My lip(sticks) are sealed!

When I was in grad school, I remember learning that there was an inverse relationship between the economy and lipstick purchases.  That is to say, when the economy is down, lipstick purchases go up.

Take a look at this picture and make some guesses about my own personal economy.  Anyone?  Anyone??  Bueller??!







Three key points I need to make here are:

  1. Why yes, my personal economy IS down.  How did you know?  By any chance did we go to grad school together??
  2. I shoulda married for money and not love and then I wouldn’t have to buy ANY lipsticks at all.  And you know what?  My husband says the same thing about me (not the part about lipsticks…but the part about marrying for money – hardy har har.  At this point have we become the funniest couple you know or what?  If you answered “or what” YOU now become the funniest couple we know.  Keep up the good work.)
  3. Ulta – I am totally DONE with you and your “$3.50 off a purchase of $10 or more” coupon.  Because you know what you can buy at-just-the-ten-dollar-mark at your store?  LIPSTICK!  And I don’t need any more.
  4. The search for the “perfect red” is over.  Not because I found it.  But because it doesn’t exist.  Maybelline ColorSensational Red Revival matches my chin zit.  And correct me if I’m wrong (because I can never keep the lipstick “rules” straight, so I could be wrong)…but I don’t think, as you enter your mid-40’s, that you’re supposed to be matching your lipcolor to your chin zit anymore.  Match your lip color to your shoes, YES!  Your purse?  NO!  And chin zit??  That was fine in your teens, but at this age it’s too “matchy, matchy.”  But thanks for the quintessential-red-that-looks-good-on-everyone tip on that one Redbook.  You owe me $6.50 (AFTER coupon).  And speaking of Maybelline, their SuperStay lipcolor in Ruby makes my teeth look yellow.  And you know what ELSE makes my teeth look yellow?  The SECOND SuperStay lipcolor in Ruby that I have because I forgot I had the first one and bought ANOTHER!  %#$^  And the Ulta brand Extreme Wear lipcolor #204 DOES last all day.  ON MY TEETH!!!  [And no, there wasn’t a too-tiny-to-read color name on the lipstick tube.  Just a number.  So screw you and your comments about reading glasses for people entering their mid-40’s.]  And if you’re thinking at this point that perhaps it’s the…er…cheaper (that is to say “less expensive”) lipstick brands that I’m having problems with – then you’d be wrong.  Because Lancome’s “Jezebel” makes me look like a vampire fresh from the killing fields.  Cute…or not so much??  I’m going with “not so much” but I paid $22 for that privilege.
  5. So starting now!, I will not buy ANY MORE lipstick.  I will NOT be fooled.  I have lipstick for every conceivable situation.  Breezy summer days, cozy winter nights, take your stay at home mom to drag queen day.  You name it!  I got it!!  And I don’t need more of the same.

And if you realized that there were five points and not the promised THREE…then we DID go to grad school together.  What are you doing these days with YOUR MBA?

Me?!  Oh – it’s hard to say.  This and that, mostly.  But I can’t give you any more details than that.  Because my lip(sticks) are sealed…

Take our daughters and sons to work day…

…is today.

But remember when it was “Take Our DAUGHTERS to Work Day”??

And I was all, “That’s right.  Girl Power!  Whoop…whoop!  Not sure why you boys get to rule the world but there’s a new generation comin’ and you better watch out!! R – O – C – K in the U – S – A!  R – O – C – K in the U – S – A!  Yeah, Yeah…Rockin’ in the U-S-A!*”

[or something to that effect]

And I was sooooo excited to have a daughter so I could bring her to work with me and make a powerful statement about women…and working mothers.  To both her AND me.

But then they changed it to “Take our daughters AND SONS to work day” and it lost some of its momentum.  Partially because the name is way too long.  What’s up with that?  And also because it ticked me off a bit.  I was like, “The sons have ENOUGH advantages.  Why do they get to horn in on the daughters’ day.”  And also, my daughter was only one at the time…so really, what was the point?  She’d mostly be drinking a bottle, pooping in her pants and napping.  Girl Power!!

And then, when she was in her toddler years, I found some other excuse not to take her (I was on maternity leave with my son…I paid a ton of money for daycare so why should I watch her for the day when I’m paying someone else to do that??…I can’t be sure she won’t blurt out something unflattering about a co-worker…I’m just plain ‘ol exhausted and couldn’t make the effort to take her to work AND work…etc.)

