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Skinny guys rule.

*And just let me say, I don’t mean fat people don’t rule, or regular, average size people don’t rule. It’s just for the sake of my skinnier than normal husband- okay?

In defense of skinny people that wish they weren’t so thin- this post is for you. (Seriously, not many have sympathy for you.)

Also, this is a chance for me to complain needlessly about the skinny people I live with. My husband and two children. I’m a size 6/8 and I’m the fat one. Please don’t take this the wrong way- I don’t want anyone griping at me for my gripes. You try living with Jack Sprat.

This will also be categorized under posts that my husband will roll his eyes at.

My husband is 6’2″ and about 150 pounds or so.  He’s 41 and has weighed the same since 1988. It’s really a freak of nature how he stays so thin. That, or he has a tapeworm.

Try being around a guy that is skinnier than you after you’ve passed week 16 of a pregnancy. I outweighed him most of the last 12 years. It’s a bitch.

I’m sorry James.

I’m always complaining about how I would like to lose 10 pounds. I USED to have a fast metabolism. And it’s not slow as a sloth slow, but it isn’t what it used to be. Pregnancy changed all that. I could put away a Mexican dinner at one setting. I barely exercised and you could see my ribs. I wore a size 2 easily. Now I fight for every pound to NOT gain. I have practically eliminated alcohol intake, have become a ‘sort of vegan’(The Reluctant Vegan). Work out. A few times a week. I definitely can do better. I love carbs. I love bread and corn. Popcorn, corn chips, tortilla chips. Corn is the bane of my muffin top. Bread is too. White bread sometimes with butter, but not since giving up dairy. Avocados are my new vice. With chips of course.  Curse them. My metabolism has predictably slowed. I’m almost 40. It’s bound to happen.

I remember in my 20s feeling upset over zits I had. Not serious acne, just troublesome, gross white heads on my chin. Ugh. It drove me nuts. I would make deals with God to clear up my skin. I would ask him if I could be 10 pounds heavier if I just had clear skin. My skin is clear now. What is the statute of limitations on deals with God?

Then there’s tapeworm boy (I’ll explain this later.): James will have a bowl of ice cream EVERY night. He can eat a bag of chips while he watches a football game. He never eats breakfast and he rarely exercises- hello? Two of Dr. Oz’s rules for losing weight- he breaks! He puts sour cream and cheese on everything. He can eat a box of Kraft mac and cheese. But then on the flip side- he’ll ‘forget’ to eat. Yeah, that’s such bull shit! He’ll work from home, have a latte in the morning, forget to eat, then at about 2 in the afternoon realize he’s famished. See? Total bull shit. Who does that? I am starved by 11 am and need 2nd breakfast like a Hobbit or something.

There was a time about 20 years ago he tried to bulk up. He protein loaded and worked out all the time. I think he put on about 5 pounds of muscle in about 4 months. Waaa, waa, waa. (That’s me fake-crying.)

I hate when his side of the family makes a big deal about his thinness. As if it’s something new. When was he ever chubby? Never!

It seems like Owen is following in James’ skinny footsteps. He’s a bean pole with no meat on him. A Jack Sprat type like his dad. He doesn’t like being asked about why he’s so skinny. James doesn’t really like it either. It’s not fun to poke fun at anyone’s appearance regardless if they’re skinny or fat. (“Real” women have curves- Really …?)

Recently, James is embracing his skinniness. Especially since his peers are starting that tire around the middle.  His brother jokes that he has a tapeworm. This makes total sense. He can only eat this much and NOT gain weight, if he was feeding a creature in his abdomen like Alien. Not to worry, he doesn’t exhibit any other signs of having a parasite. His cholesterol is safe, especially for his age (40s), and he’s otherwise healthy. So when we go out to dinner and he orders his Fettucini Alfredo with a side of garlic bread and a ceasar salad with extra cheese, he pats his tummy and says, “gotta feed the tapeworm”. Oh geez.

Well alright then. Hey, skinny guys rule. (James’ motto)

Plus, in 20 years when he’s 60, I think it will catch up with him. Now we just need to figure out his Mcdreamy head of hair. He’s had the same hair since high school too. Like I said- the guy is a freak of nature. In a nice way though. And I wouldn’t change a thing. Love you babe!

Some cute and skinny famous guys:

Andrew Garfield- cute, skinny, and English (oh and hair like James too!)

David Beckham- I'm not crazy for tats, but again- cute, skinny, English

Team Edward. Twilight haters hush up. Cute, skinny, English. Hmmm, I'm sensing a pattern here.

Adrien Brody. I'm not a huge fan. But of this picture I am. Oh, and not English. Skinny but ripped.

Cute. Skinny. not English or famous- but my favorite for sure. Gorgeous.

