If You Don’t Post This On Your Facebook Page, It Means You Want Me To Die

Posted on December 7, 2011 by pegoleg

You love me, you love me not. You love me...

I have a friend who uses Facebook almost exclusively for emotional blackmail. 

When I say “friend”, I mean in the new Facebook sense.  This is someone I barely remember from high school, and whose friend request I stupidly approved when I first signed up and didn’t know any better. 

I used to think the most annoying thing about Facebook was the constant status updates from those who wanted gold, billy goats, or some other cyber crap because they were playing Farmville or Pioneer Trail games all day.  Now I realize that the emotionally needy “friend” is much worse.

Almost every day, my friend’s status updates appear on my Home Page bearing a new friendship litmus test.  She posted all the following in just one month:

·         I need prayers so bad right now.!!!! Hope someone cares. If u are my friend click the like button & then re-post. If I don’t see your name, I’ll understand. May I ask my “Facebook Family” wherever u may be to kindly copy, paste and share this status for one hour to give a prayer of support to all those who have family problems, struggles and worries and just need to know that someone cares. Do it for all of us for no-one is immune. I hope to see this on the walls of all my friends just for moral support. I know some will!! I did it for a friend and you can too. Share some faith and love for those in need. Life works in strange ways.
·         I cried when you passed away. I still cry today. Although I loved you dearly, I couldn’t make you stay. A golden heart stopped beating, hard working hands at rest. God broke my heart to prove to me he only takes the best.
Keep this rose going for anyone in heaven that you’ve loved and lost – but never forgot
_____/)___/)______./¯”””/’)
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯\)¯¯\)¯¯¯’\_„„„,\)
Put this up as your status, most of you won’t – but respect to those that do…..to all our loved ones. Missing you especially during the holidays ahead.
·         I don’t need an angel on my Christmas tree , I already have one in Heaven looking down on me! . . . . Put this as your status if there is someone in heaven you wish could be with you this Christmas. ♥
·        I am not hot or gorgeous, I don’t have an amazing figure or a flat stomach. I’m far from being considered a model but I’m ME. I eat food, I have curves, I love my Pj’s, and I go without makeup. I’m random and crazy, I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I am who I am, you can love me or not (ask me if I care). I won’t change!! And if i love you, I do it with all my heart!! I make no apologies for the way I am. Ladies put this on your status if your proud of who you are…..HELL YEA
.        This is the eye test. Look for the LOWER case ‘L’ and you will be kissed tomorrow! LLLLLLLLLl LLLLLLL. Now look for the ‘N’. This is really hard. MMMMMMMMMMMMNMMMMMMM. Now find the mistake ABCDEFGHIJ KLNMOPQRSTUVWXYZ. Now wish for something you really want after the countdown! 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1, now close your eyes and make a wish *********. Now put this as your status and your wish will come true! you have 19 minutes. Or what you wished for will be the opposite
·         I personally believe in Jesus Christ. A man on face book has challenged all believers to put this on their wall. The Bible says, “If you deny Me in front of your peers, I will deny you in front of my Father”. This is a simple test. If you love God and you are not afraid to show it, re-post this. I proudly did. Will you?
·         Dear Santa, I don’t want much for Christmas, I just want the person reading this to be happy. Friends are the fruit cake of life — some nutty, some soaked in alcohol, some sweet, but mix them together and they’re my friends. At Christmas you always hear people talking about what they want & bought. This is what I want: I want people who are sick with no cure to be able to be cured. I want children with no families to be adopted. I want people to never have to worry about food, shelter & heat. I want peace and love for everyone! Now, let’s see how many people re-post this….I have a feeling I am gonna see almost no re-posts. PLEASE prove me wrong
·         Friendships are special… So lets start a friendship ring… If you are my friend, click the like button and then re-post… If I don’t see your name, I’ll understand
·         Many people have passed away early! – When we look at the sky, we LOVE the idea that they look back at us. We remember them often, at night, when we look at the stars … a date … a song … somewhere … a smell … A memory of those who left us ..ALWAYS LOVED, deeply missed ..Post this as your status if you have someone keeping an eye on you from above….I know I do!♥

“Hope someone cares”, “if you are my friend”, “let’s see who reposts this”, “most of you won’t post this” – do we notice a common theme here?  It’s emotional blackmail.  The message is clear: if you don’t do as I say, you don’t care about me. 

