Oh shit, again?

The alarm went off at 9:30 - classical music, soft and soothing and a gentle way to ease into a new day.  I opened my eyes and found his blue ones - he smiled at me, then pulled my face close to his and kissed me hard on the mouth with his soft lips before putting his cheek against mine and whispering in my ear "Good morning, I love you." 

Giant blueberry pancakes and crispy fried bacon with coffee and milk - breakfast took nearly an hour and a half to cook and serve.  While I waited for the edges to dry so I could flip the cakes, I read one of my two new books that arrived yesterday - Stephanie Nielson's Heaven is Here.  Her husband served his mission in Louisville - I wonder if I met him?  The world is awfully small. 

Jimi's got another week of training ahead of him and it makes me sad.  One of my favorite things about our relationship is the fact of waking up next to him every morning.  (see above)  That said, I wasn't horribly lonely or sad in the last week, so I'm sure I'll be fine this week. 

I've got that pork tenderloin marinating and I'm gonna grill the shit out of it tonight.  I'm also gonna have a lovely spinach salad and a baked tater with bacon, cheese, and sour cream (greek yogurt).  I made a strawberry cake yesterday on a whim, and iced it with my favorite, rainbow chip icing.  There's a half gallon of Blue Bell Banana Split ice cream in the freezer.  I'm going to get fat this week. 

After I finish Mrs. Nielson's book, I've got Jenny Lawson's (aka The Bloggess) new release on deck - Let's Pretend This Never Happened.  And then, after I've finished that, I've got hundreds of free books at my disposal via the kindle and the 'net. 


And Melinda and I are starting boot camp on Tuesday.  YAY! 

See?  No time to get lonely.  He'll be back before I know it, and then life will back to normal again. 

(I tried to blog on the kindle, but I cannot.  There's something incompatible with the text-entry screen and it doesn't pull up the keyboard, so I can blog a title and maybe some labels, but no actual blog words.  I ain't got anything all that interestin' to say no how.)  :)  See ya next week!

Today, happiness is...

Yesterday, Rick called and said, "Are we still on for brunch tomorrow?"

Um.  ...  

Oh yeeeaaaahhh...I sorta remember, 

something about delicious brunch somewhere and I was all "Let's go this Sunday"

and then promptly forgot all about it.

I hadn't even said anything to Jimi, and was going to tell Rick that we couldn't, 

but Jimi said we could.

And so we did.

We got all dolled up this morning.

I was a vision in browns, 

chocolate skirt and tights, 

oatmeal wool sweater over a red tank,

camel suede knee-high boots.

You'll have to take my word for it, though.

I went to take a picture of us, and Jimi was all, "Let me do it, I'm better"

and I was all, "okay",

and maybe he was better (we'll never know because I didn't get a turn),

but he wasn't that great.  

This is the only evidence of our pretty:

We went to BLU.

I'd never been, but I'll be back.

OMG.

A made-to-order pasta station,

made-to-order omelets,

waffles, 

fresh fruit,

any kind of bread your little heart could desire,

BACON.

Mussels, asparagus, seared chicken with a lemon caper sauce.

Antipasto, grits, granola, salmon.

 And a selection of five desserts.

We three each chose the strawberry shortcake and the chocolate mousse.

The mousse, SURPRISE!, was chocolate-peppermint.

The cream and strawberries on the shortcake were the stars of the show, though.

I wish I had more right now.

Hope your Sunday was semi-spontaneous and delicious, too!

Dress Debacle 2011 - OVER. And poop.

In other news, the Dress Debacle of 2011 has resolved itself.

The shop where we purchased the dresses has apparently experienced chicks like me before - they've got this nifty little policy that says if you pay them an extra $10, you can return your too-small (or too-big, I guess) dress and they'll order the correct size.

A dress that fits me will be in next week.  Problem solved!

I'm not giving up, I'm being realistic.  I was nearly having a panic attack every time I thought about it - about how awful I was going to look with one of those zip-in panels, or worse, having to tell my friend that I can't do it because I can't wear the dress I bought for the occasion.  That's not really an option, you know?  It's kind of a big deal, a person's wedding.

I feel like a total quitter, but I don't care.  That dress will zip come mid-October, and I'm not going to starve, lose sleep, or have to get back liposuction.  And I can still work my butt off and get skinny again - but I won't have the lingering "I hate myself" guilt if I eat an extra 100 calories throughout the day.

*********************

Completely off subject, but can I mention how much I absolutely hate smelling other people's shit?  Some truck driver came into the office yesterday and asked to use the bathroom.  I didn't think anything of it - until he was gone for 10 minutes.  When he finally came out, a waft of stink followed him down the hall, into the vestibule, and out the door.  "Oh fuck," I thought.  I went searching for the air freshener, getting a quick tendril of stink every now and then, which helped keep me focused on my mission.  I finally found the spray in Kim's office and made my way back down the hall toward the source of the offensive odor.  

