To My Angel on Your First Birthday

I have been thinking about this for weeks, my precious girl. What I would say, what my message for you would be. I had hoped to write something beautiful and poignant, something befitting of you, and yet I cannot. Words are my life and my livelihood, but today they fail me. It is impossible to describe my infinite love for you. Every word in existence, strung together, still would not do justice to your striking beauty, both inside and out.


I see the woman you will one day be in your brilliant blue eyes and forever smile, and my heart aches with the absolute joy of you. You will no longer let me cradle you in my arms, and long gone are the days we curled together in sleep. But I will forever hold you in my heart, little one, the way I did when we first met one year ago. You are, and will always be, my precious baby, my beautiful girl, my angel. Happy birthday.


All my love,
~Mommy

Diet? What Diet?

So here we are at the end of Week #1 of the NutriSystem diet. I have lost exactly... drumroll please ... 1.5 pounds. Da fuck?!? My husband has lost like 5 pounds or something, and I might as well have taken a dump, that's how much weight I lost. And I know this non-weight loss has absolutely nothing ok maybe everything to do with the fact that we went to a birthday barbeque Saturday and I stuffed my face with ice cream cake, OR the fact that I ate an entire bag of movie theater popcorn with butter. I mean, God, it was a just a medium bag, it wasn't like the huge tub or anything. Pfft. Whatev. And just because I did zilch in the physical activity department, that does not have any bearing on this equation whatsoever.


So. Right. Week #1 ends in horrific failure. I have eaten teensy portions of pasta and disgusting "peanut butter" cookies, and all I have to show for it is the increased need to pee, since I'm trying to drink the required eight 8-ounce glasses of water a day.


I can't even diet properly! How depressing.


Still 15 pounds to go.

When Stoopid Meets The Man

Bike helmet laws. Stoopid. Not bicycle, those actually make sense, although I've never worn a bike helmet because the last time I rode a bike was 20 years ago and we didn't know what helmets were back then. At bicycle speed, a helmet will protect your melon from almost certain squashing, should you take a header over the handlebars. 


I mean motorcycle helmet laws. Stoopid. What's the point of forcing people to wear helmets, if they're not wearing the other protective gear, like LONG PANTS for one, or boots, or a jacket with metal plates, or gloves. I all'time see guys riding bikes, wearing helmets, their t-shirts flying up over their shoulders from the wind. Listen pal, a helmet ain't gonna help you when you hit the skids in a tank top and shorts, ok? Your head will be the only part of you that's not broken into a trillion pieces and smeared all over the blacktop if you have an oopsie at 75 mph. 


So write your congressman, your mayor, or your 6th grade teacher, and tell them they're morons for enacting meaningless laws like that. Because until you pass a law telling people they have to wear more than a thong bikini and flip-flops on the back of their boyfriend's bike (I have actually seen this, swear to Gawd!), helmet laws are a complete waste of time, and a waste of my money because somebody had to sit there and debate the pros and cons of said meaningless law, and then vote on said meaningless law, with a few lunch breaks in between, when they could have been doing something useful, I don't know, like finding a way to fund after school programs or something.


Besides, helmets are for sissies. And laws are for suckers.

Chocolate! My Kingdom for Some Chocolate

Seriously not me. I've never looked that good in a bikini. Evah. *sob*

OK party peeps, no more screwin' around. Today began the official Diet of the B Household. Both my husband and I have started Nutrisystem, you know, "Low Glycemic Index Carbs" and all that happy horse shit. It works, though, I have to tell you. My husband was on it last year during my pregnancy, and he lost like 25 pounds or something. I should be so lucky. Whatever. Besides the point. Back to me and my pitiful self-image. I weigh less than I did when Monster was born, but I still have these 15 pounds hanging around that I've been sitting on for the past year, and I'm tired of it. I'm taking back my ass, dammit. And hopefully my thighs while I'm at it. Yeesh.


I'm not telling you how much I weigh. Sorry. While I will write about most anything under the sun, I do have limits, and there they are. I'm 5' 9", and my BMI is right smack in the middle of where it should be. But we don't need studies to know women care more about their appearance than men, now do we?


So, here we are, on this damn diet. It's Day 1, and I'm starving. Not really, but you expect me to say something like that, right? I'm actually not hungry. But I miss food. Already. The diet works by rationing out the proper portions of food, so you can't overeat. This sucks. I miss eating. I should be sitting here right now getting pretzel crumbs all over my laptop, but instead I'm swallowing excessively and trying not to drool on the keyboard. Sigh. Only 15 pounds to go! Somebody shoot me.

Dear Asshole Who Drives With the Gas and Brake Simultaneously,

When your brake lights are on the entire time you are in front of me, how am I supposed to know when you are slowing down, or about to make a sudden stop for that mother effing squirrel? I hope you appreciate just how close you came to getting an unscheduled rectal exam with the business end of a Honda Pilot. Please send me the name and address of your driver's ed instructor. I'd love to find him, drag him out of his house, into the street, and beat him to death with an orange parking cone and thank him or her for doing such a wonderful job educating you about the wonders of the highway.


Kisses,

Me

How Men Can Ruin Even the Sweetest of Moments

Conversation had upon learning The Saint had stopped on his way home from work to buy me two cute (and very expensive) shirts from a shop in New York City.

                K: Oh how sweet! Thank you so much! This is so unexpected! What prompted this?
                S: Well, you're always bitching about how you have nothing to wear.
                K: ::blink:: *sigh*

And that, dear readers reader, is how a man can ruin even the sweetest of moments.

In our next episode, how I can ruin any moment at any time, any place. It's a gift, what can I say?