Skeletons in my closet- or also known as, piles of crap in the office.

…and gross things in my fridge.

Do you have a room in your house that is the junk room? The room where you let no one in? I mean NO ONE. Not even your best friend, not your neighbor (sometimes not your husband) and definitely not your mother in law!

We have that room. It’s our home office. It’s piled high with crap. Let me describe the many varieties of crap that are in this room:

Backpacks from last school year with report cards still in them

Random things from I intend to return

packing peanuts

A steam cleaner

Pictures we don’t hang on the walls anymore

Pictures we meant to get framed so we could hang on the walls

Old telephones

Old cell phones and their charge cords

light sabers

Dioramas of Emma’s book reports from the last 4 years

Science fair project tri-fold boards

My high school yearbooks

My husband’s high school yearbooks

File cabinets that are too full to use and probably should be purged

Rubber stamps and ink pads (by the gagillions, I used to be really crafty)

Spools of ribbons and gift wrap and every gift bag I’ve ever been gifted since I reuse them and can’t bear to throw any out. I’ve inherited this from my mother.

hangers- metal hangers. No Mommy Dearest here!

Crayons, markers, pencils, pens- you name it. By the bucket loads.

And don’t even get me started on the Silly Bandz!

And God knows what else that could be used by The Borrowers to stockpile a small country. If The Borrowers had a MacGyver, then he would be set too.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this. Possibly a confession. A guilty conscience. I always intend on cleaning up the crap. Like a New Year’s resolution of sorts. Every year the kids start school, I think, ‘this is it. I’m going to clean out the office’. Uhm. No.

Well, da da daaddada… (that is the trumpet sound like in a royal court, I have no idea how it would be spelled.)

I did it! I cleaned the office today. Not really.

I took a 5 x 5 square area on the floor and just threw a bunch of shit out. How does so much stuff get in there? I filled our recycle tote outside with random papers and crap. I filled the garbage can with odds and ends and plastic bits. There’s two boxes ready for Goodwill. And I didn’t even get to the OTHER half of the floor or the desk, or the bookshelves.

It’s sad when there’s nickels and quarters scattered around randomly that no one gives a damn about. I always think, if Laura Ingalls saw that nickel, she would feel rich. There is probably $20 of loose change scattered around my house. It’s in the laundry room, the kitchen, the office floor as we have found out, the bathroom, my bedroom… is there a room I haven’t mentioned? Oh, the pantry. I don’t think there’s any loose change laying around in the pantry. But I am probably wrong. I bet there’s a penny in someone’s Easter basket candy or Halloween crap.

I remember a couple years ago when volunteering at Emma’s school, I noticed her sweatshirt and a jacket on the Lost and Found rack. I claimed them and brought them home. Showing her saying, “look what I found! How long have you been missing these?”
She shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I never really noticed.”


I guess we live in an age where we have so much crap that we don’t notice when stuff is missing. I remember as a kid having one coat, and probably two pairs of shoes. I’m guilty of getting more things for my children than I ever had. And definitely more than they need. But it’s so easy to do. There’s always cute, affordable things at Target and Old Navy. Kids are picky these days. Either tags or seams itch, elastic is tight, whatever. I’m always providing them with choices.

How many socks I’ve gone through to get my kids happy when they get ready for school in the morning!

There’s birthday parties where there’s goody bags, go to People I Want To Punch In The Throat and read her rant on overachieving moms and their goody bags.

Grandparents are generous with little goodies and gifts for no real occasion. I got one package a year from my grandparents at Christmas time from Germany. I got money too, but that was always put in the bank.

Times have changed. We buy more, use more, make more money. Care less about being stringent with our money. I suppose. I’m speaking for my demographic. I always think of some poor kid in Africa who would be thrilled with the bucket load of crayons and markers we have in our house.

Thankfully, as the children are growing up, the flood of crap seems less. Well, I’m lying. There’s still papers, books, games, pencils, those mini erasers…

okay, it doesn’t end. Now I know why whenever I see my mom, there’s always a bag of my stuff from growing up she’s giving me.

And yes, I admit- I’m not the world’s neatest person. I don’t purge regularly, I’m not terribly organized and I tolerate clutter- to a point. So this is my hope, that I will always be one less gift bag, silly bandz, or kid’s backpack from Hoarders. I think I’m on the right track.

The reluctant vegan.

Okay, let me start by saying a few things. (That sounds ridiculous. I’m always saying a few things.)

I am not in any way imposing my choices on anyone. These are my personal choices that work for me. Maybe they will work for you too. Maybe not. But please don’t whine to me how much you love your meat and dairy and that ‘real people’ don’t eat squirrel food. That’s bull shit. Okay, my husband has always said I eat squirrel food, so now I’m just living up to his expectations.