The bathroom door was ajar by about 6 inches, and the light and fan were on inside.  I held my breath and approached, Oust can held out directly in front of me.  I reached my arm only just inside the door and held down the nozzle - and then I had to take a breath in

I woke up on the floor of the hallway, gagging and with tears streaming down my cheeks.  Okay, I didn't really pass out, but I may as fucking well have.  Jesus Mary and Dominic, that man must've been full of pure unadulterated evil and it was escaping from his asshole.  

I really hate smelling other people's shit.  

And then Kim got to work.  "Before you even go into your office, I want you to walk down the hall and stick your head in the men's room and take a big whiff," I instructed, honestly believing she would do it without question.  

"What, did someone take a big shit?"  Why was she not walking down the hall?

"Yes.  OMG YES."  

"And you WANTED ME TO SMELL IT?!  Thanks a lot, Friend."  

"Only because you were hiding the air freshener in your office!  I nearly died searching for it!"

****************************

I'm so happy Friday is here.  This has been the longest 4-day workweek EVAR.  I'm over it, and I need to recharge.  If I could call in sick today, I'd do it.  Oh well.  I'm going to focus on the good.  It'll all be fine.  Every little thing gonna be alright.  

I'm gonna be one of those exercise/weight-loss bloggers for a while, okay?

I'm new to this counting calories thing.  Um, it's possible I've been known to say I'd never live my life counting the calories I put into my mouth because, well, fuck that.  I like food.  A lot.  It's one of my favorite things ever.  

But I've gotten fat by being lazy, and lo and behold, here I am, running to the computer or my stupid, hated-but-now-sorta-tolerated Blackberry so I can record every morsel that so much as looks at my lips a second too long.  And I'm rounding up!  For example:  Tonight, my pan-seared cod filet had, according to the package, only 90 calories per 4 oz serving, but I totally selected the first pan-seared cod that popped up, even though it was for 119 calories.  I figure this gives me a little wiggle room - I mean, this weight-loss shit isn't exact science or anything, you know?  And I recorded the teaspoon of safflower oil Jimi used to lube the pan, and the lime wedge I squeezed over my fish.  I recorded the carrot slices and the radish slices and the 4T of salad dressing.  Yes.  4T.  (I probably left half a tablespoon on the plate, but I wasn't going to measure and deduct.)  My dressing won for calorie content tonight.  

I'm determined I'm not going to fail at this - I'm going to look phenomenal in that dress and I will rock the world with my awesome that will only be outshadowed by the bride's, which of course is how it should be, seeing as how it's her big day and all. 

Speaking of the bride, she called me tonight and we're going to go work our asses at the gym tomorrow night.  I'm excited to have an exercise buddy in real life, in addition to all of this amazing support you guys keep heaping upon me so generously.  (Have I said thank you yet?  Thank you!  I feel encouraged and inspired and like I've got people rooting for me, which always makes everything easier.)  

I'm trying to be really careful when I'm entering my exercises.  I don't want to bump up the numbers to make things look better on paper - the only cheating is cheating myself, and that ain't gonna zip that dress.  That being said, I walked/jogged/ran 4.04 miles tonight in 1:08:00.  I know you just read that as "I walked/jogged ran blahblahblahblah".  If you didn't, and you understand what it means, please stop rolling your eyes and thinking "OMG, did she really just post that embarrassing lame-ass time?  HAHAHAHA!!!"  I'm sorta recording it here for posterity.  

That evening stroll with Finn made my day look awesome - I burned 458 calories, meaning I've got another 440 calories left today before I hit 1200.  I'm having a beer.  Shut up.  I know it's counterproductive, but it's only 99 calories and 3 carbs and I've got 128(!!!) carbs left for the day so I feel like I've fucking earned this beer.  

I'm sorry if this post sucks big fat hairy gorilla balls.  (Do gorillas have hairy balls?  Or are their private parts naked like those other monkey-things?)  I won't talk about my fat or my food or my calories or my lame-ass walk/jog/run times forever.  

I feel great.  I feel strong.  I feel like I'm going to be buying a new wardrobe at the after-Christmas sales.  

Owning my fat.

I signed up with MyFitnessPal and MapMyWalk, mainly because two of you told me to.  Also, their blackberry apps are free.  I'm excited to have a way to keep track of the things I eat, the exercises I do, the water I drink, the calories I burn.

I'm excited to be holding myself accountable, to be aiming for a goal.  And you know what?  This goal is something I have absolute control over, which feels very empowering after a year of feeling sorta powerless when it comes to my body.

Now, I'm not hard core (yet), but I walked 3/4 of a mile with dogface this morning, and I've done 20 jumping jacks and 40 crunches.  I'm consciously thinking about the repercussions of my food choices (even if you couldn't tell by the way I picked bacon over ham for my breakfast this morning - gotta live a little, you know?).

