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* 

The Annual Life Truths Post - 2014!

Here we are.
The beginning of another year - triggering my annual Life Truths: an updated list of harsh realities that we should all remember as we strive toward, well, whatever you're striving toward. This year though, I thought I'd first present three things for additional consideration... you know, for when you're standing outside alone, pondering the Universe with a bottle of wine.

• How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are? (33 yrs)
• What inspires you?
• What stops your inspiration dead in its tracks? Or is it a who?

I expect I'll have something to say about all of these over the course of the next year, but until then...

Here's The List

1. You are where you are because that, my friend, is where you put yourself. Do not blame your Higher Power, The Universe, or the people around you for your ill-conceived decisions.
2. It's okay to remove people or situations from your life because keeping them - however much easier that would be - is ultimately harder. If you're wrong, The Universe will one day put them back, either to correct the "mistake" or reteach you the lesson - the hard way. Recognize the difference.
3. Yes. You're fat. Does that make you feel better? Get off your ass and do something about it.
4. The Universe is trying to move you in the direction of your best opportunity. Quit acting like you know everything. You don't. So how about you just go ahead and get out of your own way? 
5. BE HUMBLE. That doesn't mean turning off your star-power. It means not tooting your own horn. Eventually rings flat with everyone. And it's incredibly poor form.
6. Life is a "Bring Your Own Water Wings" affair so stop annoying the rest of us with how you've been done oh-so-wrong, and paddle already.
7. Just because you want it does not mean it's yours to have.
8. In many cases, the things you do not say, speak as loudly as those you do. Think twice; speak once.
9. At the end of the day, you and you alone must live with your own inaction.
10. You always have a choice. Take the route that will make your grandmother proud.
11. Your true friends will say the things you don't want to hear because they love you... and because they have faith that you already know the truth, not because they're threatened by you.
12. Beware false allies and those who try too hard. Therein you will one day discover ulterior motive.
13. When saying no - to anyone for any reason - it absolutely is not necessary to offer an explanation.
14. Do not shampoo your hair every day - no matter what.
15. Do not lie. To me or to yourself.
16. Stop fighting The Universe and you'll stop making stupid mistakes.
17. One minute of your time - especially when you don't "have" it - is worth hours to someone who needs it.
18. Pay attention! This will solve almost all of your "problems."
19. Take heed: a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts.
20. People are going to talk. Your choice is in what you give them to talk about!
21. We all humiliate ourselves. Get over it. These are the stories that make you less dull.
22. Your behavior in all situations is 100% on you. Own it or change it. These are the only options.
23. Choosing not to engage means forfeiting your right to defend yourself against what others say. Know that, ultimately, this is still the best course of action - especially when you factor in karma, comeuppance, and the opportunity to secretly point and laugh later!
24. Never put anything in writing that cannot be aired publicly.
25. People will take advantage of you until you make them stop. The tricky bit is in the approach, and I can't help you with that.

So that's it. An updated version of my annual reminder - in no particular order. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.

Time-Out

I've been on a self-imposed technology time-out, and I must say, my suspicions about being too connected are very real. I'll keep this short because I *know* everyone is readily awaiting my annual Life Truths update for the 2014 kick-off.

1. I actually love being "inaccessible." I didn't feel the least bit harangued into reading my email, checking for text messages, or skimming FaceBook.
2. No one seems to have my old landline number except my gynecologist.
3. Upon my return to technology today, I discovered that - as suspected - nothing noteworthy happened in my absence. The world remained its usual uneventful self. I imagine something happened to someone somewhere and they probably posted a vague remark about it online in hopes people would express what is almost always insincere concern in a way that projects "love" just to be the first to obtain a slice of juicy gossip. Someone else got snarky about who knows or cares what and did the same, I'm sure. But if that happened, I missed it. Which is nice.

So let's all take a few moments to reflect on our sense of self-importance. As I say so often, if you're not a brain surgeon or emergency veterinarian,  put your phone down and take a look around. Your life is happening without you.

Exit. Stage Left

FADE IN:

INT – Conference room – morning. The busy cubicle farm seen in the background is full of holiday décor. I race in.

                                    ME

UGH! Hey y’all. Sorry I’m late.

(drops files, cell phone, and laptop onto conference room table and pulls out chair)

ALL

Hey!

