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Reeses, Butterfingers and Oh My!

It's that time of year again.  You know the weather starts to get a bit cooler, which by Florida standards simply means we will see days in the 80's instead of those hated "can't get my shirt from sticking and showing all my bra fat" 90's.  Oh, and speaking of bra fat or fat back, well I'm sporting less of this these days.  The big D.I.E.T. is starting to work.  I am saying this with a great deal of caution because typically, self gets all happy with one's self about now and decides that just one bag of frozen Cameo's in the freezer is not such a bad thing.  And I know you know the problem with "just one little bag," it will absolutely lead to some of the mega sized bags of Halloween candy that are all over the shelves of your local grocer.  Seriously people, I have not had a single Trick or Treater knock on my door in five years.  And yet every Halloween I buy bags of candy, just in case.  My biggest fear is some cute little fairy will knock on my door and I will have to reach into my bowl of pennies to offer some sort of treat.  So instead, I prepare.  I get out my biggest mixing bowl and fill it full of mini Butterfingers, Reese's and oh, those wonderful little chewy peanuty nougat thingies.  And then I casually start grabbing just a few, you know just for a small snack or short car ride.  And before I know it, I am back at the grocery store attempting to re-fill that quickly declining bowl of candy before two things happen; someone notices or God forbid, the damn fairy shows up.
This year things are gonna be different.  I have already turned my small, now much more pert nose up at the legions of sweet treats lining the isles.  Apologies to all you pixies and fairies, this year my windows will be dark.  "Nothing to see here folks, just keep on going".


Warning: The following content contains material of a sexual nature and may not be suitable for all ages.

All the good things in life are free.  Really, well like what?  And don't start with all that sappy crap.  I know, I know the freaking air I breath is free and the memories I cherish, they are free and I am free to love whom ever I chose.  But the really "gooood" things, there is a price.  Right now in my life I am addicted to 32oz Gladiator smoothies, are they free? No, but they are really, really good.  And don't even get me thinking about my wine, cuz, trust me, my wine is not even available in the grocery store.  No sir, you gotta get in your car and travel to a specialty store to get my kinda wine.  And if you tell me, "Oh, you should go to World Market, they have great wines" I will turn around and spit on the ground when you are not looking.  Wine may not be free, but bad wine is dead to me.  Now, how about sex, is that free?  Technically, the act is free, but it is not really free, is it?  And without going into too many details, what about the resulting fallout ?  Priceless, yes, but free- no way.  Think about the first male and female that discovered sex (and I am not referring to Adam or Eve, because that is way different then real sex).  But those first few humans must have thought to themselves, "This is remarkable, if I do this and she does that, OMG".  Seriously, they probably did have a somewhat direct connect to God and I am certain the discussions went something like this, "God, this is amazing, I mean, who knew?  We'd all been just sitting here on this cold, hard cave floor and had no idea of the possibilities. And OMG, God, thank you so much for showing us the ropes, they really change it up".  And with so much sex, people got hungry and I think the first male/female roles were established by the male rolling over and say, "Hey, I'm hungry, why don't I go out and slay a dragon or two and you clean this dump up while I am gone".  But then the morality police got involved, when and where I am uncertain, but get involved they did.  And then all that free sex just went away until the seventies and well, you all know the rest of the story.  So, why am I, the button up, conservative being that I am writing about sex?  Well, the answer is easy, I quit drinking.


Put down those eggs and drop that bacon!

Since I'd only just gotten settled into my "suite," you can imagine my surprise when just a mere three hours later, I hear a cheery, "Good Morning". The "morning" part was drawn out, like the person who said it knew damn well that not only was it NOT morning, but it was not going to be a good one either!

As I slowly came too, I became aware of a lot of "white" noise in the background, some hissing and the realization that my right arm felt like someone had stuck a needle in it and had forgotten to take it out. My first thought was, "What kind joint are they running here." That was quickly followed by a deep sigh of regret; "I shoulda stayed at a Holiday Inn!"

"We gotta get your weight," Nurse Cheerful smirked, rolling in what seriously looked to be a live-stock scale. Squinting up at the clock, I groaned, "Are you serious? You don't need my weight, I will just tell you a number and you can divide that number by four and then multiply the results by two and you will come close enough. Who the hell wants to know how much I weigh at 4:00am anyhow?"

Evidently, there were plenty of people that wanted to know and they all had the initials DR. before their names. Pretentious lot. Just because they have like 20 years of schooling under their belts, they think they can ask ME personal questions. Here's what I'd like to know Mister - Lady - Doctor - Sir, "Just how much do you weigh?"

Geez, these people don't take any time to get to know you, they just come barging into your room demanding answers to questions best left unanswered.

For instance, "Do you drink alcohol?" Now, I was not just born yesterday, (another problem) so I was completely prepared for that one. I knew; answer the question, and only the question. Do not give away any other valuable pieces of information that could later be held against you.

So, in keeping with the spirit of my Irish-Catholic roots, I solemnly answered, "A bit". Nurse Cheerful looked at me and smiled encouragingly, as if to say she completely understood the, "A bit" part and wanted me to tell her more.

So I went on to better explain, lest she get the wrong idea, (And God forbid, think I'm a lush). "Well, you know, drinking just a bit...perhaps if there is a funeral or wake, a party or it's Wednesday. But truly, just a bit and I do try to limit it to just wine and I am working on only drinking on days of the week that end in Y".

Humph, Nurse Cheerful was now wildly scribbling notes on a piece of paper and I could tell right away that they were ALL about me. If you wanna know the truth, I think she was just a tad jealous of me, lying there all splayed out in that well worn, "easy in, easy out," it's got nothing on Fredrick's of Hollywood dressing gown. Ha, I had on a gown! Imagine that!

Right then, I knew that as soon as Nurse Cheerful left my room I was gonna find my yoga pants and my true first love, Zippy and hi-tail it outta there. But as Nurse Cheerful turned to leave she mentioned something about my breakfast being on its way, so I figured, I paid for it, may as well enjoy a meal before I go.

Sure enough, I'd only closed my eyes for a second and before I knew it, enter Breakfast - Man. My Knight in Shining Armor, or actually, white lab coat, but same thing. He rolled the cart over, raised the head of my bed, propped my pillows. I couldn't help but think to myself, "Self, I think he likes you, he thinks your gown is sexy".

I smiled and batted my Lattise sodden eyelashes at him as he pulled the lovely silver dome off my meal and rolled the tray in front of me. Glancing down at the food, so as not to appear too eager, I feigned interest like when on an airplane and the stewardess delivers a tasty treat, I always try to appear uninterested, waiting until the last moment to lower my tray table. You know, in a very non-fat lady style.