I've got a question - if my goal calories are 1200, and I burn 300, do I have to eat 1500 for the day?  Is that how that's supposed to work?

I'm gonna do this.  I'm going to lose ____ inches/pounds, and I'm going to look fan-fucking-tastic in that bridesmaid's dress come October.  It's going to happen.

(I'm >-< this close to doing the Zumba.  Will narrow down facility search/details today - unless Jimi springs for that YMCA membership, in which case, fuck some Zumba, I'm going swimming and to WATER Zumba!  Why is the YMCA a million dollars?  Okay, it's not a million dollars, but I'm broke and that joining fee makes my face sad.)

Happy Tuesday!

The Dress Doesn't Fit (Or, I am the dumbest person you know.)

The zipper needs to somehow move up another three inches.  No no no, not ON the dress- when it zips, it needs to go another three inches before it closes.

Fuck me sideways.  

I mean, I shouldn't be surprised.  Did I really think I'd somehow magically dropped a dress size in the last month and a half by drinking beer, sitting on my ass, and getting high and eating every carb in sight?  

Maybe a little, yes.  

Didn't work.  Turns out, that game plan will leave you desperately wishing for three more inches - like that one time, with that one guy with that really small penis.  

Anyhow.  

I'm sorta working out.  Jumping jacks, crunches, running, walking, mowing the grass, sex.  Sorta.  Jimi wants to sign me up for Zumba - will Zumba help me lose a dress size in 5.5 weeks?  If you say yes, I'll totally do it.  

I'm watching my calorie intake.  I'm making good choices.  

Surely this shit will work, right?  

I've never dieted.  I've never actually set a weight-loss goal and set out to obtain it.  Ever.  In my life.  I don't know wtf I'm doing.  

I just know that dress has to zip and I've gotta somehow make it happen.  Tell me how, please?  Something that doesn't involve throwing up or laxatives or Spanx - the problem is at the top of the dress, not in my big fat belly, surprisingly enough, and the Spanx didn't make a smidge of difference.  I've actually gotta lose the weight to make this happen - even Duct tap won't fix this. 

Wait.  I didn't actually TRY Duct tape yet...maybe...

No.  I'm going to get less fat.  It's just one dress size.  

Help me!!!

Rock on.

Okay, so I guess there were a few things I could've talked about in the last week:

Like how Momma and I drove to Cincinnati on Saturday and spent a few hours with dear, sweet Maggie, lounging in her pool and eating a yummy meal she managed to sneak and pay for before we knew what was going on.  THAT won't happen again - the her paying for it part.

And then I almost got murdered by the super freak storm that popped up suddenly when I was on my way home Saturday.  I literally had to stop my car in the middle of the road and just hope beyond hope that no one plowed into me - the water was coming down in a sheet and I couldn't see anything beyond my wipers.  Nothing.  When the worst was over and I could move again - at 5 mph, with my flashers on - there were three trees  lying across both lanes on my side of the street.  Thank goodness none of them landed on my car - that would've sucked.

Or I could've told you about how I sorta started a fight with Jimi because I got all worked up over the fact that we're not married and there are no wedding bells on the horizon.  Here's what it came down to, though:  I could put my foot down and insist on matrimony, and he'd do it.  But I don't want him to marry me because I made him; I want him to marry me because he wants me to be his wife.  I already know he wants to spend forever with me - I just can't make him see why the married part matters.  I could threaten to leave, but if I did that, I'd be playing a game - I'm not willing to leave.  When it comes right down to it, we're together and we're happy, and for now, that's just going to have to be enough.  (But I've got a "If we ever got married..." category on Pinterest.  Just in case.)

Finn escaped from the back yard yesterday - that was something exciting I could've written about.  One of the boards in our fence came down, apparently, allowing Finn to squeeze through into the neighbor's yard, which has lots of escape hatches to the outside world.  I'm sure he greatly enjoyed terrorizing the neighborhood squirrels for a bit - but then he spotted some neighbors and darted over to them.  When I came tearing ass around the corner, leash in one hand, other hand holding up my jeans that were threatening to fall to my knees, my pup was sitting there between his two new friends, tail wagging, tongue hanging out, as if to say, "Hi Mom!  I met some new people!"  The neighbor has his finger hooked through Finn's collar - "He just ran right up to us," he said.  I was so glad he wasn't squished in the middle of the road.

Jimi shaved off all of his face hairs; in five years, I've never seen his face naked.  It's sorta like making out with and waking up next to a stranger.

Oh, and I'm at that point where I'm feeling myself up constantly - are my boobs sore, or am I squeezing them too hard?  I almost write a "I think I might be pregnant" post every month, but I stop myself because I don't want to be that girl.  I guess I just am, though.  I am that girl.  The crazy - I has it, and it is strong.

