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I’m such a loser!

  • December 17, 2008

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.

Watch out for werewolves, and me

  • December 12, 2008

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.

Help, I’m fading away……..

  • December 11, 2008

I had my first weigh in at Weight Watchers and I’m proud to announce that there is now 3.8 lbs. less of me. I stayed within my points range and still had enough of my weekly points allowance left to use on an entire bottle of cabernet sauvignon, even though that SLIGHTLY exceeds the WW suggested alcohol consumption guidelines. Pffft, details.

I even attended the meeting again but that’s only because I ran into a friend of mine, who is a trainer for WW, and I was afraid she’d bust me if she saw me sneaking out after getting weighed. I still refused to put on a nametag.

Arlene was excited because she was going to explain the new plan to us at the meeting. It’s pretty much the same as the old plan. Then she started asking random people what they did that week that helped them be successful and this is exactly the reason I hate these meetings. No one needs to hear I passed up frosting out of a can or that I chose not to drink 5 cosmos in 2 hours like I did a couple weeks ago.

Oprah Winfrey talks openly about her weight struggles in the January issue of “O” magazine. She claims to have fallen off the wagon and now weighs 200 lbs. I guess Oprah likes to shove canned frosting into her pie hole too.

“I’m mad at myself,” Winfrey writes in an article provided to the Associated Press by Harpo Productions. “I look at my thinner self and think, how did I let this happen again?” She also blames her weight gain on her ongoing “thyroid problem” which caused her to “fear exercise.”

This I don’t understand. That Bob Greene guy basically lives with her and Stedman and she still can’t get off her ass to go to the gym? I manage to exercise 4-5 times a week and all I have is a 12-year-old Treadmill from Montgomery Ward and a Y membership.

Winfrey also writes that her goal is no longer to be thin; instead she wants to be strong, healthy, and fit.

Not me. I’m already healthy (and SUPER PREFERRED in case you’ve forgotten). I’m just vain and want to look good in my clothes. And if that means that I can’t eat frosting for a while? I don’t think it’ll kill me.

In case you’d like to buy me a gift

  • December 10, 2008

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string
Here are a few of MY favorite things

The wine aisle at Dahl’s
All day Kindergarten
Tom and Amy’s lake house
Tom and Amy’s pontoon boat
Tom and Amy’s wave runner
Tom and Amy (yes they’re PEOPLE but they own a bunch of the things)
Diet coke
People Magazine
The Internet
Vodka
My ipod
Sushi
The F bomb
Books
When people fall down
Spicy food
My DVR
Grilled shrimp
Face book
The Real Housewives of Orange County
The Real Housewives of New York City
The Real Housewives of Atlanta
Online shopping
Snowstorms
Fresh lime juice
Sandalwood incense
Sex and The City, series and movie
Halloween
Lemons
Avocados
Twilight, books and movie

Everyone please get out of my way

  • December 9, 2008

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.

Trish is leavin’ on a jet plane

  • December 5, 2008

My sister is flying to Austin today to stay with Stacy over the weekend before continuing on to Phoenix for a work training session. I’m a little nervous about her flying, not because I think the plane will crash but because Trish has had some ISSUES with flying in general and the TSA folks in particular.

First of all, she thinks none of the rules of airline travel apply to her and will try to sneak all kinds of shit past security. She just texted me that “flying sux – airport security is not my friend.” I immediately texted back to inquire if she’d been arrested. She replied that she had not been arrested but that her liquids weren’t in baggies and both laptops were now separated. The airport personnel hi-jacked her water bottle but not to worry, she’d just buy more once she got through security.

I should be glad she made it to the airport at all because she misses more flights than anyone I know. She managed to miss her flight home for Christmas two years in a row and would spend the whole day trying to finagle her way onto the next one so she could make it to DSM by midnight. I assure you my dad will be calling my house around noon today to ask, “Have you heard from your sister? Do you know if she made it to Dallas and Austin okay?” She makes my dad really nervous when she flies.

You know how NORAD tracks Santa every year and the kids can pull up the web site to see where Santa is? I wish NORAD would loan me some GPS to stick on the back of Trish’s head so I could monitor her whereabouts or better yet a web-cam I could mount on her shoulder so I wouldn’t have to miss any of her interactions with both airline employees and fellow passengers. I guarantee you it will be entertaining.

(Trish just texted me to say the TSA Nazis missed a travel sized hair spray. Then she referred to them as “minimum wage schmucks that think they’re so cool.”)

Trish flew home for dad’s birthday many years ago. When it was time for her to fly back to Austin, I dropped her off at the airport and drove back home. I hadn’t been there very long when the phone rang. I checked the caller I.D. and noticed that the call was coming from the Polk County Jail. Turns out if you argue with security and keep insisting that it’s only your under wire bra that is setting off the metal detector and then you get really lippy about it the TSA Nazis will throw your ass in the clink for a few hours until your sister and brother in law come down and bail you out.

