A Reason To Live

Pregnant Rambo has informed me that our neighbor (male) has taken up jogging around the neighborhood in ... wait for it ... a unitard. A blue unitard, in fact. Which shows EVERYTHING. Because that's what unitards do.

Once her eyes stopped burning after taking in this terrifying sight (he's not exactly Brad Pitt), she realized what a shame it was that she didn't have a camera handy so she could contribute to the Stop That Now! entries. Don't worry, Pregnant Rambo, your neighbor lady is on the case.

Your Name On My Lips, But Never On My Hips

I admit, I've made very few promises to myself that have stuck. I said I'd stop eating chocolate, stay away from wide-leg pants and never wear a tube top, and went back on my word every time (got some really cute tube-tops out of the deal, though). But when it comes to wearing anything with Jessica Simpson's name on it, it's going to be a piece of cake to stay true to that vow.

I've got nothing against the girl. She plays dumb better than George W. and she's made a lot of money from it. But to put her name on clothes and shoes and handbags that someone else so obviously designed - while she enjoys all the profits - doesn't sit well with me.

How do I know she has little impact on her designs? I respectfully submit the following proof:


A sizzling platform pump like this wasn't designed by a person who goes out of the house looking like this:



I imagine Miss Sim comes crashing through the factory doors, mini dog in one hand, half-caf latte in the other, takes one look at the designs and says, "M'kay, they're fine. Can I go shopping for the good stuff now?"

And though her shoes, especially, are cute, cute, cute, the second my eyes meet her signature, I wrinkle my nose, put the shoe down and go about my way. It would be wrong for me to contribute to her plaid shirt collection with my hard-earned money.

I'm Calling Unfairsies!

I was sick for four weeks.

At the end of the four weeks, I was relieved to find I hadn't gained any weight, what with not being able to work out and a desire for comfort food.

My husband hasn't been feeling well since Monday, and hasn't felt very hungry.

As a result, he's lost 10 pounds.

I'm calling unfairsies.

Old Teeth Not Meant for Old Candy

My son got a bag of candy for his birthday and, of course, I've been sneaking into his room and grabbing a piece every once in a while (read: twice a day). It was fine when I could snack on a mini pack of M&Ms, but today, my only choice was Milk Duds, which should only be eaten when teeth are young and can handle the pain and suffering that goes along with gnawing said Duds. I tried to chomp with only my front teeth for fear of pulling out a filling, but the sticky suckers would manage to find their way to the back, where it takes floss, a toothpick and possibly a fork to work out all the remnants. Is this really worth it? Hell no. Ergo, I'm hightailing it to the corner store for something that won't give me lockjaw.

Rack of Bam!

Ladies, if I can pass along one simple piece of advice, it's this: Get thee to a bra fitting! Since "the girls" went from ho-hum to totally bummed - after the birth of my second son - none of my boulder holders have fit the same. So I got a bra fitting. And I got quite a jolt. Somehow, my size has changed from my long-standing 34B to a ... wait for it ... 34D. Based on appearance, it's easy to understand why I doubted this information. A 34D is a size often requested for breast enhancements. When those new boobs emerge from the knife, I promise, they don't look like mine. How could I be a D? Assuming my bra fitter had hit the ganja before coming to work, I figured I'd help her out and try on the bra so she wouldn't get fired while coming down from her buzz. It fit! It fit really, really well. If I didn't understand science before, now I'm totally befuddled.

Where's My 40 Winks?

Ever feel like you're the only one never getting any downtime?



I know I do.

Muscles, Where Art Thou?

I take a lot of pride in having strong, toned arms. However, after my LONG cold/cough/missing lung illness and four weeks away from the gym, all signs of muscle tone have disappeared from my upper body quicker than a box of Tim Horton's donuts (yum ... donuts). For the past 15 minutes, I've been standing in front of the TV, lifting my wussy five-pound hand weights, and I'm DYING. In the spirit of full disclosure, I was watching the new 90210 and it's possible the bad acting was sucking the life out of me. Will have to change the channel, continue my workout and gauge the difference.

Who Flipped the Switch?

I can't explain emotional eating. I just know how well it works for me. While I was hanging at death's door for the last few weeks, all I wanted was chocolate cake, Oreos - anything with chocolate as its main ingredient. (I've officially diagnosed myself with a bad cold-turned bronchitis. Or it could have been the plague.) Now that I'm breathing normally, only coughing a third of the day, and have walked at a slow pace on the treadmill for 30 minutes two days in a row, I suddenly have the urge to eat healthy. Really healthy. OK, healthy for me. For breakfast, I'm eating Smart Start cereal with Vanilla Light Soy Milk (no, really), and I've been stopping at ONE BOWL, instead of pouring in way more milk than necessary and then being forced to add more and more cereal until it finally all evened out at the bottom of the dish.

Where might this healthy eating take me? Will I actually add a vegetable to my dinner tonight?

Butter Worth More Than Gold

It's rare for me to find a commercial funny enough to share, but the Geico ad people really got me laughing with this one. Enjoy!

Food, Glorious ... I'm Screwed

On Saturday, I threw Noah one heck of a birthday party, complete with water balloons, silly string and a pinata that looked exactly like Disco Stu from The Simpsons. Frank wasn't the party's biggest fan, as he was in charge of cleaning up the string/balloon/Stu wreckage that was scattered down the driveway and across the front lawn. Five 11-year-olds can make a hell of a mess in less than 30 minutes.

The food was all that wonderful summer cookout/birthday fare: hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob, mac & cheese, chocolate cake and ice cream. The kids were having so much fun destroying our yard, they weren't too excited about stuffing their faces. Go figure. The upside is all the leftovers. The downside - all the leftovers. I can't deal with a house stocked with this much comforting goodness. This morning I got up, made coffee, and then had a light breakfast of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles and chocolate cake. I have got to get this crap out of my house.

Here We Go!

My book is up for sale on Publishers Marketplace!

A Fly On the Wall Better Not Land On Me

I have an issue with bugs. Not only do I hate them, I also hate killing them - that squashing sound is enough to make me hurl - so I end up in a showdown that has no good ending for me. Unless, of course, I'm armed with a supersized can of Raid.

I was without said bug spray last night, as my friend Lynne and I enjoyed a glass of wine at Vinotecca, in Royal Oak, sitting at a sweet table on the patio, where we could gab and watch the world go by.

Everything was going swimmingly, until the very end of our outing, when the waiter stopped at our table with the receipt. Lynne looked up at him and spotted a katydid - all five inches of it - and remarked, "That's a very large bug on you." This statement set off my state-of-the-art Bug Guard System, which resulted in me lifting my cloth napkin to my face, the power of cotton obviously able to ward off mammoth insects. That's when the girl at the table next to us screeched, "Now it's on your napkin!" That's when my feet took over.

I somehow managed to throw the napkin and kick the table at the same time, sending the table - and everything on it - flying. Two of Lynne's glasses hit the cement, shattering. Luckily, everything else stopped moving when the table did, remaining intact. The waiter just looked at me, awestruck with my performance. Lynne noted, between bouts of out-of-control laughing, that it was probably time for us to go. I announced that we would be back when everyone had forgotten our faces, and we were off, laughing and tearing up all the way to our cars. There's something to be said for eating indoors.