a second. I thought of sleep, time, money, the Nobel Peace Prize, magic elves who do my laundry. Then I stopped.

"Are you kidding?" I said to him. "I live on the other side of the mountain."

Keep Moving...

Baby Cries
5:30am
Cuddle, struggle, fussing, playtime
The Today Show
Weather reports
Breakfast, fumbling for filters, coffee
Computer loads
Email, voicemail, to-do lists
Demanding clients
Contracts waiting to be signed and faxed
More coffee
Babies want attention, love, to play in the dog's bowl
Wrangle, wrangle, wrangle
Waving bye-bye
Crying
Email, voicemail, phone calls, data entry
Sense of imminent doom- What did I forget?
Shower, lunch
More emails
Conference calls
Paperwork
Wardrobe change, makeup
Baby wrangling
Playtime
Bye-bye
Crying
Guilty pangs
Traffic
Consultation, clients, disclosures, break-throughs, lies, narcissism
Driving home
9:00pm
Dinner, couch, tv, laptop
Peeling off the couch
Face wash, pajamas, spoon
Night night
See you in the morning
Where we'll do it all
Once more
With feeling

Baldypants

Cassidy is bald... Still.... After almost 17 months of life.

Someday there will be bows and barrettes and shedding and scream-inducing tangles.

But for now, just a blondish peach fuzz
(Question- How did this blue-eyed blonde come from 2 brown-eyed, brown-haired parents? Genetics mystify me)

For now, screaming over toys and the word "No" instead of tangles.