Remember; never let them know you are too happy or too hungry, that's my motto.

My eyes swept over the waiting meal and suddenly I squeaked, Ah, excuse me, Breakfast - Man, I think there has been some mistake. I smiled sweetly and said, "It's no biggie and I am certain that you will be able to work this out with the Consigliore, but umm... Hun, this can't be my breakfast, this must be leftover from what the guy next door didn't eat"!

One egg scrambled (Who eats one egg?);

One turkey sausage link measuring a total of 2" (Yes, I checked);

One small, bite size little muffin that appeared to have already had a bite taken out;

One cup of decaf coffee-water:

4oz of orange juice.

So, one scrambled egg people? I get more eggs eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough standing at the kitchen counter than what was on that plate. And certain that the other two turkey sausage links had rolled under my bed; I buzzed Nurse Cheerful in to take a gander.

Turns out, it really was my breakfast, not the leftovers from the guy next door. And Nurse Cheerful, yeah she really was a bit more like Nurse Jackie.

Moral of the story: Check your blood pressure regularly, lose the excess baggage, exercise more, skip the bacon and limit your wine to a "bit" less!

Thigh Fire

So, recently I participated in my first 5k walk - pant - run, note the emphasis on the walk - pant part.

It was quite the eye opener for this previously sedentary gal, who has made a bit of a career (who am I kidding, I have no career) out of mocking those that participated in this malarkey.

Yep, I thought of myself as a wee bit superior lying splayed out on my gorgeous cream colored sectional eating bonbons and gulping fabulous wine. But all that crap came to a screeching halt a few weeks back when the guys in white coats came in, shaking their heads in unison, all thinking the same thing, "This one's gotta go".

They hauled me off my sofa, removed the bag of frozen Cameo's from my clasped fists, ignored my whimpering and whispered soft little meaningless taunts in my ear, "Stop it, stop it right now," they demanded. "Whoa, hey, wait just a fancy minute, I thought to myself, can't we all just spend some time getting to know each other? Why do we have to rush into all this diet and exercise?" And here I thought we were going to build a meaningful relationship.

But no, that was not meant to be, as evidenced by the nurse lady that actually had the nerve to give me a little tip, "Hun, why don't you look at it this way, if you put the bag of Cheetos down, while we get your weight, you may be pleasantly surprised." Surprised, how could she even think for a single minute that I'd want to friends with her, let alone that she could surprise me?

Friends, and I'm talking my good friends, they know how to treat me. My good friends ask me, "Puffed or crunchy, luv?" This new group, all they are interested in was, "Getting the blood pumping".

Well trust me, my blood was pumping that recent Saturday morning as I raced, begged and pleaded with myself to get to the finish line. The race had just started and already my faithless husband and daughter had gotten far ahead of me. I thought about just dashing into the nearest Panera and grabbing a quick cinnamon bun for moral support, or maybe if luck was on my side, I'd pass a gun store first. Maybe I'd pick up one of those ladylike guns and shoot them both for dumping me, right across their big white numbered T-shirt! That is, if I ever saw them again. I knew the odds were I might not survive all this ridiculous sweating.

Did the guys in the white coats really think I was healthy enough for all this activity? I should have demanded that they have put it in writing, "Loud, obnoxious, healthy female, most recently seen eating frozen Cameo cookies, has our permission to kill herself publicly in said 5K race." At least than my duplicitous family could sue their collective asses!

But truly, I am not a quitter. No sir, not a quitter this one. But a cheater? Why you betcha!

That is why I had the fight of my life on my hands when I was trotting down one stretch of the race and glanced to my far right and saw that the rest of the participants had made a right turn way up ahead and were coming back down towards me about two blocks over.

How simple it would have been to just take a cut through? I could get a lead on my traitorous husband and daughter and cross the finish line like a real athlete, you know, Rockyesque, style! I could almost hear the crowds cheering me on in my head. But then I told myself, "Self, how are you gonna feel if you cut corners and cheat in your very first 5K?" Self quickly assured me, that she'd feel just fine, remarkable actually!

But alas, it was not to be. First, I had that stupid white shirt on with the four big numbers plastered across the front and secondly, I had those four big numbers plastered across the front- yea, you get it. I'd cheat, but I didn't want to get caught cheating! I had standards.

Fortunately, cooler, less felonious heads prevailed and I trotted on. I'd spied one particularly big ass ahead of me and I thought, if she can do it, so can I. I began setting my sights on all the large backsides in front of me and decided my personal goal would be to pick out the biggest ass within eyesight and stride to reach and pass it. My new job was to beat all the other fatties to the finish line.

This worked fine, up until the point I had to use the balance of my water to put out the fire that had started between one guy's enormous thighs.

But in the end, I finished the race. I didn't come in first, not by a long shot. But I did get there just as the race coordinators where dismantling the finish line. I guess they hadn't heard about the fire...


I'll tell you when to get happy.

Tell me this, why is it that people that are too happy just get me in a bad mood? I mean, what is wrong with me? I get so bugged when people get all happy and excited over something stupid, or something I think is stupid, which is just about anything that everyone else thinks is funny. I am sitting there watching TV this morning and that dumb egg commercial comes on where Kashi has substituted their cereal in the carton, instead of eggs. People are opening the cartons of eggs in the grocery store and they are all happy, laughing because the eggs are missing and instead little mounds of sticky cereal have taken their place.

They are looking around, pointing to the egg carton, as if to say, “Oh, look, isn’t this hilarious, the eggs are all gone”. Yeah, that is funny, cereal instead of eggs. I am just laughing my ass of here. Not. Am I the only person that would say, “Where are my effing eggs”? I can just see myself, barely smiling and hardly tolerant. I don’t really like being tricked and falling in beside all of humanity is not appealing to me.! It is even worse for me in a group setting. I just hate to get all happy with everyone else. I like to reserve the right to get happy, if, and when I feel like it, not because all the people around me think something is funny. I have noticed that with some, it is just so easy for them to show their pleasure. Someone does something dumb and people get all happy, they get to all be part of this group- this big, dumb, happy group that thinks, “Oh, that is so cute, so funny.” I want to tell them, “”. Quit getting all happy. You are getting me violent. So, what is wrong with me? Go ahead, you can tell me, I can take it, really! Oh, and by the way, I know it is me, not you. I know this because I look around and I see happy people and I wonder to myself, “What are you so happy freaking happy about?” Now, that is not to say I don’t get happy, because I do. I am just not going to use up all my “happy” faces looking into a carton of eggs. When I think it is appropriate to get happy, believe me I do. But I am careful to never get too happy or to let anyone see me get too happy. Except for maybe on my birthday, I think that is a day where it is just fine to get all stupid happy. In fact, when I call to wish someone a happy birthday, I love to tell em’, “Go ahead, get all happy, today is your birthday”. But you better wipe that smile off our face by tomorrow. There is no “happy birthday” carry over. Gotta get right back into the, “I’m not that happy” business.