And then, she was in grade school and…really, she wouldn’t catch on to the point because she was just in kindergarten….she had a test that day AND a project due…there was a field trip…etc.

And THEN???………………………….

I didn’t have a job.  [Please insert depressing “you lost” game show noise here: wah-wah-waaaaah]

And the point is now moot.

And I regret ALLLLLLL those times I could have taken my daughter to work with me and didn’t.  (Well…and my son too…because let’s face it, turns out those monkeys need SOME help.  It remains a mystery to me why guys get to rule the world when they start out AS TOTAL MONKEYS!!!)

But really?  What was I gonna do THIS year??  Let the kids stay home and clean the bathrooms?  Sit on the couch and knit?!  Bake a batch of brownies??  Naw.  Not so much.

So what’s the life lesson here?  Surely there’s a life lesson?!  [Yes.  There’s a life lesson, and stop calling me Shirley.  Hardy har har.  Hey!  Ya gotta “funny” it up a bit otherwise the regret sticks in your throat – along with your unshed tears – and it becomes really hard to swallow.]

I’m reminded of that Robert Burns poem “To A Mouse”: But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men, Gang aft agley.

In English please?

But little Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes of mice and men, Go often awry.

[or something to that effect]

I would have substituted “mothers and daughters” or “mothers and children” or “working mothers and daughters AND sons” for the “mice and men” section.  But then it seemed too long…and it lost some of its momentum…so I decided not to.  But you get the point, right??


* John Cougar.  No, wait!  John Cougar Mellencamp.  NO!  Wait!!  John Mellencamp.  1985 – Scarecrow album.  And we’re back to the “80’s song for every moment in life” theory I have espoused all along.  I rule!!!  But also, this is proof that even rockstars’ plans gang aft agley.  I mean, there he was…thinking he’d name himself after a predatory cat…and R-o-c-k the U-S-A.  When all-a-sudden his mom got p.o.’d that he turned his back on his birth name.  So he had to change his name BACK.  But over time.  No sudden moves, folks.  Take your hands out of your pockets and don’t make any sudden moves!  Which brings us to, “The best laid plans of mice and men and rockstars and working mothers and daughters AND sons…”  No?  Still too long??  Ok.  Well, I’m done here.  I gotta go clean the bathrooms.

Martha Stewart Craft Zombie

I got an urgent email from Michael’s yesterday.  [Ya know.  Michael’s.  It’s a craft store.  Because I’m a crafter.  And sometimes there’s urgent craft news.]

It simultaneously got me excited and made me feel bad.

I felt bad because: No, I’m not following Michael’s on Pinterest.  I just can’t bring myself to do the Pinterest thing.  I’m afraid I might go overboard and no one would EVER be able to haul me back into the boat.  So I totally avoid it.  Which is the same approach I use with coupons.  Because if I ever started, I would quickly go “extreme” and that would be all she wrote.

But by not following them on Pinterest – Michael’s tells me that I’m “missing out.”  Gaaah!  That makes your stomach drop too, right?  Don’t YOU hate to miss out??  Especially on perfect Mother’s Day gifts…FOR LESS?!??

However.  On a positive note, there were some fun crafts listed in the email.  The one that caught my eye was the “Martha Stewart Crafts (trademark thingie) Mother’s Day Terra Cotta Pots.”

Now…if you recall…Martha and I have a love/hate relationship.  I mostly hate her and she has no idea who I am.  But once in a while I fall for her insidious lies and I think I love her again.  Case in point?  The Mother’s Day Terra Cotta Pots.  I was mesmerized by them.  Compelled by them.  Drawn to them the way a zombie is drawn to the smell of humans.  Stumbling and bumbling after them through the woods even though they are moving WAY faster than I am.  And are carrying torches (which can burn.  Torches BAAAD.).  Then we get to the house with the boarded up windows and…I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE!  LET ME IN!!!!

Like the sucker-for-all-things-Martha-Stewart craft zombie that I am…I tripped through the woods after her and her terra cotta pot nonsense.  I mean, these things are DARLING!  Creamy white.  With muted floral stencils on them!!  I WANT THEM!  I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE…LET ME IN!!!!

I already have a gift for my mother…but I could plant herbs in the pots and place them on my OWN windowsill.

