Monday, January 25, 2010

Is You Smokin' Crack?!?

It's raining buckets here. Rainy and windy and pretty damn warm. I'm not sure I care for it. Today was the third "Biggest Loser" weigh-in. Last week I went up a half a pound. This week I'm down five. That's eight pounds so far. That's a freakin' newborn baby, y'all. A big one, too. Speaking of babies, here's a picture of Sage, ass-up.

As much as I hate telephones, I love the power of text because it enables my sister to send me little glimpses of life back home. And speaking of back home, for any one out there who's interested, the prodigal daughter will be returning for a visit March 5-14. Or something like that. But here's the exciting part. I'm bringing the man with me. Actually, I'm bringing four mens. One John and three boy cats. Plus Bea. In one teeny Honda. We're gonna be doling out the Valiums like they're Skittles. I'll betcha we break our personal CT to NC driving record. Just say some Hail Mary's and chant and burn some white candles for us. Whatever it takes, cause I'm already dreading it like a beating.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Me and Daddy in my parent's back yard. March of 2000.

Today's my daddy's 72nd birthday. Happy birthday to the sweetest, truest and most self-effacing and beautiful man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Happy birthday to the teller of ribald jokes and funny old stories. Happy birthday to the man who once, when I was five years old, accidentally slammed my thumb in the tailgate of his truck and then cried more than I did. To the only man in a house full of women, who never minded buying tampons and who says things like, "You know I can't button up shirts no more, cause I ain't got no feeling in my fingers. I need me some of them snap-button shirts. Like Porter Wagoner."

The older little bare-foot boy in the overalls. With my grandparents and my Uncle Jimmy. Circa 1943.

Daddy said this morning at breakfast the girls down at the restaurant brought him a piece of cake with a candle and then sang 'Happy Birthday' to him. One of them asked Daddy if he needed a lap dance. He said, "Why it sure would help a whole lot."

Monday, January 18, 2010

Wendy texted me this picture of Sage and her new toy chest. She's so cute she looks like a little muppet.

I gained a half a flippin' pound this week, which I've decided to attribute to muscle rather than the two orders of yellow curry chicken I ate over the weekend. You don't work out like I do and not burn fat. It's just not done. I should probably measure myself and see if I'm losing inches and possibly even feet. But gotdang, how depressing will THAT be?

John's gone to darts. I'm home with the cats.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Mae and Lenny said they're tired of Ernie getting all the face time.

I'm sick of winter already. Grey skies and icy patches of pavement do not make for the cheerful disposition. Neither does PMS. We've eaten Thai food twice this weekend and I'd have it for supper if I thought John would capitulate. I'm working out like a fiend and I'm not eating crap and somehow I'm really not tempted by any of the junk crap. Yet, tomorrow is weigh in number three and I dread it like a beating.

Enough of that though. What I'm reading, "The Man With a Load of Mischief", by Martha Grimes. What I'm watching, "Cranford" on Masterpiece (still). What I'm wearing, "the same pink aeropastle lounge pants and hand-me-down grey sweatshirt I was wearing last year at this time". What I'm drinking, "iced coffee from the bakers dozen minus the free donut because neither one of us knew the answer to the trivia question, which was: How many years is considered a term for the Director of the FBI? The answer is ten. We said eight. I wouldn't have eaten the donut anyway". What I'm working out to, "Either Billy Blanks or Amy Bento. Ran three miles Friday night and nearly stroked out. Took me close to 40 minutes but I'm a chunk-ass so just back the hell off".

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

oh but you shouldn't have!

I love getting big ole packages in the mail. Particularly when they contain Key Lime cookies and really freakin' awesome hats such as the one shown in that there picture. Thank you to Angie and Imad and Paul and Rachel.

Y'all's the best.

Speaking of Key Lime cookies... yesterday was the second "Biggest Loser" weigh in and I have lost four pounds. Four pounds in one week. So I only ate one cookie.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Hey Angie!

I stole this from my niece Rachel's Facebook album. My sister Angie down in Key West, which is where they spent the holidays. Key freakin' West. I couldn't hate her more if she told me she met Joaquin Phoenix and was now carrying his love-child. Do people still use the term 'love-child'? Shouldn't they all be considered love-children, regardless of the marital-status of the parents? So I love Angie, but she's the only person I know who would need a jacket in a tropical climate. I'm going to see her in a couple of months. She can feed me and listen to me whine and I can tell her how smart and pretty and skinny she is.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Mama 1961

My 16 year old Mama looking all sassy with her cigarette. This is the same woman who banged on my locked bedroom door when I was 18 and told me I'd better not be smoking a cigarette in her house. She knew I was, because three minutes prior to this, she and I had been lying in her bed reading and talking and I asked her if smoking one cigarette would mean I was addicted to them and she said, "Yes. Without a doubt." And I didn't believe her so told her I was going to my room to find out.