What’s up.

Hi.

ME

Okay. Where are we?

SAM

We were waiting for you; talking about Christmas plans is all.

LIZA

I fuckin’ hate this time of year. Fuckin’ family breathing down my neck. Everybody wants something from me. Nobody is ever happy.

ME

I hear ya, sister! Preach it!

SAM

What’re you doing? You going home for the holidays?

AMBER

Where IS home? Your accent is weird. Sorry.

(Looks apologetic)

ME

(Opens mouth. Closes mouth. Makes several confusing facial expressions.)

Um. Weird. Okay. Yeah. I don’t guess I actually have a home. I mean in the classical Norman Rockwell, Charlie Brown and Snoopy sense of the word.

(Silence)

Home… is where my dogs are..?

FADE OUT:

THE END

Yeah. So THAT just happened…

On Accepting Invitations

Ah, the holidays. Filled with food, drink, annoying music, and invitations for all manner of gatherings. The thing about an invitation – and this is important – is that every single one requires a response. The good news is that you still have options.

Take the verbal. This one usually comes in person as a casual mention. You can accept, decline, or smile and say, “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”  You’re then open to make a decision based on what sort of hair day you’re having on the soiree date.

The eVite requires a bit more decisiveness. Yes. Maybe. No. If you’re on the fence, I would suggest clicking Maybe. This leaves your options open in case something else comes up while not appearing ungrateful for making The List.

Finally, there’s the old school paper invitation. You remember, the kind that shows up in your mailbox located close to the street. This one requires a firm decision before the RSVP date. A decision that no matter what, you cannot change.

[Sidebar: Every invitation requires some sort of response to which you are committed – no matter what. Now, stay with me. This is not a lesson in etiquette. That post can be found at Tis the Season… To Mind Yourself, December 2012.]

 was one of these that landed in my BFF’s hands, leaving her mouth agape at the inappropriateness of its receipt. At that moment, there was only one course of action. She shoved it into the bottom of pocketbook, raced the three miles to my house, grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, then shoved the invitation under my nose. She poured. I read.

I’ll admit, it took a moment for my brain to register the unsuitable nature of the request on ivory stock I was holding. A holiday cocktail party at the home of Mr. Wildly Misbegotten Decision made years ago.

“Clearly I’m your plus one,” I told her. I was going to throw myself under the bus on her behalf. After all, you never let your BFF walk into a lion’s den alone – or unsupervised. There could be repercussions. Or  a need to get the shovels from the shed and the map from beneath the mattress.

On the appointed evening, we arrived about 45 minutes late in an effort to blend in with the crowd. We handed off our coats, and as BFF went to present our host’s wife with the bottle of wine she’d chosen, I accepted a passing glass of wine and surveyed the territory.

Crossing the threshold, my BFF asked, “Why does it feel like everyone will be staring at me like my boobs are out?”

I meandered into the living room, raising my glass to inconspicuously peer through the bottom to survey the crowd… then choked. Loudly. I set the crystal on the fireplace mantel a bit harder than intended as I stepped between BFF and the other guests. “Don’t panic. Don’t look around. Hey! Eyes on me! The summer after your divorce – the one during which you had that unfortunate tryst with our host – well, get your coat. The trampage has come home to roost, and I’m counting four cockadoodle-doos!”

Trampage – v. Refers to that period post-long term relationship when a gal grabs her life by the balls again then sets out to exercises everyone else’s.

“No!” she whispered, eyes wide.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Four???”

“Affirmative. And it’s still early. So I repeat, get your co…”

“Hey you two! Wow! It’s been a long time. BFF*, didn’t think I’d see YOU here.”

Oh, balls. The horror was officially unleashed.

BFF turned slowly, and though she smiled in that pleasant manner our grandmothers taught us, there was no color left on her face that hadn’t been artfully applied the hour before.

It took two more glasses of wine matching the number of horrifically uncomfortable conversations  to be had before we made what can only be described as our less than elegant departure – given that it consisted of grabbing our coats and literally racing down the sidewalk at the top speed afforded by 4” heels.

Destination: first bar. First round: “Patron! Stat! And hold the fruit unless he has a shoe connection!”

This cautionary tale has been brought to you by women who really should know better than to accept an inappropriate invitation… of any kind.