So Hungry. . .

. . .can't write. Have chewed own lips off because they smelled like strawberry lip gloss. Bit client at meeting that smelled like smoked turkey. Becoming a danger to those around me. Must go to bed and hope for fuller days.

(Seriously, I am hungry, but mostly I'm exhausted from my meeting. Will post on the morrow.)

My Weekend with the Soul Man - Second Post of the Day

You get to know a person in a new way when they are a guest in your home. My cousin, Senor J.J. has stayed at my home many times, and he is usually an easy guest. However, the weekend before the wedding, we sunk to new lows.

First off, he totally faked me out. He said he was coming to visit on Saturday, then he called on Friday and said that he would not be coming due to the weather.

I slept late on Saturday. Granted, my children woke me up a couple of times and asked for food, but trust me, after throwing them some scraps I fell right back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't be seeing Johnny Cookbooks until Sunday.

When I finally dragged my butt out of bed, I realized that the weather was perfectly clear. I tracked J.J. down, and sure enough he was on his f-ing way. Now, he knows I'm a lazy slob that does everything at the last minute, so I don't really know what he was thinking. When he arrived I was wrestling two naked children into their clothes while simultaneously begging MY HUSBAND to take out the garbage. Not exactly a welcoming environment.

Let me also remind you that I was trying to lose weight so there was no food in the house. I sent MY HUSBAND out for panini supplies and proceeded to feed the poor boy leftover pizza and panini for lunch, dinner, breakfast, lunch and another dinner. I would have felt badly about this, but the little bastard 1) Seemed to enjoy them; and 2) Kept offering to finish my panini. For example, I would eat half a panini and he would say, "Don't you want me to eat the second half for you? I'm willing to do that on your butt's behalf." I did manage to eat less due to his assistance, but I can't say it made me happy.

His accomodations were horrible in other ways. My daughter asked why he couldn't just sleep with me, as MY HUSBAND was away for the night. I tried to explain to her that that would be weird. When she asked why, I told her that he kicks a lot, which I bet is true. I also bet he steals all the covers and talks in his sleep.

[FN: I would bet that the worst cousin to sleep with is still Senor J.B., however. I know from personal experience that he kicks, spins, steals the covers and snores. He may be a cutie, but the women of the world should avoid him like the plague. Of course, my information is based on his behavior when he was five years old, but I doubt it has changed much in the last 15 years. He's a menace.]

We did manage to practice a couple of songs for the rehearsal dinner and wedding with our comrades. We also stayed up until midnight talking "Of cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings." If you appreciate this kind of discussion, J.J. is one of the best people in the world to talk to.

Unfortunately, I could not inflate the air mattress because I mistakenly thought the air pump was uncharged, when actually I just was using it wrong. So I set up a very comfortable crib mattress, complete with ancient afghans and a new pillow (this ain't the Ritz, folks). I think that his right leg got a good night's sleep, but the rest of him was basically on the floor, and was up for most of the night.

I hid him in the parlor, and in the morning my kids couldn't find him. I heard them going from room to room looking for him so they could wake him at an ungodly hour. Eventually they located him and swarmed him, which was pretty bold, considering the amount of sleep he didn't get.

In the future, when J.J. returns (hopefully with his beautiful and sweet wife, Mdme. A) I will make sure that we have set up the new double bed. I will also be sure to vary the fare a little more, as the effect of all those panini on J.J. was pretty clear (he clogged my toilet).

While I can hope that future visits are more civilized, and that we have more time to play more music, and less time being swarmed by young children, I know that I will always enjoy hanging out with my friend and cousin, the Soul Man.

Girl Scouts of America -- The Devil's Handmaidens

I know I promised y'all a post about a certain soul-patchy gentleman, but I'm afraid that I have to address an emergency situation first

The Girl Scout Cookies are in.

Now, I don't buy Girl Scout Cookies. They are fattening crap that I find irresistible, and as such have no place in my home. Unfortunately, MY HUSBAND, while he agrees with me, always manages to bring these little torments into my life every year, just when I am working the hardest to lose weight.

This year he bought nine boxes from four different people. I understand that he had to buy some from our niece -- I'm happy to support her cookie selling endeavors. However, couldn't he have told everyone else he bought cookies from that he had already ordered some? One would think so.

This was a light year, actually, because MY HUSBAND is being really good about his diet and working out right now. He therefore bought just enough cookies to fatten me up and give the kids a treat. On his "cheat day" this weekend he'll eat a box of Thin Mints and be sated. Usually he would buy closer to 20 boxes -- I shit you not -- so he is practicing restraint. A charity that sells cookies? The man can't help himself.

When we didn't know any Girl Scouts, back in our Newton days, he cruised the supermarkets looking for kids in green sashes. If he was unsuccessful, he would actually go straight to the local distribution center, which happened to be in Newton.

Are the cookies that great? Let's discuss them.

Samoas, or Carmel deLites -- Coconut has no place in a cookie. The only food that should have coconut in it is Auntie K's Crispy Coconut Chicken, in which coconut is added to the breadcrumb coating. It was discovered when an enterprising homemaker (me) had leftover coconut she had to get rid of. Otherwise, coconut sucks out loud.

Do-Si-Dos or Peanut Butter Sandwich -- The name alone catapults it to greatness -- they do-si-do right into your mouth. A very good cookie, provided you have milk or tea. Too dry otherwise.

Tagalongs or Peanut Butter Patties -- Despite the silly name, these are really good. I ate about 10 last night.

Thank U Berry Munch -- Not even worth my consideration.

Lemonades -- The Richard Dreyfuss of cookies. Not your first choice, better than you remember them as, but ultimately annoying.

Dulce de Leche -- Too sweet. They are supposed to be modeled after a latin american treat, but they just wish they were chocolate chip cookies.

Lemon Chalet Cremes -- The Nicole Kidman of cookies. Trying to be elegant and refined, but only managing to be sharp and bitter. Has she ever been good or appealing in a movie? Is she only famous because she married Tom Cruise? At least Katie Holmes seems pleasant when she slaughters her lines. Don't bother eating these cookies.

Thanks-A-Lot -- Actually, no thank you. Just not enough chocolate for this broad. If you are going to be chocolate, be chocolate. I could draw parallels in Hollywood, but most of them are racist, so I will not go there.

Trefoils/Shortbread and Shout Outs -- Don't waste my time. Not worth the calories.

Thin Mints -- The Queen of the Girl Scout Cookie lineup. Their Tom Brady, their Robert De Niro, their Will Farrell. A really good cookie that doesn't have a counterpart in regular grocery store cookies. I think these cookies are why MY HUSBAND insists on buying Girl Scout Cookies, and the reason why I am always stuck with all the others.

Moral of the story -- Don't buy Girl Scout Cookies. Most of them are crap. If you must buy some, only buy the Thin Mints and the Peanut Butter kinds. If your spouse buys them, give them your children and nieces/nephews (it's what my kids are getting for dinner if he brings any more home). Thank God they come in such small boxes!

P.S. The slogan on the website is "To Help Girls do Great Things." I say "Piss off, Girl Scouts, for profitting from my pain!"

It Ain't Over 'Til the Fat Lady Sings (Again)

I have been asked countless times, (well at least once) whether this blog is over now that my brother and his mate have successfully been wed. The answer, for now, is "no." I still have 6.5 pounds to lose. It might not be a good idea to mention this to my husband, however, as he suffers under the delusion that I would get more housework done if I was not blogging. We all know that I only get housework done at gunpoint, so I don't know why he thinks there's any correlation, but I guess he's just being hopeful.

I also have a boatload of stories to share from the wedding and events leading up to it, so I can't sign off just yet.

I had grand plans of beginning fresh on Sunday or Monday, but I just haven't been able to muster any energy to write. Seriously, my feet are still sore from cutting up that rug Saturday night. Tomorrow morning will therefore mark two fresh starts -- Mdme. L and I will be attending Candy's step class from hell, and I'll also post a new entry, which I like to call, "How to Entertain a Man with a Soul Patch."

Until then, my friends,
Big K

The Best Meal I Ever Had

I once read that if you ask an Italian who their favorite chef is, or where one can get the best meal in town, they will respond, "At my great-aunt Nazarina's house" or, if they are politic, "My wife makes the best meal in town." I understood what they meant immediately, as the best food I have ever eaten was made by people in my family or my husband's family. (All of the women in my family are accomplished cooks, as are many of the men. My husband's sister and my mother-in-law are also da bomb -- for instance, my mother-in-law is a genius with chicken cutlets.)

Imagine my dismay this evening, then. Tomorrow night is the rehearsal dinner, and I'm sure it will be lovely. I am also looking forward to the food at the wedding on Saturday, which sounds great. However, let's get real. The best place to eat in Sturbridge is 19 Orchard Road, home of over 300 sprouted bulbs, an army of quince branches and MY MOTHER AND FATHER. Tonight MY MOTHER served Mmlle. W's family some mushrooms (stuffed with ricotta, prosciutto and spinach), lasagna (not MY FATHER, real lasagna), chicken and wine, greens with roasted pine nuts, asparagus and chocolate mouse for dessert. HOW GOOD WAS THAT, DAMMIT?!? I had half a luna bar for dinner. Yuck. Mdme. L and I planned on showing up to "do the dishes" and then steal all the leftovers, which we know will be gone by Sunday, but it was just a fantasy. We knew we'd never get away with it.

