I went to a Body Jam class at the Y this morning. I didn’t know what to expect since I haven’t taken an aerobics class since the early 90’s. My cardio workouts are of the solitary kind these days but since I had such a good experience in a group environment on Monday, I was looking forward to trying out the class. I was hoping it wasn’t going to be full of queer jazzercise moves like the grapevine and I wanted it to be challenging because I was taking the class instead of spending 45 minutes on the Stairmaster.

The instructor was great. She showed up in pink and gray camouflage pants with matching shoes and a sparkly pink military style hat. I liked her immediately. The room was packed so I figured she must be pretty popular.

The class consisted of hip-hop style combinations that we kept building on by adding more moves. I loved it. It was nothing like aerobics in the 90’s and the choreography was way cool. I could see myself doing some of the moves on a real dance floor with my girlfriends if I had enough wine in me.

And it was not easy. I always wear my heart rate monitor to track my calories burned because of Weight Watchers and I spent a lot of time in what I’m going to start referring to as the coronary zone. This class kicked my ass. I thought I was in pretty good shape cardiovascularly, especially when I work out on my NordicTrack but apparently I am not nearly as fit as I thought I was.

At one point my heart rate monitor showed 00 so I assumed I had died but since I was still booty poppin’ and shaking my groove thing all over the place I finally realized that the chest strap on my heart rate monitor had slipped down and wasn’t picking up my heartbeat.

The class finally ended 56 minutes after it started. I was totally wiped out and when I looked at my heart rate monitor to see how many calories I had burned it said 666. It was a devil of a workout.

My original plan was to check out Body Jam and then stay for Y-pump, which is the class I went to on Monday. I realized when Body Jam ended that taking another class was unnecessary and stupid.

Body Jam + Y-Pump= dead housewife.

But I’m definitely going back to this class on Wednesdays. I might take it on Saturday or Sunday at another Y location because I liked it so much. In time I’ll start my slow hostile takeover of one of the good front row spots. Then it really will feel like the 90’s again.

The other night Dave and I decided to go out for a family dinner. I wanted sushi but Dave and the offspring wanted chicken or steak so we decided to try a new restaurant that just opened by Jordan Creek Mall called Samurai Sushi and Hibachi since we figured they’d have something for everyone.

I was in the throes of some pretty lethal PMS (and had no business even going to a restaurant that served soy sauce) and I told Dave I hoped this wasn’t one of those places where you had to sit around a big table with people you don’t know because I wasn’t in the mood. Dave likes discussing my PMS about as much as he likes putting the Christmas lights on the roof so he told me if it was, I was just going to have to deal with it.

When we got to the restaurant the waitress led us to a table for 15 and started filling it up with people I’ve never seen in my life. Dave tried to leave a space between himself and a man I’ll call Joe Plumber but the waiter asked him to move over so they would be sitting right next to each other which is probably why Dave ordered sake immediately.

I swapped out my diet coke for a glass of wine when the waitress brought more people to the table. A woman I’ll call lady Fat Albert didn’t look very friendly and the girl sitting next to her had a stocking cap pulled down almost to her nose just like Fat Albert’s friend always did. And yes I’m going straight to hell for referring to someone as a female version of an obese cartoon character. Tell me something I don’t know. I’m sure she was equally impressed with the slightly bloated and bitchy pre-menstrual housewife sitting across from her and probably had PLENTY to say about me to her friends later.

The chef finally got the show started by lighting a bunch of cooking oil on fire right in front of us. I’m not sure I left the restaurant with all the eyebrows I came in with and I’m really glad Matthew no longer has a fire phobia because the chef was a crazy pyromaniac.

The first thing he started making after the smoke cleared was fried rice. Lauren is allergic to eggs so Dave tried to make the chef understand that he needed to leave her rice plain. A complete communication breakdown ensued that resulted in the chef taking all the eggs away while everyone at the table glared at us. Dave tried unsuccessfully to make the chef understand that he could use the eggs for everyone else’s rice but not Lauren’s. Dave then flagged down someone else and started explaining how the chef did not understand us so Dave tried to make the new person comprehend our situation and then translate. Our fellow diners did not look very happy with us and unless the employees at Samurai Sushi and Hibachi are really good at charades they probably didn’t know what the hell we were trying to tell them. Finally it looked like they understood but that didn’t stop me from checking my purse to make sure I had my epi-pen and some Benadryl handy.

The chef started cooking everything and then tried to get fancy by throwing food into everyone’s mouth. His aim was really shitty and food was bouncing off the offspring’s faces like crazy. I don’t think one single thing made it into their mouths. The chef over at Ohana Steak House is way better at that kind of thing.