The dress I ordered too small?  It came in, and my Momma picked it up for me yesterday.  I don't even want to go get it or try it on for fear (knowing) that it won't fit.  Fuck.  Why do I do dumb things?  Why does food have to taste so good?

Is it Friday yet?

Oh, and can I just say how good it makes me feel that you guys even noticed I wasn't around for a few days? I mean, if you didn't that's okay, but if you did, you rock my socks.  This blogging community thing is really something special.

I wish I could get paid to bake.

I made this last night:

Easy Peach Cobbler

Except I changed it up a little to add:

Brown Sugar

A few Oats

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Ginger

Vanilla

Twice as many Peaches

Blueberries

And when it was done baking, it looked like this:

And it tasted like this:

plus this:

And for the first time in my life, I put down my unfinished dessert and declared it too sweet to finish.

Of course, I went back to it 20 minutes later to finish it off, but whatever. 

It was rich.

That's all I'm sayin'.  

My dinner is awesomer than yours.

Kebabs.

Steak, Onion, Green Pepper, Baby Portabella Mushrooms.

And Beer.  

Ain't got nothin' to say...

But I'm gonna type, type, type away.

That is what I do, 

when I can't think of anything good to share with you.

Whoa.  I'm not a poet and I totally know it.

Instinct tells me to move to something else, distract myself and maybe later something will come to me.  Nope.  I'm staying right here!!!  Aren't you glad you're still reading?

Twitter me this...

I don't know how to do Twitter.  I figured out how to get my blog posts to automatically update my twitter feed, but that's about all I do on there.  Last friday, no fewer than three awesome women linked me in #FF - i think that means Follow Friday?  Like you're supposed to recommend your favorite blogs?  I don't know how to do it though, so I couldn't even properly reciprocate.  I'm so ignorant about this technology stuff.

Jimi got his hairs cut today.  He just told me I should talk about that:  "What are you typing?"  "A bunch of bullshit."  "You should talk about my hairs.  It's the most important news of the day."  I must say, he looks very handsome with his new hairs:

But all I can see is the crap on the table behind him.

Have I mentioned I'm a lousy housekeeper?  That's totally my beer bottle.

But yes, he's very pretty.

I like wine.  Cheap wine.  3/$10 Arbor Mist cheap "wine".  Can't you tell?

Wait.  I just re-read that.  That's totally not what I meant.  Stop giggling.

Nevermind.

I need some pie.  I baked a pie on July 4th, in honor of Independence Day because that's the American thing to do, right?  Eat apple pie?  It was all the justification I needed, okay?  And I'm going to eat some more of that pie tonight and pretend it's me being patri-fucking-otic.  

Did I mention I'm going to be in a wedding in October?  And that I ordered my bridesmaid's dress the other day?  In a size smaller than the one I tried on at the store, which fit me to a T?  Um, in case you're having what I'm having - that means I need to lose no less than one dress size in the next 4.5 months.

How long can I put it off before I have to start the starvation/laxative diet?  

No.  Wait.  I'm going to do this the right way.  I'm going to exercise, eat right, and lose so much that I have to have the size-smaller dress taken in so it'll stay up on me by the time the big day arrives.  

Right?  Right?!

Right.

I'm starting tomorrow, obviously.  There's pie in there that can't go to waist.  Waste.  Whatever.  

Okay, now that I've found 100 things...

Today, a week and a day after my 31st birthday, I'm finally getting my cake and ice cream.  I've requested my favorite, strawberry cake with fun-fetti icing and vanilla ice cream. (Very grown up, Momma says.)  For my 13th birthday, my Momma made me a strawberry cake and decorated it to look like a pink boom box.  My friend James made me a strawberry cake and decorated it with tiaras and princess castles last year.  Strawberry cake really is my favorite.

Momma asked me if I had any input on what I'd like for dinner.  The only thing I could come up with was grilled asparagus.

31 feels like a turning point, a crossroads.  Like I'm going through some sort of awkward phase, a growth spurt. Maybe I am.  Maybe I'll come out on the other side, 32 and a full-fledged adult.  One who does a load of laundry every night instead of letting it pile up for two and a half weeks and then only breaking down and sorting and washing because clean panties are nowhere to be found.  One who immediately does the dinner dishes when the meal is finished.  One who vacuums and dusts every Sunday.

I'm not saying it's likely, just that it COULD happen.  You know, miracles happen every day.

31 does feel weird, though.  Not old, I'd never dare use that word in relation to that number.  Wiser?  More aware?  More appreciative?  Something.

So far, though, aside from feeling a little odd, 31 is pretty cool.  I'm happy, healthy, loved.  I've got a job and a home and a car that just rolled over 70K miles Friday night.