And no, I still haven't lost any weight. I think I might have to get radical tomorrow and drink some homemade juice and some of the more SERIOUS teas I have described in earlier posts.

On a more positive note, I got spray tanned today, so I am a nice pale orange color, which has literally brightened my day. Luckily, the only decent clothes I own are black, so I'll be able to pull off a cool Halloween vibe this weekend.

I have to go to bed now. Tomorrow MY HUSBAND is picking up Gramma B. He called her earlier today, so they could plan their little date. He's already explained to me that he has to get up early to bring the car to the car wash and vacuum it. I could give birth in that car (I thought that I was going to, at one point), and he wouldn't clean it for me. He's absolutely gleeful, because while I am cleaning the house and getting ready for the wedding, he'll be gossiping and dissecting current events with Gramma B. I'll be lucky if he doesn't run off with her.

I am kind of excited to clean the house without any kids or husbands in the way. I'd be more excited if someone else would clean it without me in the way, but I'm trying to be "glass half full" here. When my children are not home, and they are pretty much always home, so it doesn't happen often, I can hide all their toys in the cellar. This does two things: 1) Allows me to have a clean house until they find the toys again, and sometimes they NEVER find them again; and 2) Gives the mice more toys to play with and keeps them busy. I now hate toys almost as much as I hate mice. I've never liked toys very much, honestly, or children. Or animals. They don't have any good stories. Give me an old person who was in a war any day. Then you're going to hear a goddamned story.

I just heard a mouse trap go off. That's my cue to go to bed, the evening's murder having been accomplished.

A Little Frustrated

Stardate, 2/9/11. Still no weight loss on the frozen planet of Sturbridge. Hunger is endangering indigenous population. Productivity low. Walked three miles today in an attempt to boost metabolism. Had bowl of soup and raisins for lunch. Consumption patterns becoming strange. Still angry that mailman stole my cheese.

I have to stop writing like Captain Kirk from Star Trek to explain that last one. On Friday Mdme. L went to Plymouth with our parents to buy an outfit for the wedding (I know -- that's a long way to go, but there's a very nice boutique there. . . ). Her nefarious plan was to drop some cheese at my house, so I would be able to make pizza later. I would then feed the pizza to our combined pool of children. According to MY MOTHER, they placed the cheese in the mailbox. When I returned home and checked, however, THERE WAS NO CHEESE. Now I know that people are not supposed to put stuff in mailboxes, other than mail, and MY MOTHER has actually gotten in trouble with "The Man" for doing this in the past. Also, my flag was up because we were returning a movie to Netflix. I think the mailman took the movie. . . and the cheese.

I drove by him the next day, and he presented a bland, blameless countenance, but I could smell the guilt on him.

Of course, MY HUSBAND was glad that the cheese escaped us, because he doesn't believe cheddar has any place on pizza. My little RAVIOLI thinks it's "wrong." You can't please all of the people all of the time, especially if you regularly include certain people in "all of the people."

We are trying to be better about returning Netflix movies. We had "The Wrestler" for two years.

Sorry for my Silence!

I've never had to say that before. "Silence" is kind of a foreign concept for me.

I haven't written because I'm lazy and tired. I find when I'm lazy and tired, I don't write anything funny, and then I get shit from some of my more discriminating readers (Mdme. L, in other words). However, many of my readers have felt a void in their lives because I haven't written for a few days (well, one lonely little reader emailed me and asked me to write. She is now my favorite, most pathetic cousin. Her name rhymes with "Lia." Go give her a hug.), so I figured I'd better get on the stick.

I have a few topics I need to discuss. First off, no, I haven't lost any more weight. Still at 126.5. On the upside, I haven't gained any weight, either, so things could be worse. I also can tell that I will be thinner tomorrow (dammit) because I am REALLY empty and hungry right now. There is a story, involving eating tiny pumpkin muffins, a clogged toilet and a crib mattress as to why I haven't lost more weight, but I am not at liberty to divulge it until after the wedding, for reasons I will make clear next week. All you need to know right now is that I ate too much this past weekend to lose any weight (piss off, those of you who are judging me. I know who you are.).

Next topic -- unfortunately, I discovered anew last week that MY HUSBAND is capable of rendering me almost crippled in about half an hour. I could barely walk. For three days the pain in my legs and butt was excruciating. My muscles screamed when I climbed the stairs. You might be saying, "My husband/wife/trick I picked up at the bus stop/ did the same thing to me last week." However, when MY HUSBAND decimated me it was not with bedroom acrobatics like the "Congress of the Flying Blue Monkey" or a pair of gravity boots -- that I would have applauded. Instead he gave me about half a dozen exercises to do in the cellar (while he watched -- he likes watching me exercise so he can point out errors in my form while he admires my form, IF you know what I mean). I should have known he was tougher than someone named "Candy," but he is so much more elegant than Candy that he had me fooled.

Sadly enough, kicking my ass in a workout class isn't that difficult. A four hundred year old woman taught the class at the Y on Monday (she looks great for her age) and she totally beat me up. Let's call her Sadie the Sadist. The class was a little slower than it usually was (the albums Sadie was playing on her gramophone kept slowing down whenever it needed to be cranked again) but when you have been around since before indoor plumbing like Sadie has, you can really power through those squats.

[FN: I really hope Sadie never reads this post, because I have nothing but respect for her, and I truly hope that Mdme. L and I can teach a similar class when we are Sadie's age in the morning, before we go to our library job. "Didn't I see you at that class we teach at the Y this morning, dear? Did we make you throw up again? Lovely. Have you read this book about an irrisistable, rangy, billionaire cowboy in Montana? Great scene on the back of that horse -- it gets my "Five Heart" rating!"]

Before I sign off, I'd like to remind my readers that Valentine's Day is a week from yesterday. You really should either, 1) Do something thoughtful for that special someone; or 2) Make a date with a stranger that you think you can lure into your bed. I actually saw an item in Martha Stewart Living Magazine that I am going to get for MY RAVIOLI -- a hot water bottle. Martha suggested that you sew a cunning little flannel bag to put it in, but I think he will have to happy with a bow. Our bed is so cold when we get into it (I don't heat my bedroom with the express purppose of keeping the children out of it. If they dare to open our door, an arctic blast pushes them right back into their heated bedrooms.), and my feet just torture him. I would love to get one of those bed warming pans that you fill with coals and pass under the sheets, but then I would need servants, so that probably isn't very practical. I also worry that the coals would set the bed on fire.

Once he warms up the bed, we're fine, but those first few minutes are kind of rough, so I think the hot water bottle will be a big hit. I would be interested to know what others are planning for Valentine's Day. I think I am going to "strongly suggest" that MY RAVIOLI take me out to dinner on the 21st. "Strongly suggesting" what you want for gifts is a very good marriage strategy.

I'd better pack it in now and go to bed. I am freezing and starving. I am already cold, even before I have made it to my room, because I have stopped using heat on my first floor in an attempt to punish the mouse population. I got a letter from their attorney requesting that I keep the heat to at least 60 degrees, but as they A) Don't have a lease; B) Tried to eat my Godiva cocoa; C) Don't pay rent; and D) I'm trying to kill them with traps, I don't think they're going to get very far. Their attorney is really taking their money under false pretenses.

Emergency Update!

125.5! Actuallly, it was more complicated than that, as everything is. It took me about 10 minutes to figure out how much I actually weigh. I stepped on the scale and it flashed 126, then 127. So I got off the scale, and tried again. I did not move it (if you move the scale in my bathroom from where it is right now, the floor is so uneven that it screws the whole thing up) and when I stepped on it again and it read 125.5. Then I tried it again, and it said 125.5 again, so that's what I'm sticking to.

Seriously, I can also tell that I lost weight because I look thinner. My stomach looks more like a "waist," and less like a "belly." The bones of my face are emerging from the mask that they've been under for so long. I don't have very strong bones in my face (MY MOTHER did not see fit to pass on her beautiful jaw) so I really can't mess around. As many of you are related to me, I know you know exactly what I'm talking about, poor things.

No Progress Today

Still at 127. Sigh.

I am very motivated, however, despite my lack of progress. I tried on the outfit that I want to wear for the wedding. I look much better in it than the last time I tried it on two years ago, which is gratifying. However, things are still a little lumpy, if you know what I mean, so I'm not letting up.

MY HUSBAND approved it, which reassures me, because he is an exacting exquisite when it comes to matters of dress. When asked, he ruled that my upper arms did not resemble tube socks, but that it would not hurt to focus some more exercises on them specifically. I feel that this was a fair assessment.

My kids also liked the outfit, and tried to stroke it with their grubby little hands. I am also reassured, because I know that my eight year old would definitely have told me if I looked fat, even though I didn't ask her that question. If I bend over and my pants slip down a little (something that happens often -- a very attractive trait I inherited from MY FATHER) she pulls them up. It makes her nuts. I think if she were in charge of my consumption, I would be starved to a frazzle in about two weeks.