I have nothing against status updates that ask for prayers, or pass on inspiring messages.  These can make me stop and think, and are often rather sweet.  But how about if we agree to leave off the “pass it on or else” riders?

If everyone reading my blog would repost this to his or her own WordPress page, we could put an end to emotional blackmail on Facebook.  If you don’t repost this or pingback, I’ll know you want me to come down with a bad case of toenail fungus.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 78 Comments

When Reality TV Almost Becomes Reality

Posted on December 5, 2011 by pegoleg

Mine is the cutie on the right!

The Kardashians, real housewives, toddlers in tiaras, the Jersey shore crew…this is just the tip of the iceberg of reality TV stars we love to hate.  I have joined in heaping scorn on them on more than one occasion.   That makes it doubly hard to explain how disappointed I am that my daughter is not going to join their ranks.

Gwen is a 19-year-old sophomore in college.  Among other talents, she’s a great drummer, who has been playing for about 12 years.  That she can sing, however, we didn’t find out until she was a senior in high school.  She announced that she was going to do a number in the school talent show.  My hubby and I said all the supportive things parents should say, lined up tickets for the event and only exchanged that “look” behind her back.  The “look” that means “Sing? You?  Since when?”  She was always in the band, never the choir.

It turned out she was good.  Really, pretty damn good.  Right after the show I ran up to her and gushed: “So how come you never open your mouth to sing in church?”

Fast-forward 2 years.

Unless you live under a rock, you are aware that there is a television show on Fox called Glee.  What you may not be aware of is that there is a reality show on their sister channel, Oxygen, called The Glee Project.  It’s a talent show that ran last year (and maybe the year before.)   It’s kind of like American Idol with the prize being that the winner lands a role on Glee. 

I didn’t know about any of this until a couple of months ago when Gwen announced that The Glee Project was having auditions in Chicago in November, and she wanted to try out.  Oh.  Okay.  She’s never tried out for anything besides a school play, and we are definitely not the stage-parent type.  But we said if this was important to her then we would do what we could to help.

My hubby went to get her at school that weekend.  Dark and early one Sunday morning last month (4:00 am, which although technically morning, my body recognizes as night) she and I set out for Chicago.  We brought winter coats, lawn chairs, blankets and a backpack full of textbooks for what we assumed would be a long wait out in the cold.  I dropped her off out front of the McCormick Place about 6:00 am and by the time I parked the car, she texted that they had let those already in line into the building, so I wouldn’t need to wait around.

I spent the day getting to know Chicago while Gwen pursued the American Dream.

I took in early Mass at the cathedral, a brisk walk up Michigan Avenue and breakfast in a coffee shop.  I was soaking up the sun and watching the idiot, er, I mean, dedicated bikers and runners on the Lake Michigan beach when the first text came:  “I made it through the first round of auditions.”

Whoo hoo! 

I dropped my heavy coat back at the car, fed the parking meter and ventured into the shops on Michigan Ave., which had finally opened up for the day.  I was trying to decide between a couple of  $500 sweaters at Saks (yeah, right) when the next text came in:  “omg, omg, omg.  I passed the second audition.”

Wait, what?  Whoo hoo plus!

Back to the car to put in more money for parking, I sat there dozing for a while before heading back out for some power window-shopping.  Around 2:00 pm I had wandered into The Gap and was contemplating getting a late lunch when my cell phone rang.  A very quiet, subdued little Gwen voice said, “Mom, can you come and get me?”

Hurting for her, I immediately sprang into Mommy-kiss-make-all-better mode while heading out of the store and toward my car.  “Oh honey, you did your best.  Don’t be disappointed.  We’re just so proud of you for trying. And getting through 2 levels is major. I would never have the nerve to…”

She cut me off, “What makes you think it’s bad news?”

I stopped stock still on the sidewalk, causing an irate shopper to have to swerve around me.  “You mean it isn’t bad news?”

No, it wasn’t.