I don’t like airline travel at all. I refer to all aircraft as “smelly germ capsules.” I am thisclose to donning a mask a la Michael Jackson the next time I have to fly somewhere. I cannot handle having to breathe the exhalations of all the other passengers, especially the guy in the back row who has passed out with his mouth open and is drooling all over himself. And there’s no fucking way I would ever use one of those airplane pillows because I KNOW they are crawling with cooties. Gak!

Even though I don’t enjoy flying I don’t find the rules of airline travel all that hard to live by. I’m not sure why Trish insists on making it so difficult. I do know that I won’t totally relax until her plane touches down in Austin and then she’s Stacy’s responsibility. I’m sure she’ll have some stories to share. I’ll be sure to pass them on.

There’s more of me to love right now

  • December 3, 2008

Recently I noticed that a lot of the clothes in my closet have mysteriously shrunk. At first I blamed our dryer but when I realized no one else in my house was complaining it became obvious that my clothes weren’t getting smaller. I was getting bigger. I didn’t want to confront the problem because I was pretty sure that would curtail my appetizer snarfing and cosmo guzzling. But I’m afraid nothing will fit by January 1st so maybe it would be prudent to get a head start on my New Year’s resolutions right now.

I walked in to the local Weight Watchers center. The program really does work if you follow it and I should know. I had great success with it in 2001. And 2005. And now hopefully 2008/9. Perhaps it is MAINTENANCE I need to get a handle on and then I would not have to visit the helpful staff at WW every 4 years.

I filled out a shitload of paperwork and got weighed. I really wanted to just leave because I have always found the WW meetings a big waste of time. I don’t like sitting around with a bunch of fatties talking about my feelings and I hate having to wear a stupid nametag. I much prefer going incognito and don’t even like to take my sunglasses off while I am there.

I decided to stay anyway because I had the time to burn and I wanted to see if anything had changed since the last time I’d been there.

Arlene was leading the meeting! Hey, she’s been there since 2001. And she hasn’t changed her presentation since then either. She’s pretty old and reminds me of a grandma but she’s very sweet and you can tell she genuinely wants to help people reach their weight loss goals. At the end of the meeting, Arlene reminded new members to stay after so she could explain the program to them in detail. Arlene, I could teach the program. Just because I’d RATHER enjoy a mountain of Kung Pao Shrimp from P.F. Chang’s instead of calculating the points value of every bite I shove into my pie hole does not mean I don’t know HOW to follow your program. It just means I chose not to.

After the meeting I met with Arlene. She was really nice to me and I shared some of my concerns with her about the program. I also made several suggestions on how Weight Watchers could make the Flex plan even better. I’m sure she forwarded them to the corporate headquarters after I left.

So, to recap:

Eating like a truck driver+drinking like a barfly= Troll

Following Weight Watchers+sweating my ass off at the gym=MILF

It really isn’t hard to choose when I think of it that way. Plus Tom and Amy are doing WW too so we can discuss the plan and support each other’s efforts while drinking straight vodka because we can’t afford any points on drink mixers. And that? Sounds like the kind of meeting I would like.

Ladies, start your engines!

  • December 2, 2008

Hallelujah! The holiday drinking season is firmly underway. Actually I started indulging last week but that’s mostly because the offspring got 5 days off from school for Thanksgiving and drove me to drink within the first 12 hours they were home.

And although I often portray myself as a total alcoholic on this blog, I actually PREFER to limit the happy juice to once a week. I am not always successful but I TRY. But this month is a whole different story. I will be positively filled to the brim with holiday spirit (and alcoholic spirits) and for the month of December I provide no excuses or explanations for my behavior. And absolutely no photographic evidence. You can TELL everyone what I did while under the influence of 14 Jack Frost martinis but you cannot PROVE it.

Our neighbors Brooke and Spence had an awesome holiday party last year. They served vodka cocktails with pretty little cranberries floating in them and all the housewives drank so many we felt it was totally acceptable to put our hands on Wendy’s recently augmented breasts. We had been dying to check them out as soon as she got them but we are much too ladylike for that kind of behavior. However, once we were hammered none of us had any qualms about going to second base with her. Our husbands did not find this behavior amusing at all and wandered into the other room to watch the basketball game. They’re just jealous fun haters!

The rest of the evening is a little blurry to me. I could have sworn I left my high-heeled boots at Brooke and Spence’s house but when I woke up the next morning, there they were next to the bed. I have no idea how I navigated the icy sidewalk in them.
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I did not have a single trace of makeup on or mascara ringed eyes a la Alice Cooper because I still managed to wash my face before I passed out. I did, however, wake up in full jewelry, my sparkly holiday top, and no underwear.

We were using a brand new babysitter for the first time and neither Dave nor I could remember if we paid her. I ran downstairs to check the drawer where we keep the babysitting money and was relieved to find it empty. Bet she was TOTALLY impressed with us!