I’ve been a ‘vegan’ for 21 days now. I say vegan with ‘ around it, because I still don’t believe it myself. But I will say this- I lasted Superbowl Sunday, a weekend in LA for the Grammys (with a stop at a steak house on Rodeo drive) and Valentine’s day; and I didn’t cheat!! Yay me!

I love food. I love good food. I love really fancy food. Exotic food. I even love crap food. I admit to a Taco Bell burrito now and then. Or a bag of Doritos. Or yes, a bowl of Cap ‘n’ Crunch. So I have no food prejudices. However, I’m learning more and more that food is the gateway to our well being. OH yeah- let me say that again. “FOOD IS THE GATEWAY TO OUR WELL BEING”. Snap. I’m like Oprah.

My friends started this diet before Christmas called the Engine 2 diet. It’s a book all about plant based whole foods. Meaning- nothing processed, no fats or added salt or sugar, no meat, no dairy. Wow, sounds awful doesn’t it?

But I like a challenge and deep down, I mean deep, deep, deep down, I knew I was lactose intolerant in a really bad way. But to take me away from my tea with milk and all my yummy bread and butter- gasp- was it possible?

There’s a gradual way to this diet. But I just jumped in all balls to the wall. Why not? Baby steps would just make me cheat or make excuses, so I headed in and didn’t look back.

You’re asking- am I doing this to lose weight? Duh! Who wouldn’t? Yes, I can afford to lose a few pounds. I don’t have to. But I like when the muffin doesn’t hang over the jeans. I like thighs that don’t squish together when I walk. So sure, losing weight is great. Have I lost a bunch? Five pounds is all. But five pounds is something.

Also- you’re thinking- but how on earth does she get her protein and proper calcium? Well, easy. There’s proteins in whole foods everywhere. From legumes to mushrooms, spinach to grains- it’s in there.

AND- calcium you ask. Well, think about this- we have the largest dairy and meat industry and the highest case of osteoporosis in this country. Hmm, coinkidink? Asian countries where their diets are primarily vegetable based have almost no osteoporosis. Could it be dairy is evil and full of additives and crap that we have been spoon fed by our FDA to think it’s good for us? Okay… forget I said that.

Now ask me how I feel.

I feel great! A little TMI warning here- I don’t have the stomach and digestion problems I had so much. Translation- gas and bad poops. I always blamed food like coffee or the apple I ate gave me gas, or wow, ‘my system really doesn’t like bananas’. NO. It was that it didn’t like the milk or half and half I was having with other stuff.

Do I want to cheat? Sometimes. Like I said, I managed to stick it out through Valentine’s day and a steak house without cheating. Sometimes a hot fudge sundae sounds really good. And maybe one day I will have one. But I also think how awful I will feel the next day. What will I do at Christmas when my mom makes goose and Yorkshire pudding? I’ll probably have some. There’s no diet police. Just my lower intestine talking to me.

I have a new love for almond milk and quinoa granola. It’s amazing how satisfying lentils can be. Who would have thought roasted cauliflower could taste so good? Plus, it’s organic, non GMO and good for you.

I feel so much better. Add the new thyroid medication, exercising a little more, and I might just shun PMS right out of my life.

Well, slow down there pardner- haven’t been through that roller coaster yet. We’ll see what a couple more weeks brings. But my energy is better, and I think I have a few less wrinkles. I’m aging backwards!

Again, just sharing- not preaching. Think about what ails you. Think about what you eat. Maybe there’s a connection.

I will not look down my nose at any meat eaters. I’m not going to throw paint on someone’s fur coat. I might even stray once in awhile to a croissant. STEP AWAY FROM THE FRO YO! Almost forgot myself there.

Oh- and gin and tonics are totally vegan. Just a little is fine.

If you are interested in the book- here’s the link:

The Engine 2 Diet

Doesn't that look fresh and delicious? courtesy of

Belle of the ball, the Titanic of Red Carpets, and what you didn’t see on TV.

I want to think I was the belle of the ball, but it was Adele. She reigned supreme and deserved it.

Damn, she's adorable!

There are three parts to this blog:

  • Leaving for the weekend by myself with girlfriends
  • Attending the Grammy’s civilian style
  • My usual color commentary of all things celebrity and frivolous.

I will also add some disclaimers:

No I did not meet any celebrities per se, and I got the privilege to attend the Grammys because a friend’s dad gets the tickets through his work.

Being away for a weekend:

When mama is gone for 4 days it’s enough to have the children fed and kept happy. Forget any household chores getting done, laundry, vacuuming… Now there’s 4 days of chores waiting for me to do. Which means it will take me around a week to catch up at the speed I get through them. Which means since I never get caught up in the first place; for the next month I will be doing the previous week’s chores. We’ll be glad if there’s clean socks and underwear for everyone.