My little girl made it through all three of the auditions, and ended up singing for Robert Ulrich, the casting director of Glee.  He warmly complimented her.  When she left the final audition she was given the Glee Project equivalent of a golden ticket – a notice that she was being considered for a callback.  In the immortal words of Oklahoma, She’d Gone About As Fur As She Could Go.

For half of the drive back to school, I made Gwen recount every detail of the day.  The stomach-heaving nerves; the sense of camaraderie with the other contestants; what it felt like to sing, in the last round, with professional lights, mics and cameras for a real-live TV director. 

Gwen wouldn’t know if she had made the final cut for several weeks.  The producers said if she was going to go on to LA, they would call by December 7.

She finally dropped off to sleep for the rest of the trip after explaining that the entire process was confidential.  We couldn’t tell anyone.

This last part was probably the toughest.  I was bursting with pride, but couldn’t say a word.  Then I got to thinking about the logistics.  If she got the call, she would need to immediately head to California, right in the middle of finals.  And what about next semester?  Should she sign up for classes?  Would she drop out of school?  What if she got to LA but was eliminated from the competition early?  She’d be a semester behind, at least.

It has been tough on Gwen, not being able to share her excitement, her hopes and anticipation, and having to go on with classes and studying while she waits for news.

Me being me, in the last few weeks I’ve built elaborate fantasies involving fame and fortune for my little chickee, including what I’d wear for her first Grammy award.  Me being even more me, I’ve already planned how I’d get her into rehab when she had her young-star-in-trouble-ala-Lindsey-Lohan meltdown.

Last Friday, the Glee Project posted on Facebook that the final determinations had been made.  “Thanks to all the talented people who tried out, tough to choose, blah blah blah.”  Gwen wasn’t one of those called back.

It’s a bitter pill for her to swallow.  But as I reminded her, she should hold her head up high.  We heard that approximately 1400 auditioned that day in Chicago, and maybe 20-30 made it through.  It’s a tremendous honor that she got as far as she did. 

To my dear little Gwennie I say: you’ll always be #1 to your dad and me.  We are so, so proud of you.  Keep reaching for the stars!  Keep chasing your dreams! And keep your nose to the grindstone – you have finals this week.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 69 Comments

Little Red Hen’s Christmas Tale

Posted on December 1, 2011 by pegoleg

Like many of you, I spent much of the long, Thanksgiving weekend putting up Christmas decorations.  This joyous experience reminded me of a classic children’s story (which has been a classic since I made it up last year.)

Gather round, my kiddies, while I tell…

Little Red Hen’s Christmas Tale

Little Red Peg taking care of Christmas business.

Once upon a time,  Little Red Hen lived in a cozy little coop with her happy little family.  It was Christmas time and Little Red Hen thought some decorations would add to their holiday joy.

So she bought some egg nog and cookies, put on her favorite Bing Crosby Christmas CD and settled in for some holiday memory-making

“Who will help me set up the tree?” she asked.

“Not I”, said the rooster. 

“Not I”, said the first chickee.

“Not I”, said the second chickee.

“Then I will do it myself,” said Little Red Hen.  And so she did. 

Amidst a considerable amount of swearing.  Little Red Hen developed tree burns and little cuts on her wings from wrestling the 9-foot tall, artificial tree out the box, putting it all together and fluffing the scratchy branches.

“Who will help me put all the lights on the tree?” she asked.

“Not I”, said the rooster.

“Not I”, said the first chickee.

“Not I”, said the second chickee.

“Then I will do it myself”, said Little Red Hen.  And so she did. 

With nobody to hand the strings of lights to, she was up and down the ladder at least 26 times.  All the lights worked when she tested them, but half of the strands went out as soon as they were all plugged together.

“Who will help me put all the ornaments on the tree?” she asked.

“Not I” said the rooster.

“Not I”, said the first chickee.

“Not I”, said the second chickee.

“If you think I’m doing any more decorating without any help from you selfish, lazy slobs” said Little Red Hen, “you’re crazy!”  She burst into tears and took off for the mall with a squeal of tires.

The rooster and the 2 little chickees ate all the cookies, drank all the egg nog, turned off the Bing Crosby CD and watched Jackass reruns on TV.

And the half-decorated tree and 3 big boxes full of ornaments are still sitting in the middle of the living room floor to this very day.