You kahnt git theyah from heayah! (And that folks, is Lobstah talk)

Remember the movie Sideways? Well, this is not the wine from that movie. This is the wine from that "other"  movie, Bottle Shock. The one with a ridiculously good looking cast, as opposed to Paul Giamatti, whom we can all attest to being a bit less than good looking. Anyhow, back to the wine and the movie. Never mind that the movie focused on a Chardonnay, rather than a Cabernet, that in my opinion is simply a technicality. What's really important is that we found this phenomenal wine in a cute little "wanna be" wine store in Southwest Harbour Maine. I was just in the middle of throwing one of my now infamous wine rants to anyone that was willing to listen, when suddenly, right before my eyes were the words, "Wine sold here".

Figuring it was a sign from above, I yelled, "stop the cah".  And inside was the most unusual and glorious assortment of wines we'd ever gotten our grubby little paws on. I turned to my hubby and declared in my best Mainah dialect, "Ayah, Fathah, we've arrived".  And there it was, down almost at floor level,  several bottles of Chateau Montelena, 2005, Cabernet. Of course, having seen the movie Bottle Shock, both hubby and I almost became giddy. And believe me folks, giddy, is not something the good folks in Maine understand. No sir, In the state of Maine, acting giddy can get you put in the "big house", these are a conservative group here. Giddy soon became a serious understatement to our condition when we spyed a bottle of Spottswood Cab, 1998. Because the price of the Spottswood (be still my heart) was double the price of the Chateau, it was time for some tough decision making. I consulted with self and asked, "What would you prefer, two bottles of what is sure to be a fabulous wine, or one bottle of what is sure to make you take off all your clothes? Now, self, having been present for my most recent, soon to be epic lobstah eating marathon, felt it was only prudent to keep the clothes on and go for the two in lieu of one scenario, and so I did.  And here ladies and gents, is the rest of the story...

Cabernet Sauvignon. Napa Valley
 $$$- $65

Don't go into sticker shock with the price on this wine, it is worth every penny.  And besides, I never promised you a rose garden.  Life is just too short for bad wine, so save this bottle for a special occasion or drink like I would on any Monday night.  It is time to take the plastic wrap off your sofas people and use your crap.  Now, with that said (so eloquently too) this is a wonderful, full bodied, dark and powerful wine that grabs you the minute it hits your palate. Hello people, are you paying attention?  This is luscious and rich with a great sexy depth. Think Joanie from Madmen in her red dress and now you are just beginning to get this fabulous wine. And the fun is just starting.  This wine is well balanced, with just the right amount of fruit forward, followed with a long slow french-kiss finish.  Make your next bottle (if you can find it- as I have never seen it in the South) a special occasion and skip the dinner, and slip right between the sheets.  You will not be disappointed- the wine that is!


Taking a Chance-Risking it All!

Just the other day someone was describing to me their idea of fun and adventure.  Yeah--sky diving.

They told me, "You just have to try it." But here's the problem I see with sky diving. You may only get one chance to "try" it, and for me folks, that isn't odds I'd bet on. If I were on a sky diving plane and it came time for me to jump, I think I'd kill the pilot before I'd agree to take the tumble. Because I know that if the jump didn't kill me, and believe me, it would, I am certain that the anticipation alone would cause cardiac arrest.

The other thing that would stop me from jumping, that is if the mere thought of crashing to the ground from 10,000 feet was not enough, is my face. Yeah, I have seen pictures and, believe me, on the descent down, your face begins to look a lot like a Neapolitan Mastiff pup. That pup face lasts just until your chute doesn't open, and then your face takes on a "Crap on a stick" appearance. 

With that being said, it is not to say that I won't take some risk. I am more than happy to put a hundie in a slot machine and sit back and pull the lever. But I like having both my feet on the ground when I do it. Sometimes when I find myself wanting to "push" the envelope, I'll even drink while I gamble. And then the most damage I can do is to the balance on my ATM slips. Believe me, I won't get too many pulls in with those dismal figures.

But don't get the wrong idea here.  I understand the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush, the uncertainty of the outcome.  It is exactly how a new, untried bottle of wine feels to me.

So, when I am hell bent for some high adventure, I drive my car really fast to our local distiller.  Sometimes, I don't even put my seat belt on until I hit the highway, just to add to the excitement. (Don't try this at home.) Then I grab a cart, hoping I will get the one with a loose wheel, as that adds a certain element of danger. The ride home feels like what I can only imagine the climb on Universal's Dueling Dragons must feel like. Oh, the anticipation! My sweaty hands are clenched around the wheel, hanging on for dear life. And the skin on my face is pulled tight by the shit eating grin that is now permanently etched on my face. Grrrr... I can hardly wait!

As you can see, I know all about risk. It is just that my idea of putting it all on the line is buying a bottle of wine I have never tried before.

But with every risk is a potential down side. You could possibly be in for the best ride of your lifetime, or perhaps not. You just never know. And sometimes, the worst will happen.  The ride won’t be at all what you’d hoped for. I'd imagine it to be a lot like the feeling you get when your parachute fails to open. But here's the deal with that.  You get another chance. You just gotta get back out there and hope you have one more E-ticket left.  You wait for your next ride (bottle) to come along and hope the wait won't be too long!

So, for your next ride, let me help you out a bit.  Imagine me telling you just before you go up in the plane, "Don't worry, I'll catch you."  If that sounds a bit too risky for your taste, let me offer up to you a great wine to try instead!

Borsao Garnacha-Spain
Three Mountains

This is an interesting wine at first swallow, but like many wines in this price point, it leaves you hoping for a little more. However, at around 13 bucks a bottle, not a bad value. Very spicy and a bit "tight", with juicy red and dark berry flavors. Serve it at about 59-60 degrees, for best taste.
I personally feel the finish is a bit short - meaning, I like a wine that opens up more at the end. However, with a price tag at a reasonable $13, it offers as good a value as one can find these days.  Try it for yourself and let me know what you think!


Here Comes the Bride!