Attending the Grammys civilian style:

What I mean by this is, these important events that rich and famous people get to attend usually come with borrowed couture, loaned jewels, hair and make up teams, chauffeurs, handlers, assistants…

When you are just a regular person trying to pull yourself together for attending a black tie affair, it’s hard! I’m not complaining. No. BUT, dang it, false eyelashes are a bitch to apply and the cheap Target SPANX knock-offs rolls up on the leg seams giving you a ‘ribbed’ look you didn’t intend.

Plus, us gals all followed the strict small print on every ticket and memo we received, banning cell phones and cameras. With the warning that they would be checked by security. To avoid this pain in the ass (and yes, I did think of shoving my phone in my knock-off SPANX to sneak it in, but they put you through metal detectors and that would have been embarrassing for me to reach up into my waistband, lifting the muffin top, to reach my phone if I got busted.); we left our phones in the car.

Here’s some foreshadowing for you- yes, we regretted leaving our phones in the car. More on that later.

I have never attended an event of this magnitude or prestige. There’s people lining the streets of LA near the Staples center, lanes and lanes of limos and town cars, spray tan, platform heals and LOTS of cleavage. LOTS of cleavage.

We parked in the garage, walked around to the entrance. And flashed our tickets. We were given Red Carpet access. Yes, I tinkled a little in my knock-off SPANX to be actually on a Red Carpet. Yes, I felt somewhat giddy. But I soon learned, there are two types of Red Carpets. If this Red Carpet was the Titanic- there’s first class and steerage. And I was on the side with Jack, not Rose. So that means, no life jackets, no boats. I would have sunk. But anyway… When you are steerage class you walk BEHIND the backdrops and ropes of where the celebs do their poses for photogs and you can peek around to see folks getting interviewed, until they tell you to move along for some stupid fire code. Yeah, yeah, the fire chief doesn’t want fifty of us crowding around to see if we can spy Beyonce (who was not there by the way). For the record- I don’t blame folks now for wearing sunglasses on the red carpet. Those lights are freakin’ bright. The Grammy red carpet is under a tent, so it seems to magnify the spotlights and flashes. It’s like a Yen Lui studio on crack.

Here’s who I got to see:

Ryan Seacrest (despite everyone calling him short- newsflash, most men in Hollywood are under 6′, he’s very handsome.)

Billy Ray Cyrus

Paris Hilton (she looks like a lollipop in a dress)

Kathy Griffin (plastic surgery doesn’t look as scary as it does on TV)

Rebecca Black (Friday song girl- she’s cute)

The cute little girls from Ellen that wear the giant pink tutus (SO cute)

Some R&B singer I didn’t know the name of

Some Rap artists I didn’t know the name of

Kelly Osbourn (hair color is still really weird, but kind of cool)

Tia Carrere (her plastic surgery DOES look scary in person)

Chris Harrison of the Bachelor

What I didn’t know that while I was on the red carpet so was:

Bruno Mars
The Band Perri
Corrine Bailey Ray
Esperanza Spalding

and a bunch of others that I must’ve missed with all the backdrops and reporters blocking my view.

I got three compliments from ushers (not THE Usher) on my dress. At least someone noticed!

The Staples center does not open any bars or cocktail lounges prior to the event. Apparently someone thought it was a school carnival and was selling Diet Coke, Red Vines, Smarties and popcorn. Um- ‘scuse me, this girl needs a gin and tonic.

So we sat in our seats with just a bottle of water, a Lara bar I smuggled in my purse and some gum. And no phones. Did I mention, no phones? We felt like one of our limbs had been removed. No texting, no posting on Facebook braggy status posts, no quickie pics of Kelly Osbourn in her 360 glam cam station for the E! network. Nothing.

This is where being a celebrity must come in handy. You get your phone and I’m guessing as many gin and tonics as you want.

When we saw all the other rule breakers with their phones and cameras we were kicking ourselves for being such goody-two-shoes. Where was the enforcement people??? There were people taking pictures and video left and right and no one seemed to care! Next time- if there’s a next time- I am bringing my phone.

If you saw the show on TV- here’s what you missed:

The set for Katy Perry’s performance had 4 ice sculptures but by the time it was her segment one had already crashed to the ground and broken in a million pieces during a commercial break so they had to quickly clear the stage and roll with it. Not that it mattered to have three instead of four.

Fergie’s awful orange dress (or as Emma texted me later that night- ‘Chinese New Year gone wrong’) glowed in the dark. I’m not sure how, but you could spot her all the way across the Staples center even in the dark.

