Slim in 7 days

I am sure that the writers at Cosmopolitan magazine put extensive research into the recent article How to lose 5 pounds in 7 days. I can't imagine that they would publish an article that would be devoured by chubby women across the country without consulting numerous doctors, nutritionists and fitness trainers right?

I read the promising title and quickly flipped to page 158, bipassing the 75 New Ways to Please Your Man (can there really be 75 new ways, and why should I research that when the only research he is doing is on Power Tools). I can do anything for 7 days...in one week I will be 5 lbs slimmer and half way to my goal weight, Fabulous! Thank god for Cosmo!

Step One- Drink mainly water. Hmm. I don't really like water. I do however put ice cubes in my white wine, that should work.

Step Two- Ban white bread and pasta. This is ok, I can eat meat and veg for 7 days. Although I might have to switch to red wine to go with the meat, and I do not put ice cubes in my red wine. This could be a problem.

Step Three- Cardio 30 minutes per day. ok seriously this does not sound possible. I do not have an extra 30 minutes a day.Hmm, well I guess I could try and get up early..maybe even be on time to work all week, Super I will not only be 5 lbs sexier, I will be a better employee, and super organised!

Step Four- 36 Push ups and lunges every other day- Ok does this count as the cardio or am I now supposed to make room for this as well? Are these people even sane? And where do they get the number 36? If I do 35 will I only lose 4 lbs? This is ludicrous, I hate diets.

Step Five- Sleep thirty more minutes per nite- You just told me I had to get up early and excersize. Ok, so I have to go to bed malnourished at 7 pm so that I can wake up at the crack of dawn to do not 35, not 37 but 36 push ups before heading to work on time. Deep breath it is only for 7 days.

Step six- Make one food sacrifice. Haven't I given up enough? Not having bread and pasta is not enough? I will show them! I will give up lentils! Ha take that.

Step Seven- Have you on top sex daily. Really, I am not that chubby.

Pretty Much Married Part 1

Honey and I are frequently mistaken for a married couple. I am often called his wife and he is referred to as my husband. Usually neither one of us feel the need to correct the Err-ers. Infact, most of the time I am ok with the modern day situation that I find myself in.

I have all the right answers to the nosy question "Why aren't you married?"

We have seen so many marriages fail.

We have so much going on right now.

We don't have the money.

Although all of the above are tru, the real reason is that I haven't been asked.

Recently, we were on vacation (see Vegas Before Dark). Honey while at home is often reserved and does not go out of his way to meet new people. In the hot desert sun however, he is in his element talking to anyone and everyone. Infact, he invited so many random strangers to our house in VT that I had to put the ix nay on Casa Vaca.

While I was happily sipping a margharita and relaxing by the pool, Honey found himself talking to an older couple. They had clearly been married at some point years ago when well behaved children were named Beaver, men wore ties, women wore aprons and Horses held conversations.

"How long have y'all been married?"

I pause, and put my trashy magazine down in time to hear Pretty Much Hubby explain to Mr Cleaver why he hasn't bitten the bullet yet.

"We're not married" he replies. "We own a home and have a little boy, so we are pretty much married."

I start to imagine what an almost wedding would look like.

I am wearing a long beige gown (pretty much white), I walk down the aisle gazing at pretty much all of my family and friends. I hear the minister say, "Do you Honey, take this woman to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day foward til death do you part?"

"Pretty Much"

The Real World

I am an inhabitant of a large island called The Real World. It is an island that is inescapable, like Alkatraz. I am not a native, however with each passing year I have moved closer and closer to said island. You see, at first the Real World beckons you with its promise of ultimate freedom, true love, first homes, promise of rewarding careers and no pimples.

As I moved further and further from Adolecence ( where I lived quite happily before moving to the Real World) and I migrated toward this Utopian society, I ignored all of the warnings given to me by Real World alumni. If your ship has yet to sail into one of the many Real World ports, let me paint a picture for you of what it is actually like. As I write this I am fully aware that my advice, too will be ignored. You too will be telling yourself that the Real World will be as great as you imagined it.

Don't get me wrong, the Real World does offer many things that it advertises in the brochure that is handed out at all High School graduations. My Real World does have true love, it has a beautiful child and no curfew. But all of these amazing features come at quite a cost.

I have only lived in the real World for about three years. When I moved here, I had great credit, a tight ass and so few bills that I could live comfortably on a slightly chubbier minimum wage. I drove a car that was paid for by cashing in all of the savings bonds that my grandparents had been giving me for Christmas every year since I was born. I paid $250 per month to live in a house with three friends and although this paid for my own room I often slept in the room with my girlfriend because we would fall asleep dreaming aloud to eachother about the Real World. I worked five days a week at a chilcare center and loved every minute of it. I casually dated but never had my heart broken or even really slightly bruised. Life was good and yet I longed to move closer to the Real World .

