So much to tell you all!

As you all know, I was in Nantucket last weekend. Lots and lots to tell you all about that!

To summarize, TP and I were together constantly, and biked a total of about 40 miles, so we got some excellent exercise. We ate large bagel-ious and other starch heavy breakfasts (don't tell MY MOTHER), skipped lunch, and then had fantastic, huge dinners at hip, expensive restaurants. TP ate more than I did at these extravaganzas, though I certainly put in a yeoman's effort.

As of today, TP is three pounds lighter than he was before the vacation, while I gained three pounds. WHERE IS THE JUSTICE, I ASK YOU? I wouldn't mind if he just wasn't so damned happy about it. (Though I guess I do get a payoff, too, which I will probably try and collect on tonight, so I'm not complaining.)

To combat this distressing trend, I just brewed a pot of mint tea, and I will continue to try and flush the poisons out of my plump little body.

Other things you should know about my vacation:

I tooled around in a happy orange hat for much of our four days there. Bet you can't say the same! I know most of you are too cool for a little orange fisherman's hat. Too bad for you, folks! I can't wear sunglasses because I am hopelessly cross-eyed (Emphasize the HOPELESS -- I recently had this diagnosis confirmed at Children's Hospital, to the tune of $1,500.00. You would think for $1,500.00 they would have thrown in a pair of B cups, but all I got was dilated pupils and some sad head-shaking.) [Footnote: My Ancestry.com research (I have a lot of hot hobbies) has determined that my cross-eyes are of Irish origin. My great-grandfather, Dr. Lawrence Henry Goodwin Collier, a.k.a. "Dr. Can't keep it in his pants" named his illegitimate son Lawrence Goodwin. Turns out Dr. Collier's mother's maiden name was Goodwin. I was contacted by a Goodwin cousin, and they are all cross-eyed. I don't know if there are a lot of cross-eyed, Irish broads out there, but there you go, you know at least one! They also have heart problems and are mostly left-handed. Haven't determined if any of them also enjoy knitting and romance novels, but I have not completed my research.]

My HOPELESS crossed-eyes mean I only look out of one eye at a time, so I can't wear glasses or sunglasses, so I needed the cute, goofy hat to protect my eyes from the sun. It may not have been a perfect solution, but I bet I made a lot of friends/admirers, so I'm not complaining.

Another nugget I need to share with you:
Certain foods are very hot on Nantucket right now. Grits, for instance, showed up on multiple menus (I discovered I loved grits, not surprisingly, though I had not had them before. Or if I had had, they were called, "polenta"). Also, lots of confits, though it seemed to mean something different every time. As far as I can tell, they mostly used it to mean, "cooked, mashed up bits of meat." Churros and foi gras also seemed ever-present, which was a good thing, and probably responsible for some of those pounds I gained. Finally, lots of local veggies, including a kale caesar salad, which I enjoyed. A kale caesar salad is such a health food corruption, kind of like a wheat-grass cocktail, or seeing the pope give someone a [insert favorite sex act that you think the pope might be good at]. [Footnote: I would go with strip-tease.]

Last Nantucket Nugget for this evening:
Cucumber water. WOW! I'm going to buy one of those upside-down pitcher things, with the spouts? Know what I'm talking about? Then I'm going to have a lady party, and we are all going to drink refreshing cucumber water (which, by the way, is not fattening) and play canasta or maj jong or dominoes, (because I am open to games of all races) under an umbrella in my backyard. Seriously, I want to have a party just for the water. I don't even like cucumbers, AT ALL, in ANY circumstance, and I thought this water was delicious.

So, it's like I always say, you travel the world and you get a silly hat and fall in love with grits and cucumber water. Can you imagine what would happen if I went to a different state?

Anniversary Post

Yesterday was my parents' 20,000th wedding anniversary.  Seriously, they were married forty-three years ago.  Luckily for me and my inheritance, that was before I was born, which I have always found vaguely surprising, considering their subsequent inability to avoid conception.

Therefore it might be a nice time to consider how they've done it.  MY MOTHER, despite her strong personality and decided opinions, is actually very easy to live with.  She has good hygiene.  She practices what she preaches.  She has good posture.  She is rarely twitchy and never picks at her skin or scratches herself (probably because of the good hygiene -- there's a little life-lesson for you, kids!)