I watched Paul McCartney during every commercial break get up and shake hands, give kisses and pose for pics. Not with us of course, but the fancy people. Still- what a guy.

Glenn Campbell seemed confused and almost wandered off the stage before starting to sing. But God Bless him, cuz Rhinestone Cowboy was THE most favorite song of my 4 year old existence. If Crystal Gayle came out on stage, my friends would have had to get a stretcher for me.

Hot chicks play banjos.

Paris Hilton likes to wander around calling attention to herself for no apparent reason.

Tony Bennett’s gray hair is as visible across a room as Fergie’s orange dress.

Jennifer Hudson was pitch perfect in person for her Whitney tribute and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

The Cold Play number in person was a lot cooler than on TV because they gave us these bracelets that were remotely activated to blink and light up to the music while they played. After the number, they were useless. But I continued to wear mine throughout the evening hoping Chris Martin was going to send me some morse code signal through them.

The Staples Center likes to keep things on the chilly side. We were snuggled up under our dresses and wraps while some a/c was wafting from above. Good thing it was dark, because everyone would have seen our SPANX with our knees tucked under our chins for body heat.

I got to brag to my husband that I was in the same room as Kate Beckinsale. Of course, I was 200 feet from her, but when will HE ever be in the SAME room as her?? Even if that room is 10,000  square feet.

The Nicki Minaj number sucked in real life as much as it did on TV. Fail.

Yeah, I was scared too.

I want to carry Bruno Mars’ babies. Okay, not really, but I would carry his Cabbage Patch dolls for him or his golf bag, or whatever he wants me to carry for him, he’s so cute. We’ll just forget about the cocaine incident a year ago through airport security, shall we?

And lastly- Adele sounded SPECTACULAR in person. Hands down it was her night and everyone knew it.

It was my night too.

I’m sure I will be writing endlessly about my Grammy weekend. But this is all I got for now. Enjoy.

Oh and yes, I did get my gin and tonic later that night. Two in fact.

Afterwards at the restaurant. I'm the one in blue. See my gin and tonic in front of me. Oh wait- it's empty.

High tea and scones, with a side of James Bond.

In jest of one of my favorite mommy bloggers, Lady Goo Goo Gaga, and her post on bragging on Facebook- I’m going to brag about my fabulous afternoon with my favorite precious child that was spent having High Tea. I’m so blessed. (I threw that in for you Lady GGG!)

Yes, an 8 year old boy spent his Saturday afternoon in a fancy hotel dining room having Afternoon High Tea with his mom. And liked it!

The lobby set the tone. Owen was amazed at the splendid structures and sweeping staircases. He compared it to Bruce Wayne’s mansion. (There will be constant comparing of movie scenes throughout this post.) We entered the dining room and were seated at our lovely table set for two with fine linens, china and crystal. Two little pots of tea were brought to us. There were silver strainers in little silver cups by each cup and saucer. Little jars of honey and sugar cubes in a little bowl with silver tongs. The tower of goodies arrives with little tea sandwiches, scones, mini cups of custard, petit fours and macaroons. I almost forgot about the little fancy dish of berries we had to start with. Owen ate each berry individually with his fork. He was conscientious of his manners. He almost put his elbows on the table and stopped himself. So precious. And yes, I’ve used the word ‘little’ about a dozen times.

He loved the whipped cream to spread on the scones, he drizzled honey in his tea cup. He said how fantastic it would be if this was our house. If we had a butler to bring us tea. But then he said it might not be special anymore and he would get used to it and that would be sad. He mentioned the train station in Hugo and how quaint it all was to have a cafe, toy store and book store all in one spot. His idea of heaven.

Nothing could ruin our little day. Not even the crazy lady in the corner laughing to herself with great enthusiasm. We thought she was on her blue tooth or something, but no. Your bona fide crazy lady and all her grand illusions.

Conversation throughout tea with Owen went something like this:

Owen- “Mom, do you think James Bond drinks tea?”

Me- “Yes, I do. He’s English, he enjoys a cup of tea like the rest of us.”


Me- “Owen, tell me about the girls at recess that chase you. Do you like any of them back?”

Owen- “Yeah, there’s two.”

Me- “Do they know you like them?”

Owen- “Yeah, one of the boys in our group told one of the girls in their group so they know.”

Me- “Oh, like a messenger. You didn’t actually speak to these girls?”

Owen- “(laughs) No mom!”


Owen- “This is like Hogwarts, but really different.”

Me- “Cozy, but brighter. Hogwarts is pretty dark.”

Owen- “Yeah. Do you think this place is old? Do rich people come here? Are we rich? Hagrid wouldn’t fit in this chair.”

…you get the idea.