Before abandoning my early carefree twenties, I met the love of my life. I remember the first time that I saw him, and I knew that I wanted to spend my Real World with him. We played house in a small, charming apaprtment with wood floors, a huge bathroom and zero baggage. We were right on the outskirts of the Real World.

In my Real World my mother dies. There are diseases there, that are not present anywhere else. It is no suprise that the day my mother died the Real World opened its doors and welcomed me in.

I found out that I was pregnant just days after my Love had moved out of our apartment because he was not yet ready to move to the Real World. It was that day that I unpacked and began to familiarize myself with my new scary surroundings. It was evident then, that there was no going back. With the news of our baby to be, my Love was thrown into the Real World himself. He decided to give Us another try. In the Real World you are forced to think about your future, because that is all that is left.

Almost three years later and we are a very happy family of three. I am thankful that the Real World kept us together. I have never been more inlove with Him than I am now even though our relationship will always have Real World struggles.

Our little apartment would not suffice our life on this new island. We bought a home right on the corner of Repsonsibility Lane. I love our home. It is cozy and warm and it calls to me at the end of a long day. Unfortunately it comes with a mailbox, and although the door to the mailbox has since broken off it does not stop the mailman from putting bills in it. Bills with ridiculous Due Dates that offer very little time to strategize how to pay for them. They do not have any warmth to them and they come with scary consequences for not paying them. I remember that this was one of the warnings that I had ignored from previous tenants of this inevitable island.

My only comfort is to remember that like any place, the Real World takes some getting used to. It demands that you learn from your mistakes. It suggests that you look at the people who have lived here longer than you and learn from them, and unlike anything else the Real World promises to be here for you for the rest of your life.

Driving Miss Ditsy

This morning started like any other morning. I woke up 10 minutes late, took a 4 minute shower in which I washed my hair twice because I couldn't remember if I had washed it the first time until I washed it the second time and had dejavu. I grabbed clothing from the hamper unsure of wether it was clean or dirty, dressed the little man, kissed the big man and exited the builing. I quickly realised that the car seat was in Daddy's truck..Crap. Placed Little Man in Big Man's drivers seat while I unhooked car seat. Little man in one arm, car seat in the other head to my vehicle. I open the door with the third arm that mysteriously grows out of no where when you have a child, and place car seat in car, child in car seat, car seat buckled. Viola I am Super Mom!

I glance at the time and use my third arm to pat myself on the back because contrary to my normal routine, I am ahead of schedule.

I have a 30 minute commute to child care and work, I have time to stop for coffee. I pull in to the gas station and park in the Handicap spot, because at this point in the morning until I have coffee I really am handicapped. I leave the car running so that Little Man can enjoy the morning chat show, and I go inside to grab my java. It is going to be a good day, I can tell.

Coffee in hand and smile on my face I say good day to my favorite convenient store workers and I leave, practically skipping out of the building. I get to my car, I open the drivers seat, and there in all his glory is my 17 month old son, parked in the captains chair, big smile on his face, miniature hands grasped firmly around the stearing wheel.

You see, while I was busy applauding myself for getting out of the house on time this morning, and getting the car seat hooked in to the car with one hand, I forgot one very important step. I forgot to buckle my son into the car seat. It took little man less than 4 minutes to climb out of the car seat, Spiderman his way up over the center console, absail down into the drivers seat and park himself comfortably in command.

Vegas, Befrore Dark

After getting my taxes back this year, I did what any responsible young parent with a mortgage and too many bills would do. I booked a romantic trip to Vegas for my Honey and me. It would be great. We were leaving the baby for the first time, to be young and carefree in the city of Sin! We would have cocktails at a swanky piano bar before heading to a late romantic dinner at some fabulous celebrity owned restaurant. We would see exotic Vegas style shows and then in the wee hours of the morning we would chase eachother back to our fabulous hotel room and...well you know. Sleeping in was our top priority, as it has become a thing of the past. Champagne brunch followed by lazily tanning ourselves in the sun would preceed yet another wild night. It would be just like our old partying days only Vegas style!

We arrived in Vegas at 6pm, 9pm Vermont time. We were a bit jet lagged, starving after reluctantly skipping the in flight meal and in need of showers. Honey was already suggesting just grabbing food at the airport and calling it a night. Not a chance. We checked in, showered and headed to one of our hotel restaurants and enjoyed a great authentic Italian meal served to us by a very nice Croatian waiter named Florin. You see I remember his name because he is also a real estate agent in Vegas and gave us his card in case we were ever in the market to buy a home in Vegas...
We were asleep before 10...Jet lag you know?

Now I have heard that they pump special air into the hotels and casinos in Vegas to keep people awake. I like to think that that was the reason that I was awake at 6:30. It had nothing to do with the fact that I had not slept past 7am in 15 months. We love our child, I swear.

Poolside. Wow, 84 degrees at 10 in the morning. This was why we came! US Weekly in hand and self tanned to the max I was ready to sip a Margarita and cuddle with Honey in the desert sun. Life is good.