The End.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 60 Comments

How Was Your No-Shave November?

Posted on November 29, 2011 by pegoleg

When No-Shave November has gone too far

As another No-Shave November draws to a close, I hope everyone got as much out of it as I did.  It was just one short year ago that I first learned of this important event…

My sister told me her 17 year-old son, Andy, looks like a scruffy lion these days.  He says he is observing No-Shave November.  I had to laugh, admiring his creativity.  I mentioned this to my daughter, Gwen, and she said she is also observing No-Shave November.  Apparently this is a bon-a-fide phenomenon.

Congress has wasted plenty of time on stuff like National Yo-yo Manufacturers Month.  We should get them working on really meaningful observances, like the following:

Junk-the-Jumping-Jacks January:  This is a natural progression after the holidays.  All categories of exercise are included in the ban.   If all skinny and buff people are forced to give up exercise for one month, the rest of us won’t look so bad by comparison. 

Financial-Worry-Free February:  A whole month without stressing about the almighty dollar.  Credit card companies will have to give everyone a month, interest free, without bugging us about those lingering Christmas bills.

Mom’s-Movie March:  Mom gets control of the remote, and can watch whatever she wants on TV.  Some men will have to have their twitching right hands tied down to keep from grabbing the remote.  Viewership on Lifetime and HGTV will skyrocket. 

Amnesty April:  Bank fees, traffic tickets; history.  Didn’t pay your taxes?  No worries!  Even more important, you can return that 1-week overdue library book without risking the librarian’s mighty wrath.

Moratorium-On-the-Majors May:  Remember when each sport had its own season?  How about just one month without major league baseball?   

Jewelry June:  It has been 6 long months since Christmas, and a girl needs some bling.  Husbands (and significant others) give gifts of jewelry to their special ladies every day this month.  No man?  No worries!  Treat yourself – you deserve it!

Just-Undies July:  This is not what you think, perverts.  I mean no laundry duties for the month of July.  Except underwear.  There’s lazy, and then there’s gross.

All-Novel August:  Everyone is encouraged to read as many thrillers, trashy romances and whodunits as possible, preferably stretched out on a hammock or beach towel.   Textbooks, or any other literature designed to improve the mind, are strictly forbidden.

Sleep-In September:  Sorry, boss.  I’ll be rolling in around 11 every day during September.  And I may not get out of bed at all on the weekend.

Only-Sweets October:  We’ll have chocolate for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Children will be punished for leaving gummi bears on their plate, and anyone found sneaking vegetables is subject to a fine.  We’ll end the month with Peptoctober.  Those with really severe digestive problems may need Proctober.

No-Shave November:  As already mentioned.   I recommend women avoid going sleeveless, unless they can speak German.

Diet-Free December:  Wait a minute.  We already observe this tradition.

Let’s get Congress working on this task as soon as possible.  That will distract them from messing up the country, at least for a little while.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go French-braid my underarm hair.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , | 42 Comments

Another Round of Fermented Yak Snot For My Buddies!

Posted on November 25, 2011 by pegoleg

Stone-age poker night

Everything is ALWAYS simpler for guys. 

I once posted about how shopping for clothes strains the mother/daughter bond.  My brother-in-law, John, said he was glad he was a guy.  Relations with his Dad are simple – pizza, beer and poker on Friday night and nobody cares what they are wearing. 

John is right that guys’ lives are simpler.  But that’s only possible because their comfort has always been enhanced by the more complicated needs and wants of Woman. 

Come with me now…. back, back, back….. to the dawn of mankind.  

In prehistoric times, Friday night would find Man sitting around the cave in his woolly mammoth pelts, playing poker with Oog, Glog, Mastoog and Barry.

Back then, the game was played with a club called a poker.  This was thinner than the everyday, utility club used for hunting and mate-gathering.  The guys would take turns hitting one another over the head with the poker and the first one to pass out was the loser.  When he came to, he had to buy a round of fermented mastodon pee for everyone else.

They ate pizza, which was a hunk of saber-toothed tiger meat served on a slab of rock.  Some guys preferred thick stone, and some insisted on a thin slab. 