[Side Note:  “I say HHHHERbs…because it’s the way the English say HHHHERbs,” says Martha.  See?!   Insufferable.  You hate Martha a little now too, don’t you?  And is anyone else picturing row-upon-row of balding accountants with their feet stuck in the dirt as they say HHHHERbs??  No?  Just me?!  Anyway…you know what else I have to confess??  I NEVER rotate my feather beds in all 20 of the bedrooms in my country estate every equinox-because-it’s-easy-to-remember.  But shhhhh…don’t tell Martha.  Just shoot her.  Or shoot me.  Either way, just shoot.  Shoot to kill!]

Anyway – I could plant HHHHERbs in pots and place them on my OWN windowsill.  And I could be surrounded by darling HHHHErb pots WHILE I’m cooking with fresh HHHHERbs.  AND while I’m saving money by cooking with fresh HHHHERbs, I could be darling.  Living a charmed, darling life.

OR?  I could give them to charming friends as darling birthday gifts filled with fresh HHHHERbs since the homemade scarf thing has run its course (and also it’s Spring, so wool-scarf-gifts don’t work anymore, let’s admit it.).

The craft dream-of-what-could-be prompted me to read the “Project Sheet” which went a little something like this:

Step 1: Buy three terra cotta pots and all the dumb, expensive Martha Stewart Craft (trademark thingie) crap you can find in the paint aisle of Michael’s.  And if it’s called Wedding Cake, Beach Glass Satin, Spring Pasture, Scallion or Jonquil, then buy two.

Step 2: Base coat all three pots with Wedding Cake.  Allow to dry.

Step 3: After boarding the bus to Stencil Crazy Town, stencil the smallest pot with a rose using Beach Glass Satin; then stencil the medium-sized pot with leaves (use Spring Pasture first and then layer a single leaf using Scallion – GAAAAHHH!  What?!?); then on the largest pot, stencil a rose in Jonquil (Wait!  A rose OR a jonquil??  No, a rose IN Jonquil, which is a Martha Stewart trademarked color.  SHOOT ALREADY.  SHOOOOOT!!!!).  When dry, stencil the stems ON the Jonquil ROSE with Spring Pasture.  (Oh. Em. Gee!!!  Why is there so much stenciling?!???  Why are the paint colors named such annoying names???  Why do I fall for this crap EVERY TIME?!??  Why has no one taken aim yet?!?)

Step 4: Once you’re done with the total B.S. of Martha Stewart Crafts (trademark thingie) and her nonsensical paint names and her stencil crazy town, then…Oh.  Wait.  Hmmmm – I don’t think I’ll be making these after all.  Because.  That’s right.  I HATE MARTHA STEWART!!!!

You know what my problem is…

I was coming home from a volunteer breakfast at school (’cause I’m a volunteer there…and I like breakfast – which was free.  And I especially like free breakfasts, whether I’m a volunteer or not).

And I saw a restaurant sign that was advertising Snow Crab Legs.

You know what my problem is??  I don’t like Snow Crab Legs.  You know why?  Because they remind me too much of spiders.  It’s like people eating giant spiders.  But just their legs.  (The spiders’ legs; not the people’s.)

But what if people really DID eat spiders?  But just their legs??

We’d have to be really, reaaaalllly small to do that.  At which point we’d basically be fairy-sized.  Which means it would be like fairies getting together and cooking up a mess of spider legs and sitting down at brown-paper-covered tables with little napkins shoved into the tops of their gauzy-yet-shredded-at-the-bottom fairy dresses.  Chowing down on spider legs.  Dippin’ ’em in butter and crap.  Laughing and drinking fairy beers.

You know what ELSE my problem is??


I gotta get a job, already!

P.S. The whole fairies-eating-spider-legs is a ridiculous idea in the first place because 1)Spiders are a b**ch to catch.  And 2)Butter stains on gauze are a pain in the a$$ to get out.  And 3)It’s hard to drink fairy beer because they don’t make the bottles that small.  Instead you’d have to store fairy beer in kegs.  Little kegs.  And then get even littler mugs to serve it in.  And let’s not forget reason #4.  FAIRIES DON’T EXIST!!!  Much like my job.  Ok…this is going nowhere fast.  I gotta stop now!

Business Trippin’

I was walking the dog the other morning…and down the street I saw [a shimmering light.  My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim.  I had to stop for the night!]

(Two points for you if you can guess the name of that song AND the band.  Hint: No, it’s not from the 80’s; It’s from the late 70’s which is so close it’s practically the same thing.)