I am thinking about changing my name. Years ago when I married husband number one and as luck would have it thus far, husband one & only, I can remember giving serious thought to just keeping my maiden name, but instead decided to hyphenate my maiden name with my married name. Still, I felt like quite the liberated woman. I wasn't about to just "give up" on my roots, no sir- that was my identity we were talking about. I can remember signing my name with flourish, thinking I'd show "them" that I was a wise, independent woman. And then Publix got those nifty little slide machines and everyone stopped writing checks and it just stopped mattering to me. And then somewhere, somehow along the way, I stopped using my maiden name altogether and it became just the D between the Mary and the Mead. Then a couple of kids later I changed my name once again and became just plain and simple, quite ordinary, M period Mead. But having just finished up devouring the NYTimes, Sunday Style, now I am not sure. Now I am left wondering what it would have been like for me had I stuck to my original plan and never dropped the maiden name. Would it have been confusing for my kids- us sporting different last names? Would everyone assume I was divorced and on the prowl- God forbid? Not that there is anything wrong with that, but since I was not and am not, would I have caused the other PTA moms to wonder? Could I have assumed that "other" woman role? I wonder how many of the brides listed in today's Time's will still be writing their last names out in long hand in say 15- 20 years. I wonder how many of the marriages will be intact. The New York Times wedding bann announcements sound like something out of an Emily Post book.  Sort of makes me want to don some gloves and sip me some afternoon tea! “Alexandra Jones and Ethan Carter III, were married Saturday at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. The bride, Ms. Jones is keeping her name. The bride’s father, a former general partner with Lehman Brother's is now retired, living off what we all most recently lost. The bride’s mother is a psychiatrist in family practice in West Islip NY. The bride and groom met one day in a local post office where an elderly woman was asking for directions to the nearest restroom. After explaining to the elderly woman, that the US Postal service does not allow the public to use their restrooms, the future husband and wife graciously escorted the elderly woman to a nearby Starbucks. Six months later, at that same Post Office, the groom, who graduated magna cum laude from Yale and received a PhD in mathematics from M.I.T., got down on one knee and proposed to Ms. Jones”. Really, Mr. Groom? You have yourself a Ph freaking D and that is the best you could think of? And let's put this question out to the editors of the NYTimes, these announcements take up three pages of the STYLE section, is this necessary? Come on, people. Why don't the regular people get to submit their announcements? Here is what I want to see, “The bride, of Holly Hill, Fl, waited until she regained her figure after the birth of the couple’s second child to plan the wedding, which took place on Saturday at the local Golden Corral. The bride, in light of several failed marriages has elected to keep her second husbands name, as most of her children also carry that name. In attendance were both the bride and groom's children from their previous three marriages, in which all but one ended in divorce. The groom was dressed in a white suit, which was in high contrast to the orange color that he'd been most recently been seen wearing, courtesy of The Tomoka Correctional Facility. The bride attended Mainland high school for two years, but eventually decided she could still have it all with a G.E.D. The groom attended middle school in Eustis and it is unknown at this writing if he graduated. The bride was formerly employed at Turrie T Small in the lunchroom, up until its recent closing for failure to score above an F rating, and is currently unemployed. The groom is a sanitation engineer with the city of Daytona Beach. After a brief honeymoon at the Ichetucknee Springs campground, the bride and groom plan to make their home in Holly Hill with their collective seven children.  Now that's what I'm talking about.


Arresting Wine

Once the imprint from the cuffs wore off, and the horrid smell of that "holding cell" had dissipated, I had time to reflect on just what exactly happened to me at that concert Sunday night and all I can say is, "Blame it on the wine". The last thing I remember, right before all the commotion was Sweet Baby James singing, "How sweet it is to be loved by you".

And then I thought, "Release the hounds". Yeah, it's never a real good idea to wear your emotions on your sleeve or to let loose while under the influence!

Oh well, what is done, is done. I certainly can't "unring that bell" and frankly, I don't think I'd want to either! Besides, James was almost gracious about the whole thing and I think secretly if security hadn't intervened, well... let's just say, things may have been different.

But I thought I'd share with you the wine that almost had me wearing one of those orange jump suits with the words, "CORRECTIONS" on the back. It is my latest obsession, (Other than Mr. Taylor) a fine wine called Adobe Road 2005 Syrah. This stuff can be had for under $25 bucks (Wine Barn) and believe me, in that price range, it packs a punch (as witnessed on Sunday evening). Wine Spectator gives this wine 92 points- which is a range I am most happy to be found drinking in! This wine has got a lot of personality. It's rich with spices and deep luscious plum and blueberries. It is well balanced, but be careful, as it can certainly knock you off your balance when consumed in certain quantities. And based on my personal experiences, I’d have to describe this wine as a "Man Magnet". I mean, after all, I made out with James Taylor and that has never happened to me while drinking Jack and diet. I think that if you get the opportunity to try this wine out you may soon find yourself belting out, “Well I'm a steamroller baby. I wanna roll all over you. Yes I'm a steamroller for your love, babe ...  And only then ,will what happened to me make any sense!

Getting to second base with a Super Star!

Some things just don't end up turning out like you thought they would. Case in point, who'd ever of thought I'd meet James Taylor, let alone have a well, relationship with him? I know, right? Who'da thunk? Well, about part way through the concert, I sort of had a feeling; James was staring right at me, each and every time the rotating stage came my way, our eyes would lock. At first, I was like, Whoa, what is this? Is he staring at the people behind me? But it quickly became apparent to not only me, but most of the over 10,000 concert goers, that it was only me he had eyes for. Once the concert was over, he walked right up to me and put his arms out, as if to embrace me. The whole time, I am thinking to myself, "Is this real life" ? Then that little woman, what's her name...Ah, Carole something, anyhow, she flies past James sort of knocking him a bit and causing him to just get his one hand out to me. Of course, I immediately recognized how upset he was, missing the opportunity to really get to know me. But all the disappointment quickly drifted away once our skin made contact and our hands became joined, and I think we both knew...there was no going back. At the end of the "shake”, I immediately placed my just "shaken" hand up to my now heaving breast. And just like that- we sort of made out. Me and James Taylor. Wow. What a totally unexpected event. But then, suddenly, I heard a voice in my ear pulling me out of my dazed state, "Release the hand or we will use force". It sounded like it was coming from a bull horn. But still, my coming to was slow, as all I could hear at first was James whispering to me something about fire and rain.  Then I became aware of the bright lights coming towards me, but it took me a minute or two to fully recognize that the lights were actually the SWAT teams tactical lights.  Once fully conscious, I realized that I'd neglected to release Mr. Taylor's hand and by now, everyone was staring at us. Our make-out session had ended as quickly as it began. Ah, I did manage to get my phone number into the security guards hand; so hopefully, he'll call, ah, that is James, of course.


