Cheese, Please!!!

I am not genetically predisposed to having a figure worth keeping the lights on for. In truth, I'm built kind of like a 5th grade boy: short, flat-chested, and a little awkward in my own skin. Still, it's better than the alternative; one I've visited a time or two. Adding insult to injury, it's occurred to me that I really AM getting older, as is evidenced daily by the weird noises my bones make.

Anyone who has ever been to market with me, or for that matter sat down to a meal, knows that as ridiculous it is, I do think there's a difference between ingesting 220 calories versus 250. I do the math on everything - not because I'm one of those granola-chopping, organic produce only health nuts, but because if there's a way to get out of doing even a single set of crunches or squats, I'm gonna find it.

[sidebar: For those of you thinking, "Oh my god, she actually DOES squats?" given that my ass started having cocktails with my knees about a decade ago, it's true. Fun fact: I've discovered that no amount of squats will ever give me a high and tight ass. I blame my parents.Cheers!]

Okay. Here's where we're going with this.

I'm in the market this morning, trying to race through before those good Christians with their mean-spirited, snotty-nosed little brats get out of church and swarm in with the sole intent of making me want to stuff someone into the freezer bin, when I finally get to the fancy cheeses.

I love cheese. All cheeses. Cheese is my favorite food in the world. Because of this, I like to focus on the great protein part of this particular food, as opposed to the detrimental high caloric and fat content. Like so many things we love (read: yeah, people), I know this one isn't really good for me. In the end, I'll feel bound up, a little depressed, and wondering when, oh when, will I finally just say "no!" to a relationship that's killing me!?!?

Quick time check: enough left to relax into making my selection.

I meandered slowly, looking to see what new offerings there might be; checking prices on stand-by favorites; trying to decide if I'm in a smoked-something-or-other mood, a dill horseradish mood, do I want something soft and buttery or something with some bite to it? Then... there it was.

"Light Brie"
Now, you'd think given my current ass situation, I'd be all over this. And I'll admit it, I did pick it up - purely out of curiosity - to read the label. 
Portion size: one ounce. 
Calories: 70. 
Fat: 6 grams.

*blink* *blink*

Not gonna lie, even I was a little surprised by what happened next. I did that thing we do when we've been presented with an option that is an improvement over our "usual": I tossed it back in the case and with a loud sigh said out loud to no one in particular, "oh, why bother." I grabbed the triple creme brie and headed for the cashier just as the faint wailing of over-indulged mini-thems descended on Aisle 1.

Just this last time, I promised myself, knowing perfectly well that I'll be back.
*snicker*

02-14-2014...

I know this comes off as lazy, but I really don't care. Clearly the sentiment stands since it's all I've fucking heard all day, so I'm reposting from Valentine's Day last year. Hey! I was gonna just stick in a link (the epitome of online laziness), thus forcing you to click through, but frankly, I wouldn't go to another page on the off-chance I missed something. Then I got to thinking it would force you to read more stuff...

*shrugs*

So here it is, in full form and by link. Do with all of that what you will. 
St. Valentine and the Hallmark Gold Crown

St. Valentine and the Hallmark Gold Crown
Over the years I've had quite a bit to say about St. Valentine's Day. And over the years, many people have stood atop their soapbox trying to make me feel like a sap by expounding the tired exclamation that it's nothing more than "a Hallmark holiday."

I call "hypocrite!"

You want a Hallmark holiday? How about Mother's Day! Father's Day! Grandparent's Day! These anti-Valantine's Day people who are too lazy or sad or pathetic or just looking for something to be sour about, are the same people who will mow you over and snatch the last musical birthday greeting card smooth out of your hands, because if you don't acknowledge others, they won't acknowledge yours... And that's where they're living!

Most common "excuse" for ignoring St. V's day?

"I tell my husband / wife / partner / girlfriend / boyfriend / mistress every day how much he/she means to me! I don't need Hallmark making money off it once a year!"

I call "bullshit!"

You do not. Nobody does that in real life. What we do do is take advantage of one another, push things off, put career before home, weigh the pros and cons of our actions then decide to ask forgiveness later, and generally see how much we can selfishly take from "the one we love."