By the by, I highly recommend the spray tanning. I am deathly pale in the winter, and it really has taken the edge off. This is especially true of my arms and neck. I don't think it's as essential for a more dark-skinned person, like my PIC, but I thought she looked good, too. Ironically, although these little beauty schemes are born of her fertile little brain, she is very impatient with their execution. I think this time that she is willing to go back again a couple of days before the wedding, however.

One important note about spray tanning -- don't wear any deodorant. My armpits look like someone was finger painting on them.

I had some chicken salad and a bowl of soup for lunch, and I'm pretty much done for the day. I may force down a few bites of broccoli to encourage my kids to eat it. I walked 2.5 miles on the treadmill. I should have run, but I just didn't have it in me.

Tomorrow I'm going to work out with MY HUSBAND, which should burn a lot of calories. Letting MY HUSBAND write up a workout for me, which he is very good at, is very similar to taking a class from Candy at the YMCA. Lots of old school lunges, push ups and sit ups. Lots of hardcore cardio. Screaming muscles the next day. The advantage to working out with MY HUSBAND, however, is that even at my most pathetic, it turns him on to see me sweat, and he rewards me accordingly. I don't seem to have that effect on Candy. Junk in the trunk must not be her thing.

Until tomorrow!

This Will be Brief. . .

because I am still worn out from my weekend. Saturday night we went out to celebrate Mademoiselle W, my brother's fiancé. Ironically, everyone there was younger than me but MY MOTHER, and she's the only one I couldn't keep up with. That scrawny little kitten's a lot of fun to party with.

This is not the place for me to re-cap the night. I don't want to get disbarred. Let's just say there was a sea of jello shots, Mlle. W was wearing my brother's underwear on her head at one point, and by the end of the night I was as cantankerous as Red Forman from "That 70's Show." Oh, and during the middle of the night MY MOTHER tried to cuddle up to my sister-in-law, because she thought it was MY FATHER.

[FN Next time you see MY FATHER and Mdme. S, please give each of them a hug and see if you could ever make the same mistake. Now, Mdme. S and MY MOTHER both have washboard stomachs (if they've had a drink, they will show you) so you could get those two hungry wenches confused, but MY FATHER? Ha, ha, he wishes.]

Anyway, while my behavior over all was NOT very good (For example, I stole Mlle. W's illustrated Kama Sutra, and I'm not giving it back to her until I've put little notes in it to help her out. She's from Illinois, after all), I was pretty good about food. I walked at home before we left, didn't eat any dinner, or chips, dips, brownies or Smartfood. Mdme. S buys it to taunt me. The next day I had an egg sandwich on a bagel with home fries for brunch, which was not too much food considering what I had been through the night before. It was wonderful, though the bagel was second rate. I also really don't like restaurant home fries that much. I wish we'd gone for lunch, so I could have had a hamburger and fries. I would eat a hamburger and fries for breakfast every day if I could. With a chocolate shake.

[FN In this Nirvana, after my burger breakfast, I'd have soup for lunch every day, with homemade tut-a-lings (yes, we really call them that). If you've never had my family's homemade tut-a-lings (a.k.a. tortellini) they are the best food in the universe. They are better than any pasta I have had in the United States (not surprising) or Italy (I was there for a week, so I'm quite the expert). They are served in a red broda (broth) and they are filled with meat and cheese. I hope you never try them, because if someone makes them for you, that's one less time that I got to have them (they take a lot of time to make). If I could, I would lock my grandmother up and make her make a certain quota each day. If she did not meet the quota, I would read ridiculously contrived novels to her until she moved her little butt (she's not a big Sci Fi fan). I bet one novel about robots would yield about a thousand tut-a-lings. Of course, if I did lock her up, my goddamned cousins would mug me and steal all the tut-a-lings she'd made for me, so it probably is just as well to let her run free. If you are reading this, Gramma, I'm not trying to be subtle. Feel free to finish working, go home and make some toots! Don't whine to me about being 87 and working full time, just get to work. Her generation just doesn't know how to work.]

I did have two small pieces of takeout pizza on Sunday as well, which was not a good idea, but as I said, I was running on fumes.

Today I had a chicken salad (chicken, fat free yogurt, nuts, dried cranberries and cumin -- got the recipe from my mother in law) on a wrap, and an apple. I'm hoping that I see 126.5 tomorrow. I'll let you know.

Jersey Shore, Here I Come!

No, I am not so lean and sexy that I belong on the beach, I just got a spray tan for the first time today. I haven't washed the "bronzer" off yet, so I look like Snookie from Jersey Shore. I'm hoping once I wash it off, I'll look like me again, only a couple of degrees darker.

If the idea of me getting spray tanned doesn't immediately make you giggle, let me explain. First of all, it wasn't my idea. I don't have ideas about "beauty treatments." Every new haircut, hair color, massage, pedicure, manicure, facial, make-up, etc. that I've tried in my life has been someone else's idea. In fact, almost all of them have been the brainchild of a certain person. Let's call this person my "Partner in Crime," or "PIC." They have requested that I keep their identity confidential. [FN They tried to get me not to write about the spray tanning at all, but that wasn't going to happen. Also, hopefully we'll be tan, so that's kind of a giveaway right there. When you haven't left Massachusetts for months, and there's three feet of snow outside, people notice if you're tan.]

I'd also like to point out that I don't usually have many ideas at all. I'm not very creative. What little inspiration I have I save for, (1) New foods I'd like to make. I'd really like to try baking empanadas and cakey cookies right now. (2) Music I'd like to play with my music buddies. I never actually get to play with them, but I think about it a lot. (3) Books I'd like to write if I wasn't so lazy. I have some intricate plots in my head that will never see the light of day, most of which heavily feature magic, romance and happy endings. No real literature allowed! (4) Silly things to put on my blog to make my family laugh. All of my ideas are more like useless distractions. PIC is much more creative, and one of the ways that she uses her surfeit of creativity is to try and improve my life (or to "fix me," depending on the mood she is in).

As usually happens when PIC has a brainchild, PIC called me and said that we were going to be too pale for the wedding, and should try spray tanning, to which I replied, "O.K." PIC then said that we should give it a test run a couple of weeks before the wedding, to which I replied, "O.K." Today PIC called and made the appointment, arranged the babysitting, and picked me up to go to the spray tanning place. When she called and told me, I said, "O.K." She then made me go first, in case the whole thing was a big mistake.

Which it may have been. The experience itself was painless, if chilly. I'm glad we just went for the waist up option, as it was bad enough to just have our shoulders, arms and faces sprayed with cold mist and air (we used strapless bras to preserve our modesty, though that didn't work out very well for me. As I said, it was cold.) Right after she sprayed us, we definitely looked better.

I'm curious to see what color I'm going to end up, however, because my son asked me, "Why is your head orange?" Of course, if I were black like he is, I wouldn't need to worry about this shit, so that was kind of a kick in the pants. I sometimes wonder if he is going to call his memoirs, "My Foolish White Parents and How I Overcame Them." However, my daughter also wanted to know, "What did you do to yourself?" when she got home from school, so maybe my son wasn't just rubbing in how beautiful his skin is all year.

Of course, we were told not to wash our hands for three hours, which I screwed up very quickly. My daughter pooped on the floor, and I'm sorry, but you have to wash your hands after you wash poop off of your daughter, toilet and floor. Oh, and the cracks on the floor. Don't forget them! I somehow doubt that Angelina Jolie has to deal with this when she gets spray tanned.

So, maybe this time PIC's brainchild will work out, maybe it won't. She has already washed off all of her bronzer (coward), so I'll let you know how "Snookie" I end up.

P.S. This morning I still weighed 127. Hopefully I'll be lighter (and tanner) tomorrow!

Had to Let You Know. . .

. . . I weighed in at 127 this morning. Yippee! Very happy. Accepting that losing weight is a two steps forward, one step back kind of process, this is still a weight I haven't hit for about four years. In other words, before my final pregnancy.

Now I have to build on this momentum without getting too extreme. I did pretty well today, but I don't know if I actually lost weight.

Reasons I might be lighter tomorrow morning than I was this morning:

1) I am starving right now. If I were full, I'd be in trouble.

2) I ate an egg, some lettuce, half a pepper, half a glass of milk, about a cup of brown rice, three bites of chicken leftover from last night, about half a cup of black beans, salsa and a 90 calorie tortilla (there was also a whisper of cheddar cheese on the beans and rice).

3) I got my eyebrows waxed, so I am definitely lighter without all that hair.

Reasons I might weigh more tomorrow than I did today:

1) I did not work out today.

2) I ate an egg, some lettuce, half a pepper, half a glass of milk, about a half a cup of brown rice, three bites of chicken leftover from last night, about half a cup of black beans, salsa and a 90 calorie tortilla (there was also a whisper of cheddar cheese on the beans and rice).

We shall see what we shall see! I'll let you know tomorrow.

When Your Diet Puts Your Children in Peril

Let me set the scene for you. We had kind of a typical day around here. Got the kids up, made breakfast for them (I had an apple) shoved the oldest onto the bus, got the other two cleaned up and dragged them to the Y.

As usual, Candy, the instructor, did her best to break us in Step Class, and she succeeded. I became a mouthbreather in about ten minutes. [FN If you have ever watched people who are working out, you know what a "mouthbreather" is. It's the guy who's gaping like a sweating trout, but you can still see the pain, the silent scream, if you will, in his eyes.]