Quan·tum Secret- A quanity or amount without the knowledge of others

I was at my darkest point, the lowest of low and then suddenly out of nowhere, a light began to emerge. Yanking out the final piece of laundry and a long missing shoe, I could now clearly see under the bed, all the way to the other side! Mission accomplished. And if the truth were known, it was the first mission I'd undertaken, let alone accomplished in about 18 months. I certainly didn't set out to clean under the bed and if I still had a cleaning lady, she'd be so fired. I couldn't believe what was under that bed. For crying out loud, did you really think that I'd believe all that crap had accumulated in a mere 18 months? I think not. Anyhow, back to how I got into that position in the first place. I thought I'd try to do a few sit ups, nothing strenuous, just a few ab crunches, you know strengthen the "old core." But once I got down there I got distracted when I found a library book that I'd been searching for since last Christmas. Yeah, the book that made them revoke my card. My last plastic card, which I may add, had no limit and that I thought they couldn't take away, was revoked. Crap. Ah, such is the life of the underemployed. They may take my plastic, but they will never take away my dignity! Although, I will admit, at times like this, lying in a prone position with dust bunnies swirling around, one may wonder about that. But something hit me down there, something big. This wasn't just about me doing a few crunches or finding the key to getting my library pass back; this was about the rest of my life. Was this how I was gonna be spending it? Cleaning up my own messes, or was I gonna hire someone to do this for me? I started to get mad, really, really mad. This wasn't me- this middle aged, gray haired, underemployed, wine swilling, dust covered loser, (well part of that last sentence WAS me).  It was time to get serious. So, once I called my daughter in to help me into a standing position, I dusted off and sat down to watch the Tyra show, where I get all my important information. If fifty is the new forty, Tyra is the new Oprah. The show today proved to be life changing.
Tyra introduced me to my new best friend, the Quantum Scale. I am still kicking myself that I didn't think of this, it makes perfect sense. The scale that never mocks, the scale that never lies, well technically, it never lies except by omission. So what's not to love you ask? Nothing, absolutely nothing. This little "super-secret" keeper, secretly records your starting weight. You jump on for the first time and there are no gasps, no snickers, and no little voices in the background stifling a laugh. What you see and hear is nothing- nothing at all. The next time you jump on it welcomes you back with a plus or a minus and the number of pounds. How great is that? Think about it, how many times have you been at the doctor’s office and they tell you to "strip to your panties and jump on the scale". They ask you to do it like it means nothing. Little do they know you have spent that last two weeks eating nothing and gulping down vitamin water. OK, you cheated just a bit and drank some wine, but that doesn't really count, right? Then you step up gingerly on the scale thinking that if you slowly add your body weight it may add up to less. The Fat-doctor's nurses will tisk a bit and then slide the 50lb increment over to the next level. She then slides the other measurement down slowly, until it dawns on her that she caught herself a "big one" here. The whole time you are thinking, I wonder if the fat-doctor nurse will notice that my left hand is on the counter-top offering a slight lightening of this load. When she finally zero's in on a number and tries to keep her face from showing her disdain, she will offer you a small smile and say, "Well, at least you are in the right place". Dr. Fat Doctor will be in to see you shortly. Shortly turns out to be an understatement. You wait so long; you've missed several meals and demand a re-weigh, certain you have lost some water weight in the interim.
Well, so if that little scenario sounds familiar to you, you are about to fall in love with the Quantum Scale. It always keeps you guessing on where you started, but that is not important, right? Ask any fat person and they will gloss over the real number and want to focus on what is important. "It is not important that they had to roll in a livestock scale, what is important is how I feel". Yeah, right. You feel like crap, why don't you just admit it? For a while, I wasn't sure if I was depressed or just fat. It took me several years to realize I am both!  But since I ordered the Quantum scale, I can now see clearly, things are looking up. I have a new best friend and guess what- they can keep a secret!


Breaking Up Is hard To Do!

It is official, we are splitsville. I don't think it is permanent, perhaps just a temporary trial separation. It is for the best, really. It is funny, because when we first started up years ago, everyone said, "Oh, it will never last." I think even my closest friends thought I'd go back to my first love Jack, at least in the early days. But together we proved them all wrong. And now after years of thinking like a couple, it is over.  I mean think about it... we have raised a family together. Yep, our motto was through thick and thin, and believe me, there has been more thick than thin, but we have always remained resolute in our commitment towards each other. Wow, it is even hard to write about this, I am getting all misty eyed just thinking of the rest of my days without you. I’ve always had this fairy tale image in my head of us, that we'd grow old together, you know sitting on the beach, watching the sunset?  Now I see that may not be possible and I am scared.

Today, I sit here already missing you and thinking was there anything I could have done differently? Where did it all go wrong? If I had to guess, I'd say things started slipping not long after the economy took a dive. I was home all the time and then came the zippies. Oh, how I loved my zippies! Had I known then what I know now, maybe I would have changed, but I thought that you of all people would understand. I can still remember how warm and happy I felt whenever you were around. I'd be gleeful with anticipation of your arrival in the evenings.

And when we entertained, you never failed to step up to the plate. You’d show up full of character, so robust, and yes, at times even complex. I never even saw the end coming. But that’s how it usually goes down- you are the last to know. I think some of our closest friends saw the changes coming, but they never let on. It was as if they too were going to hang in there with us to the bitter end.

The leaving is never easy. We grasp to hang on to the old familiar, to those that offered comfort and love, so in that, I want to give you one final send off, a Bon Voyage or Adieus’ fitting for the love we once shared.
Good-Bye expensive red wine, may we meet again someday!

Altamura Cabernet Sauvignon-2005 (sold out)
Wooden Valley- Napa $90  And while the 2005 outstanding vintage is only found by searching your local wine shops that may still have a few bottles put away, the 2006 vintage has just been released and it too has been rated by both Robert Parker and Wine Spectator with a strong 94 points.  This is a big, dense and full-bodied wine with superb richness and power.  One of the most intense wines I have ever tried.  You will want to slow dance this bottle with someone special.
We stumbled upon this wine quite by accident one evening at a little liquor store that was more of a dive than wine shop.  They likely sold a lot more Jack then wine, and frankly, I was worried we'd get out alive. But we got out alive alright, in fact better than alive, as attested to later that evening, when we opened up what we soon considered the BEST bottle of wine we'd ever had the honor to drink.  Back when times were good, we uncorked our fair share of this wonderful jewel of a wine.  But now the clock is ticking, our final bottle patiently waiting its turn.  This wine we fondly refer to as, "Mother's Milk" will be enjoyed for a final time on Mother's Day.  Appropriate, don't you think?


A Dingo ran off with the wine!

It's almost Friday and you know what that means. If you haven't already started drinking, there is no time like the present.

One of the many benefits of being under-employed is you can call any day you want Friday. Personally, I like my "Friday's to start at about noon on Wednesday. That way I have already secured my place at the bar, before all the regular working stiffs show up.

Nothing worse than getting to the bar and having to wait for a seat.