Eventually the universal equalizer (liquor) kicked in and everyone started talking to each other. Lady Fat Albert was actually a single mother who worked for FEMA and was living here temporarily with her two children. They had relocated from Chicago and she told us she was very impressed with our school system and neighborhoods.

Joe Plumber was actually a single dad named James who worked as a parole officer and had adopted all 6 of his (special needs) kids on his own. One of them was with him at the table and even though he didn’t take his ear buds out the whole time we were eating he seemed like a nice kid.

Everyone complimented us on how well behaved our children were (I KNOW!) I don’t think we’re going to be exchanging Christmas cards next year or anything but it just goes to show that you should never judge people before you’ve had a chance to get to know them no matter how much fun it is.

Maybe the Japanese are onto something with their table arrangements and sake. They probably made fun of all of us once we left the restaurant. Actually they probably made fun of us while we were there since we couldn’t understand a word they were saying. But I think everyone felt a little better at the end of the meal then they did when it started.

The offspring headed back to school and Dave went back to work today. Thank God! It’s nice and quiet here at home which is the way mama likes it. Now I just need to get back into my normal routine, the one that doesn’t include daily trips to the wine aisle at Dahl’s and 4 Motrin.

I started going to the YMCA today. The offspring really like the indoor pool and water slide there so we signed up for a family membership.

I’m not used to exercising with a bunch of people around me. I usually work out at home because we have a treadmill and a NordicTrack in the basement. I can wear workout clothes that don’t match and if I get too hot I can whip my shirt off and work out in my sports bra if I feel like it. I can put my hair up in a sloppy ponytail and sing out loud when a good song comes on my ipod. Something tells me that kind of behavior may not be appreciated at the Y.

But one of the reasons I did want to join the Y is because they have a class called Y-pump and since I do no strength training whatsoever (because it’s totally boring), one of my resolutions was to start achieving a better balance between cardio and weights. I might even go crazy and start working on my abs instead of telling Dave I want a tummy tuck for Mother’s Day.

Anyway, I really liked the class. The instructor seemed to have a good sense of humor and she played a lot of loud music. I think I need to use heavier weights next time though because the class wasn’t that hard.

Going to the Y is going to take some getting used to. Even though I am an extremely social person, I really like working out at home alone. But this Y-pump class is one of my resolutions so I need to make it part of my routine. I think I can do that.

I’m having a psychic party at the end of the month. I’m inviting 15 girlfriends over for wine and a peek at their future. Some of the girls I invite will be skeptical. Some will be too afraid of what they might find out. But I think the girls who came to my last psychic party will be looking forward to this one as much as I am. Because once you’ve learned a few things about yourself, you realize there’s a lot more you want to hear.

I first met Dixie when Stefani’s mom Patty hosted a psychic party. I didn’t really understand how it all worked but I was curious and they were serving alcohol. We sat in a big circle and you could ask Dixie one question that she would answer in detail. You could also give her the name of one person and she would tell you all about them.

Dave and I were coming up on our first wedding anniversary and were starting to think about having kids. I have always had a hard time not knowing what is in store for me and having kids was one of the biggest unknowns I had ever faced. We wanted them but would we be able to have them? Would we be able to get pregnant easily? How many would we have? When?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask Dixie such an important question, especially in front of everyone. I was a little scared about what I’d find out but I asked her anyway.

The first thing Dixie wanted to know was whether or not twins ran in my family. Everyone, including me, got a little freaked out since they all knew I had a twin sister. Dixie told me she saw a vision of me in late summer and I was bigger than I should have been for the number of months pregnant I was. I was floored. I knew that there was a possibility I could have twins but I thought it usually skipped a generation.

I got pregnant a month later and gave birth to just one baby in the middle of July. Turns out if you gain slightly more than the doctor recommended amount of weight (like double) and you give birth 14 days PAST your due date, and the baby weighs 9 lbs. 7 oz., every single person you know will say, “hey are you sure you’re not having twins?” for the entire last month of your pregnancy.

Dixie also read my palm and told me the following: I would have a long life and would live to be 75-90 years old. When I am 45-50 years old I will completely change the way I look at things. I have a strong talent line but she didn’t say what the talent was. I have two deep emotional attachment lines. She said I was bossy, had a little bit of a temper, and wanted to control life by compartmentalizing everything in neat little boxes. She said I was unable to relax and was always looking for the next task to complete. She also said I was compassionate, highly suspicious of others, a seeker of knowledge, and philosophical.

I saw Dixie two more times after that and each time I learned a few more interesting things. Supposedly I will be running my dad’s motorcycle shop someday and Dave and I are going to buy a big old house. Neither of those things seem likely to me now but I guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens.