As the fermented sloth spit flowed ever more freely, tempers would flare.  Man and his buddies would get into fights over the relative merits of eating the saber-toothed tiger meat raw – “if it was good enough for my Dad, Bobo the Chimp, it’s good enough for me!” – vs. the new-fangled way of using fire to cook food.  Man would taunt Oog and Barry  -“only a sissy-boy wants his saber-toothed tiger cooked!” and the pokers would fly.

And that’s where Man would be to this very day if not for Woman.  It took Woman to force Man to put on clean underwear, and go out and hunt and gather some curtains, maybe a few throw pillows, to cozy up the cave.  From there, it was just a short hop, skip and a jump to the invention of the wheel, then the upholstered chair, then the 52” screen high-definition TV (with surround sound). 

Woman’s civilizing influence greatly improved the quality of life for Man.

Friday night poker looks a LOT different today.  Man now has underwear to protect his sensitive bits from woolly mammoth pelt chafing.  Thanks to Woman.

 

*This little post was woefully neglected when it first arrived on the scene, so I’m bringing it back for an encore.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , | 30 Comments

Give or Take

Posted on November 21, 2011 by pegoleg

To give, or not to give, that is the question.

The English language is complicated.  And the American slang version of it is just plain weird.

Take the way we refer to going to the bathroom. 

In the colloquial, this is referred to as “taking a dump”.  What taking?  There is no taking involved here.  It’s all giving.

Yet, the expression to “give a sh*t” does not refer to the giving of feces in any way.  It denotes caring or concern.

 

It’s a wonder any foreigners can survive here!

To which you may reply, “I couldn’t give a dump.”

 

 

Disclaimer:  This post is a result of putting paper and pencil on my nightstand to catch the brilliant ideas that occur to my sleep-fogged brain when it wakes up at 3 am.  Sorry.

Posted in Little Ditties | Tagged , , , , , , | 48 Comments

The 99% Solution

Posted on November 18, 2011 by pegoleg

We can be the angels walking among us.

I watched back-to-back episodes of “Cops”, and extended news coverage of Occupy Wall Street late into the night, so it’s hardly surprising I was in the middle of some weird dreams when my brain decided to get me up at 4am this morning.  (For an explanation of why my brain would do something like that to me, check out Looking for Mr. Morpheus.) 

I couldn’t get the theme song from “Cops” out of my head.  You know,

Bad boyz, bad boyz, whatcha gonna do?  Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

It wasn’t the police I was thinking about, though.  I don’t expect them to show up at my door anytime soon, unless it’s to collect for the Policemen’s Benevolent Society (sorry, I gave at the office).  No, I’m thinking about a different “they”.  An immortal “they”.  Cosmic cops.  Angels of death. 

What am I gonna have to show for it when it’s time to shuffle off this mortal coil?  What am I gonna do about it?   Whatcha gonna do, boyz?  

That message got mixed up in my sleepy mind with the 99% vs 1% metric that the Occupy Wall Street folks have been tossing around.   I admit to having little sympathy for them, as most strike me as rather self-indulgent, vague and whiny.  But I couldn’t shake that statistic.  It resonated with me like this:

Just 1% of the population is doing something about the “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” rule.  The rest of us 99%, are sitting around on our asses, waiting for somebody to do something unto us.  

(I have no idea if this statistic has any validity but I don’t have to prove it.  It’s catchy.) 

Sometimes life can be pretty lousy.  The good news is, there’s usually somebody nearby who has it even worse than we do.  (That’s also the bad news, by the way.)  Don’t you think it’s time for us, the 99%, to do something about this?  Just a little something.  Almost anything, really.  Something to help. 

Here are some things I’ve been thinking of.  When I say “you”, I really mean “us”:

Got Money?  If you’ve got some to spare, why not put your money where your heart is?  Find a cause that’s dear to you.  Do a little research, pick a charity that will use your hard earned $$ right, and send some of it to them.

The Salvation Army kettle guys are already out, shivering and shaking their bells.  How about this Christmas season, we don’t pass one by without emptying our pockets?  Every single time.  With no cheating like skipping a store you were headed to just because you heard the bells outside it.  Let’s get weighted down with lots of jingly, jangly coins, just to remind ourselves to be generous.