Today, I'm going to introduce you to a new wine.

So, clean your wine glasses and make sure they are good glasses too. Nothing gets me in a bad mood quicker, (except maybe art work hung too high) than when someone serves me wine in a glass with palm trees on it.

Pictures on wine glasses are NOT OK.

Come on people, did your parents teach you nothing?

One of the requirements of wine blog participation is that you understand the importance of the vessel. It must be size appropriate for the juice, (not the girl) and the rim must be thin (again, not the girl.)

And the glass, must be CRYSTAL clean- but please, not made of crystal.

And most importantly, I do not want to bring that precious juice up to my pie hole and just before the rim touches my lips, think to myself, "That is not my lipstick color"!

By the time you see the lipstick, it is already too late. Once your lips have made contact with the rim, you will be well past caring. But trust me, it will spoil the experience, a bit.

Now I'd like to add one little disclaimer to everything I stated earlier.

There have been times in my wine drinking experiences, where I have had to resort to Dixie cups, I know... I am not proud of these moments; but felt in the interest of full disclosure, I had to come clean.

But, I want to make this perfectly clear- this is not OK. There are darned few instances where Dixie is appropriate, the only two I can think of are:

1. If you lose the cork, back into the bottle, get out the Dixie;

2. If you are in the backseat of a car - you probably are in Dixie.

Alrighty then, now that I have dispensed with those little kernels of wisdom. Let's go back to the juice!

Marquis Philips S9 Shiraz 2007-Syrah/Shiraz from Australia-$35

Wine Advocate has consistently rated this juice over 90 points and from 2002-2007 never lower than 92 points. If you can get a hold of a 06' bottle (95 rating), call me and we will drink it down together.

Not an inexpensive bottle, but if you want your wine to hit you up like an old lover, this wine is for you. Drink it and before you know it, you will be reminiscing about all the "grand old days" and your shoes and shirt will be off.

And as these things are known to have a mind of their own, I'd like to offer you a little warning, you may not be responsible for your actions!

Whenever my hubby wants to get on my right side he brings me home a bottle, or if he wants to get lucky, two.

I'd choose this wine, over wines priced much higher, for its consistency, drinking pleasure and inspired old memories.

As Paula Deen would say, "Go get you some".



Warning: Things may be larger than they appear!

This past weekend I tried on last years swim suit and I have to tell you, it was shocking.  Nothing seemed to be where it was supposed to be.  How could I have misplaced all those jiggly parts and pieces?  Puzzled, I pulled the suit off and looked at the tag.  Could this be the same suit that just last year had held me close and called me lover?
When I bought the damn thing I almost had to take out a second mortgage, except they said I didn't have the income to qualify.  So I scrimped and sacrificed some of my favorite wines for a week or two, because after all, what with the promises it had whispered in my ear, I figured it was  priceless.  Oh, and the promises that suit made... look ten pounds thinner instantly, regain the breasts of a twenty-two year old, become the most popular aging wino- sipping lush in your neighborhood.  And while I can't say I achieved all of what was promised, it did work in some areas (you be the judge).
No, it was clear, what I was dealing with here was nothing short of  an expired miracle.  See, they never tell you that part on the tag, warning: "This miracle may be temporary and may expire with no advance warning".  The tag also fails to remind you to look in the mirror at your rear-end too.   And that is not such a bad thing, because that is where those miraculous ten pounds get deposited.  Yep, they taken em away from the front and re-deposit them in the back. There is just nothing for nothing in this world we live in.  Dejected, I decided I'd just have to go out and whip up my own kind of miracle.  But first, I thought it might be a good idea to be sure that last nights left over Chinese food was properly secured in the fridge.  Didn't want anyone giving in to the temptation and getting sick because of that sticky wrap or a faux Tupperware not properly sealed.  That was me, always looking out for my loved ones, even if it meant eating potentially dangerous food. I'd take the bullet for them.  And you have to admit, the best part about eating Chinese food is the morning after.  There is just no pill for that.  But here's the problem and believe me, I have thoroughly examined this particular problem from every angle.  The morning after a night with the china man is likely the morning you have promised yourself to start the old diet back up.  There is nothing like a little MSG to get you thinking... Desperate now to avoid the fridge filled with last nights glorious delights, I sat down and pictured every bit of  that Orange peel chicken piled high with the Shrimp fried rice sitting in the doggy bowl.  And I will tell you what, that did the trick.  No way could I possibly enjoy those left overs now.  That hound would be eating with chop sticks tonight.  Feeling the strength that comes with a certain knowledge, I opened the fridge up, pulsing with power. But I hadn't counted on the Crab Rangoon. It was almost like that little Asian man set me up for failure.


When Being Crazy Isn't Enough!

Hot, Chewy, Cheesy, Funky, Flabby, Fat and Brawny.
Careful, that's my wine you are talking about! I have been asked, begged, cajoled- OK, again all lies. But one time, one person asked me to tell them what little I knew about wine. And that is the truth, at least the truth until I get drinking. Then it's, "Everyone is always asking me, how'd you get so good at picking wines and you are so pretty and so smart, is your name Heather”? Those that know me best know I am completely and totally out of wine control and all I really know about wine is that I love to drink it- anytime, anyplace, anywhere, with a fever, or without a fever, sitting up or lying down on the table and sometimes under but just not ever, no not ever in a box! Wine has been very, very good to me. Wine has seen me through some of my darkest of moments and been right beside me for some of my greatest laughs. I don't think I would be who I am today, were it not for all the wine. With that said, here is a relatively inexpensive wine for you to try out. But remember, wine is like the significant other in your life- each to his or her own. So don’t hate me or call me a wine lush behind my back if you don’t like the first one you try, life is short- try them all!
"If you never did you should. These things are fun and fun is good” Dr. Seuss

Layer Cake Shiraz, South Australian Shiraz a great value- Can be had for around $15 bucks (Just skip the latte and put down the chicken nugget). A big thick, juicy mouthful. Hints of blackberry and a little peppery, a deep, full-bodied, lush style that should drink nicely especially when followed by a second bottle. I’d describe the nose as a honker, but only in the kindest of way, (have you seen the noses in my family?) If you first put your pants on backwards and then sit completely still when you taste, you will get an explosion of dark berry, black cherry, exotic spices and chocolate filling your mouth. You can thank me later, because for the first time in your life you'll at least remember why you put your pants on backwards!
Tipsy Tip:
Look for it at The Wine Barn for the best pricing!
Red wine contrary to what some bossy drinkers may think, is best served at about 59 degrees. Just the slightest of chill will offer better juice.


No more Snorting wine with a straw!

The headline read, "Twenty-One things we are learning to live without."