Anyway. What a dish she is.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Today I signed up for "The Biggest Loser" at work and allowed some man I encounter on a daily basis to weigh me. I was surprisingly blase about the whole thing. At first every one was all in an uproar because we thought the weigh-in person was going to be this dude in security who has a kinesiology degree from UConn. Dude. Is. Built. Tiny waist and huge shoulders. All the women who had initially agreed to participate, automatically backed out when they found out he was going to be in charge of weigh-ins. I balked at first and then decided I didn't give two shits. Tara, who makes me laugh way too much, was all, "Listen, chick. He only dates strippers. He thinks everyone who weighs more than 90lbs and doesn't swing from a pole is fat. We're all good." As it turned out though, the stripper-dater is out. My point: I signed up for "The Biggest Loser". First weigh in was today and the whole thing lasts twelve weeks. Of course today I'm all enthused and giddy. I ate well. I exercised. I got a headache and showered and now I'm drinking coffee. If I can just stay away from carbs after about 3pm and sugar all together, I think I'll be alright.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Cleaned out the freezer this morning and found some frozen Brontosaurus burgers and four opened packages of corn niblets. It's still snowing. Finished reading "Wormwood" by Susan Wittig Albert. Finished watching "Cranford". Put on a bra and went out in public. Have mauled and molested and kissed all of the cats until they can no longer stomach the sight of me... so now they just close their eyes while I maul and molest and kiss. Mama's kitty 'House' got run over a couple of weeks ago and I must confess that I'm harboring a bit of resentment towards her for even allowing him to be outside. Their road is a notorious death trap for furry friends. Any outside animal I ever owned growing up wound up squashed. Now she feels guilty and she misses him and every time she mentions it I heave a sigh and change the subject. He was a really, really good cat. I have pictures, but I can't post them because it'll make me too sad.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

I've been playing around with my other blog 'suhster gurl' this morning. Just messing with fonts and pictures and layouts. Something to pass the time. Check it out if you'd like. The beauty of the internet is that it allows non-artistic folk such as myself to feel expressive.

It's snowing again. Snowed Thursday. Snowed yesterday. Snowing again today. Best part about the snow is that at least it's above freezing. That and the quiet. I waddled out to the barn a couple of hours ago to put food out for Aggie and it was pure, gorgeous silence. Only the twitter of birds. I think in a past life I may have been deaf and my auditory senses still haven't recovered. It's beautiful though, the snow. Which reminds me of a funny story. Years ago, when I was still living in NC, I'd gone to visit Natalie in Asheville. It was summer and she and Ben and Amelia and I were out one night trying to find a short cut to some redneck seafood place they loved. Ben was driving and we were all talking and singing and after what felt like hours of winding mountain roads one of us asked what the hell was taking so long. It was really dark and the bugs were so thick they nearly blinded the road. "Oh my god. Is that snow? Are we up the mountain so high it's snowing?" I asked. And Ben said, "No, I think we've been just driving so long it's winter now."

Friday, January 1, 2010

My blogger buddy Bette pointed out that John's dad looked like Don Draper from "Mad Men" and while I'm familiar with the show I've never actually watched it. So I googled him. Damn, huh?

Mama and Daddy getting hitched. June of 1961. My mama was all of 16 years old. By the time she met my daddy in Homestead, FL she'd already lived in about ten different states. She was working in a tomato canning factory and he and his cousin were driving truck loads of tomatoes down from NC. My mama and her sister married my daddy and his cousin in Lincolnton, GA. Trust me, those two good ole boys fell ass-backwards into a whole heap of cuteness. Forty-eight years is a wicked long time ya'll. Daddy says they don't even keep folks on death row that long.

John's parents Julie and Cy on the left. Taken on what we think might have been New Years Eve 1940 something. John's dad Cy was so dreamy, don't you think?
Seeing as how it's the first day of the year, I feel obligated to post. John and I rang in 2010 by watching "Inglourious Basterds", eating homemade pizza with roasted garlic, mushrooms and fresh mozzarella and not eating oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. We kissed one another at midnight, then all four of the cats and he retired shortly thereafter, leaving me to wile away a few hours on wikipedia studying up on Nazi war criminals. I want to be prepared in case I run into one down at the Bakers Dozen. These are the things I do at 2am. Also, missing people and hiding people are big old fascinations of mine. Velma's on the case.

Other weird ass things I can't get enough of:

1) Maps and atlases. I read them during my lunch break like they're the latest Nora Roberts. Come to think of it, that probably explains how I knew the answer to the donut question the other day.

2) Abnormalities. Physical, mental, emotional, psychological whatever. Just take a look at my Ernesto up there with his marvelous cauliflower feet. Show me an albino or some bloke in the library having a straight up conversation with himself and I'll be fascinated for days on end. My friend Lynn hates this sort of thing. She can't tolerate the idea of anyone being persecuted or exploited. I just want to get closer and swap stories. It always reaffirms my notion that every stinking one of us, from the hirsute lady down the street to John's old friend with the degree from MIT and the raging case of schizophrenia, shares even the smallest of commonalities.