Cereal

So I read Lisa Scottoline's Daddy's Girl last night. Blech. Very disappointing. There was one line that made me chuckle last night (reading a book in less than three hours can make you a little punchy): "She'd been aiming for boho art major, but was settling for nearsighted coke whore." This morning though, eh. Who hasn't had that happen while getting ready on a Saturday night?

I'll never be sane

Even better:
I packed a gym bag so that I would work out at least a little after school. Instead, I picked up a meatball grinder and was halfway through the bag of chips as I passed the fitness center.

It amazes me that, even now, 35 seconds into Father of Mine I am hunched over the steering wheel, sobbing my eyes out. My dad has called at least three times during the past week, just to chat. After the third conversation in which there were a few awkward pauses, it hit me: He probably heard that the Moms have met Mr. C. I'll need to try to set up a lunch date so that they can meet. Dad works second shift-and on his days off, he's sloshed by 2.

Forgot to put a spoon under my pillow

4:40 a.m. No snow, but reset alarm and skip 5 a.m. workout, just in case
5:00 a.m. No snow, but reset alarm in case ConnectEd call comes in, skip 5:30 workout
5:30 a.m. No snow, briefly consider home yoga DVD, but the cramps have started, take Advil, skip 6:00 yoga
6:00 No snow, eat a fiber bar with hopes of pooping before work, reset alarm, skip last possible 6:30 workout
6:50 No snow, son leaves to catch bus, I yell goodbye from bed
7:10 No freakin' snow, jump out of bed, take quickest shower ever, throw on corduroys (yep, corduroys), striped blue blouse with tuxedo ruffle (no iron needed) and red Merrels (no tying-late late late!!!)
7:23 Start car. Snow flakes begin to drop on the windshield.

Freakin' frackin' frookin' cracker

OMG!

And now we have a joint CosCo membership!!!!

A premenstrual mess

All the things I'm wigging out about:

Being in a relationship, that I'm a crappy girlfriend, I get annoyed if he calls more than once when I'm pre-menstrual, then get sad if he calls only once if I'm premenstrual, that my son is such a good kid to compensate for some of the carzy stuff we've been through, that I want more children but I am really emotionally unavailable some of the time (my kid has to ask me for a hug), that I get tense when Mr. C says, "I miss you"-I can feel my whole body tighten up, I have to see my sister-in-law tomorrow-she wants to do background checks on anyone who is introduced to her kid, so in order for Mr. C to spend anytime with my family when that niece is around he would have to be vetted-it's small comfort that he's not being singled out-how the hell am I going to be able to make small talk with her, I want to marry this man but then freak out at the thought of actually sharing a place with another human full time-even my son isn't here all of the time, he sleep at his dad's two weekends a month, that maybe I am a lesbian, my house isn't as clean as I want it to be, I go back to work on Monday with little planned for the week, that I can't talk to my mom about much other than the superficial, my dad seems hurt that I haven't seen him in a while but I just can't deal with him right now, I weigh 150 pounds-sure, I am pretty freaking muscular for a woman, but I am still 8-10 pounds over my goal weight and I'm pissed at myself for not being more focused on nutrition...

...shit, I know, I should go read the news and find out about people with real problems.

Sorry 'bout the weather

Everyone is ok, but I got into a fender bender in this damn stupid weather. I used to think I would never, ever move south, but it sounds pretty damn good today.

Cha-cha

Almost time to hoist the feet up in the ole stirrups and get the cooch checked out. Unbelievably, the va-jay-jay has had only ONE visitor in the last year. Granted, he visits often and stays long, but I never thought I'd see the day when my bajingo got less traffic than my blog.

I SEEE You!

My district is kickin' it old school and is on good ole "February vacation", a break eliminated by most surrounding towns.

And I'm just a sittin' here on the computer with absolutely nothing of interest to write. Sure, I got a great quote on the bathroom yesterday, the son and I are being poked and prodded by various specialists this week, and, WOO HOO! my sister is going to help me with my taxes. Maybe I'll have something after going to the gym for the first time with the beau (I'm a bit of a gym rat and he, well, he's not) and the girls and I are doing something Thursday night, and that usually turns into a story-or stories. If SOMETHING interesting doesn't happen soon (and please, oh most powerful Gods, I don't mean anything bad-or involving the sister-in-law), I may just tie one on, paint my body day-glo-pink and visit the local cultural center and pretend to be a "Body Revealed".