Dragged the kids back home, got cleaned up, fed them and MY HUSBAND lunch. Had a measley portion of turkey chili with him. Drank a pitcher of mint tea, did some housework and some of the volunteer stuff I do. Made dinner -- Auntie K's Indian Chicken, broccoli, cous-cous and cherry tomatoes.

You may be curious as to what, "Auntie K's Indian Chicken" is. Very delicious. I also think the name is perfect. It's mostly chicken, so it's Chicken. It has spices, so it's Indian. It's not really Indian, however, and I made it up, so it's Auntie K's Indian Chicken. You have to admit, you are intrigued. It's a dish with panache.

[FN First you take chunks of chicken, coat them with whole wheat spelt flour (no egg or breadcrumbs) drissle them with olive oil and brown them in the oven. Then you mix up non-fat yoghurt with cinnamon, tumeric and curry. You mix that into the chicken and put it in the oven until the chicken is cooked through. I use the convection oven and it cooks up in a jiffy.]

Personally, I Iove the stuff. But I was resolved to not eat, because I have a problem with PORTION CONTROL. So I gave each of the kids some broccoli and chicken, and told them to eat it. After MY HUSBAND took his food, I took a little broccoli and about four bites of chicken. It took me less than ten seconds to eat. I seriously considered licking the bowl. I then got up to do the dishes, because better women than me have buckled under the tempting and seductive lure of Auntie K's Indian Chicken (Actually, I think I'm the only adult woman who's eaten it, but others would buckle, trust me).

This is where it got dangerous for my offspring. First of all, they wouldn't eat their chicken. This really pissed me off, because they like the chicken, they were just being naughty, and honestly, I wanted the damned chicken myself, so it just was painful.

We (me and the other half of my parental team, MY HUSBAND) told them that if they did not eat it, they would not be allowed to watch a cartoon after supper. My son, being superior, ate the damned chicken. The girls did not, so we didn't allow them to watch the cartoon.

My youngest, who usually eats like a champ but was just exhausted tonight, then spent the next half hour crying at my feet.

[FN She was exhasted because she played "Guys" with her cousin all day. "Guys" is when they take dolls, crayons, toy cars, pieces of paper, and make them talk to each other as different little characters for hours. It's a lot of work.]

I don't know if a child has ever wailed on the floor next to you while you were trying to do the dishes for a half an hour, but it is a little grating. It is especially grating when you are STARVING and they are wailing because they wouldn't eat the chicken that YOU WANTED.

I did not lose my cool, however. I got them all to bed without making empty threats, which are ineffective, (Like, "I will sell the T.V. to traveling gypsies and you will never watch another cartoon again, so long as I live, so help me God!") or realistic, violent threats, which are effective, but wrong, (Like, "I will come down on you like a HURRICANE, and spank you until the skin of your butt is as hot and red as the heart of a THOUSAND SUNS!") or empty violent threats, which are ineffective and wrong, (Like, "I will take you outside and leave you in a snowbank for the coyotes to EAT!")

So, the night was a success. I fed my family a healthy meal, I did not eat much of anything (sob!) for dinner, and no one got hurt or emotionally scarred (though it was close there for a while). At last check I was at 128, so I'm hoping to see some lucky sevens tomorrow morning. Also, Candy, our local work-out goddess of pain, is teaching another class at the Y tomorrow, so I should be able to chip away at these tube sock arms. Of course, in my heart of hearts I hope it snows and a Girl Scout Cookie delivery truck is stranded out in my driveway by the storm. . . Sorry, I'd probably be more positive if I had some more damned chicken to eat.

Hungry for a New Post?

I'm just plain starving, myself. I'm home from a Charter Review Committee Meeting, and it ROCKED! Just kidding. It was as dull as it sounds. Town committee meetings, even the best of them, which this was, don't rock. If you believed me, even for an instant, you need to dance for three hours and then get laid.

Speaking of which, I can't wait for my brother's wedding. I plan on dancing for three hours, and then getting laid. Don't get in line, I've already picked my prince consort/vasectomied Guido. There is nothing sexier than an Italian man with a vasectomy. Seriously.

Anyway, I digress. I am starving, so I'm drinking "Blueberry Slim Life" tea. Those organic tea manufacturers are making a mint off of me. I purchased it because the "Slim" just called to me. The subtitle also says, "Energizes and Helps Suppress Appetite." I just had three glasses, so I might be up all night -- it's green tea. Of course very little has kept me up in the past. I am renowned for falling asleep on public buses and trains. I once did a huge closing in Connecticut with one of the firm's biggest clients. The client drove me back to Boston (no, I did not offer to drive, but that's another post), and I conked out right in the front seat. I think she was impressed by the way I lose my chin and begin to drool when I fall asleep sitting up. It's one of MY HUSBAND'S favorite mental pictures of me.

I am also sure to fall asleep because Candy, our instructor at the YMCA tried to kill me again today. I am literally having trouble lifting my arms up enough to type right now, no kidding. I don't know if any of you noticed, but it was as cold as a witch's tit this morning. There is nothing worse than putting boots/hats/mittens on two dopey little kids when you are trying to rush out the door. Of course, we were late. I think Mdme. L ensures that we are late in the hope that we will miss some of the class, actually, which I concur is an excellent plan.

Did not help today, however. It also had an unfortunate side effect. After we hauled the kids up the stairs to the Kid Watch Room, taking all their coats/hats/mittens with us so they don't get lost/stolen/contract lice, we went into the gym. Not only were 20 women and one round guy facing the gym door in rows, squatting, (which was a little scary) but the only spots left were front and center. We had to grab mats/weights/steps/risers for steps and hustle into the front row. Then Candy immediately made us spend about ten hours in plank position, simultaneously running our legs up and down. I could barely move, and Mdme. L wasn't any great shakes either, no matter what she tells you. For some reason I felt like a big, boiled noodle today.

[FN: Personally, if I were a noodle, I think I would be penne rigate. With just enough meat sauce, still pretty firm and round. MY MOTHER would be an egg noodle with pork sauce. Nice and tender, flat and narrow, classy. Gramma B would obviously be that really fine spaghetti with tuna sauce - straightforward and perfect. Mdme. L would be ditalini, because you never get tired of it. MY FATHER would be lasagna, because it's so filling (and terrible for you). MY HUSBAND would be ravioli (homemade -- I would never have married canned ravs).]

For some reason, everyone in the class today seemed to be much more in shape than me and Mdme. L, even the 80 year old woman in the back and the mentally disabled woman in the front. The round guy was having a tough time, but he still seemed to be outperforming us. For the first time, I really felt judged, up there in the front. After a while, though, they all started to lag, as well. I thought to myself, "Not so (wheeze) perfect (wheeze) now, (wheeze) are you, (wheeze) bitch (wheeze) es?" Then I took a break.

Meanwhile, Candy perservered. She had a terrible cold, and was probably up all night with her four kids, but she didn't miss a beat. She did everything faster than the music and added in extra jumps and stuff. I also noticed when we picked our kids up from Kid Watch that Candy had managed to brush her little girl's hair into a semblance of order, something I cannot say about myself. Would make a normal woman feel inferior, I tell you.

So, of course, we are going back tomorrow, because at present I cannot wear anything to this wedding that I would actually want to wear to this wedding. Never fear, though, loyal readers, I shall persevere! I am going to have some more tea and go find my Ravioli! Goodnight!

We are going

On the Road to Skinny Bliss!

Emergency Posting! (And the only posting you are going to get today. I do have a life to live.)

Today is a day for rejoicing! I implore my readers (all two or three of you) to raise up your voices and sing HOSANNA to the HIGHEST! I lost 1.5 pounds since yesterday! Was it nerves over the big meeting? Was it just that I was out of the house for six hours? Perhaps. I would rather credit it to my having an iron will, however.

Unfortunately, my work is not done. I did a little naked victory dance after weighing myself, which I caught sight of in the mirror. Kind of scary. I have a long way to go still. Don't get smug, asshole -- go do a naked victory dance yourself and check it out. You'll be watching T.V. on the treadmill in a dank, scary cellar, too.

I still have 8.5 pounds to go to reach my goal of 120. That's almost three pounds a week, and I only have two more meetings during that time (not that I want more meetings, but they do distract me from eating). This ain't going to be easy.

What we've learned over that last couple of days is that supper is the enemy. So sad, to realize that something you love so much is plotting against you! I mean, even the word, "supper," is so comforting! And take one little "p" away, and you have "super." Who would have thought it could be so evil?

I'm going to go have lunch now (avoiding the naughty pizza) and then have fruit or a small salad for supper before 5:30. I think I will pretty much try and have what I had yesterday (bagel and eggs). I probably won't lose any weight tonight (it never goes in streaks for me, just lumps), but I'm feeling optimistic! I feel like celebrating, maybe with a pan of brownies! (See why I can't keep weight off?) I'll have to celebrate with something else -- where's MY HUSBAND? Shoot, shoveling snow? Maybe I'll go clean out the bathroom closet. Admit it -- don't brownies sound like a better celebration?