I saw a woman putting her computer bag and suitcase in the car.  She was wearing a kicky skirt and high-heeled boots and appeared to be heading off on a business trip.

And I felt a pang.

Remember when you first started taking business trips?  It was so much FUN!  Meeting up with sorority sisters in distant cities.  Having evening drinks with colleagues.  Seeing the sights if there was time after your meeting/tradeshow/presentation.  Ordering room service.  Having the t.v. remote ALL TO YOURSELF??

It ROCKED! [Rockin’ the Casbah, Rock the Casbah!!!]

And then you became a mom.

And after that, each time you headed off on a business trip in this Post 9/11 World, you had to make a choice.  At the time I called it the “Sophie’s Choice of Working Moms.”  Your purse would naturally be considered your “personal item.”  But what would you choose as your “carry-on”??  Your laptop…or your breastpump?!?

You HAD to have BOTH!  They were each valuable in their own (very different) way.  I eventually handled this dilemma by 1)checking a bag with my clothes/toiletries to my final destination and 2)packing both the breast pump AND the laptop IN a carry-on.  Am I utterly brilliant, or what?!  But I do know other working moms who packed their laptop in their checked bag and kept their breastpump with them at all times.  Or vice versa.  If you were forced to choose between these two halves of your split personality – which would you choose?!?

See?  It’s a tough one, isn’t it??

But despite my brilliant “breastpump in the carry-on” approach, I still had to trot it out for manual inspection.  And as you’re saying to the TSA agent, “Change your gloves!  You are handling MY BREAST MILK!” in a Queen-of-Hearts “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!” sort of voice, you realize business trips actually SUCK.  The most eggs EVER!!!

Now, to take it a step further: when the hotel delivers 9 little Pump-N-Style* baggies of frozen breast milk into the middle of your business meeting (they were in a plastic dry cleaning bag, but still)…and your face bears the tear-tracks from all the crying you did that morning because – when you checked out of the hotel – the front desk person originally claimed to have “lost” the literal life’s blood of your baby-who-is-allergic-to-all-the-infant-formula-in-the-world…you realize that business trips not only suck eggs.  They also blow chunks.  The most chunks of all Time.  Space.  Galaxies.  And Black Holes.

This trip down memory lane helped me figure out that the “pang” I felt as I saw the business woman heading off into the Wild Blue Yonder really didn’t have ANYTHING to do with wanting to be a business woman again.  Even one headed off on an adventure.  It really just had to do with me wanting to wear A KICKY LITTLE SKIRT AND HOT BOOTS!

So??  Right now I’m wearing a sassy little black, above-the-knee number and high-heeled pleather boots.  While blogging.  And I’m feelin’ HOT HOT HOT!  [Yes.  This is a TRUE 80’s song.  Bonus points if you can name the original artist and then the singer who made it famous.]

While I miss the money that goes along with the working woman ‘thang…I’m “Feelin’ Fly” about where I am at this point in my stay-at-home-mom-ness.  In fact…J Lo and the Fly Girls are in the house!  Whoop!!  Whoop!!!  [Yes.  The Fly Girls reference IS early 90’s.  But as we all know – the early 90’s is so close to the 80’s is practically the same thing.]

Can you tell I’m feeling full of “vim and vinegar” today (as my husband would say)?  He knows it bugs the crap out of me when he says it because he’s combined TWO phrases: 1) VIM and vigor and 2) Piss and VINEGAR.  But I think it aptly describes my mood right now so I’ll allow it this time around.


*That was the “name” of my breast pump.  The Medela Pump-N-Style.  I was never quite sure if the “N” was short for Pump IN Style.  Or Pump AND Style.  Could go either way.  You choose.

Yoga X

Well.  Here we are.  Almost done with P90X.  And I’ve gotta confess…I’m feeling a bit Stockholm Syndrome-ish about the whole thing.  I mean, how can I face the exercise world WITHOUT Tony?  Can I really continue with any sort of competent, self-directed exercise plan ON MY OWN??  How can he just abandon me after all we’ve been through together???  Whatever will I DO without my daily Tony Horton fix?!

But then I remember that I HATE Tony Horton.  So it can’t be Stockholm Syndrome after all.  It’s the lesser known “I Hate Tony and his Mother F***ing P90X” Syndrome.  So it’s a good thing this b.s. is wrapping up asap.