Did you know that March is when colleges have spring break? I will never forget that again. Ten minutes into our relaxing laguna like experience, what seemed like the entire Penn State population barreled in to the pool area. They were either still drunk from the night before or had started really early. Some of them unmistakenly had an Extasy cocktail for breakfast.
The girls were more confident than I ever remember being, completely oblivious that they were all carrying an extra 20 lbs of beer weight in an already too tight bikini. The boys didn't seem to care either, wish I had known that when I was airbrushing all my flaws away thanks to Sally Hansen, for 20 minutes before even looking at my bikini.

Honey and I exchanged "Oh great" looks. How could these kids be staying at the same hotel, when we paid alot of money to have a nice relaxing vacation.......Oh my god! I am that person...that Old Person that forgot that I ever did any of those fabulously care free things that these wasted co eds were having soo much fun doing.

We ordered a drink from our equally as young and adorable ( I actually called her adorable) cocktail waitress, we toasted to "Us", sat back and nostalgically enjoyed the show.

While in Vegas we never stayed up past 11, might have even been 10:30. And, although nothing happened that had to "stay in Vegas" I wouldn't have changed a thing....except maybe next year we will go some where a little more family friendly, and bring our little man. We missed him more than we could have ever imagined.

A Mothers Day

Yesterday was my second Mothers Day as a mother. Frankly, I think we should have a mothers day a month...even every week. After all we are mothers 365 days a year. Let me tell you what an average day in this Mothers day looks like. 6 am..I feel something wet, I start dreaming that I have fallen asleep with a glass of wine in my hand, only to wake and realize that I have once again woken up in a miniature lake of urine. You see although I swore that my child would never sleep with me..he does. I also promised that my child would not be a picky eater, my child would never have boogers dried to his face and of course my child would not throw fits in the store. How naive. Anyway, back to the wonderful start to my average day. I swim out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom. I throw back the shower curtain and I am immediately faced with a jungle of bath toys. I can a) shower around the boats and GI joes although most likely I will step on something sharp and the first words out of my mouth this bright new day will be filthy and offensive, but whose listening. Or I can b) pick up all the bath toys before showering which will still force me to swear like a truck driver before 7 am because I clearly remember asking Daddy to make sure that the bath toys were picked up last night, and now it is evident that I have clearly been ignored...again. 7am I am blow drying my hair, while wondering why I am bothering because I am going to look at it in 5 minutes, decide that it is the worst hair on the universe and put it into the ever stylish pony tail. I tell Daddy that he needs to get our son dressed as I am running late again. The first time I make this request, I am yet again ignored. 8 am I am at daycare (should already be in my office) and as I am about to leave I am told that I am out of diapers...Crap..8:15 Rite Aid, I forgot my coupon, I have spent 20 dollars before 9am...I dont have 20 dollars...great. Work, Work, Work...day care pick up. On my way home I am listening to the "Chicken Fried" song for the fourth time because my little man likes it....and he doesn't like the car. I look at the passengers seat and there lies my work out clothes. I was supposed to go to the gym. I didn't. When I get home I take my son out of the car seat and try and manuever in the huse with out him seeing his tricycle...he sees it. He cries. I get inside, after almost dropping him on his head as he tries to wiggle out of my arms in an attempt to break free and ride off into the sunset on the tricycle that he can not ride because his feet dont yet touch the pedals. Once inside I carefully lay him on the floor so that he can finish the tantrum that he has started. I have no soy milk. I need soy milk because even though I swore that my child would not be allergic to anything..he is. I decide that water is better for him anyway...right? I look in the freezer, once again my son has a choice of chicken nuggets or turkey dogs..dont have to worry about a veggie, because he won't eat them anyway. His dinner is done. My wine is poured. I move on to making dinner for myself and my three husbands. They come home. We eat. They turn on sports, I go to my room and attempt to watch a gorry murder show in peace. Aint happening.My son wants me....Shocker! I pour more wine. 10pm Daddy and I are trying to get Little man down, he refuses to even think about it unless he is in bed with us......I drift off, and start dreaming that I went to bed with a glass of wine in my hand.

Why am I journaling for all to see???

Until about 6 months ago I didn't know what "blogging" was. I remember hearing that Paris Hilton, Brittany Spears and Lindsay Lohan were all bloggers so I mistakenly assumed it was something scandalously sexy. That is until I heard that my adorably half british half southern conservative co worker was a blogger....at that point I had to hear more. After reading her blog (and I hope she feels special becauseI have not read Paris's, Brittany's or Lindsay's) and deciding that if it were half as much fun to write a blog as it is to read hers that I must par take.

Just so you know, this might be as short lived as my no carb diet, my acting career, my three day a week trip to the gym, and my cutting back on the wine intake has been. So remember, I have warned you...dont fall in love, I may not be around a while!