Only the lonely.  Spend some time with somebody who is alone.  Especially the elderly.  Visit a shut-in you know, or ask a local church for a referral. Go to a nursing home and just talk and listen.   Call your grandma.

It’s raining cats and dogs.  Animal shelters need help.  Drop off kibble and litter.  Offer to walk the dogs and pet the cats.  Invest in a heavy-duty clothespin for your nose, and clean out the cages.

We are family.  Help a kid.  Sign up for Big Brothers Big Sisters.  Volunteer with a Girl Scout or Boy Scout troop.  If you are able, make the ultimate contribution and foster or adopt a child.

Give us this day.  Collect for the local food pantry.  Offer to pick up, or distribute food.  When you go grocery shopping, buy two of the stock-up specials: one for you, and one for the food pantry.  Work at a soup kitchen more often than just on Thanksgiving Day.

Home is where the heart is.  Volunteer for a shift at a homeless shelter.  Drop off food, clothes and bedding.  Get a group together and offer to bring dinner; just one night per month is all you need to do.  Ask what’s on their wish list, and try to make it come true.

Go clubbing.  Kiwanis, Rotary, Lions, Jaycees.  We’ve all heard the jokes about middle-aged white men in funny hats.  But these are real people, doing real good to improve their communities, and often the wider world community.  Get to know them and see what you can do.

Read the handwriting on the wall.  Become an Adult Literacy tutor, and help other adults learn to read or get their GED.  Mentor a determined immigrant struggling to master English As a Second Language.  Reading really IS fundamental to succeed in life.

Chain, chain, chain.  Make it personal.  Start a Helping Hands, Neighborhood Angels or whatever you want to call it at your school/church/community.  Establish a phone chain of people who can be called to provide one night’s meal for families going through a rough patch due to illness, death or a new baby.

Pedal to the metal.  Are you the local Mario Andretti? Use your car to bring Meals on Wheels to the elderly.  Take those who are homebound, alone or sick to doctor appointments.  Check with your local hospitals and churches for those in need.

Bust in the double doors… and hit your knees.  Get to know God.  Make a commitment and join a church, synagogue, or mosque.  Meet up with people of faith.  Pray.

Play nice.  Be more patient, softer, kinder to people you deal with every day.  Even the annoying people.  Even your family.  Especially your family.  Let’s be aware that, even if we curb our words, our anger, frustration and impatience often come through in our voices, especially to children (and pets.  Sorry, Beeby Cat.)

This is probably the hardest thing on this list.  We often treat those nearest and dearest to us with the least care, and save our smiling politeness for strangers. 

There you have it – the 99% Solution.  Most of these suggestions pertain to the USA, but there are sure to be equivalents in other countries.   I know you have lots of better ideas up your sleeves. 

Maybe if 99% of us decided to take a little time, and do a little something to help somebody else, we could make the world a little better. 

And that wouldn’t be too bad, boyz and girlz.

Posted in General Ramblings, People Are Nice | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 50 Comments

Biggest Loser: Family Edition. To the Victor Goes The Spoils

Posted on November 15, 2011 by pegoleg

From Rubens to Picasso in 5 months

Victory is sweet.  In fact, I happen to know that it tastes a lot like pumpkin pancakes.

For those who have been following my blog, you know this was the summer (and then some) of the family weight-loss challenge.  Talk amongst yourselves while I bring the latecomers up to speed.

My sister Terry, like many teachers, started the summer looking for a project.  She decided it was time to get in shape.  Pictures from a family wedding in June no doubt added fuel to the fire.  Most of the women in our family need to lose weight, so Terry issued a challenge to all: let’s see who can lose the most over the summer.  She put up $250 as a prize and the game was afoot.

Check under the Biggest Loser: Family Edition category in the right-hand column of this blog for posts detailing our months of struggle.

The contest end was set for Sisters Weekend.  This was something of a moving target because it’s an undetermined fall weekend when my sisters, my mom and any sisters-in-law who are able, get together.  We always have a lot of fun.  There’s a big “No boys/kids allowed” sign hanging over the whole weekend.

We just had Sisters Weekend in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  I am pleased to report that yours truly won the top prize.  5 months = 50 pounds lost.