That's pretty cool, actually.  My little Honda Civic, the one I bought all by myself with my very own credit in September of 2004, the one I didn't need my (ex)husband's income to qualify for, the one I drove from Nebraska to El Paso and then back home to good ol' Kentucky, has just rolled over 70,000 miles.  I can probably get 70,000 miles out of this car three more times before it shits the bed and has to be replaced.  Of all the decisions I've made in my life, buying that car was probably the most sound financial one.  (Well, as long as you don't take into consideration the fact that my OLD Civic was paid off and in good shape and had only 145,000 miles on it and probably could've been driven (for free) for another 150,000 without much more than basic preventative maintenance.  But whatever.)

I'm so glad the sun is out today - the weekend's been kind of a bust and the sun makes everything seem happier, doesn't it?  Yesterday was Thunder Over Louisville - a huge air show and fireworks display that kicks off the official Kentucky Derby Festival festivities.  Every year, my boss gets us tickets to the Bats (local AAA baseball team) game, and we hang out together all day and watch the game, watch the air show, watch the rednecks, watch the fireworks.  And drink beer and booze we smuggled in and eat fried foods and complain about the heat or the cold or the sun or the clouds.  Yesterday, though, the weather sucked.  It was cold and windy and drizzling and gray.  Everyone backed out, and then I did too.  I think the only tickets that were used belonged to C and her family - so 5 out of 20?  That sucks.  I'm going to have to offer to reimburse the company for the four I requested and didn't use.  Suck.

Did you know Haagen Dazs makes Sweet Chai Latte ice cream?  Holy shit, it's to die for.  Go get some now.  I'll wait.  Delicious, right?  I told you.  Haagen Dazs just has it like that, though.  They make everything delicious.  I'll never forget the night Kat and I got that banana split from their store in the Crystal City Mall in D.C. - cherry vanilla ice cream, a banana, strawberry sauce, whipped cream, nuts.  God, my mouth is watering just remembering it.  We drove around the Ft. Belvoir area for much longer than we should've, running in and out of Targets and Food Lions, darting to their frozen foods sections in search of that never-before-heard-of-but-now-must-have-it flavor - Cherry Vanilla.  No one carried it.  No one had it.  We gave up and hung our heads and stopped at the gas station to fill up her car and get some snacks.  Guess who had Haagen Dazs Cherry Vanilla ice cream?  That's right, the gas station did.  Grocery stores didn't, but the gas station did.  For years after that, I felt as if I had to buy 2 pints every time I found the flavor in stores - it was like a rare gem!  I'm kinda over it now, though.  Maybe it's guilt by association.  But this sweet chai latte is delish.

Jimi's going to take me to "breakfast" (it's noon already), and then we'll go find some fun until it's time to head to Momma & Daddy's for my birthday dinner.  It's kinda like "Natalie's 31st Birthday, take 2".  That's what I'm doing today.  What are your plans?  May I make some suggestions?  First, go enter my giveaway.  I'll mail you some shit from my house.  Fun, right?  Then, go join in on the Comment Love Day over at FTLOB.  Everyone loves comments.







Happy Sunday, Friends!

Monday, Monday...

What a happy little weekend this was.  We spent our day Saturday in Cincinnati with Sweet Maggie, shopping, as usual, but not buying anything, which is not usual.  I've got money burning a hole in my pocket, but I can't bring myself to spend it - there's nothing I want badly enough to justify laying down the cold hard cash.  More than likely, an unexpected expense will present itself and I'll have to use my mad money for that and I'll be mad that I didn't get to buy anything fun but I'll be glad I had the money on hand.  Such is life.  La di da.

We'd talked about getting a hotel room and staying overnight in Cincy, but in the end, I couldn't justify the expense or the extra trouble it would cause for Stacy and Jessie to have to keep the dog for an extra night.  And I didn't want to wake up and have to drive home - I really like my house and waking up here each morning is one of my favorite things.  So we drove home, picked up the pup, and we were home well before midnight.

Yesterday we went to Whole Foods to buy some bulk quinoa.  Do you know about quinoa?  Apparently, it's the new pomegranate, one of the new "super foods".  It's a vegetable that is eaten/tastes like a cereal grain, and it has like 14 grams of protein in a 3.5 ounce serving.  That's what they say, at least...I've not tried it yet.  Jimi swears it's going to be our new favorite breakfast food.  Anyhow.  So we went to the Whole Foods, and can I take a minute here to tell you how much I love that place?  I know everything they sell is marked up by at least a dollar compared to stuff at the Kroger, but it's like a hippie grocery-shopping-lover's wet dream.  (I love grocery shopping.  Hate all other forms of shopping.  Go figure.)  I love the beautiful, varied, unusual flowers that smell so good when you walk in the front door.  I love that their grocery carts have a built-in vase to hold your fresh flowers.  I love that they have every variety of everything, in organic and why-do-you-hate-the-Earth?! (regular, I mean).  And Oh My Gosh the Bulk Grains Aisle?!  Holy smokes, I want to live there.  I was so in awe of the place that I bought 2.5 lbs of split peas.  WTF?  I don't even like peas.  (I do like split pea soup though, which is why I bought the peas, I guess, but still - I've never actually made split pea soup, so who knows how this will turn out.  I just had to buy something from that aisle other than the quinoa.)