Meanwhile, I need to be thinking about what to ask Dixie. I never ask anything I don’t want to know the answer to and I don’t want to talk to any dead people because a psychic party is supposed to be fun. I’ll let you know what I find out.

Scream really loud when Dave is about to hit another car because it drives him nuts.

Be super pissed at Dave for not answering his Blackberry, not knowing where it is, or not taking it off vibe so he can hear it ringing when I’m calling him.

Fight with Trish like we are 13 years old.

Keep telling Trish her Texas accent (which comes and goes) annoys the crap out of me.

Mess with Trish’s match.com account, even though I know her password and could change her settings to attract only beer- bellied mama’s boys who live on farms.

Yell out a cuss word in front of the offspring and then try to turn it into a normal word (example: yelling shit really loud but then turning it into shiitake mushrooms).

Drink so much red wine it looks like I’m wearing purple lipstick.

Make disparaging remarks about the meeting leaders at Weight Watchers.

Keep referring to girls I don’t like as stupid crack whores.

Acknowledge stupid e-mail chain letters. Nothing BAD is going to happen to me if I don’t forward it to 10 of my friends. P.S., they don’t want it either.

Keep talking about the Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather that I still don’t own.

Say out loud all the inappropriate things I may be thinking in my head.

The offspring are driving me bat shit crazy and I have no idea how I will survive until January 5th when they go back to school. At this point I will be happy to make it to December 26th when we ship them off to their grandparent’s for three days.

This is what I envisioned for the last few days before Christmas: The offspring and I cuddling on the couch sipping hot chocolate. The fireplace is on and snow is falling. We are watching all the children’s Christmas classics, especially Santa Claus is coming to Town which I still love even though I’m 41. Chloe is on my lap and it is quiet, serene, and calm. All the cookies for my Christmas Eve cookie platter are baked, the gifts are wrapped and artfully stacked under the tree, and the house is clean and free of clutter. A pine candle is burning and when we’re not watching Christmas shows, we have the stereo turned to the holiday music station.

This is what really happened:

I finally wrapped the four presents that have been sitting on the dining room table collecting dust since I brought them home from the mall a month ago. The offspring wanted to help so it took 3 hours instead of 15 minutes.

I made two dozen sugar cookies (one batch with egg and one without) that the offspring and Dave polished off before I could get them frosted.

We made an emergency trip to the walk in clinic for Lauren’s sore throat because I was worried she was getting strep again and we would be without antibiotics on Christmas Day.
While at the walk in clinic (at Dahl’s) the offspring managed to put the following in the cart while I was looking for cleaning supplies and butter: One box of cookies, 2 donuts, a brownie mix, and tiger print earmuffs.

Lauren has said “mom” no fewer than 235 times and the top of my head is close to blowing off.

My house is still half dusted and I haven’t started vacuuming. Someone did something bad in one of the toilets.

I have 3 dozen more cookies to make and everyone will be threatened with their lives if they touch them.

Matthew is watching endless DVR’d episodes of Drake and Josh and Full House. He has also discovered the movie Home Alone.

Lauren keeps asking me to send supplementary e-mails to Santa because she has thought of a few more things she’d like.

I am drinking endless cups of Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride hot tea, instead of wine, because I ran out of weight watcher’s points days ago.

The kids and I still need to make reindeer food (oatmeal and glitter) to sprinkle on the lawn Christmas Eve. Chloe will eat it all the first time she goes outside so there will be sparkly little puppy turds all over the yard for the next two days.

I went to my second Weight Watchers weigh in today and I’ve lost another 2 lbs. I was pretty confident the scale would show a loss because the chest strap on my heart rate monitor had to be tightened this week (which means my boobs are already shrinking) but my ass is exactly the same size it was when I started WW and that is UNFAIR. However, thanks to J.Lo and Kim Kardashian, my honkytonk badonkadonk is a little more accepted these days. It will never be as small as I’d like though, because when you’re pear shaped like I am, your upper body will always be smaller than your lower body. It sucks wearing jeans that fit my butt but gap so much in the waist that every time I bend down to tie my shoes, the world can see my coin slot.

I don’t know what got into me today because not only did I PUT ON A NAMETAG, I fully participated in the totally gay meeting. And it was AARP city there today. No one but me and 4 chubby retired women (I had a vision of myself at a WW meeting 20 years from now and I was so traumatized by it I almost drove over to Jenny Craig). But then I remembered the tabloid photo I saw of Kirstie Alley the other day and she looks like she ATE Jenny Craig. And I heard alcohol is not allowed on Jenny’s program and that is just WRONG.