My favorite quote though from him between his sips of tea and nibbles of bite size peanut butter and jelly, “Being in this fancy place makes me want to be polite.”

Perhaps this is an idea for some reform idea for delinquents. Just the classical music and chandeliers encourage civil behavior.

Now, just so you guys don’t think I’m completely disillusioned in my blessed perfection of motherhood.

The tea sandwiches were tiny, the macaroons dry,  the staff could have brought more hot water sooner for me, and the whole thing cost a ridiculous amount of $$. But- was it the same as I would spend going to a 3D movie with the kids and buying popcorn and slurpees, suffering through an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese? Probably.

Time spent with favorite son one on one: priceless.

And if you’re wondering- yes, this was Owen’s idea of what to do for our Mom/Son day. I didn’t thrust this on him and bribe him with Pokemon cards.Which makes it even sweeter.

Look at that tower of goodies! (And yes, the boy STILL needs a haircut.)

The custard was perfecton and the chocolate bars were fabulous.

It can’t be good when the Dr. calls you at home…

except when she calls to tell you she is going to put you on a pill that gives you energy and makes you skinny. Holla!

Okay, I might be extremely naive about this, I found out yesterday I have hypothyroidism and it kind of made my day.

I know. Weird. So before you go all webMd on me and call me a hypochondriac or whatever, I’m not THAT crazy. Maybe.

The doctor called me at home and it made my heart skip a little. I knew my ultrasound came out okay, so I was wondering why she was calling. Then I remembered the blood work. Her voice sounded cheerful, so I was hoping that was a sign all was clear.

I had to ask her if this is the thyroid problem that makes you fat, skinny, tired, sweaty, grumpy…whatever. So she clarified that ‘hypo’ is the sluggish one and that the medication should perk things up. It could be just the boost I need to get on track.

I promise (liar, pants on fire) this is my last post about all that ails me in a female way. So remember my post yesterday that said the ultrasound on my hoo hoo told us that there are no polyps, tumors, fibroids, babies or evil spawn in there causing my monthly agony slight discomfort. Which is good. Amen, thank you baby Jesus that it’s clean and healthy. Despite the fact that it’s still cursed and wretched for making me feel like I do.

So just a little dose of some thyroid meds is what we’ll start with and continue to monitor my results.

Ha!! A-hA! SEE? I told you! What you ask? Well, I knew there was something wrong with me making me fat, grumpy and blech-y. So there.

I’m assuming this is somewhat a common occurrence.  There are two risk factors:

  1. Being over 50.
  2. Being female. Really? Being female.  Lovely. At least that’s what it said on

I’m so glad my doctor caught it in time. Symptoms of thyroid disease are:

Early symptoms:

  • Being more sensitive to cold
  • Constipation
  • Depression
  • Fatigue
  • Paleness or dry skin
  • unintentional weight gain
  • thin hair
  • brittle nails
Late symptoms if left untreated:
  • Decreased taste and smell
  • Hoarseness
  • Puffy hands, and feet
  • Slow speech
  • Thickening of the skin
  • Thinning of eyebrows
Of course the side effects of the medication CAN BE, I’m sure only a 1% chance of patients will get nausea, diarrhea, stomach cramps, increase in appetite, hair loss, excessive sweating, insomnia, growing of horns, growing an extra toe, ability to see through things, mood swings, rage, panic…
Okay I made some of those up. But still. Really? I’m hoping to FIX what makes me miserable, not add to it. Sigh.

Nice. Sometimes it really does suck to be a woman.

I haven’t started the meds yet. I promise I will tell you how it goes. Duh. I told you before I was lying when I said this is my last ‘female’ related post.

Here’s some before and after pictures I think will give you an idea of how I think it will go.

This is the BEFORE image of how I feel today. Notice the thinning hair, dry skin and paleness.

Here is the AFTER shot. This is what a properly functioning thyroid looks like. Right? This will be me in a few weeks I'm sure.

But let’s just be honest:

The husband fears that this could be me in a few weeks too and I'm just kidding myself.

Are you there Judy Blume? It’s me, Rebecca.

Do you remember Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume? I read it in 3rd grade. Which seems a little young now that I think about it. It’s about this girl, Margaret who can’t wait to get her period. Every girl in school read it. Judy Blume always knows exactly how to capture adolescence and all the poignancy of the years up to adulthood. She’s like the John Hughes of authors. She’s a genius.

Well, I would like to rewrite that book if I could. It would be called- “Dear Eve, You Fucked Up and Periods Are A Bitch”.

God cursed us for Eve’s mistake and gave us labor pains and the monthlies. That’s what Judy Blume should have written about.