And then Jimi rushed me through the rest of the store because he knew I was well on my way to wandering aimlessly up and down every single aisle, spending minutes ogling the teas and tomato sauces and different-shaped noodles.  But the cheese!  He couldn't divert me from the cheeses, mainly because they live next to the food bars where we were planning to pick out our individual selections for lunch.  The cheese makes me happy.  I decided to splurge on a selection - I raided the $3 and under sample bin and came away with 8 cheeses of all colors and smells and tastes (one has cranberries in it, another has black olives; be still my heart!) for under $30.  (I don't actually know how much I paid - Whole Foods is one of those places where I can't look too closely at individual price tags - I just try to keep my total under a pre-set dollar amount.  I managed to keep my budget on this trip, so it's a win!)

While I perused the cheeses, Jimi made a discovery of his own - they sell beer!  Not just any beer, either; good beer.  Gumballhead beer.  Jimi loves the Gumballheads.  You can get a pint, 32 oz., or a 64 oz. growler.  The time it took to fill his growler allowed me the time I needed to pick my cheeses.  We were both happy.

And then it was time for lunch.  They had eight (8!) soup selections.  I'm such a sucker for a good soup.  They also had sushi and bbq pork and fresh green beans and salads and all sorts of delicious-looking things.  I wanted to eat it all, but I only have so much room, you know?  I decided on tomato bisque and crackers and a piece of my cheese...and a California roll.  Of course, I only ate the soup and such - I had two pieces of my roll, but I liked the soup better, so Jimi finished the sushi for me.  (He'd counted on this - it's pretty common - so he'd only selected a veggie sushi-style roll.  He's so smart, that man of mine.)  The Whole Foods has a little dining area there in the front of the store - making it officially my favorite place ever.  The cashier said they could arrange to have a cot set up in the back if I was really serious about wanting to live there; if Jimi ever kicks me out, I'll take the guy up on the offer.

After lunch, we went to the Guitar Center across the way.  I thought we were going to look at guitars; turns out, Jimi was serious when he said Saturday that he thinks I should spend my mad money to buy a full-size keyboard, and we were there to see what they had to offer in the way of portable electric pianos.  I'm not prepared to drop $300 on a keyboard.  It would mean I'd have to sign up for lessons; I've forgotten nearly everything I learned from the four years of lessons I barely tolerated as a tween.  And while I'd love to have a piano sitting around to plunk away on when the urge strikes, a keyboard is not a piano, and there is not room in the house for a piano right now and I don't know that I want to spend money on an electric one when I sort of feel like electric would be cheating or disappointing to my expectation and history with the traditional upright.  But Jimi's suggestion was so sweet, so sincere, and his line of "I thought then we could sit around and make music together" was just too heart-wrenching to not seriously sway my opinions.  But still, it's a lot of money...

So I walked away from the Guitar Center without a new instrument for me...but Jimi bought himself a ukulele.  He strummed all the way to Rick's house, who fed me homemade chocolate peanut butter cheesecake and shared a Gumballhead with Jimi.  He strummed all the way home, and then he hijacked the computer to look up chords and songs and sat here strumming until I lured him away with the offer of...

*ehhem*  So anyhow, he took over the computer last night, and that's why I'm regaling you with this awesome story now instead of then.  That, and I don't have anything else to talk about.  Except that when Jimi got home tonight, he took his ukulele to the bathroom with him, saying he was going to play while he pooped.  He said it's called "dookulele".

Gosh, I'm sorry I had to create that image for you, but it's funny, right?  Dookulele.  I'm still giggling.

Our friend and former roommate, Jen, called last night.  She's going to have her baby girl any day now, and I'm glad to find that I'm genuinely, without hesitation, happy and excited for her.  I'm not feeling those jealous pangs I felt when she first learned she was expecting, and I didn't have a single "why can't that be me?" thought.  This is progress, people.  And now I need to go find her registry and send that woman some baby towels - she said she's gotten dozens of little washcloths, but not a single bath towel for her little peapod.

Happy Monday, Friends.  I hope you have a lovely week.

The truth?

If someone asks me if I'm pregnant today, I'm going to cash out my 401K to pay for lipo.

IT HAPPENED AGAIN

Okay, this is jacked up.  The indicident yesterday could be explained away by a cultural/communication gap.  But today?  Today is just bullshit, and I'm 99% convinced it was purposeful and intentionally mean. 