While I am in no hurry to have another hangover of that caliber, I am certainly looking forward to all the holiday festivities this month. ‘Tis the season to be jolly and I’m sure we’ll be all kinds of jolly here in the ‘hood. We may not remember all of it but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Please let me know what YOUR favorite holiday cocktail is. I finally figured out how to open the comments to everyone (not just those with a blogger.com account). If you have read this blog post, please take a second to tell me your favorite cocktail. I’m always looking for ideas! (And if it doesn’t let you leave a comment then I’ve done it all wrong).

Are you there Santa? It’s me, Tracey

  • December 1, 2008

Dear Santa,

Happy holidays! I was wondering if you could check your “list” for the name of a certain midwestern housewife. Though you did not bring me anything last year I think you’ll agree that I have most of my behavioral issues under control.

I have been such a good housewife. I have not insulted the hairstyles of any retail employees in a really long time and there were hardly any altercations in the Target parking lot. I did not stab Dave in the head with a fork during a particularly bad pre-menstrual frenzy nor did I try to curtail his endless pre – election MSNBC viewing. I think you’ll agree that I am pretty “present worthy” this year.

Please bring me the Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather. I asked Dave to get me one but he said something about the price being “exorbitant and ridiculous.” He also said something about me getting a job so basically you’re my last hope.

And Santa? Why do all the 13-year-old girls have Ugg boots in a rainbow of colors while I walk the offspring to the bus stop in my Target knock-offs? Does this seem fair Santa? It doesn’t to me so please throw in a couple pairs of Uggs too.

And lastly, do you think you can bring me a machine that makes Cosmopolitans? I want to put limes, vodka, cointreau, and cranberry juice into a little hole on top and when I push a button, I’d like everything to stream right into my martini glass. Thanks in advance!

Our fireplace (like our Christmas tree) is totally artificial and activated by flipping a switch on the wall. We don’t have an actual chimney so I will forward you the code to our garage door when we get a little closer to Christmas. Please keep the code to yourself because your elves creep me out and I don’t want them to know how to get into my home.

Well Santa, I’m sure you’re very busy so I’ll sign off now. I just know you’ll come through for me and I’ll be carrying that handbag, drinking some cosmos and wearing my new Uggs in no time.

Kisses,

Tracey

What’s cookin’?

  • December 1, 2008

Think you’re a foodie? Take a quiz and prove it.

I saw that on the MSN home page the day after Thanksgiving, and being the food snob that I am, I absolutely had to play. I clicked on the link and discovered the All About Food trivia game.

While Dave was doing all the shit work on the Christmas tree (untangling and testing all the lights) I was working my way up to a Master’s level 9 playing badge with a score of 56,800.

The first round was so easy I almost lost interest. It was unchallenging and asked things like “which T.V. chef coined the phrase EVOO?” (Rachael Ray) and what is the main herb ingredient in pesto (basil). Pffft, next.

Level 2 was a bit harder and still I got every question right. Do you know what flower vanilla comes from? I do (it’s orchids). Apparently there is no level 3 which sucked because I was not ready to stop playing.

My friends don’t call me Martha Stewart for nothing. However I am so completely elitist and obnoxious about food that I’m surprised they can stand me at all.
One time at a restaurant, Amy asked what farfelle was and I replied “bowtie pasta” with such a “know it all” tone I can’t believe she still wants to be my friend.

I am a perfectionist in the kitchen. Whenever I host a dinner party I will go through all my cookbooks and search the internet to make sure the recipes I’ve chosen are the best I can find. But if anyone tells me how much they like everything or how good they think it tastes I find myself unable to accept their compliments graciously. Instead I will tell them all the things I think I did wrong and how I’ll do it better next time. My dad does the exact same thing when he makes his AWESOME barbecued ribs so I’m guessing it’s genetic.

I brought a salad to Thanksgiving dinner. It had spinach, dried cranberries, toasted walnuts, and red onion tossed with walnut cranberry vinaigrette. I wanted to make candied walnuts but that would require egg whites and Lauren is allergic so I had to leave them plain. I got to thinking in the car on the way to dad and Debby’s that I shouldn’t have used red onion but I really should have added blue cheese and it was all I could do not to convince Dave to stop at a grocery store so I could pick some up. Then I proceeded to tell all of this to my dad when we arrived and he and I analyzed the salad for a little longer and this is CRAZY. Trish LOVED the salad and told me so but I still could not stop thinking how I could have made it BETTER. Christmas Eve dinner is at my house so I will be doing the salad again and this time it will ROCK.

Yesterday we celebrated Thanksgiving with Dave’s side of the family. There are so many people that they always wait until Saturday of Thanksgiving week to celebrate and they rent a hall big enough to hold everybody. The turkey always looks like the one from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and is so dry I have to dump a bunch of gravy on it. Until Dave met me and started going to my family’s Thanksgiving dinners he said he thought that’s how turkey was supposed to taste. Also their stuffing looks like hairballs so I don’t eat it.

I’m kind of glad Thanksgiving is over. Even though I am thankful for the time we have spent with our families, the offspring have been fighting all week and it’s time for them to go back to school before I am pronounced clinically insane. It’s going to take me a couple days to get back into my routine and clean up all the messes they made.

And then this foodie’s got some trivia to play.

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