My sister Judy took second place with a loss of 23 pounds.  She won $100 put up by our brother Bill.  Our sister-in-law Becky also awarded $50 to the winner (that would be me – did I mention that?), and our dentist brother Jim has promised a trip down to his domicile in Charleston, SC for a couple of days of fun and Zoom teeth whitening.

The award ceremony took place over Sunday brunch at Angelo’s in Ann Arbor.  Rather ironic that my hand accepted a nice, fat check from Terry while my taste buds were still doing the happy dance from experiencing true yumminess and sweetness for practically the first time in 5 months, in the form of Angelo’s pumpkin pancakes.

I know what you’re thinking.  “She hits the big goal and rewards herself with food?  That’s how she got into this trouble in the first place.  It’s going to be like every other time she’s lost weight – like jumping on a mini-trampoline in 8th grade cheerleading, hitting the gym floor and bouncing right back up!”

I say, “You don’t know me.  Don’t judge.” 

This time is different.  As I’m typing this, I am eating lunch consisting of cottage cheese, a little fresh pineapple and tabouleh made with quinoa.  Yes, you read me right.  Quinoa.  It’s a real food, not just something that uber-hip healthy types like to say because they want to show off the fact that THEY know this super-grain is pronounced “keen-wah”, and YOU have no idea what the hell they’re talking about. 

Some family members were discouraged that they didn’t hit big numbers, but the great thing is that everyone lost something.  We ended up with a combined weight loss of 130 pounds.  That’s enough for a whole ‘nother sister!  (Our new sister, Faticia McFatty, can plan next year’s weekend.)

I’m determined to keep up a healthy lifestyle by eating right and exercising.  My husband has joined in the quest, and I couldn’t be happier about his decision. 

To my dear family: please don’t give up.  Take heart from the wonderful progress you’ve made, and keep on going.  I want all of you to be healthier so you are around for many, many more years.  You are all precious to me.

To my readers: thank you for your support – it really helped.  I still have a little ways to go, but I am resolved.  A little less food, a little more moving.  If I can do it, so can you. 

This is such an emotional moment of self-actualization and affirmation that I feel a little prayer is in order.  Here is my new serenity prayer:

Lord grant me…
   …the courage to keep the weight off in the face of daily temptation,
   …the serenity to accept my droopy bottom,
   …and the wisdom to not become that annoying ex-fatty who lectures everyone on the importance of adding flaxseed to their diets.
                           Amen

Posted in Biggest Loser: Family Edition | Tagged , , , , , , | 104 Comments

SAD, Mad and Lonely

Posted on November 10, 2011 by pegoleg

Dim, dingy, drab

Dank, despairing

Gloomy, glowerous

Misty, murky

Inky

Somber, stygian

Dark.  Dark.  Dark.

At 5pm, I fall back into a world from which all light and laughter have been sucked.

 

If I don’t see some DAYLIGHT soon, there will be no SAVING my sanity in TIME.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , | 52 Comments

We’ll Go Dressing In The Dark…

Posted on November 8, 2011 by pegoleg

Who let me out of the house looking like this?

Marriage is all about perspective.  Everything depends on your viewing angle.

Yesterday morning I got up earlier than my husband, Bill.  We work together, and both need to get to the office by 8:30.  I was silently putting the finishing touches on my toilette when he woke up and sat on the side of the bed. (Cue beautiful dawn music from the William Tell Overture)

“Good morning.  Boy are you a sleepy head today!” I said sweetly to his silhouette, dim in the dark bedroom.  I spoke softly so as not to overly jar his just-awakened senses.

“How can I get any sleep” he snarled in a gruff voice “with Beeby caterwauling and you banging everything around?”

Whaaa??? (Insert noise of abrupt scratch of record in middle of sweet music.)

He had it pegged with our cat, Beeby.  She has developed the nasty habit of meowing loudly outside the bedroom door each morning.  When I’m feeling charitable, I think she’s trying to help by acting as the backup alarm clock.  When I’m crabby and sleepless, she’s Satan’s agent sent to rob me of sleep with her unreasonable feline demands for attention.  But as to the part about me… what alternate version of reality was this? 

“Wait a minute.  Even though it is 7:45, and you’re probably going to be late, I was tippy-toing around in the dark, risking life and limb so as to not wake you up.” I kept my voice low and sweet, despite my growing indignation.