And then

AND THEN! He drove up last night to give me a kiss and a framed picture of us photoshopped into a 5 by 7 copy of the movie poster of Seven Days and Seven Nights.

Sometimes I wonder if he's real. Actually, I have an image of me walking up to a huge door, with clouds swirling about, almost as if it's God's office, and knocking timidly on the door to ask, "Uh, excuse me, is this really for me? I'd hate to keep something that's not mine. I get to keep him and be happy?"

Wow.

Call me Douchebag

I AM AN IDIOT. So I had some nude pictures taken by a photographer, picked one that was flattering, showed off my ass (a fav of the beau) and doesn't show my face, had it framed and gave it to him on Sat, thinking that because we don't see each other during the week and we had made plans for a fancy dinner on the weekend, that Sat. would like Valentine's day, not that I've celebrated it in the past or usually give it much thought. I gave the picture to him rather sheepishly, not sure if he would love it or get upset because I was naked for someone else. He said he would open it on Sunday morning, and that he had been hoping we could get together during the week for V day. We had an awesome weekend, and when he opened the pic he wasn't upset, but at the same time, he wasn't like, "oh wow". But, the beau is also a photographer, and from the questions he asked, it felt as if he was questioning the amount of experience the guy had. (A legit question, by the way, because the guy had actually framed the wrong picture.) Oh well, I thought, not as good an idea as I had hoped, but at least it didn't cause any problems. (We won't even get into how it felt to pose nude. As risque as I can be, it's a humbling experience.)

So, are the nude pictures the reason I'm an idiot? Not exactly. I am an idiot because, and I've said this before, I am sooooo guy like. Did I pick up something else for tonight? Noooooooo. I figured since he drove up I'd pay for dinner (if he'd let me) and then hope for sex. Ater getting stuck in traffic in crappy weather, he walked in with a bag of carefully chosen and/or handmade gifts, wrapped, with a terrific card that he made (and not like a crayon drawing, either). I was too stunned to thank him properly. I should just get "stupid" tattooed on my forehead.

Drip drop

Sometimes I feel like John freakin' Henry when I'm out clearing the sidewalk with my orange plastic shovel.

On the plus side, SNOW DAY FOR ME!!!! Celebrated by spending $94 at Borders before 9:30 a.m. And tonight, it's sushi for the Valentine's dinner with the beau. Woo hoo hoo!

Self-amusement

As I was driving to work, I noticed a small truck that said, "AAA batteries delivered and installed" on the back, and my giggles turned into hysterical laughter at the thought of uniformed men arriving at houses to change the batteries in calculators or remotes.

Yesterday was squat and lunge day, and today I became acutely aware that I slap my thighs for emphasis while explaining things to the students.

My slippers are trying to kill me

Reasons I Love Bally Total Fitness

1. The "Does this machine work?" game

2. You don't feel self conscious around the out-of-shape trainers

3. Black men in sunglasses, Latino men in jeans and work boots, Italian men in gold

4. No need to hit the showers-just stand under one of the leaks in the ceiling

5. Short wait time for free weights- full range of motion? Bah!

6. Wide variety of choices for music-just stand next to someone singing along with an iPod

7. A grunt and a clang of metal will signal when a set is finished

8. Environmentally conscious- the same towel is used to clean sinks, mirrors, spills and equipment

9. Extra cardio walking around gym looking for matching set of dumbbells

10. Uninhibited overweight seniors in the locker room-you go girl!

Bored on Lincoln's Birthday

Squirrel Away! To keep squirrels from eating your plants sprinkle your plants with cayenne pepper . The cayenne pepper doesn't hurt the plant and the squirrels won't come near it.

What if the squirrels are from Mexico? Now Manny, don't get your tail feathers in a tizzy-the only "plants" I grow are dandelions and skunk cabbage, so you're not missing out on anything. And the wacky tabaccy is still yours for the usual rate.