The article was obviously recession inspired. And, I'll admit; I was interested to see just how bad it had gotten for me. Was I living in a recession or was I wallowing in a depression?

I knew what all the "talking heads" thought, but here's the deal with those pie holes: They are still making the big bucks, with corporate health plans and big fat 401K plans.

And me? Well, not so much. I was not only missing all of the above; I was currently working for what I used to consider chump change.

It didn't take long to realize I'd have to change my drinking habits - gasp, choke!

Actually, that is a lie.

It took me far longer than was economically prudent. But then I think words like prudent, practical, and sober are words that apply to other people.

But it is tough to justify a forty dollar bottle of wine, especially when you practically snort it with a straw.

Why, oh why, did I have to get hooked on the "good stuff," when all along I could have been a Jack and Diet kind of gal?

So here it is... The first item noted on the list of things given up during these lean, and I use this term loosely, times, is Lattes.
Yeah, the old trip to Four bucks has taken a dive. More people are brewing their Joe at home. OK, I will give them that. But I think the real reason the coffee house numbers are down is that people are just sleeping in.

Why get all busy in the morning with no place to go?

The next item listed is extra calories. Now, hold up there, little buddy. Just who is giving up the extra calories?

My feelings and personal motto: When the times get tough, well, the chubbiest tend to get a bit chubbier.

Seriously, who eats less in times of economic stress? Recession-inspired pounds are a real thing.

This is how it works. I used to go to the grocery store and stock up on fresh veggies and lean meats.
But hey, that is pricey stuff. Hard to stay on your old wine budget, or any budget, when you're spending six bucks for fresh asparagus, right?

Giving up the "good stuff" (read: wine that can be swallowed without holding your breath) is tough when you're spending so much on healthy vittles.

But, and this is a tremendous butt I am working with here, friends; if you re-direct your grocery dollars and spend more wisely, your entertainment dollars will go much further. You'd be surprised at how many bags of Cheetos you can buy if you pass on the triple washed spinach and watercress.

The next item listed (drum roll please), was the gym. Hello, people! Just because I had given up the gym membership prior to this current economic meltdown does not mean I shouldn't get credit for proactive thinking, right? After almost two years to the day of paying the membership fee, yet never crossing the threshold, I came to my senses over a bag of frozen Cameo cookies. I spouted to all who would listen, "That's it! Don't you people know there's a possible recession lurking? We gotta hunker down, take cover. Cancel this costly gym membership."

So here I was scanning this list of 21 things I should have given up to ease into this bleak financial situation, and I found myself feeling pretty darn good.

I had already been doing my part. I had even given up things the article never mentioned.

For instance, I no longer use valet, unless it is raining. I now go 4.5 weeks between hair color appointments instead of four. I clip wine coupons. And before you start, there is no shame in using a coupon for wine or spirits. It's not like I'm hauling out my coupon wallet in the grocery store line, heaven forbid.

I no longer use curb side pick-up at my local OutBack. I recognized how much gas I was wasting, just idling, so now I park and walk inside.

Annoying yes, but the exercise is good for me.

So it is official now. I get it.

When they say, "Change is a coming," I can let them know I am doing my part.
Hey, I even undressed in the dark last night in honor of Earth Day.


Bird Flu and Peanut Butter Cups

I was born an optimist, but even still, I know there will be a few who won’t believe this… I have been so darn sick; I haven't even been able to drink wine! I know, I know. It was a good thing I'd been getting my fair share of the stuff before the plague set in. Don't know what I would have done otherwise. So here I lie, (remember self, people lie, items lay) too sick to lift my headie far off my pillow, surrounded by yummy 600 thread count sheets and finally, I have the beddy all to myself. If only I weren't feeling so crappy, I could enjoy this time. Deciding it was my only chance to reacquaint myself with that object referred to as the remote control and hogged by all the men in my life, I finally managed to locate the darn device from within the multiple layers of Egyptian cotton and down comforters and I pushed the button. I found myself watching Kirsty Alley in a new fat show.
OMG! She is a chubby again. Yes, her Plumpness (I am only loaning her my crown) has developed quite the um... Well you know- the girls’ got booty! Honestly, it wasn't that long ago when she was prancing around Oprah wearing a bikini, showing off her new and improved Jenny inspired torso. I'd have to guess that she must have gone directly home from that taping and started eating and just didn't stop. Fat Actress is back and Kirstie got the lead role. Geez, how come I didn't get a chance to audition? I coulda made a great fat actress. The first scene would be me, sick, lying in my fabulous bed, just opening up a goopy Reese’s peanut butter cup (I am sick remember?) and turning on this show about a former barkeep who now is sadly, just another fat actress. Ask me if I didn't feel just a little bit guilty about eating that peanut butter cup in bed while watching a show about a fat lady? Truthfully, for a minute or two I did feel a bit bad, but then I remembered you were supposed to feed a cold and starve a fever and since I'd just recently stuck my head in the freezer to get that frozen peanut butter cup, I was certain all signs of fever had left my body. Nope, it was now just a cold and a bad one at that. Time to call out the big guns, The boom-de-boom. Caution, you are now entering into the soft feathery gray area of my brain that was not completely Nyquil saturated. I startled at first, slowly coming to. My mind started to focus on the fact that I’d lived through another night of severe coughing and body aching. Without even opening my eyes, I did a quick inventory, just so I’d have the facts. Throat- still sore, gonna need something cold and creamy quick. Arms, legs, no numbness, they will stay attached. Ears, congested and popping, ass still fat. Reassured, I opened my eyes and quickly looked in the mirror. And immediately wished I had purchased the 10x instead of the 20x. I was certain some of those holes had not been there when I went to sleep! I was completely horrified. Somehow, while I was sleeping someone had come into my room and given me a haircut. I had a mullet like no other. Really, even the cleaning lady looked better- or shall I say hers looked like less of a mullet. This was serious. Maybe I had the H1N1 or the Nile virus or God forbid, could it be a strange version of Bird-like Flu? Whatever it was, it was bad. Something bad was wrong with me. I quickly jumped back into bed; got ready to swill a little more Nyquil (I gotta finish the bottle-right?) and then I heard it. It sounded like it was coming from behind me. It was faint at first, but quickly, I was sure of the message, "Self,don't forget,there are Reese's in the freezer." Go, run, and get your sick little self some peanut butter and chocolate. There, there. How we feeling now self?
Nothing feels better then chocolate peanut butter cups taste while nestled in your luxurious bed all by yourself- nothing.


Running with Wine

So, what do you think is up with everybody-everywhere exercising?

I mean, I just cannot get away from it. And it is starting to get me in a bad mood!