Guys, I was embarrassed to even tell Jimi, but I'm going to tell you:  For the second time in two days, a man has asked me if I'm pregnant.

What.  The.  FUCK?!  These cockbags obviously have no sense, no tact, no couthe. 

And I obviously am fat.  Any doubt I had in my mind that I could maybe pretend I wasn't part of that particular club has long since evaporated and is gone forever.  I'm okay with it, too; I know I'm fat.  But motherfuck, I certainly don't want it pointed out.  By men.  Who I work with.

Yesterday?  That stung a little, but the man didn't set out to hurt my feelings.  Today?  I think this guy did.  This morning, I relayed yesterday afternoon's events to the people who missed our meeting.  Not 30 minutes later, the same gem I discussed here was standing in my office, commenting on how big my belly seems to be getting and am I pregnant?  I glared at him, told him no, I'm not, but thanks for asking and making me feel so fantastic.  Futher, I said, you've just made my day by being the second person in as many days to say such a thing.  His response was "well, if I'm not the first, then i don't feel embarrassed".  Don't worry, dick, I'm plenty embarrassed for the both of us.   

I've got a theory that he heard the story from yesterday and maybe he was trying to be cute.  Or maybe he was trying to be mean.  Or maybe he really is just that much of an asshole.  Either way, I wish our work relationship was one that did not require regular communication, because, frankly, I've got nothing nice to say to this cat any longer.  I've been harrassed and made to feel small and had horrible things said to me by this man for years, and I've tolerated it with a smile and brushed it off.  I'm finished pretending. 

No baby, just fat.

I’ve been doing well with the whole “20 minutes of cardio every day” thing.  I missed last night because of Kimmie’s birthday gathering, but other than that we’re talking 2 solid weeks of daily walking/running/jogging.  It’s a record!  The numbers on the scale haven’t moved much, and that’s okay; the amount of effort I’ve put into this so far isn’t such that would induce any real change on that front.  I’m not feeling any more lean or fit; again, totally fine and in line with how hard I’ve been trying.  Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps.

I’m thinking it’s time to step up my game, though.  This afternoon, in what was supposed to be the afternoon production meeting  but instead only consisted of me and one of the other four mandatory attendees, my Mexican-born co-worker was standing next to me as I sat at my desk when he suddenly reached over in front of me, patted my belly, and said “What happen?  You baby?”  It took a minute for his meaning to sink in.  “Nah, man, just fat!”  I tried to laugh it off and move on with work-related shit, but his words are recorded in my mind, playing over and over again on a loop. 

Fuck.

I mean, it’s one thing for me to stand naked in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection from the side, and realize that when I was growing up, this is the figure I thought I’d have at around 8 months gestation.  Fuck me, it’s another thing entirely to have it pointed out by a man I work with. 

Did I mention this is the second time this particular question has been posed to me by co-workers in the last 2 years? 

I told my boss.  “See, I thought everyone understood the universal rule that you NEVER ask a woman if she’s pregnant.  I don’t get it.”

I don’t get it either.  Sense, people.  Use it.

Meanwhile, I took Finn for a walk when I got home, and I guess that and 60 crunches will be added to my nightly repertoire going forward.  

Weekend Update

Can you read it?

I ♥ Jimi

On our way to Rick's Friday night, we had this great view of the moon just coming up behind some steam stacks over by UofL, so we pulled into the parking lot of this corner/liquor store to try to get a picture or two.  The moon pictures didn't come out so good (I still haven't read my manual or used the CD that came with the camera, so I still don't know how to use it too good), but I thought this panoramic shot of my high-school-flashback snow art was pretty cool.  

(The least crappy two of the 50 or so moon photos we attempted.)  

Yesterday, I picked up Megan and we met Melinda and Gary at Iceland for part of Gary's birthday weekend celebration.  Ice skating is so much fun, but OMG it's so hard.  My toes were numb almost immediately upon lacing my skates, but I figured it was from the cold and dealt with it.  It's not like I expected a trip to the ice rink for the first time in ?a half dozen? years to be painless.  I did pretty good on the ice - I only fell once, and that was when I was showing off my ~sometimes/sorta~ ability to spin around fast in a really sloppy version of that finishing move you see the professionals make look easy, so I deserved the bruised knees.  We skated for an hour or so, and I counted that as my exercise for Friday and Saturday, as I did nothing remotely physical on Friday.  Here's a picture of my butt:

I thought the numbness in my toes was from the cold, but within moments of unlacing and removing my skates, pins and needles were coursing through the outsides of my feet - the parts that had been numb, not from cold, it appears, but because the skate was too effing tight.  My socks were too thick.  Or the skate needed to be a bigger size.  Or my feet have gotten super wide, when they've always been super narrow.  Or I have developed diabetes.  (I shouldn't joke about that.  I'm pretty sure it's in the cards for my future.)