Feel free to celebrate yourself. If anyone asks you why you left work early and are passed out drunk at a bar at 4:00 p.m. (I know my audience) you can just tell them, "I am celebrating my cousin's/friends/daughter's/sister's success." If they ask what I did, make something up about orphans or space exploration. They can't understand how much those 1.5 pounds mean to us unless they had taken the journey by our side.

Now for lunch!

Is it wrong to stop feeding your children?

Don't worry, I'm mostly kidding. One of my kids was sick, so she ate even less than she usually does (She eschews bread. Who brings plain tuna to school when they're 8? Or a hard boiled egg? Not a diet designed to draw in the little boys, but I'll work on that with her later). She certainly doesn't get that behavior from ME. Another child ate toast with avocado mashed onto it, potatoes cooked in olive oil, scrambled eggs, french fries, 50 apples and 30 clementines (I am only inflating those numbers a little bit). The third one ate everything she could wrest from her father, her mother, and a sample of what her siblings ate, and some pizza. She does take after me. :)

What did I eat? Two eggs, a glass of milk, a sprouted bagel and an apple. Why, you ask? Well I am working on a new hypothesis. Yesterday I just ate one panini and a glass of wine all day (There was sourdough bread, some kind of sauce, chicken and a slice of bacon. Just so you know, I would punch you, whomever you are, for another one of those right now. And my grandmother reads this blog. I wouldn't punch her in the face or anything, but I'd probably give her a firm pinch for one of those sandwiches. I am not a nice lady.) In the interest of full disclosure, I also had about four bites of potatoes. Shockingly, I lost half a pound.

I assume that there were two elements that led to my success, 1) Early consumption of calories (nothing after 5:30p.m.); and, 2)Portion control. I have a real problem with PORTION CONTROL. I figure, if there is more, why not eat it? This, unfortunately leads to tube sock arms.

So today, I stepped it up. No fancy sauce, no bacon. Healthier (and less) bread. No potatoes or any other food for dinner. I also walked for 2.5 miles in my basement. I finally got to watch an old "Closer." It was great. I'm going to practice that accent all day tomorrow with my kids. I almost used it tonight at the Board of Health Meeting I was at, but thought it would be better to save until I'm actually in court. ("Why Fritzie, you didn't have to do that for me!?!")

I am hungry, but it's midnight, and I'm always hungry at midnight. I'm going to go wake MY HUSBAND up (without eating any leftover pizza) and try and get some satisfaction that way.
Did you hear that? Uh, oh, the pizza is calling me.

"Big K, we're some lovely pizza. Don't you want some? We're already all cut up."

"No, you are salty and cold and nasty. Be quiet."

"You don't really think we're nasty. We have mushrooms. . ."

"No I shall not eat you as I put you away, foul tempter! I will have cut little pipe-cleaner arms like my teensie aunts, not pale tube socks. Piss off!"

I just hope the pizza doesn't get rough and try and grab me. Stranger things have happened around here.

Mdme. K's Big Fat Birthday

If birthdays were measured by calories, I had a fantabulous birthday, or birthday week.

Mdme. S ("S" for "saboteur") threw me a lovely surprise party, complete with two cakes, spinach phyllo dough triangles (I'd like me some of them right now.), Auntie Marie's mushroom torte, chips and dip, prosciutto with melon, potato skins and baked brie. [FN Which MY MOTHER made for me, but then commented on every time I took a little nibble. Well, maybe they weren't "nibbles," but it's much neater to shove a whole cracker in your mouth with cheese than to bite it and get crumbs all over yourself. I call that move the "Ed Goodwin." It always impresses. She also accused me of double-dipping, which I do NOT do, sometimes I just split my cracker in half to get a better cheese to cracker ratio. If you're going to do something, do it right.] The house looked beautiful -- flowers and candles all over the place, and believe it or not, Mdme. S had scrubbed her floor, probably fearing that I would not deign to attend a surprise party in my honor unless a certain level of excellence was met. She knows me well.

In sum, there was singing, there was dancing, the crowd was buzzed and a good time was had by all. Well, I had a great time, I can't vouch for everyone, but I don't know how they could have avoided it.

Then on Monday MY HUSBAND made me a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting, which was delightful. I gave half of it away IMMEDIATELY to Mdme. S and her hollow-legged boys. I thought that I was then clear of any birthday-induced calories, but today, on my actual birthday, Mdme. L took me out to lunch. We each had a glass of wine and a panini. Bacon may have reared its ugly (but delicious) head, but we got greens instead of the french fries. The sandwiches were magical and full of calories (is there anything better than sourdough bread?). Unfortunately, it was probably the last sandwich I will devour for some time.

A friend of mine recently had some stomach problems, and survived on cod liver oil and raw milk for about three weeks. Unfortunately, that's how you lose 10 pounds in three weeks. Mdme. L and I agreed that we are going to succeed we have to stick to fruit, veggies, lean chicken and eggs for the next 24 days. I know this is common sense, but it's not going to be pretty. I warn you that it might be more sad than funny -- it's tough to go from an all cake diet to a non-fat diet. This is the corner I have painted myself into, however, so I have to step up and deal. (I have painted myself into a corner before this, with actual paint. Let's hope I don't leave as many ugly footprints this time.)

Happy Kirstie Eve!

I am back from my brief hiatus, and I have lots to talk about. I didn't actually go anywhere. Seriously, I only left McGilpin Road twice in the last four days. Those excursions can be summarized as follows -- I am saddened to report that Stop and Shop did not have any organic bananas, but the girls are doing well at their piano lessons.

No, the big news this evening is not where I've been, but where I am. . . the eve of my fortieth birthday. As you can imagine, the celebrations have been off the hook (the pageantry!) but I will report more on that tomorrow. A little foreshadowing -- Mdme. S and MY HUSBAND are still trying to sabotage my weight loss efforts.

Now that I have almost finished my fourth decade (with flying colors, I might add) I have a few resolutions I am going to try and stick to, no, that I WILL stick to, that I think will improve the quality of my life and help me lose weight.

1. I am going to drink a LOT of water and tea. There are some excellent reasons for this:
a. They have no calories, but fool me into thinking I am full (or "more full"). This is a technique that my cousin, Mdme. SB recommends. When she feels fat, she decides she is very thirsty.
b. I don't want to have the skin of a raisin, I want to have the skin of a nice smooth grape. Therefore, I must hydrate.
c. If you don't eat much, you'll never poop again if you don't drink a lot of water. I have some female relatives that I bet have not pooped for months, or at least anything that a self-respecting person would call a poop (you know who you are, you skinny little bitches). As my best friend is wont to say, "The goal is to shit like a champ." Of course, if this ever becomes a real problem, there is always "Chocolate Smooth Move Tea." I kid you not, it's an organic tea that you should really not take. Let's just say that if you are curious what giving birth is like, or if you want to re-live the birth of one of your children, steep yourself a cup of this foul witch's brew. I highly recommend that you stay home for 24 hours after doing so. I almost gave Mdme. S a cup of "Chocolate Smooth Move Tea" the last time she was at my home just to get rid of it, but I knew I'd get caught, so I steered her to some old Mother's Milk tea instead. I figured she would rather lactate than shit her pants.

[FN: There is a dark side to drinking all that tea, however. I'm afraid to sneeze, because I might pee my pants. Now, some might argue that this is due to my advanced age, or because I didn't do enough kegels. However, the real reason is that my bladder is WAY too full, and my kids never leave me alone to go to the bathroom. Everytime I start to go up the stairs to the bathroom (all my bathrooms are upstairs, another part of the problem) someone needs their bum wiped in the other bathroom, or they dumped cereal in the couch, etc., etc. If I manage to get into the bathroom, there is a 50% chance that they will run in as soon as I pull down my pants. It's demoralizing. I feel like a prisoner that has to tinkle in the corner of my cell.]

2. I will be in bed by 11:15 p.m. every night. I need a lot of sleep. So do you, if you would just admit it to yourself. However, despite the amazing pleasure that MY HUSBAND has always found in my bed, he just won't go to bed at night. And I, like a fool, don't like to go to bed until he does (though to be fair, my bedroom thermostat is set below freezing, so I might not survive the winter if I went to bed before him) and I end up not going to bed until about midnight. If I go to bed at 11:15, and I wake up at 7:10 (which I do) I should be really rested. I'm not saying that I won't still take the occasional nap -- napping is sacred to me -- but I should have some more pep in my step.

3. I will use big rubber gloves when I wash the dishes. My hands are splitting and painfully raw all winter. They look like I've been cleaning fish on a pier in Canada all day. If they start looking really weathered all the time, well, that's just a waste of my lovely, long-fingered appendages. So I've started washing the dishes in huge bright green gloves that Mdme. L gave me for my birthday. I feel like a 1960's Grandmother Goodwin every time I put them on. (She always wore gloves to wash her dishes, and had manicured hands with lots of tacky rings on them. She also loved to eat, like me, but smoked to be thin. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.) MY MOTHER is against washing dishes with gloves because she doesn't think you can do as good a job, and you might drop your dishes. She's probably right, but I don't do that great a job anyway, and my hands are worth more than the dishes. Also, I can really crank the hot water now, and that should appease her.