Once again I stayed within my points allowance but I didn’t do very well moderating my red wine consumption (shocker!). I did not get to go out for a greasy hangover lunch on Sunday at Ruby Tuesday like Dave did which pissed me off a little. It’s my own fault though as I do not remember anyone holding the offspring for ransom and forcing me to knock back a bunch of cabernet sauvignon.

So far I feel pretty good on WW. I think I can go the distance if I keep following the program. It’s not as FUN as eating and drinking whatever I want but unless I want to look like Kirstie Alley’s twin, I don’t have much choice. And when January 1st rolls around, I’ll already have made good headway on all those resolutions.

According to the MSN homepage, the full moon tonight will be the biggest one of the year as Earth’s natural satellite reaches its closest point to our planet. The moon will rise this evening around sunset, no matter where you are.

Yay! A loophole to explain my vile behavior this week. I have the most horrible PMS I’ve ever experienced in my entire life and now I can blame it on the lunar cycle instead of MY cycle. They say there is no proof a full moon makes you crazy but they are WRONG. Plus the barometer is all over the place and that alone can mess with your mood. Everything happening at the same time is creating a perfect storm of pre-menstrual psychosis. Consider yourself warned.

I’ve gotten some relief this week from exercise. I need all the endorphins I can get to help balance my whacked out hormones. But when I got ready to work out on Wednesday, I discovered my ipod was dead because Matthew left it on all night. I was forced to listen to FM radio on Lauren’s Hello Kitty boom box. And our treadmill is such an incredible POS that it moves forward when you’re walking on it and unplugs itself every ten minutes. What that happens, it feels like someone has yanked me backward really hard by my ponytail. I felt just as bad when I finished Wednesday’s workout as I did when I started.

A couple years ago my friend Stacy told me about a pill her doctor prescribed that was supposed to help alleviate PMS. I made an appointment with my doctor and got a prescription for my own Mother’s Little Helper. I followed the instructions and started taking it 7 days before my next period.

By the time Aunt Flo showed up, I felt like my world was being filtered through a giant marshmallow. I was sitting in a big pile of “I don’t give a shit.” My anger was gone and so was most of my personality and sense of humor. I’d rather have PMS than feel like I’m walking through life underwater. And P.S. Eli Lilly? If you’re going to make a pill that treats PMS, make sure there are no sexual side effects. I’m a 41 year old housewife in her sexual prime and I don’t want anything messing with my mojo.

It’s not that I’m all Tom Cruise about pharmaceutical drugs. It’s just that I don’t think swallowing a synthetic pill developed by some freaky poindexter in an industrial laboratory is the solution I feel the most comfortable with. I tried it and didn’t like it.

It would be great if there really was a magic pill for PMS that didn’t have a bunch of undesirable side effects. I certainly need one this week. But until they get it right I will just have to deal with it like everyone else. But be careful tonight. You don’t want to get your head bitten off by a werewolf, or by me.

Amy was telling me the other night that she and her mom went to Kohl’s and Target and both stores were packed with holiday shoppers. Then she proceeded to tell me she and her mom kind of LIKED it that way and didn’t mind the Christmas crowds. I think they both had a big fucking cup of crazy for breakfast because I find nothing more annoying than shopping during the month of December. Mostly it’s because I have no patience whatsoever.

I can’t stand how long it takes to complete my shopping transactions. God forbid there are more than two people ahead of me in line. Then, when it’s finally my turn, the retail employee wastes more of my time asking for my phone number and zip code. And NO, I don’t want to save 10% today if it means I first have to apply for your shitty credit card.

This is the conversation I had with the employee running the cash register at Pottery Barn:

Her: Will this be credit or debit?
Me: Debit
Her: And can I have your e-mail address?
Me: No.

She wasn’t very friendly to me after that and didn’t seem thrilled when I asked for a gift box. If I had been in a restaurant and she was my waitress she probably would have spit in my food.

I need e-mails from Pottery Barn like I need a hole in the head. In fact, I had to block them as a sender because they inundated my inbox with so much crap I got really annoyed and cursed myself for giving them my e-mail address LAST December. And P.S., Victoria’s Secret, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, Pet Smart, Kmart, Banana Republic, etc…. YOU’RE ALL BLOCKED!

We had Chloe embedded with a microchip so if she ever ran away and someone found her, they could scan her and find out who she belonged to. I want to have my debit card number micro-chipped under my skin so I can just wave my arm in the general vicinity of the cash register and not have to enter my PIN or sign anything. Transaction time: 20 seconds.