This morning we woke up early and went into cleaning mode, Jimi in the kitchen, me in the TV room - the bedroom was mostly done once the laundry was carted to the basement.  (My laundry room is still picked up and stuff - promise.  We're doing a good job keeping up with the washing, and things are getting folded/hung up as soon as it comes from the dryer.  Simple things, I know, but it's an improvement in our world.  :)  )  After the largest portion of our chores had been knocked out, we went out for lunch and to pick up necessities at the Sam's Club.  I got some fancy mixed nuts with no peanuts.  That makes me happy.  

I've kept up with the exercising for a few days now, and it's not much, but it's better than normal, and that's a good start.  It feels good.  It's easy to breathe.  I like the way my skin looks after I've been sweating and exerting myself.  I watched my feet as I ran on the treadmill tonight, and I couldn't help getting a good look at my belly.  It is what kept me going even after I started to get tired and knew I could stop five minutes short, or when I started thinking I could skip that part at the end where I took Finn outside for a short jaunt.  I'm going to lose this shit, and the next time I see my stomach sticking out like that better be because there's a baby in there.  I'm just sayin'.  Oh, and I'm not wearing that bright pink fleece to exercise in anymore until i lose the fat - it works like an effing highlighter on my pudge.  

With that said, we're having fried chicken for dinner tonight.  I've obviously not put myself on a diet, and for now, I won't.  I'm trying to make healthier choices more often, and to add more fruits and vegetables to my diet (like the edamame that will accompany my keel tonight), but I haven't gotten to the point where I'm willing to count calories or deny myself things too terribly often.  I understand that the Natalie in this paragraph sounds different from the Natalie in that last one, but hey, welcome to my world!  At least I exercised.  

I'm talking about food because I'm starving.  Jimi has to go get the dinner, though, and he's watching Afro Samurai.  I'm not sure of the full gist of the story, but this dude has a sword and kills a whole bunch of people and smokes dope and it's got foul language and lots of gore - basically, it's not my sort of thing at all, and I pretty much hate it.  But, household rule is whoever doesn't have the computer controls the remote, so we watch a lot of crazy shit that I'd never know exists if it weren't for that dear sweet man of mine.  

That's all I've got.  Have a great night, and I hope your week doesn't suck.  

I feel guilty when I buy junk food at the grocery:  PopTarts, ice cream, chocolate.

But when I get home, and I get a craving for something sweet, it's nice to not have to scavenge.

COOKIE DROP!!!

A co-worker of Jimi's suffered a family loss this weekend, and when the team took up a collection, Jimi volunteered to make some sweets for the kids, so we've spent our evening making cookies and marshmallow cereal treats.

Jimi chose to make a peanut butter-esque cookie - basically, he used the peanut butter cookie recipe, but substituted nutella for the peanut butter.  They're thinner and have a slightly less biscuit-y texture, and they could use some nuts or something on top to add texture and flavor, but they're yummy.  I have to keep reminding myself they're not for me.

The perfect finishing touch on a batch of fresh-from-the-oven cookies?  The Cookie Drop!  Gives them that broken look on top.

I need these out of my house, STAT.

Yesterday was going to be the day I sat around the house and relaxed and recovered.  Instead, I was at the doctor's office and the hospital all day.  So, here I am, sitting on my ass in my sweat pants and wife beater and no bra with my Snuggie wrapped around me and my feet propped up and the TV on and the computer on my lap and the heating pad on my belly.

I may or may not get up and shower and go shopping later.  I might just sit here all day.

It's awfully pretty outside, though.  I should at least take the dog for a walk.  Especially after all the cookies I've eaten in the last few days.

Wake me up when it's over.

The doc pretty much confirmed what I already knew, but I have to go back for more blood work on Wednesday for the final word.  I spent all day at the hospital waiting, being poked and prodded, waiting, waiting, napping, waiting, more poking, more prodding.  Saying those awful words again and again, to new nurses who only meant well...they didn't know that I wasn't a newly expectant mom, all giddy with excitement.  Except maybe for the dark circles under my eyes.  Or the sadness that just sort of hung around me all day.  Even the waitress at lunch asked me 3 times if I was okay, despite my assurances, that yes, I am, thank you.

Blah.  I'm not going to be this way forever.  I just need to be sad for a little while.  Just for a little while.

Jimi's making some dinners.  A pork roast, with green beans and corn on the side.  Yum.  And there are whole-wheat rolls. And there's ice cream, and Dawn's delicious cookies.

I keep intending to do some retail therapy - to buy myself something pretty to make me feel better - but until I feel like actually going out around people, I'm going to eat.  Just for a day or two.  Don't judge me.  I need all the comfort I can get right now, in whatever form it may present itself.