4. I will have more sex with MY HUSBAND. I finish every list of resolutions this way. (How to save more money? Have more sex. How to improve the condition of your lawn? Have more sex.) It's just common sense.

See you tomorrow, at which time I will take my courage in hand, and weigh myself anew. I will also describe my kick-ass birthday party, which I'm sorry you missed, if you missed it. I would have invited you, but it was a surprise, and the hostess is very strict about who she will allow in her home. . .

Treadmills and Tunes

Last night my plans went awry once more. I went down into the cellar to walk on the treadmill, and watch "The Closer." Next time I see you, I promise to do my "Closer" impersonation. "Why, thank you! Thank you very much!" Anyway, I couldn't make the T.V. work, because the cable had to be reset. (I did not know this at the time, so I just turned the cable and t.v. on and off a few times, muttering obscenities and invoking various ancient deities. When that didn't work, I figured the whole thing was hopeless.) Left with just music to distract me, I had no choice but to actually run, not walk, so I did.

Let me tell you a little bit about my cellar. I have a good treadmill in the dry middle section of the cellar, right near the washer and dryer. (As soon as you hear "dry section" you realize that this ain't the Ritz.) We also have a pretty sweet gym set up in the third section. The only problem is that the first section of my cellar was built in about 1818 out of fieldstones. As a result, it is entirely porous. The puddles this engenders luckily stay in that section of the cellar. The snakes and mice do not.

Therefore, there is always one little part of you that wonders if you are going to see a mouse run by. This time of year you don't have to worry about the snakes, and I figure they eat the mice. Last night I did not see any critters, but for a while I wondered if my eyes were getting "floaters." On further investigation it was just hanging strands of spider webs.

My HUSBAND spends a lot of time in this ecosystem, and it is not unusual to hear him yelling down there. Sometimes he is lifting some heavy weights, sometimes he is trying to scare away mice.

I ran for two and half miles, as quickly as I could, which took a very long time (sadly, about a half an hour). I would start really cooking at about 6 mi/hour, and I'd think, "I am Jamie Summers, the Bionic Woman. Once I get my memory back, I am going to call my former fiancé, the Six Million Dollar Man, and he will say, 'My God, you are fast!'" When I lift weights I am Wonder Woman, a.k.a. Diana Prince, for obvious reasons (she can lift a CAR!), but for speed, I will always go with the Bionic Woman. She also liked to pump her elbows, like I do. After a very short time at this pace, I would feel like I was dying and have to downshift to 4 mi./hour. Then the song would change, and I would punch the "6" again.

Music plays a huge part of my running. My HUSBAND has made me some fantastic playlists. They are very balanced between the hard core rap/heavy metal that he loves and the effete dramatic stuff that he claims he puts on for me. (Just for the record, I admit that "Freedom" by George Michael is a great song to run to, but it certainly wasn't purchased for me.)

So what songs make you feel like the Bionic Woman/Six Million Dollar Man? Please comment and list two songs THAT YOU THINK NO ONE ELSE WILL SUBMIT. To MY MOTHER -- no Bruce Springsteen, I'm looking for stuff I don't have already. I'll assemble the list once enough people respond. If you are not "the music person" in your house, please have that cooler person email their suggestions to me.

I'm still at 130 lbs. today, so I tried to be good -- Chicken salad on lettuce for lunch, half a glass of milk for a snack, and two bowls of soup for supper. Tons of "Healthy Fasting" tea and water. My brother-in-law Mssr. C offered to make a chart for the blog to show the weight I have lost, and he thought it was pretty funny when I explained why that was unnecessary. He's not very nice.

How Candy Almost Killed Me!

I have managed to claw my way back to 130. Tim and the kids were home today for a snow day. The cake is gone, thank goodness (though I miss it already) so it can tempt me no longer. I did pretty well today - bowl of turkey chili for lunch, chicken salad (no mayo - just non-fat yogurt) on lettuce and one bowl of soup for dinner. Two bites of Stina's ice cream when I was cleaning up. (Mint chocolate chip. Delicious!)

Today, however, I would like to tell you how Candy almost killed me.

Our friend Mdme. E suggested that Mdme. L and I attend workout classes at the YMCA with her. (After Mdme. L and I started going to classes at the Y regularly, Mdme. E promptly quit. To paraphrase a quote from Groucho Marx, I think she felt "I would never belong to a fitness club that would have K and L as members.")

There are many advantages to working out at the Y:
1) It is clean, has good equipment and is located nearby.
2) If you are really attractive, you are not welcome at the Y. This makes it a much more comfortable experience for the rest of us "normals." No one wants to work out with a model or a professional athlete. Well, don't worry, there is no danger of that at the Y!
3) They watch your kids for you while you work out. They enclose them like the little animals they are in a room full of toys and babysitters. The children are not allowed to leave unless you sign for them, and by now we know all the staff, most of whom are local mothers. This sounds like a small thing, that you are allowed to lock your children in a safe room that smells faintly of pee. Anyone who has had a child sitting on them while they are trying to do a push-up knows how revolutionary this is, however. This is actually the only reason I go -- to get away from my kids. If I were capable of it, I would work out for hours to get free babysitting.

The classes we take are taught by a woman named Candy who has almost killed me about ten times over the last six months. Two days after a class with Candy I say "Whoa, Nelly!" or "Holy Mackerel!" every time I move. This is because: 1) I grew up with a father who thought he was a product of the old west; and 2) I am in terrible pain.

You are picturing your typical Candy-the workout-goddess -- Blond, slim, 25 years old, lycra-encased lush body, french manicure and peppy personality. Our Candy is blond and slim, but the resemblance ends there. As far as I can tell, Candy, a tom-boy in her mid-thirties with the body of a fifteen year-old, has no nerve endings. I have never seen anybody move so fast, or so well, every damned class. She's also really nice the whole time, though she does yell at Mdme. L for talking too much pretty regularly. For an hour she makes us jump, lunge, run, step and lift. Picture the energizer bunny on coke, and that's Candy. I would hate her with glee if I thought she did nothing but workout, but she has four little kids she's home with full time, so I limit myself to just resenting the hell out of her.

I spend the classes sweating, trying not to pass out and exercising with goofy vigor to embarass Mdme. L. Mdme. L does not let her elbows fly when she runs. She doesn't imitate a rocket or a typewriter. She doesn't quack during the duck walk. I do.

Today we were kept from Candy's step class by all the snow. I love the step class, because even though Candy doesn't add any flourishes with her arms (being a jock with a horror of aerobics), I do and it makes the class seem like a big dance-off. Mdme. L finds it boring because she just phones it in. So tonight, after I finish this, I am going to go in my dank basement and walk on the treadmill while I watch reruns of "the Closer." Not only do I love Keira Sedgewick, who I would like to play me in the movie of my life, but I am hoping that this will enable me to pick up my socks tomorrow without saying "Dag nabbitt." Then, if Mdme. L doesn't wimp out, we can give Candy another shot at kicking our butts.

The Power of Sef-Affirmation, or Liking your Ankles

As suspected, I weighed the same today as yesterday. Actually, the first time I got on the scale, it looked like I lost a pound, (130.5) but then when I double-checked I was still at 131.5. Then I double-checked four more times, hoping I was right the first time, but no dice. 131.5 it is.

I ate well today - banana for breakfast, and two salads with tomatoes, a potato(split between the salads) and oil and vinegar for lunch and dinner. I also had a glass of milk and a little bit of hamburger with dinner. Before anyone calls me and tells me not to eat certain fruits or milk (MOTHER) I think we all have to remember that the real problem is the cake and caesar dressing, not the bananas, in my life. Once I keep away from the bread and sugar, I'll evaluate my progress and see if I need to cut anything else out.

I was reminded by some "reader feedback" today how important Self-Affirmation, or Positive Energy is in losing weight. Personally, I have a very positive a view of my body and myself. Certain parties find it nearly impossible to tarnish that view, despite how often they try and beat at me with the hammer of reality. I would like to share some of my tricks for holding on to that happy feeling about yourself with you now. If you don't like yourself, try some of the following:

1. Shave your legs (and armpits). It doesn't have to be Christmas for you to give yourself (and your partner) the gift of silky legs. You will instantly feel sexier, even if you have to go through two or three razors to hack through all that stubble (what can I say -- my hair is strong enough to make rope out of). If it IS Christmas, or Valentine's Day, or you're just feeling blue, consider doing some work on the mezzanine level as well. Even if you have no one to share with, you will walk around knowing that you are hot and naughty. (If you are male, please don't do any of the above.)

2. Never wear underwear to bed. It's not good for you. Just don't do it. My children ask why I don't wear underwear to bed. I tell them adults don't and ask them to get the hell out of my bed. (If you have any questions about this, MY MOTHER will back me on this, as will a certain retired schoolteacher/librarian (let's call her the "Hot Librarian") whose husband still adores her as much as he did when they were newlyweds. I am not at liberty to say anymore at this time, but they go at it like crazed monkeys.) Stay away from underwear at night.

3. Moisturize. It makes you feel less like a dried up old woman, and more like a supple, nubile nymph. Get thick, fancy lotion if you can. If you are really smart, you'll get someone else to put it on you, but I've never pulled that one off with any regularity. I only end up getting moisturized in a couple of areas, and let's just say that my elbows, knees and heels get no attention at all.

