So there I was, trying to get in my 10,000 steps for the day - day 2 of THE PLAN - and one of the tabloid shows -Excessive Hollywood Narcissism!!! - I think, was reviewing the American Music Awards and Beyonce's new single "Single Ladies" was on.....so I immediately had to imitate her.
Yup. Now visualize me, in my fuzzy Ugg slippers, with my capri sweats and a sweatshirt, singing and highstepping down the hallway...wooooo hoooooo baybay, I'm hot!!
So...of course. Just at the height of my Danny Terio American Bandstand Dancing with the Stars Dance Fever - I raise my knee too high, try to turn, hit the leather chair, step on one foot with the other foot, my foot slips, my Ugg flies off and hits the tv and I hit the hardwood floors, flat on my butt.
My iPod is all full up with crazy wicked workout tunes, it's cold outside and I'm ready for the gym! Really! If I put enough exclamation points into my head, I'll be excited!
Actually, I do love exercise and I really like our gym. I just need to get back into the habit. I WANT to get back into the habit. I want to work it into my daily life and not because I need to lose weight, and not because I need to be healthy - just because I like it again.
Can you tell that I'm trying to use positive reinforcement on myself?
So - I'm off. Day 1 of Lulu's Workout Plan. How many days does it take to make something a habit? 21? Something like that.....
Go Lulu Go! (even though it's cold outside and you want to hunker down by the fire and craft and veg out on back episodes of Top Chef, which will make you hungry and want to make comfort food which will pack on some more lbs....:))
...overheard as I walked into a conference room at Huge McNormous and saw this guy holding up his hands and wiggling his thumbs and first two fingers on each...
I think that I'm creative and crafty and fun. But in my most yearning inner self, I want to be a writer, an author. A real one, with published bestsellers and massive first printings and and agent and a book tour. And a dust cover photo. Retouched.
So my first work?
A coffee table book with the comments that are overheard out of context. Those scraps of conversation that make no sense when standing alone - and sometimes within the conversation itself. Called...."Ice Cubes from Lulu's Sandbar."
"Her horns were huge! Not mention those fingers."
"Yeah, I always pluck those out when they get covered."
"Dude, it was all greasy and wrapped around my mom."
Please - join in the fun! I'll give you credit....you might even make the dust cover.
Ok, Hate is a strong word. They're all very nice. And they don't hate me.
But they don't get me, absolutely not.
Because I'm never around, for carpool and playdates and working out followed by lunch, and bunco and book club and hockey tournaments.
Because the only kid that's lived here with us was 22 at the time.
Because I'm not on the committee to plan the Halloween party and the neighborhood garage sale and the holiday progressive party and the Cinco de Mayo party.
Because my husband retired young to follow my job but works at three different things to keep him busy and I'm the suit in the house and travel quite a bit for my company.
Because I'm tough to classify when the women and men break into clusters at the neighborhood happy hours that we do manage to make, and the men won't talk business with me and the women won't talk school with M even though he's a teacher.
Because I'm just a big whiny baby who is way too full of myself and the thought that someone might not like me or might actually not be thinking of me every moment but maybe is worried about the interest-only mortgage on their house and so so soooo tired of being home with the kiddos while their husbands are working or out of town.
Hmmm....maybe they DO hate me.
A committee to plan Cinco de Mayo? Really? Can't I just put out tacos and guacamole and tequila and a blender like I have for the past three years?
But I digress.
I am truly happy for all moms/wives/women and whatever they choose to do, and I can talk kids/carpool/school/ChuckECheese/books/crafts/finance/housing crisis - whatever - with them. Why is it tough to connect with me? (Ok, other than the fact that when they're having wine at night at bunco or book club, I'm usually having a vodka tonic in the airport waiting on my delayed flight.) But still.
Maybe I'm just lonely for girl talk but don't have the energy to put in the time on these friendships right now.
Because his identity is protected by the shades, I have to show off a picture of the boy that always makes me grin, even on the worst of days. This was taken when he visited Lulu and Papa this summer for two weeks.
Isn't he great? That's a big juicy Velveeta-y smile.
He's loving and funny and articulate and smart. Of course, he's only 4, so he's also often dirty, smelly, obsessed with farts and his personal light saber - you know which one, the 'saber' with which all boys are enamored, big or small.
In short, he's a well-adjusted little boy.
So it's heartbreaking and irritating that he's already been labeled by the school system. Well, by Montessori anyway, which as I understand it, is some kind of system. Or cult.