In the meantime, you know what is the most horrible thing in the world?  The fact that we have to do my most-hated routines (Core Synergistics and Yoga) twice EACH in this final, thirteenth (surprise!) week of P90X.  You know how I feel about Core Synergistics because I’ve already blogged about it here and here.

But we never did get to discuss Yoga X, did we?  Until NOW!  (mwa ha ha – evil laugh)

First off…Yoga X is the most dreadful hour-and-a-half on the face of the earth because it takes AN HOUR AND A HALF!!!  Kiss my fat, untoned a$$, Tony!  I do NOT have that kind of time to spend with you!!

Secondly.  If you make me do one more of your deadly Vinyasas?  I’m gonna shove it in your upward (AND downward) facing dog!!!

And speaking of dogs.  That part where we go from Plank to Chatarunga to Upward Facing Dog back to Downward Facing Dog?  Yeah – that part where Tony said we could do push-ups in between all of those moves – or not??  Uh….I always chose NOT!   Duh.  That was a no-brainer.

In fact, if we skipped all of the parts where you could do a move – or not – we could essentially wrap the whole thing up in 16 minutes.  Instead, Tony drones on and on in his creepy kindergarten-teacher-fighting-for-calm voice.   Ooooh-kaaaaaay boooys annnnnddd girrrrrrlllllzzzz.  Time stands still.  And I feel like I’m caught in a never-ending New Year’s Eve countdown.  I glance constantly at the time countdown clock in the corner of the screen.  Which never actually seems to move…….

“Nowwwww Kidddzzzzzz, place your left foot on the greeeeeen circle and your right hand on the redddddd circle and reach underneath yourrrrr legggg and grab your Thirrrrd Eye.”  At this point I remember that I can’t do this move because…that’s right…I’m not a FREAK in the TONY HORTON FREAKSHOW!!!


There’s even this one part where you literally feel like you’re balancing yourself on your pinkie finger and pinkie toe (of your right hand and right foot…not even a right hand/left foot “alternate sides” sort of thing – which might give you a little stability for fu**’s sake) and you’re sweatin’ like a MOTHER and you’re pretty sure there’s a spider running in between your boobs (of course, you’re HOPING it’s just a trickle-of-sweat, but it sure-as-hell FEELS like a spider) and that circus music starts in your head.  Slowly at first.  And then it builds to a crescendo.  Duhn   duhn   duh    duh    duh    duh    DUHN    duhn  duh duh….DUHN duhn duh duh duh duh DUHN duhn duh duh.  DUHN da da DA!  DUHN da da DA.  Duhnduhduhduhduhduhduhn!!!!  And you’re wobbling back-and-forth like an SOB and now you know for a FACT how that poor elephant feels.

Which elephant?  You know.  That elephant-in-the-circus-who-precariously-teeters-around-on-that-little-ball-for-everyone’s-amusement??  Yeah.  That one.

At which point Tony’s voice breaks into your revery,  “And that’s the end of moving poses.  Now we’ll do FORTY MINUTES of Standing Poses.”

Whaaaaa?!  Whaaaa the FAAAAAHHHHHH?!??!  BLEEP!!  BLEEEEEEP!!!!

Despite my reaction, Standing Poses are not (really) that bad.  It’s just that you’ve gotta do them for forty minutes.  After you’ve already done MOVING poses for FIFTY!!!  And while I can do Tree Pose “all day long” (Tony’s words, not mine), Royal Dancer is actually my fave.  During Royal Dancer, I begin to smell this fug coming off my clothes which is reminiscent of the fug associated with a three-day strep throat fever.  [No, the smell ISN’T my favorite part of Royal Dancer.  Wait for it…WAAAAITTT for it…..]

It’s the music.  In my head.

Because once we get into Royal Dancer Pose, Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” song starts playing in my head.  [NO!  It’s not from the 80’s but do NOT mess with me here!!  I will jack you up!!!  I am NOT zen.  NOT ZEN!!!  So SHUT it.  SHUT!  IT!!!]

The song continues (hold me closer tiiiny daaancer) until Tony messes with Audra’s “chi” (he claims he doesn’t, but we know differently because Audra flinches) and we all come out of Royal Dancer Pose (seee the headlights on the HIGHway) in sympathy with Audra against that chi-busting Mo Fo, Tony.

But the very BEST part of Standing Poses?!?  No.  Not the Child’s Pose, even though I do love me some Child’s Pose.

It’s the Shavasana.  Or Corpse Pose.  ‘Nuf said.   Also?  Tony actually SHUTS UP.  FOR A FULL MINUTE!!