The other day Brooke and I were in Brighton and it was taking the salesgirl a really long time to ring up Brooke’s purchase. She was so slow I was almost embarrassed for her. Then, completely oblivious to her own inefficiency, she proceeded to tell Brooke and I the story of the history of Brighton. I left Brooke in the store and went out into the mall because I wasn’t positive I could control myself. I often fear a sudden onset attack of Tourette’s that might result in me saying out loud what I’m thinking in my head.

Next I had to go to Abercrombie and Fitch to get my niece Genevieve a gift card. I never shop there because at 41, I don’t think I really fit into their demographic and there are plenty of other places I prefer to shop.

FOR GOD’S SAKE, WHO IS IN CHARGE OF VOLUME CONTROL AT ABERCROMBIE?

When I walked in the music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. There were two teenagers behind the counter and one of them was helping an old lady. I walked up to the other one and SCREAMED that I needed a $40 gift card. She SCREAMED back at me to ask if I wanted a gift box for it. I SCREAMED “YES!” and was thankful this transaction process was actually very quick. I looked at the poor old lady next to me and noticed she was having trouble communicating with the other Abercrombie employee. My God if my ears were bleeding hers had likely suffered permanent damage and she probably had to buy a Miracle Ear on her way out of the mall. I like my music loud and I’m pretty sure I do plenty of damage by turning my ipod up as far as it will go when I’m working out but this was a total assault on my senses. I grabbed my gift card and got the hell out of there.

My last stop was Scheel’s because I wanted to get Dave a North Face coat for Christmas. Whenever Dave wants to buy me a gift he finds a salesperson, tells them what he is looking for, and then finds a comfortable chair to sit in while THEY shop for me. I decided to employ his method.

I walked up to the first employee I saw. His nametag said Lance and I told him what I was looking for. He led me over to the North Face display and started showing me some of the coats. Dave was right, this was so much easier than doing it myself.

I was a little confused about the correct size to buy when I noticed that Lance and Dave were about the same height and build. I asked Lance to put the coat on and give me a little twirl. Fun! Kind of like my own Ken doll. I had no idea Scheel’s employees were so helpful. I thought about having Lance try on the whole men’s North Face clothing line but that seemed a little excessive. I thanked Lance for all his help and walked to the cash register to pay.

I was done shopping, for that day anyway. It was a pretty successful trip to the mall. I bought several gifts and did not have any altercations with the Kiosk employees I hate so much. I’ll probably have to go back at least once more to finish up. Maybe Amy will go with me.

Dave and I recently made some changes to our life insurance policy after I figured out that it was the WORST POLICY EVER. We actually purchased it as a supplement 10 years ago when I was pregnant with Matthew but now, after some improvements, it has become our primary policy.

Our agent came to the house and had us sign a shitload of papers. She told us we would have to complete a phone interview with the underwriting department and then a nurse would visit us to collect some blood and urine and take our blood pressure.

I was a little worried about having to go through the underwriting process again. On our old policy I was rated preferred and Dave was standard due to the fact that he was still smoking back then. Our agent quoted us based on those same ratings and since we were increasing our coverage quite a bit, I wanted the premiums to stay as low as possible.

I was pleasantly surprised when our agent called us to say our policy was being issued and Dave was now rated preferred and I was SUPER-PREFERRED. She mentioned she rarely ever sees anyone receive that rating so you can imagine how pleased I was.

Dave is getting a teensy bit tired of me rubbing it in. For a while, every time he said, “how are you?” I said, “super, super preferred that is!” Surprisingly he does not find that very amusing. And now might be a good time to mention that if I should die in a fiery car crash, please someone check my brake lines and launch an investigation STAT!

Quite possibly there was a mix-up in the underwriting department or the nurse swapped my vials of pee and blood with someone else’s. I’m not sure how I can be rated better at 41 than I was at 31 when we first took out this crap policy. I’m not complaining, mind you, I’m simply confused.

I was surprised at how low my cholesterol and triglycerides were. Clearly all the red wine I drink is contributing splendidly to my good health. My body is positively awash in anti-oxidants.

So, Wine+Cheese=SUPER PREFERRED!

Dave is still miffed at the nurse. She recorded his waist measurement at 37 inches even though he wears a 34. He blames his lack of super preferred status on her error. I however love the nurse because her scale weighed me 7 lbs. less than the one in my bathroom and I did not say anything because I am not STUPID.

Dave and I are glad we took the time to make this change to our life insurance. We can both take comfort in the fact that if anything happens to us, the offspring will not have to worry. And if you ask me how I’m feeling these days? The answer is SUPER. SUPER PREFERRED THAT IS.