His mom was sent a 200-item 'report card' prior to Parent-Teacher conferences this week. Seriously? 200? Did he pick up the blue crayon instead of the purple crayon? Did he not show enough interest in the child-sized dustpan? Did he look away when yet another teacher spoke of the need to 'interact appropriately with his peers?' Probably...apparently, he's also showing too much imagination because he loves Thomas the Tank Engine.
This child is lovingly and well-parented by our daughter and son-in-law. Both work full-time and are very smart/busy/funny/articulate as well. Yes, they've chosen to send him to this particular Montessori, and would like for him to have a challenging, warm environment in which to grow. But again - 200???
Here is a quote from the North American Montessori Teachers site "In the calm, ordered space of the Montessori prepared environment, children work on activities of their own choice at their own pace. They experience a blend of freedom and self-discipline in a place especially designed to meet their development needs."
"...of their own choice, at their own pace....freedom and self-discipline."
I have to wonder.....have these wonderfully earnest Montessori teachers ever stopped to ponder the delicious irony of grading a 4-year-old on activities of their own choice, and freedom and self-discipline?
If he's not showing interest in any of the activities - shouldn't he be the class Valedictorian for truly setting his own pace?
...and I thought that title was so original, but apparently, much has been written on this very topic. Including one site where people have listed their scars and stories in detail and many of them start with "This is so interesting," and end with something about a cat named BooBoo.
Not so interesting a story.
CAVEAT: I am not a cat lover or hater - I'm Switzerland when it comes to cats and this post is not about the relative value of cats as pets....I'm not saying, I'm just saying...
I worked in healthcare for 16 years, and most accidents are not caused by CSI-like interesting stories. They're caused by mundane events - like tripping over the cat while running to answer the phone, or they're caused by anger or passion - like shootings and stabbings, or they're caused by stupidity, like holding a lemon in your hand to cut it instead of steadying it on the cutting board and hitting a little artery in your finger and having to cut in line ahead of the runny noses at the urgent care center and when someone protests, taking the towel off your hand to show off the little pumper.
(Ummm...I couldn't help it - that mom had obviously been sitting there blowing Junior's nose for some time and she was about to give me a REAL injury - or so she said - if I cut in line...)
My point for this post has totally wandered.
Oh yeah - scars. New poll (French Kiss totally rocked the last poll).
Are scars more interesting than tattoos? I'm talking external scars - internal scars are off the table, post-wise.
Do you hear that? Can you hear? It started last night, just about eleven o'clock. Ohhhhh....it's made me so so happy today....
It's the sound of thousands, millions of............
- political ads, heading for the shredder. Or the studio floor. Or the archives.
Or - I don't care really. It's the sound of screeching spokespeople, dancing animated pigs, doomsday voices-for-hire, and robo-calls - many of them ending in "...I'm Sam Politician and I approved this ad," - all SILENCED.
(Who happens to be a long-time good friend of mine, with whom I worked for many years, prior to leaving my home state). He's a good guy...nice. Niiiiice. But I have to wonder what he's doing with his time and his computer.
And before I have a mild rant, I just need to put out this caveat.
I enjoy funny emails and good jokes. I love reading my "Run Scamper" blogs (look on the right side of the blog...ok, scroll down, scrollscroll - there! See them?) and seeing all the great videos and pictures and jokes that you great blogsters CHOOSE to put on your blog. Yes, you choose. And then - I can choose whether I simply read your words or also access the videos, etc. Ok? Really - love them. It's all about choice.
But you, Mr. Email Forwarder - you keep sending me batches of emails with big downloads and videos and jokes that I don't really actually, ummmm...want to read. Batches at a time. And they keep plugging my email, so I have to delete and delete in order to send out any real email. Like emails about my life, my friends and family, thoughtful NICE emails.
Here's a thought - if you need to put a note at the top of your email that says - "I know that I probably shouldn't send this, but I just thought it was funny..." maybe you should rethink hitting that send button! My friends would describe me as liberal, so if I cringe when I read some of his emails - it's not pretty....
Why don't I just block him as a sender? Because every so often he slips in a decent message, and he's been a good friend for a very long time. And I wonder if I'm getting old or cranky or my Spanx are too tight because I'm complaining about 'emailers these days..'
....the biggest election in a very very long time. Let's hope that it's fair, that all the votes are counted, and that my peeps win! There's already been waaaaaaaaaay too much info about this election so I won't detail my choices - just please get out and vote.
You can't bitch unless you vote.
Plus, it really is very cool. I still remember every single election I've voted in, including casting my first presidential vote, for an independent candidate (Anderson). And then I went to Michigan State to a Jimmy Buffett concert, where the fog of illegal smoke hung so heavy over the crowd that you really had to drop, rock and roll to see anything. Luckily, we'd just come off fire drill season, so I was ready!