After which we curl up on our sides into Fetus Pose.  And weep quietly into our smelly yoga mats which do not absorb sweat and whose antimicrobial properties have long since died a quiet death.

AND WE ARE DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stick a fork in me…

I’m done!

It’s been two weeks…and not a grocery trip to be found.

We’re out of milk.   And we’re down to one egg which I’ve been guarding like Gollum-with-his-gold-ring (Precioussss, PRECIOUSSSSS!).  I sent the last fresh fruit in the house off in the kids’ lunches yesterday (an apple – sliced and divided among the two).  It reminds me of the time when I was doing the Adkins’ diet.  And I felt like I would KILL for a piece of fresh fruit.  Like I would kill everyone AND the horses they rode in on for a piece of fresh fruit.  Just one piece of fruit.  Kill ALL the people and horses.  Ok, cutting that trip down memory lane short.

But thank GOD that juice and Cliffbar fruit-rolls are considered servings of fruit, ’cause otherwise I’d be a cheap AND a bad AND a tripping down memory lane mother.

Admittedly, I had to break out the spicy, pickled green beans (originally intended for a Bloody Mary accoutrement) to pack in the kids’ lunches today as “a veggie” since I used up the final three carrots in last night’s ham-and-navy-bean soup (I also used up that weird ham bone from Easter which I’m so pleased about because – Ugh.  That thing is just nasty looking.  I shudder to even think of where that belongs on the pig).

And I sent Hubby off to work with left-over rice, green beans and bacon wrapped-shrimp from two nights ago.  That dinner was an epic fail with the kids but Hubby hasn’t had it yet because he was out-of-town when it went down.  I sent off the rest of the key lime cheesecake squares with him too.  I made enough to feed an army (which, turns out, didn’t want to be fed key lime cheesecake squares).  Some squares already went to Sissy’s end-of-year book club party…now the rest are going to his co-workers in my first “little lady at home sends treats to hubby’s co-workers” move.  I don’t know about you, but those pompous “little lady at home” presents always made me resentful and filled me with hatred in a GET A FRICKIN’ JOB! sort of way.  You too??

But we’re finishing strong on this end.  A pound of frozen hamburger is being turned into sloppy joes tonight.  The Final Four (rolls-in-the-freezer, that is) will be used too.  A salad-which-is-all-lettuce-all-the-time-with-maybe-some-flecks-of-red-onion-which-is-technically-considered-a-veggie will be served as well.  And what for dessert?  What for dessert?!  What can I make for dessert with one PRECIOUSSSSS egg?!?


Hi, 80’s?  It’s me, New Stay at Home Mom, calling.  And you’ve got some ‘splainin to do.

I mean, what were you thinking when you allowed that Flash Gordon movie to happen?!  You had some really excellent stuff going on up to that point.  I won’t even mention the music and the dance moves.  Fuggedaboudit.  And the brown eye shadow?  Which – when worn up to your eyebrows – made you look both angry AND mean.  Nicely done.  And all of the stuff you did to cover the dawning belly pooch – paper bag waist jeans, low-slung belts, dropped waists?  ‘Nuf said.

Listen, I could go on-and-on here.  But what I really called to say was that the Flash Gordon movie was a big mis-step on your part.  The husband, kids and I caught some of it this week-end on t.v. and………Oh. My. Gawd!

It is utterly atrocious.

If you haven’t seen it in ….ooooh….25 YEARS, you should go back for another look.

The costuming is so horrible that you can’t really tell who’s who and the kids spent the entire movie asking who the bad guy was.  “Is THAT a bad guy, Dad?”

“No, that’s King Vultan.”

King Vultan apparently is a GOOD guy with a bad fake tan who looks like the bearded strong man from an olde tyme circus – complete with gold baggy underpants and a wide belt.  ‘Cept he’s wearing wings.  Hawk wings.  And a crown on his head with wings on it.  There were so many wings going on, I thought for sure he was someone [pulled from the recesses of my brain] called Hawk Eye.  But my husband informed me in that superior voice he adopts when he’s talking about Superheroes, that this was NOT Hawkeye.  Hawkeye was from Superman, not Flash Gordon.

Oh.  Ok.  Dork!

But then I found ways to make everyone say Hawk Eye because it totally sounds like Hot Guy.  Which is funny.  And you need to “funny” things up a bit (ok, alot) when you’re watching Flash Gordon.  Otherwise you’d cry because it’s SO TERRIBLE!!!