Seriously, though, as I sit here on vacation, waiting for my husband, the self-dubbed Total Package, to finish his work so I can go to the beach and get a sunburn, I think the thing I like most about MY MOTHER is that she is UP FOR ANYTHING.  Want to go on a bike ride?  Sure.  Want to have a drink or four?  Sure.  Want to host a few weddings?  No problem.  Want to make fifty fruit and coffee cakes for everyone you know every Christmas?  Time to put a smile on, roll your sleeves up and start chopping walnuts!

Now, you'd think most people would be that way, because it's definitely the way to have the most fun and get the most done.  If you don't go up to bat, you never hit a home run, dipstick.  However, most people are tired, or lazy, or pretty lame, actually, so they don't have evening cookouts on the beach or roller blade in the rain like MY MOTHER.  They don't ski like maniacs or paint their daughters' kitchens.  They don't call every like-minded voter to protect the Town's open space or schools.  And they don't laugh at themselves and everything else that strikes them as funny as they move through their day.

Bruce Springsteen once said, by way of my little brother, J Monster, MY MOTHER "has the heart of a ballerina."  I used to think that was a little prissy and delicate for my earthy, gardening, sexy mum.  However, then I remembered a ballerina's feet.  Nasty!  Those bitches go for it!  It hurts, but they twirl on, and they love it!  So I think Bruce and J Monster were right, and MY MOTHER and her heart are pretty cool to be married to, and to have in your life at all, actually.  I recommend doing something awesome with her, if you get the chance.

Mr. Lasagna, a.k.a., Daddy to a large group of lucky people, also has good hygiene, though he can be pretty gross on occasion (this site is too classy for any of those stories  -- quick two words -- bucket and boat).  He can whistle between his teeth, which he does when he is happy, and he pretends to know a great deal about wildlife.  This impresses those of his grandchildren that can't read.  Finally, he is fun to play cards with, as long as you remember that you wouldn't actually "get shot in Vegas" for dropping a card, something that has prevented me from braving that metropolis to this day.

Seriously, I think Mr. Lasagna is perfect for MY MOTHER because he thinks BIG.  If you are hanging with someone who is UP FOR ANYTHING  you better have some crazy cliff diving-type river rapids for her to dive into.  I also truly believe that if you have an over-inflated concept of what you can do, you often accomplish stuff that wasn't actually possible.  You can WILL things into being.  Hence the six kids (most of whom are pretty cool), the house expanded, the garage built, the tennis court built, the four houses built/renovated for his kids, the local laws passed, 1,000 + acres of land preserved, etc., etc. 

And he's funny (though not as funny as he thinks he is).  Which has kept them laughing and probably kept him alive.

Well, enough of this love-fest.  What have we learned today?  One, be UP FOR ANYTHING.  Two, you CAN do it (even if you actually can't).  And, three, try and get a good laugh in, no matter what you are into at the moment. 

I'm off to find TP.

The Coarsening of my Delicate Sensibilities

Once upon a time, I had standards.  I ate off my own plate with my own utensils.  If food fell on the floor, I threw it out.  I wore clean clothes that were ironed and in good repair.  I wore earrings every day.  I was positively uptight about bodily fluids.  I would say the same about my husband.  We were clean, well-groomed and proud of it!  Now?  Not so much.

I blame my children.  And it started right at the beginning.  Try giving birth sometime.  For those of you that have not seen a birth, it's not something you want to do on a white couch.  Or even in your home.  Blood, mucus, vomit, poop -- it's not for the faint of heart.

Then bring the baby home.  Suddenly, for the first time in your life (unless you are a medical professional or a pervert), you are being peed, pooped and vomited on.  My youngest daughter, The Bean, once pooped across the room.  She was a teensie little infant on her white changing table, on a white blanket, in a white outfit, and I took her pants off to change her diaper.  There was a bureau with a pile of white cloths on it across the room.  She she shot out this liquid, mustardy poop that splattered all over her, the changing table AND the whole bureau.  It was amazing in all the worst ways.

Do you let people you aren't boinking have a sip of your drink?  I didn't until I had kids.  I still resist it, but sometimes when it's a choice between giving one of them a sip of water or getting up and pouring another one for them, I give up.  And I was much more particular about my hair and clothes when I was the only person I was dressing.  Now if someone notices I've lost a button, I like to pretend that it "must have just fallen off." I have one jacket I've worn that way for four years.
Ever reached down a full toilet to get a tube of toothpaste or other dropped item?  Not cool, but often necessary when your five-year-old is an uncoordinated pain-in-the-ass who wants to "do it herself."  It breaks something in you.  The scary part is that then you have to defend throwing the item out, like you're the unreasonable one.