4. Put your lipstick on first when you wear makeup. It gives you the strength and patience to keep putting more makeup on, and if you are a female, you should probably be wearing more makeup. Ever wonder why the deceased looks so good at their funeral? It's because they've got on a lot of makeup.

5. Get your hair cut more often than you think you need to. (Another tip that MY MOTHER and the Hot Librarian will back me on.) Hair grows. It changes every day. It needs to be cut, or it becomes slightly uneven and worn out on the ends. Get it cut. You do not want to walk around looking like Jack Black.

6. Be fancy. Wear perfume, jewelry, scarves and other girly shit. You'll feel better. Even if you look terrible, people with also assume that you are "pulled together." They won't realize that your socks don't match and you've spilled coffee on your pants if you are sporting a jauntily tied scarf.

7. Call an old lady (or old man, if you know any). First of all, you can't feel old and used up if you are talking to someone who's over eighty (unless you are talking to my grandmother, who has an alarming amount of pep for someone her age). They are also delighted to hear from you, which is always nice, and inevitably say nice things about you to you and everyone they know. In addition, they are going to ask you about what's important in your life, which you will tell them with a very positive spin (so they don't worry) which in turn reminds you how lucky you are. Finally, old people are very interesting, at least my old people are, and they usually know lots of stories that you've never heard before if you start grilling them on the phone. Give them a jingle.

8. Call someone a lot younger than you. You are their old lady. When you ask them about their life, you will remind yourself of what's important again. You have lived through a lot more than them, and your old stories, which many of your peers don't need to hear, will seem fascinating (or at least, not too boring) to them. Remember, no one has ever thrown up on them. They've never taken anyone to the emergency room. You're little kid with a dislocated elbow story is fresh to them. Finally, not only are you letting them know you love them, but you will get off the phone so happy that you don't have to study for a test/meet a boyfriend's mother/apply to school/find a roommate/choose a major anymore that your life will seem pretty cool.

9. Read a book that ends happily. Many people denigrate escapist literature, despite the fact that much of it is far superior to the chic lit shit peddled to women constantly in this country. I don't want to read a book that is about a woman who was molested, is getting divorced or has cancer, especially if it is written by a half-wit who should be writing dog food labels. That doesn't mean you have to read romance novels, either, though I am partial to them. They are like bubblegum, and I understand if you want some meat on your books. Read books where something happens that isn't happening to you and your friends, or in fact could never happen to you or your friends. Name of the Wind (Rosthfuss), Gunslinger Series (King), anything by Terry Pratchett, The Lies of Locke Lamora (Lynch), Elantris (Sanderson), True Grit (Portis), anything by Agatha Christie. . . well I could go on and on. The point is, when you need a break, take one. Be someone else for a little while, and if they have superpowers, well, all the better.

10. Brush your teeth. Your friends will thank you, yuck-mouth. Your spouse will stop recoiling from you. And you will feel minty fresh. And you will eat less, which will help you to diet. . .

11. Preach to people on a blog. Maybe they'll read it, maybe they won't. Who cares? You'll feel better for having written.

Tune in tomorrow for a day of dieting in a blizzard. My HUSBAND will be home to verify my reported consumption. Maybe I'll make him take me into the basement and play "Gym Trainer" and "Hot New Gym Rat."

Don't be alarmed when I make a fist.

As expected, back to 131.5 this morning. And, also as expected, today was a rough day. I predict 131.5 or even 132 for tomorrow morning.

Breakfast: A banana and tea. (Yippee!)

Workout: At the YMCA with Mdme. La for an hour. (Yippee!)

Lunch: Two hard boiled eggs on wheat bread. (Bread is bad, but if that is the only carb for the day, cautious optimism.)

Dinner: Two pieces of Mdme. Li's homemade pizza. (Not good, but may still lose weight, due to workout.)

The Breakdown: Finish Stina's pretty much untouched chocolate cake. (Very bad, but very delicious.)

I stayed away from all of the candy and cookies at my son's birthday party. I stayed away from the Smartfood that my wicked sister-in-law brought over in an attempt to sabotage me. (Actually, I did have a couple of handfuls. She is an evil temptress.) I gave away almost all of the leftovers. The abandoned cake defeated me.

However, there is hope on the horizon. Parade Magazine (a sorry, sorry rag) reports that "To help you pass up that second piece of chocolate cake, you should make a fist. For an instant hit of willpower, clench your fist.. . . the Journal of Consumer Research found that tightening your muscles. . . . can help shore up your self-control." I have a couple of thoughts about this. First of all, who needs help resisting a SECOND piece of cake? I love chocolate cake, and even I, the girl who once ate nine lemon delights in a twenty-four hour period, am happy after a whole piece of cake.

[Footnote: I think I ate so many lemon delights because I was overwhelmed by the idea that I could. In my experience, everyone usually got one or two lemon delights and then they were gone or I was cut off. During and directly after my aunt's wedding shower no one was paying any attention to me, and my grandmother had made a sea of lemon delights. No one even knew I ate so many. Bliss. If you haven't had a lemon delight, I'm very sorry for you. Do not attempt to make up for this lack with an inferior copy, however. If they're not just right, they are terrible. Perhaps you should just reconcile yourself to the idea that you were not meant to experience this particular Nirvana, actually, because I am not going to make any for you, and if anyone I know is making them, I am probably unwilling to share them with you. Get a puppy or something.]

My second problem with the Parade nonsense is that I don't think clenching a fist for no apparent reason is a good policy. My children and husband, for instance, might start flinching if I made a fist every time I wanted to eat something. Also, like any weapon, once you make a fist, you are kind of hoping to use it. I really don't want to start beating my family just because I'm trying to lose ten pounds. It would be like drinking whiskey to quit smoking, or tearing out your bathtub because you didn't want to clean it. If I am going to start beating my family, I have to have a reason I can stand behind.

However, if tightening muscles does shore up your self-control, doesn't it make sense to tighten up a larger muscle group? I think I am going to start clenching my ass every time I want to eat something. There are a lot of advantages to this. First off, if anyone brushes up against my ass, they will think it is very firm, because they will not know that I am actually clenching it all the time. Secondly, reminding myself of my ass may be enough to shore up my self-control, especially if I start chanting a mantra like, "Junk in the trunk, junk in the trunk" or "You are ass-tastic, you are ass-tastic."

My tight ass is a problem for tomorrow, however. Tonight, I'd better brush my teeth so I don't have a second piece of cake.

Whoopee!

This morning I woke up and weighed myself, and I had hit 129.5. Whoopee! A big salad for lunch and two bowls of soup for dinner yesterday was a winning combo! (Also, even though MY HUSBAND bought and ate a snack last night, he would not share his cookies when I asked him. "I am not an enabler." he said. I am glad now that he did not share his cookies, but I shan't forget in a hurry. I made him put them away himself so I didn't down a few of them on my way to the kitchen.)

Unfortunately, I think I may have scuttled my progress already. It's been a hell of a day, temptation-wise. Tomorrow is my son's birthday, so we celebrated today. That meant Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast. Now, I would never stop and buy myself a doughnut at Dunkins. The idea of them - hydrogenated fats and corn syrup, frozen in a factory, baked and frosted by some chain-smoking teenager and sitting on a rack for god knows how long. . . yuck. They smell so fresh and sweet in person however, that it is easy to forget all that. I made myself half a whole wheat bagel with some hummus and had a cup of cocoa. Not great calorie-wise, but not as awful as a doughnut.

Then we took the kids ice skating, and got them Wendy's. Wendy's is even more disgusting than Dunkins, for reasons we don't need to review here. I did not get anything, and when we got home I had some lettuce with caesar dressing. If I could have eaten in my own healthy person kitchen, I would have been fine. Unfortunately, I sat with my greasy little family and a few fries did manage to mambo their way into my mouth (I'd say about ten), and I had a couple of bites of my daughter's cheeseburger. Again, not great, but not awful.

Then I made a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. My son, having superior taste, loves chocolate, just like his mother. I don't need to draw you a picture -- imagine my consternation when the cake came out beautifully. (If I couldn't make things exactly the way I like them, I'd be much better off.)

I had a hamburger on toast for dinner, thinking that if I had the toast, I'd be strong enough to forgo the potato chips (another request my little sweet boy made that tested the strength of my resolve) and the cake and CHOCOLATE ice cream (really -- that's exactly what I would want for my birthday -- is that fair?).

Unfortunately, even though I did not have my own piece of cake, I did have about five bites of my kids's cake. They abandoned them right on their plates! Poor, lonely, rejected cake! I'm only human! I also had a couple of handfuls of chips, which there is just no excuse for. I can hear MY MOTHER now, "THE SALT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IN HEAVEN! THE SALT! YOU WILL BE ALL PUFFY!'

So if I'm at 130 tomorrow, I'll be shocked and delighted. The real problem is that now I have three quarters of a cake on my counter, and MY HUSBAND has declared that he is "DONE." What this means is that he will not eat anything that is bad for him until further notice, and when he says it, he means it. I'm also screwed, because I have to make another cake for my nieces and nephews tomorrow. Those little bastards have to step up and eat some damned cake.