The movie background – THE ENTIRE TIME – is an orange-ish sunset.  Clearly they were relying on the costumes (not the background) to set the tone.  And yes, the costumes do set a certain tone.  A tone that should never, EVER have been set.  There were too many shoulder pads.  And too much gold lamé.  And WAAAAAY too much skin.  I mean, do people not wear clothes in the future-which-may-not-be-the-future-but-which-may-actually-be-happening-now-but-on-another-planet???  Everyone was wearing crazy crap.  Well, everyone except for Prince Baron (played by TIMOTHY DALTON I might add) who was wearing an outfit that looks like a cross between Robin Hood and Peter Pan.  But mostly Peter Pan with no hat.  He’s got no gold lamé, no inappropriate skin showing, no bizarre make-up of any kind.  Just a cheesy, 80’s porno mustache which makes it hard to tell at first that it’s him.

Gawd.  It’s horrible.  There’s even this one part where Gordon’s love interest (Dale…wah, wah, waaaaaah – what a totally lame name for a superhero love interest) is wearing all gold lamé with massive SHOULDER PADS and is thrown into a room with a gold lamé FLOOR.  At which point she has a catfight with Ming-the-Merciless’ daughter who’s also wearing something horrible (‘cept it’s more of a gauzy I-Dream-of-Jeannie-meets-the-80’s type outfit) when a woman dressed like a jellyfish wearing a green bikini shows up to tell Dale (wah, wah, waaaaaah) that she must now prepare for her marriage to Ming.  Fake knuckle biting ensues and Dale cries (being careful not to actually cover her face too much nor muss her make-up with her bad overacting) as she walks down the aisle to…a jazzed up version of “Here Comes the Bride”?!?

Which sounds like it’s being played by Queen.  “Because it IS being played by Queen.  The whole soundtrack is by Queen,” my husband informs me in his superior you-don’t-know-nuthin’-’bout-superheros-OR-Queen voice.


But all’s well that end’s well.  Good triumphs over evil blah, blah,blah.  The Hawkpeople (Hot People) come and a bad-special-effects laser battle (pew, pew!) ensues in front of an orange sunset.  Flash helps out with this final battle by riding in on what looks oddly like a Sea-Do wave runner.  There’s even this one special part where Hot Guy leading his Hot People (hee hee hee) yells “DIE” (in a Steve Martin die-you-gravy-sucking-pigs sort of way) but then all the Hot People plummet from the sky and land on their bellies (really?  If you’re a Hot Person, wouldn’t you learn to land on your FEET, and not skitter in on your belly?!?).  The kids and I thought the whole “DIE” thing was weird until Hubby informed us (you KNOW what voice he was using, don’t you?) that Hot Guy (hee hee hee) had yelled “DIVE” not “DIE.”

Oh.  Ok.  But it’s my opinion that it would have made a WAY better movie if he had yelled DIE!  And it would have been EVEN BETTER if Steve Martin had been there in a white suit and an arrow through his head.  It certainly wouldn’t have been any WORSE.

And now?  Now my son is walking around the house singing, “FLASH.  AH-AAAAH!!!” (in that faux operatic Queen style).  You see, this theme song from Flash Gordon which has a total of two words – one of which isn’t really a word – gets in your head AND WON’T GET OUT ALREADY!

So to sum up…..1980’s, you were WAY better than this.  This was not your most shining moment.  In fact, the entire movie should have been left on the cutting room floor.  You shoulda said to yourself, “Flash??  Nuh-AAAAH!!!”

P90X Fun Fact

Hey!  Here’s a little known P90X fun fact for ya……




(Mom, Dad and Sissy #2 – do NOT read further.  Eyes right here.  There are a LOT of swearwords below that you do NOT want to see.  Nope.  Nuh-uh.  Eyes up here.  Steady.  Steadddddyyyy…)




Whose brilliant idea was this?!!  To put the thirteenth week of P90X exercises on the LAST page of the exercise sheet print-out?!!???  The last page I didn’t turn to UNTIL JUST NOW!!!!!

Tony Horton you are a FRICKIN’ KNUCKLEHEAD!!!!!


This is like finding out that pregnancy actually lasts TEN MONTHS, not nine months LIKE YOU’VE BEEN TOLD YOUR WHOLE LIFE!!!!!!!!