“Every time you open and close the bathroom door, it’s like there’s a construction crew at work in here.  I always go through the hallway door to avoid all that noise.” He replied, still surly.

Our bathroom can be accessed via a door from the hallway or a pocket door from our bedroom.  Pocket doors, for the uninitiated, hang from 2 pegs on an overhead track that disappears into the wall.  One of the pegs broke, oh, about 6 months ago.  Now, instead of smoothly, silently sliding into the wall, you have to pick up one end and bump and lurch the door open and closed.  We could avoid the hassle and leave it open all the time, but it tends to destroy all the romantic mystery when one is treated to the full glory of the partner’s bathroom habits.

“I don’t use the hallway because as soon as I open our door, Beeby would come streaking in here and jump on your face.  THAT has a pretty good chance of waking you up, too.” I said, still sweetly, whispering, albeit through gritted teeth.  I didn’t even say anything about the fact that HE had made no move to do anything about the broken door.  

From Bill’s perspective I was deliberately banging and clanging about the room as an editorial without words about him sleeping in.  That could not be further from the truth. 

Here’s what really happened.

The alarm buzzed.  I slowly, reluctantly crawled out from under the cozy down comforter.  I felt my way through the dark bedroom, not wanting to turn on a light out of consideration for my dear husband.  As I felt my way for the bathroom door I momentarily forgot that the thing is hanging catawampus on one top hinge, so even when pushed into the wall, the bottom of the door juts out at an angle.  You probably see where I’m heading with this, even if I couldn’t.

I banged my toe on the damn thing.  Smartly.

Picture me silently, oh so silently, hopping around on the one remaining good foot, stuffing an old (smelly) sock into my mouth to stifle my screams of pain.  When my vision cleared, I limped into the bathroom, closing the door as silently as possible by using my thigh to push the bottom while I lifted up the top.  After taking care of bathroom business, I cautiously went back into the bedroom and felt my way in the Stygian blackness to the chest of drawers upon which I keep my jewelry and various perfumes, lotions and deodorant.   Locating the later by touch, I gave each armpit a swipe.

Then I felt for the bottle of Paloma Picasso, my favorite perfume, and gave a quick spray behind each ear.  From the smell, I’d say I tagged the Aqua Net instead.  A quick feel around located my classic, gold hoop earrings and I managed to insert them in the proper ear holes after stabbing myself in the ear only 3 times.

I played Blind Man’s Bluff around the foot of the bed and switched on the one, dim bulb illuminating our closet.  This was my sole source of light.  Squinting into the murky darkness, I tried to remember exactly what my clothes looked like.

I chose brown, herringbone pants, a cream blouse and a brown sweater.  I got into the armholes and pant legs with a minimum of trouble, only falling over once.  Luckily, I was right next to the bed so the mattress muffled the sound of my fall.

I was just putting on brown leather pumps when Mr. Sunshine deigned to get up.

I took the moral high road, had pity on Bill’s just-awakened-crabbiness, and swallowed any justifiably snippy comments that occurred to me.  I quickly gathered my stuff and headed to my car as he lurched the door to the bathroom open.

It wasn’t until I arrived at the office that I saw my get-up in all its splendor, revealed by cruel, fluorescent light.  Here are the elements, in case you want to repeat this look:

  • The sweater jacket was gray.  Not brown, like the pants. 
  • Based on the beach smell and stickiness, I had applied stick sunscreen instead of deodorant to my armpits. 
  • The Aqua Net hairspray-in-lieu-of-perfume spritz to my neck left a shiny patch that cracked when I turned my neck.
  • Instead of classic gold hoops, I had come up with an old pair of large, pink plastic Hello Kitty earrings that my daughter wore when she was 11. 
  • I completed the ensemble with my navy blue Pilgrim-look pumps with the big buckles on the toes (why, oh, why do I keep those?) to go with the brown herringbone slacks.

All day I walked around like Helena Bonham Carter at a major awards event, garnering an equal number of looks of fashion sympathy and censure from all who had the misfortune to view me. 

It just goes to prove that old adage – no good turn goes unpunished.  Consideration for ones’ spouse may be good for marriage, but it’s hell on fashion.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 48 Comments