I must be strong, because I really like cake for breakfast. Yummy! And lunch! I will also foist as much cake as possible on my sisters-in-law. Mdme. La's husband is a diabetic, they're not much help. Mdme. Li's husband is not really smart enough to like cake. My father would take a cake with glee, but MY MOTHER will never let that happen. That leaves Mdme. S with a big target on her forehead. She loves chocolate, and has big, hungry children. Let them eat cake!

Of course, it steams me to give her my delectable cake because (1) I want it; and (2) She emailed me that she had left some Smartfood on my back step to eat with my movie, and she was only "kidding." There was no Smartfood on my back step. I hoped that the feral cat in the neighborhood might have dragged it a few feet away, or something, but there was no sign of any cheesy popcorn product at all. Pretty mean. If she had left it, deliberately sabotaging me, that would be even meaner, but promising it and not leaving it is really not Christian. If I didn't have to get rid of this damned cake, she'd never see a crumb, but I'm between a rock and a hard place.

Think of me in the morning as I have my tea, sans cake, and a banana. That's not a sexy euphemism, either, it will just be a banana. :(

Still at 131, even without the macaroni

Not surprisingly, Mdme. R was correct, and you really shouldn't eat one huge supper a day and expect to lose weight, because you don't lose weight. Of course that wasn't my plan, sometimes life just gets ahead of you (or me, at least).

I had a huge, honking salad last night for supper. Romaine lettuce, a roasted pepper, cherry tomatoes and 1 1/2 potatoes. Would have been the ideal weight-loss meal, except there was a certain amount of creamy dressing involved. (Caesar dressing is to salad what my husband's vasectomy is to sex -- Quite simply IT MAKES IT AWESOME!) So this morning, despite having resisted the delicious macaroni I made for the kids, I still weighed 131 pounds.

On the up side, Tim and I were so sick that we stayed in bed until 10:00 a.m. How is being sick a good thing, you ask? Because I did not eat the entire time I was in bed! I wasn't even hungry! That's what's called a "silver lining," folks.

Of course, our poor children, having subsisted on fruit all morning, were pretty hungry. At lunchtime I heated up the leftover macaroni for them, which looked just as good to me today as it did last night.

And here's why I hate dieting: If I hadn't overindulged at various times in the past, I could have just heated up the macaroni, eaten with the crew and called it a day. Instead, I had to boil and peel two damned eggs, cut up another roasted pepper, and worst of all, clean the damned lettuce. I coupled this with the rest of the roasted tomatoes and potatoes from last night. Another large salad, but smaller than last night's, and with much less dressing than last night. It was AWESOME, but more of a "quickie" awesome, than a "Oh my god, who would have thought it could be that good?" awesome, if you get my drift. Now, at 4:30, I am starving again.

So, I'm going to have some almonds and raisins WITHOUT chocolate chips (Weep! Wail! Gnash my teeth!). I am going to measure them with a measuring cup, because I have found in the past that I am chronically dishonest about what a fourth cup really looks like in a bowl. I will not be too proud to really pack those buggers into the measuring cup, however. It will be the heaviest one fourth cup of raisins ever measured, in all likelihood. I am not going to go so far as to grind them in the cuisinart, which would allow them to be packed even more densely, but I obviously have considered it.

Tune in tomorrow to hear whether Big K gets her husband to rent the new "Karate Kid" movie, and more importantly, whether they have. . . MOVIE SNACKS!

Optimism -- My Curse

Let's not allow the suspense to torture you all any longer. I begin where we left off -- What did Big K have for dinner last night?

I had two scrumptious scrambled eggs, cooked in butter with a tiny piece of toast. I wouldn't even call it a "piece of toast," honestly, because it was the heel of the loaf of wheat bread (Alvarado St -- good brand) and paper thin. I would have cooked the eggs in olive oil, but we were out. I was delighted. Eggs deserve butter. I didn't overcook them and they glistened in yellow perfection. I could have eaten about 6 more eggs, if given the opportunity, with or without toast.

I then had the last handful of chocolate chips -- half white choc., half semi-sweet (I recommend that mix). I didn't plan on eating them, but figured I'd better finish them off so I could start today off with a clean slate. Now there are no open packages of chocolate chips left in the house.

Because I had put them in a warm bowl from the dishwasher the day before, they had melted a little and were fused to the bowl, and needed to be chiseled out with a spoon. That might have dissuaded some folks, but I am made of sterner stuff.

All of this happened before 6:00 p.m. Earlier for lunch I had had copious amounts of tea and three pieces of homemade margarita pizza. I went to bed starving, but optimistic that I might be down to 129.5 this morning.

Unfortunately, when it comes to weight loss, optimism is my curse. This morning, I weighed 131, before and after my bath, even without my nightgown.

You see, I didn't actually see "130" on the scale yesterday, but "132." That was mid-day, after the copious amounts of tea. Being an optimist, I figured I probably weighed about 130.5 sans the tea and other bodily wastes. Turns out, I was wrong. So today, I jumped on the scale and found that I had cheated myself of my first victory. I probably did lose half a pound yesterday, but it was not the half a pound I hoped for. So now I have to lose 11 pounds in 5 weeks, which doesn't have the greatest ring to it, honestly.

Despite the crushing despair that went along with my lost victory, I persevered today. This morning I met my friends Mdme. L and Mdme. E for tea (Sounds more glamorous than it was. It was actually "tea with nose wiping/diaper changing."). Mdme. L put out a plate of homemade pineapple squares and biscotti. Mdme. L said that MY MOTHER said it was "OK to eat the biscotti because there is nothing in them." I am capitalizing MY MOTHER because MY MOTHER is to this blog what YAWEH is to the scriptures (That's God, for those of you who went to WPI or Nasson). If Mum says I can eat it, then I can. So of course, I did, with mint tea, and it was delectable. I did not have a second one, because I knew Mdme. L would tell on me, the skinny little stinker. So I had more mint tea. I am heartily sick of tea.

Then I went to the grocery store hungry, where I saw my sister-in-law, Mdme. S who was also probably hungry. She bought our kids muffins, and I ate a bite of my son's when I got home. It was chocolate, but terrible. She also watched a lady back into my car. Long story short, there was no damage to either car, and Mdme. S agreed, as did the lady, that it was the lady's fault. That makes three fender benders in the past year, only two of which were my fault (though I still blame that pole for that second one, in my heart of hearts). In conclusion, I should have had lunch before I went to the grocery store.

Tune in tomorrow and find out, "How much macaroni can a dangerously hungry girl eat? Will she cut up some vegetables and eat them instead? Will she ever reach her starting weight? Only YAWEH (and MY MOTHER) know!"

And so it begins. . .

Join me on an adventure. It's not a very exciting, dangerous or sexy adventure. It's not an adventure that is going to change the world. In fact, this adventure is not going to include dwarves, elves, self-help gurus, ballet dancers or much of the world at all. Many would not even consider it a classic "adventure".

However, if you're smart, you make the little journeys into a fucking adventure, so you can suck every bit of happiness from them. You make your own excitement, so you stay passionate and engaged.

So. . . MY adventure is going to be losing 10 pounds before my brother Brad's wedding. I lost five pounds this fall, three of which I kind of gained back over the Christmas and New Year's. I lost two of them again this week. They were pretty easy to lose again, because I think they were mostly water retention due to salty food and my period. I drank a lot of tea and tried not to pig out, and they're gone again. I have lost and gained those five pounds about fifty times in the last three years.

I now weigh about 130 if I am buck naked, it is morning, and have emptied myself of all wastes. If I weigh myself at any other time, I am likely to assume that my clothes, undigested food, urine and poop weigh about twenty pounds (which they do not) and I also happily assume I have reached my weight loss goal and go have a hot fudge sundae. (Actually, I can't remember the last time I had a hot fudge sudae. . . doesn't that sound good?) Sometimes I miss my window for accurately weighing myself, so I have done some complicated calculations about how much a nightgown and a cup of cocoa actually weigh, but is not usually an accurate or productive process (My nightgowns weigh about a pound each, though, if you're curious. I've checked.).

I really need to lose these ten pounds, and keep them off, however, because I am turning forty this month. I don't really mind getting older -- I don't have a choice, after all, and it's only fair. Everyone else is getting older, too. And as long as I keep all my marbles I will be able to keep myself happily entertained into my old age (I actually have jobs all picked out for me and my sister at the town library. "Have you read this book, dear? It's lovely. Lots of vampires and raunchy sex scenes. Let me check it out for you."), however, I really want to be old and lean, not old and pudgy. I'm going for kind of tough and stringy, like beef jerky, but with good hair and teeth.

My goal -- to weigh 120 pounds by February 11, 2011, Brad and Whitney's rehearsal dinner. My sister thought that this blog might help me accomplish this. Actually, I think she just thought that she would get a lot of laughs at my expense. She already weighs 120 pounds, which is annoying, because we are the same height and general build (by which I mean we have no breasts) and she's been pregnant more recently than me.

I am going to post this and send it out to those I know will "get" it -- basically my sister, my cousins and my best friends. I will share some of the psychotic humiliation that inevitably goes along with such an endeavor to motivate myself and for kicks and giggles.

On a more practical note, I don't know what I'm going to have for dinner, but I'll let you know how it went tomorrow.