The girls are nothing compared to the boys, though.  As you probably know, my son, Mister B, is a gorgeous, sweet little man.   Unfortunately, hygiene is not his strong suit.  Many a time, we have found an unflushed toilet in the bathroom, BUT THERE'S NO TOILET PAPER IN THE BOWL.  Think about it.  It's upsetting.

On the upside, his revolting personal habits do pay his sisters back for the emotional torture he's undergone at their hands for the last six years.  This morning, my oldest daughter, who's self proclaimed rock n' roll name is "Thorn," ran downstairs screeching.  She explained that Mister B had overshot some pee onto the floor, and then wiped it up with a towel.  So far, so good for Mister B.  Unfortunately, he then put the towel on the counter and Thorn used it to dry her face after her morning ablutions.   The worst thing about it is that TP and I really didn't think it was a big deal.  We both PRETENDED we were upset to mollify her, but after she went back upstairs, TP said, "I almost told her, 'It's only water.'"  The TP I fell in love with would not have thought it was only water, but then, that innocent manchild had never have been forced to wipe his son's nose with his bare fingers in a moment of desperation, either.

I try not to worry too much about breakdown in standards.  There have been a lot of wet, rather disgusting kisses that I would never have missed along the way.

I'm back, baby!

As many of you know, one of my little cousins, Tootsie, is getting married on August 18th, less than two months away!!!!!! As such, Tootsie is officially nominated, "My Favorite Damned Cousin" for the rest of the summer. She is my little cousin, because she's much younger than me (Five years!) and she's tiny (rumor has it the bitch has been eating kale for lunch every day). [Footnote: Kale is gross. I know it's good for you, but I just cooked about four pounds of it for dinner last night, and I wouldn't eat it even if it were dipped in chocolate.]

Despite her lean, young body, and her repulsive eating habits, she is really awesome, and she mentioned to me when I last saw her that she used to read my blog when she needed a break at work. A multitude of other readers (four or five hundred) have also asked that I re-start the blog. I have therefore decided to come out of retirement (much like Brett Favre, but without the dirty pictures) and give these blog entries to Tiny Tootsie as a little wedding present. [Footnote: Tell your husband-to-be that that will not negatively impact the size of the actual present. I am not one of those jerks who "helps someone move," or "reupholsters a chair" for a wedding present. You will get your chunk of change, as is your due. By the way, did anyone else know how to spell "reupholster?" I had to look it up -- why do we spell that that way? Should be "reapolster," yes?]

I have already completed much of my Wedding Checklist, which I am sure you are very concerned about. Step one -- Killer dress/shoes/earrings. Went to Pilgrim's Progress, the best clothing store in the world, so done. Just a piece of advice when you are a smokin' (or slightly charred) lady dressing for a wedding in August -- It's going to be hot, and you are going to dance your patottie off. Dress for sweating. My dress is strappy, floaty and fantastic, so I'm all set. If any of you try and wear the same thing, I'll claw your eyes out. That includes you, Miss R who works upstairs. I'm watching you.

Step two -- Make hair appointment. Done. No roots allowed at the wedding.

Step three -- Get in shape. Done. My main squeeze, TP ("Total Package"), and I just completed the Insanity workouts. Nine weeks, six days a week. I eat lightning and I defecate thunder. I AM AS STRONG AS AN OX. I look back fondly on giving birth after finishing those videos. Seriously, I would be happy to prove it by beating up the bully of your choice.

Step four -- Get thin. Having a little more difficulty with this one. Quelle Surprise! Seriously, I've once more lost the ten pounds that I've lost and gained about six times in the past five years, so that is good. Unfortunately, I have not progressed beyond that. So here I am at 130 pounds again, well-muscled, with a layer of fat over what I hope is a killer body.

Also unfortunate is the fact that I have not grown. I am still at 5'3", with no boobs, shoulders or hips to speak of. If I were not 5'6", or a D cup, the math would be much more in my favor. Now that I am in my forties, I think hoping for a growth spurt is overly optimistic, however, so I think I am going to have to eat less.

So there it is! Time for another journey! Can I lose ten pounds in eight weeks? A NEW ten pounds, that is? Yes, I can! I'm in shape (albeit well-padded shape), so the rest should be easy (or easier).

To kick off this journey, TP and I are going to go to Nantucket for four days and nights. We've already made reservations at four different incredibly decadent restaurants, so I should lose some weight on the trip without even trying. That's my motto, "Set yourself up for success!"

Hope you enjoy the posts, and please let the other cool cats know I've started up again! Love you!

Big K

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!"