Or to quote a friend’s three-year-old son…when he’s trying to come up with the worst words he knows so as to express his utter disgust and disdain and sheer pissed-off-ed-ness about something…DIARRHEA POTTY POTTY!!!


Week 12 – Isometric Hold

Week 12 of P90X continues with a closer look at my favorite exercise positions…

[Are you bored yet?  Well you shouldn’t be because you’ve only been doing this for a few days.  I’ve been doing this FOR 12+ WEEKS!!!  SO SUCK IT UP!  And read on…]

Guess what else I’ve been doing for 12+ weeks?!  The Isometric Hold…ALL WRONG!

Mainly because I didn’t understand what “Isometric” meant.  The first time Tony said the word, I knew it had something to do with triangles.  Which one of those pesky-triangles-that-are-too-much-like-math is the isosceles triangle, again?  Is that the one with 3 crazy sides – all disheveled and crap??  With two cattywompus arms and a third short, stubby arm?!?  Yep…I’m pretty sure that’s the one.  And while it seemed a bit weird to do all of my weight-lifts with a biiiiig LONG arm and a wiiiitttle stubby arm, who am I to question Exercise God Horton?  Hey, it’s not like it was any odder than any of Tony’s other exercise philosophies.  So I proceeded to exercise like that – making sure the whole time that I did all my arm exercises where one arm was slightly “off” from the other – just like isosceles triangle arms would be, right?

Let’s pause for a moment here and let me tell you what this triangle scenario reminds me of.  It reminds me of the time I was at Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany.  And I had to go to the bathroom in just about every beer tent I went into.  [Gee.  I wonder why??]  So I followed these friendly “Ausgang” signs the authorities had so thoughtfully posted everywhere.  The signs showed a round-headed person urgently hustling to the bathroom.  After about the dozenth time I followed one of those bald bathroom-goers and wound up OUT BEHIND yet ANOTHER beer tent, I realized that maybe “Ausgang” didn’t mean “bathroom” afterall.  I HAD GOTTEN THE WORD ALL WRONG!  (Achtung, Folks!  Ausgang means “exit” FYI.)

Why does “Isometric Hold” remind me of “Ausgang”??  ‘Cause I got the word wrong.  ALL wrong.  I was picturing the WRONG KIND OF TRIANGLE!  I was picturing the jacked-up OBLIQUE triangle.  Not the ACTUAL isosceles triangle, which is all stable and balanced.

And now?  Now I have some weird extra muscle that’s been born on my right arm.  Only on my right arm.  And it’s not even pretty, much less glamorous.  It looks like a muscle ON the muscle.  But not in a hot beach-body way.  More in a growth-that-someone-tried-to-remove-and-then-gave-up-and-shoved-back-in sort of way.

God save the queen.  And God bless us, everyone.  AND God bless America.  And God BLESS ME!!!  But don’t bless math.  Or triangles.  OR TONY HORTON!  Screw Tony Horton.  AND his isosceles triangle.  AND the horse they both rode in on.  And don’t bless that horse.  Or Tony.  Which I think I said already, but it bears repeating.  And speaking of repeating…again – God bless ME.  And bless my badly mangled right arm.  And all its muscles.  Its weird, weird muscles…


Food update:

  • Breakfast – Juice, chocolate chip waffles and veggie sausages for the kids.  I had the last cinnamon raisin bagel.  (I HATE raisins btw.  They have no business being in ANYTHING.  Including desserts and bagels.)  Hubby’s off on a business trip, so screw him.
  • Lunch – I have leftover shepherd’s pie and bread.  I sent off with the kids: pasta-packed-in-individual-containers-and-pulled-from-the-freezer, garlic bread sticks, veggies and orange frosted cookies.
  • Dinner – Lemony chicken rice soup (used up a 3 lb container of chicken stock, a package of rice, a can of white chicken breast, the final frozen cob of corn leftover from last summer, two eggs and almost all of the lemon juice in my little fake lemon).  Served that with Sister Schubert’s Parker rolls pulled from the freezer and baked.  Who is Sister Schubert anyway?  I thought she might be like Aunt Jemima or Uncle Ben.  But there’s a picture of her on the box, and she’s not.  Is she a nun??  Her starched white collar gives nothing away.  For dessert I served a home-made-from-a-mix lemon pound cake (used up a precious cup of milk and a precious egg) and topped it with lemon honey that’s been sitting in the pantry for a year-and-a-half.  Phew!