What is it with all these 5k races anyhow? And why don't these runners just stick to the truth?
When someone tells me they are running in a 5K race, I want to rip off my nice girl mask and smirk, "Why don't you just admit it, you are running 3.2 miles?"

Not that I don't think that anything over the length of a grocery aisle is a hike and you ought to pack an overnight bag for the trek, but I have to wonder, why now are you switching to kilometers?

I think they just say 5k because it sounds bigger, longer- right?

I mean, sure I get it, they are all for a good cause, but how come we can't just send a check, why do we have to get all sweaty?

I guess a better question may be why does this get on my nerves anyhow?

Two words... Catholic Guilt.

Here I sit- fat, dumb and happy enjoying some of life's guilty pleasures and then I hear that knock on the front door of my soul.
And like clockwork, I take the bait and reach over to see who is there, as if I had no idea and yep- you got it...The old Catholic Guilt is staring back at me with those big, sad disapproving brown eyes.

There is just no getting away from it. At some critical point in my developmental years, someone must have either scared the beejesus out of me or into me and now this guilt thing just shows up when I am least expecting it.

I feel so guilty that I am not running right beside those well intentioned individuals.

But you know something? In my mind's eye I am.

The difference is I have a box of Raisinets in my left hand and a glass of wine in my right.

Now even friends that I considered of little or no threat of ever getting up off their sofas have joined the race.

What happened to happy hour? That is what I want to know!

My peeps used to meet at the local watering hole and drown their sorrows, now they are getting high on sweat induced endorphins and swilling Gatorade.

And here I thought the good times would never end.

But determined to not be left behind, I got my running shoes on, you know the orthopedic shoes with the special arch support insert in them, yeah, those.

I donned my best looking zippy and pulled on my yoga pants (Yes. I am calling them that now) and I sort of pranced around the family room a bit, just to see if I still "had it".

Assured that I did indeed still have what it takes, I opened my front door and breathed in deeply the fresh air and walked mind you, I did not drive, out to my mail box and I picked up all the little goodies my mailman left- lifting them high into the air pressing to the left and then the right to get a good stretching motion, back and forth with my knees bent.

Believe me this was not easy. The mail was a little heavy because the terra cotta garlic baker I'd been waiting for had arrived!

Now excited for my next meal, I skipped back up the walk and threw myself down onto the sofa, exhausted, but feeling good.

I felt like one of the "in" crowd, one of the good guys.

So what if I don't have any special charity attached to my mini K walk- at least I got up off the sofa and did something.

Who knows? Maybe by tomorrow I will be ready to walk the block.



If you give a girl a cookie...

If you give a girl a cookie, will she take a bite? This is my newest observational quest.

How many times have you been to a party or luncheon, taken one look at the food being served and thought to yourself, "Self, how much of a commotion will I make, if I shove the entire plate of three layer chocolate chip cookie cake into my purse?"

Or, how about when you spy an enormous bowl of sweet marshmallowy fluff crap and seriously think, "I need to be alone with this stuff."

Here's the problem. I will take one look at the offering and nervously chuckle to the OC wannabe housewives around me, "Gee, that looks delicious. Think anyone will notice if I take the platter into the bathroom?"

The looks I get. You'd have thought I looked like an escapee from Jenny Craig.

I just want to say, "Pipe down there and open wide, try a bite."

Shouldn't there be some sort of cut-off for anorexia?
Say by the time you hit forty, if you haven't yet reached your "goal" weight, shouldn't you try to focus on a hobby instead?

I am not saying go hog wild, but seriously ladies, someone went to a lot of trouble to bake up all those mini chocolate eclairs, shouldn't we at least eat them?

That is why I have always chosen my friends carefully.

There is nothing that bugs me more than to be with a group of my friends, order up the Nachos Grande and hear comments like "You're not going to eat that crap, are you?"

I'm just going to put it out there, ladies, if you cannot hang with the guacamole and sour cream crowd, step aside!

But there is no doubt in my mind that some foods are just better when eaten alone.

Take Cheetos, for example.

The perfect Cheetos setting would be an empty house, a TV with extended cable and a working remote control. Add a sippy cup with Jack and diet and nothing, or no one else.

If that makes me a man, so be it.

Because I am telling you, the minute you start sharing that bag of Cheetos, the annoyance factors start setting in.

While you may find all that orange pixie dust charming on your finger tips, it becomes downright annoying when someone else is wearing it and dipping their hands into your bag of Cheetos!


Your Plumpness, I Presume

It is very possible that I ate my zip code in calories this past weekend. That is the chief reason I am going to grab up my brand spanking new I-pod and head to that place they call a gym.
Really, I am really going this time. I can hardly live with myself in this current state of mind and body.

So now the mystery is solved. This really is what the Chubbers do when the fat pants stick to their thighs. I use the word "chubbers" because it conjures up a vision of plumpness. Someone pretty, but on the, well, plump side. Never mind that the technical term at the local MD's office would read, "Obese".  I am choosing to use the term plumpness.

You may now refer to me as, "Your Plumpness."  I like it. It has the ring of royalty.  I can just hear my worker bees  addressing my commands, "Yes, Her Plumpness, how can we serve?"  Here's the deal. I am certain that if I had any little worker bees they'd already have an affectionate term for me, one to signify my exalted rank. Something like, "Yes, your fat ass, what now?”

Well, no one ever said it would be easy. You just can’t please all the people, so why not make sure that you yourself are well pleased?

So now, I am off to that big box down the road. I am forcing myself to act happy, remembering that no one likes a bad mood fatty. If you are going to be in a bad mood in public--fine, but you’d better look the part. Otherwise, the names are going to be flying.
Picture a “Heather” if you will, and now picture her in a bad mood. You will think to yourself, “Damn, she is such a snooty one.”  But at the same time, you may admire her hair or perhaps her fabulous shoes and offer some sort of silent approval.
Now picture an angry big girl. Yeah, I think a picture is not even necessary, but if you insist: She is wearing flip-flops and they are purple plastic. She has breasts that are somewhat exposed and not exactly where they should be as witnessed by the tattoo of the butterfly that now looks more like a Manatee. She is usually chewing gum or chewing on something objectionable, and she is in a really bad, snotty, snippy mood.

So, tell me. What are you thinking to yourself?

 I’ll say it for you.  First off, you will want to look away, but you won’t because there is a certain fascination with the whole thing. You will just have to see how the “other side” lives, and it will quickly become apparent that conflict resolution was not the last class Miss Piggy took at the junior college. Another thought that will cross your mind: chigger bugs. They seem to be far more attracted to the chubby ones. 

The whole episode will be distasteful.

And you will slowly back away from the scene, dumping the Cameo cookies and Cheetos out of your shopping cart, and running as fast as your thunder thighs will take you in the direction of the tuna isle.