I know why we wanted to be Margaret in that book. We wanted to grow up. Every girl dreams of when they’re a grown woman. We put on mommy’s lipstick, her high heels, pretended to be secretaries or something with our purses and ‘checkbooks’ in them when we are 4 years old. I loved it when my mom would give me an old book of checks or a spare check register from the bank.  I felt so grown up! Or maybe she would give me her old library card or something that I could pretend was a credit card. That was like Christmas!

After my visit to the doctor last week, ( Sometimes It Sucks Being a Woman…)  to this week’s ultrasound that my doctor had me do, I felt like this whole ‘time of the month’ business is bullshit. No news here, I know.

No wonder they call it ‘the curse’, ‘being on the rag’. ‘Aunt Flo’ is putting it nicely for gosh sakes!

There’s a blogger, The Bearded Iris, who wrote- If Pollyanna Had a Period. If that doesn’t just crack me up!

Please no more commercials about making us happy about our periods. It’s as bad as Charmin commercials with bears telling us to ‘enjoy the go’.

So thank you ladies and gentlemen for enduring my post on periods. My husband is rolling his eyes and wondering when his next business trip might be so he can get the hell out of the house.

And by the way- the plumbing checked out clean on the ultrasound. The good news- no tumors or polyps in my hoo hoo that I need to worry about. The bad news- no tumors or polyps in my hoo hoo that weigh five pounds and can be removed for any instant weight loss. I was certain that the extra poof in my pooch was something horrible that needed to be removed surgically. Alas, I just need to do more Pilates.

Also, this means that solving my problems will go down in the books as ‘hormone therapy’. This is translation for, ‘we have no idea what the fuck is making you miserable, so try a combination of motrin and exercise and call us next month.’

Be sure to pay the parking attendant on your way out.

This is exactly the book cover I remember from 1982.

No the fuck I won't, thank you very much!

For the record, the boy still has a mullet.

Actually, it’s more like a Justin Beiber-do. It’s really moppy in the front. That would be Justin Beiber circa 2010. We went for the haircut Friday morning and there wasn’t a stylist available before our passport appointment. It’s not like we are cutting edge (pun intended) in our boy haircuts. We go to Supercuts down the street. It’s a bit of a crap shoot. Sometimes you get a really good stylist, and some days we get one that went to the Ronald McDonald school of haircuts.

So the boy will have his passport for the next five years and think what a tool he looked like when he was 8 because he didn’t get a haircut.

Murder Mystery Party

I know you are just dying to see our costumes and hear how the party went.

I’ve decided that this blond-anglo-phile is going to be Armenian. I will wear spray tan, and heavy eye makeup like a Kardashian. Because…because… it’s fun for CRYING OUT LOUD!

Also, faking ‘visions’ and telling fortunes that aren’t real is lots of fun too. I’m going to work for Dionne Warwick’s Psychic Hotline.

Unfortunately working the phones keeps people from seeing my fabulous eye liner. Oh well.

My name is Cantara. I tell fortunes and see the future. And I know the way to San Jose. ( A little Dionne Warwick humor there for you.)

What a good sport he is! He even had those slippers with the curled up toes. I told him he could wear this costume again on my birthday when he carries me on my litter.

This is the litter I'm talking about.

Not this litter.

Fridays, Post Offices and Murder Mystery Parties

Getting passports for your kids isn’t easy. You have to make an appointment during office hours and have both parents and children present. Why is that so hard? Because hubby works and kids are in school that’s why!

So having a day where the kids have no school without it being a holiday, the hubby can work from home, and I actually called the Post Office to make an appointment is really like having the universe converge together in a cosmic kiss of harmony.

Of all things that could make today not so cosmically harmonious- the boy is worried about getting his picture taken. Yeah. You heard me. We will be off to Super Hats this morning to make sure his hair is coiffed just so. He says it’s too long. And it is. He’s kind of sporting the mullet. Third graders with mullets is not a good thing. Correction- any person with a mullet is not a good thing.

This weekend James and I are attending our friend’s Murder Mystery Party. Arabian Nights is the theme. You know what that means?

I get to wear lots of jewelry, eyeliner and self tanner for my costume! I love me a costume party!! And costume parties with sparkly costumes and make up are the best.

And I know you can’t wait to see the pictures. So I will be sure to dedicate my Monday blog to all things me and costumes. Kind of like every blog.

Happy Weekend y’all!

There needs to be a support group for kids like this. Maybe Billy Ray Cyrus is the founder.

Yes, this is my costume. AYFKM? No.

Most suburban husbands are probably disappointed that our modern day Arabian nights parties do not involve harems and hookas.

Sometimes it sucks being a woman. A lot of times actually.

Let me be clear here folks. I will not mince my words. Being a female sucks. Puberty is a bitch, pregnancy and labor are hell and menopause and all the in between is ugly.

