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!