It ain't pretty - but that's modern day "love."

Frankly, I think St. Valentine's Day does a huge service to couples everywhere. You can't avoid the commercialism, so it's not like you can forget about it. Unlike, say... your wedding anniversary?

[sidebar: Don't judge. I totally know mine... now.]

So why not indulge in a little silly romance? It doesn't hurt, and it can only help plead your case if you've been a less than stellar partner lately... or, ever.

Buy a card. Some flowers, maybe. Make a dinner reservation. Or feel free to think outside the box (just not too far..."the best laid plans" and all...). Spend five minutes thinking about the five million hints that have been dropped in your lap over the past 364 days - then execute something.

Advice for Men: Things Not to Plan

• Don't plan a picnic in bed. I'd like to believe the reasons are obvious.
• Do NOT, under any circumstances, sprinkle rose petals on the bed. Aside from staining the sheets and duvet, the next morning, it's like waking up in a bowl of Kellogg's Corn Flakes.
• Don't show up at any restaurant without a reservation. If she's hungry now, she's gonna be a real bitch in an hour.
• If you're running out for that last minute piece of sexy lingerie, do stay within the confines of the type of relationship y'all have. If she's not a black-sheer-cammie-with-matching-crotchless-panties kind of girl, then think bootie shorts and a fun t-shirt.
• And for gawd's sake, if she hates red, do not buy her red!

I didn't actually start out to end up giving advice. But there you have it.

Stop rolling your eyes and feeling put-upon, then come embrace the fun that is Valentine's Day - the gold crown of "Hallmark Holidays!"

*flips through cell phone for take-away options*

So THAT'S happening...

I can't believe the entire month of January, the beginning of a whole new year, passed by without a single thought from me. If I'm being honest, there hasn't been much worth sharing as I've been preoccupied with, oh let's just say it, The Big Day.

Coming sooner than I'm comfortable with is the anniversary of my birth - an event that, like all of my favorite celebrations, my only contribution to was showing up. Most years I simply nod in the general direction of the calendar and get on about my whatnots. But lately I've spent an inordinate amount of time mulling (read:obsessing) over my "legacy."

Who DOES that!
*raises hand guiltily*

Just to be 100% clear, I'm not staring out the window with a glass of wine questioning my child-free environment. At first that was first by design, then not so much. Either way, I imagine it was definitely for the best of everyone hypothetically involved. I only bring this into the conversation at all because it is, in fact, people's sniveling, over-indulged little brats running rampant through the supermarket who are circumstantially their legacy. They must be so proud (*sarcasm*).

In an effort to shake this funk, clearly the first recourse was to kick-off an assessment around where I am and how I got here. It was horrendously obvious within the first moments of that exercise what a huge mistake I'd embarked upon, so I immediately shut it down out of my newly recognized sense of self-preservation.

So what now...
Well obviously more wine.

To bore you further on this topic, there's this story whereby the... circumstances... around my birth served as a catalyst for unanticipated family behavior. It's a story better left untold but the point here is that said circumstances were, I believe, the reason my Nana said to me at least ten thousand times, "You're going to do something extraordinary." That woman was a saint, but as I flip the calendar year after year, I'm really feeling the pressure of what that meant. What the fuck was I supposed to do and how did I miss it!?!?!? I am after all, wholly self-involved and hyper-observant, so this seems like a freakish oversight on my part.

My like-life friends of a certain age all assure me this hysteria is perfectly normal; that I should refocus my energies on things infinitely more important, such as the comparative value of preventative wrinkle serums versus genetic predisposition (use it, or don't bother - buy shoes instead), are red shoes really just for children and whores, and organizing a wine-soaked group analysis around whether my legs still hold up to short hemlines.


I started to make a Bucket List then realized that like New Year's resolutions, it's stupid to set myself up for failure like that. Besides, I couldn't really think of anything. I'm too practical. If I could afford to see the Kremlin, I'd instinctively spend the money finding out what's going on with the foundation of my house instead.

So, let's recap. No kids of the two-legged variety left behind. I have a cool day job but gawd knows I'm not saving lives up in that piece. Maybe all I need is a new theme song to play in my head.

*walks away humming*