Men- let’s see… they go through puberty. They get boners in PE class if they see an elbow of an 8th grade girl. So what? Then when they get old and can’t get a boner from seeing a woman’s elbow, they take a pill to help with that.  I will not sympathize with the male species. Sorry.

Lately I’ve been having, female issues. That’s code for menstrual cramps worse than normal. I think I lost about half of you at this sentence. But before you completely click on over to ESPN or Maxim or whatever, Golf Digest, for crying out loud- this may be helpful for you. You probably have a wife or girlfriend who has been through the same thing. You might use this as a cliff’s notes reference guide for the future.

I had to go to my gynecologist which is in the big, shiny city. There’s a parking garage with stalls the size of shoe boxes and elevators that are slower than sloths at feeding time. There’s usually a 15 minute wait in the waiting room, on top of a 20 minute wait in the exam room while wearing a paper gown. Usually my luck is when the nurse calls me back to the exam room, I’m caught off guard somewhat engrossed in my People magazine (thank God they have those in the waiting room and not just copies of Parents or Fit Pregnancy!), and I follow her to the room where she asks me how I’m doing, how are the kids, blah blah blah. Checks my blood pressure and then has me step on the scale. I haven’t even undressed yet and I kind of have to pee. I don’t want to make her wait while I use the bathroom, so I slip off my shoes and suck in my gut and step on the scale. I don’t know why I suck in my gut, I just do. They have digital scales now, not those old fashioned types like from The Walton’s anymore. You’d think these would be to my advantage since it’s like the one I have at home.

The nurse has me read the number. I really didn’t want to see the number thankyouverymuch, but okay. It’s 1_ _ !! Yeah, like I’m going to print it. 10 pounds more than last January, 8 pounds more than my scale at home, and 15 pounds more than the scale in the Bellagio hotel bathroom in Vegas that James and I stayed at 4 years ago. ( I loved that bathroom scale.)

I felt like someone punched me in the gut.

I shit you not- this ad was in the Pregnancy mag in the exam room I was forced to read whilst in my paper gown after leaving the People in the waiting room. Below this image it said, "actual customer 4 months post partum". Bitch.

She has me put the gown on and wait. But I did sneak off to the bathroom before getting undressed. So in the privacy of my room, once I was undressed, I stood on that stupid, f*cking scale again, and I was 2 whole pounds lighter! Well amen to that!

I was sure to tell my doctor this when she came in with my chart.

I like my doctor. She’s very nice. Especially for a hoo-hoo doctor. She didn’t deliver my kids because she only started with this practice 4 years ago, and I miss my old doctor, but this doctor is a pleasant replacement.

After getting prodded (‘scoot a little further down the table please’) she sent me for blood work and an ultrasound in the coming weeks.

The lab for blood work was just down the stairs. So I sat there waiting for 20 minutes (not bad really) and was starving since it had been 4 hours since my morning oatmeal. But I was thinking that between being hungry and depending on how much blood they draw, I can count on losing another pound.

The phlebotomist was a funny guy that talked about heavy metal bands with me, of all things. I don’t mind getting my blood drawn. It hurts, I don’t look, and I hate the cotton ball with the piece of tape around it afterwards, but there’s worse, so I manage.

I’m on my way to the parking garage now, find my parking stub, drive up the swirly parking garage lanes to the top and then get the joy of paying the attendant on the way out.

Going to the doctor is so flippin’ expensive.

Because now I’m depressed since I’m thinking of all the weight I’ve gained, my ovaries and how I hope there’s no tumors on them. Or maybe I do because if they take them out (the tumors, not my ovaries) that could be a few pounds I lose right there.

So I go where any girl would. The mall. I need croissants and tea, and I need them stat.

Tea, croissants, and some makeup is all it takes to get this girl on track again. Well, not really. I was still sulking during my car ride home and then went to go cry on James’ shoulder while he worked from home today.

The good man he is asks, “Would you like some wine?” It was 2 in the afternoon, he was kind of kidding, but he knew what to say. Heaven forbid if he said, “oh you just need to go to the gym more times than you sit on the couch writing on your blog”, I would have smacked that ass hat across the room. (Ass hat is my new favorite word by the way, I will be using it more now.)

So I leashed up the dog and ran around the block listening to Adele and Mumford & Sons. Sometimes when someone is sadder than you it makes you feel better. I even gave James half my croissant.

So you see fellas (who are still reading and haven’t clicked over to Maxim yet), if there’s one thing you get from this post- just get your woman a glass of wine for God’s sake.

Here is the chart James has laminated in his wallet:

The only memorization necessary is "Here, have some wine." Click on the photo to see it full screen.