S'mores?

One of the greatest compliments in recent memory:
KS: walking into school in a long black jacket with the hood on, and high heeled black boots
Butch gym teacher: Hey, you look all Tomb Raider today.

This weekend was amazing, amazing enough that we titled it The Weekend of Food and Sex, '08. Fine, not the snazziest title in the world, but living it was awesome. We finally rolled out of bed to grab something to eat at 1:30 PM. The restaurant owner recognized the beau and complimented him on his show. I'm not someone who is impressed with celebrity (annoyed, usually), but I must admit it's cool that Mr. C is known in his city and surrounding towns. He dubs it "slightly famous"-he's done just enough stuff to be recognized by the locals, but not anything major enough to cause a fan rush. When we first met, I didn't even think about it, but today I got a kick out of the owner shaking his hand and chatting, and the pleasure it brought Mr. C. Admittedly, after this weekend, someone could have kicked me in the knee, and I would have smiled serenely. (We even, like, communicated and stuff-initiated by him, of course.)

Back when I started a blog, I thought I could post freely, then made the mistake of letting the boyfriend at the time "find" it. I've given no such clues or hints to the beau on this new space (quite ahamed of the shit I post, actually), but when I was rambling yesterday, he interrupted and asked, "Did you say 'bowza'?" I hadn't, but became paranoid that he had somehow found this because I had written "bowza" in a recent post. I'm not concerned about anything I've written about him in particular, just that any suspicion he has that I'm loony will be confirmed.

I like pleasure spiked with pain

A Buddhist biker took pictures of my bare ass. Bowzah!

Kappa Delta Pie

Figuring, what the hell, I just read my Yahoo horoscope. They offer one's Chinese horoscope as well, and again, I figured what the hell. Turns out it's basically the same, just r's where the l's should be.

Ah, an approved personal day in order to attend a meeting on my son's post-high school planning. He gave me a run down of where he would like to apply. He mentioned a local college as a safe school, the one I ended up attending after, ahem, having him rather young. "If you really want to apply there, go ahead, but it doesn't have the major you want, and, quite frankly, you can still attend even without applying during your senior year. Where do you really want to go?"
Georgetown, Tufts, Yale...
"YALE??? Why???" "I have a better chance of getting into Yale than Harvard."
"Honey, if you want to go to Harvard, apply to Harvard! Don't hold yourself back! Dream big! If it's Harvard you want, go for it!"

Damn, I still party occasionally in New Haven, and Good Lord, I wouldn't want to run into him when I'm all drunk and trying to pick up college girls.

Stuck Up American Bitch

I guess I've always been sort of a food snob. My dad's a chef and my mom is an excellent cook. My pediatrician once asked me what my favorite food was when I was 5 or 6, and was quite taken aback when I responded with broccoli quiche. Even though we were poor for quite a few years when my siblings and I were children, when my mom made macaroni and cheese with velveeta, she still started with a buerre blanc and added a pinch of dill before serving. And when my son was a toddler and we were on food stamps for a few months, I somehow managed to add freshly ground black pepper to the Ramen noodles.

Which brings me to chain restaurants. I secretly loathe them, but go along with family and friends for the social aspect of dining out. My son and I ate at Chili's last night, and I thought I would branch out from my ususal chicken tacos (no cheese or sour cream-not due to snobbery, but rather for the safety of family and friends) to chili and a salad. Holy crap. If I wanted a plate of white iceberg and a bowl of upchucked dogfood, I would go visit Great Aunt Matilda. Granted, I probably haven't noticed the poor food quality there in the past because I'm usually blind drunk by the time the entree arrives, but due to the company I was keeping, I was stone cold sober when the goo and cabbage stalks arrived.

Lesson learned: Drink more. A LOT more.

I'll walk right out into a brand new day

While watching Uma crying and laughing in a fetal postion on the floor of the bathroom, I realized it had been just a year since I had seen him last, and the emotions conveyed ran through my body, leaving me as exhausted as she must have felt after that scene.

I wish I had known the five point palm exploding heart technique.

Naked and eating yogurt

Just you WAIT until you see what I do next. HA!
HAhaha! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!