The Maven turns 32

Today is my birthday. I am 32, if that's even imaginable. Happy freaking birthday to me, yo.

Also, this was the best birthday I've ever had. I'm not even being sarcastic right now. I mean it. It was amazing. You know it's amazing because I'm too tired to be sarcastic at the moment.

I'm exhausted from all the hoopla and am going to bed. I'll write more tomorrow when I'm not about to fall asleep and break my nose on the space bar. So, for now, I will leave you with the birthday card Jobthingy sent me just after midnight last night. Then we giggled like little girls on MSN over silly Youtube vidoes. Damn it's good to be thirty two and immature.

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I bet you didn't know Geekster and I were extras on Swingtown. Now you know. Don't I look fantastic with those 12 fewer pounds? (current weight 240lbs)

Carny, ho!

I woke up excited this morning.

For one, I'm at my lowest weight yet: 241.4lbs. It's not a huge change, but it's in the right direction.

My second piece of news is far more interesting if not short lived: I get to work at a carnival today. Well, a fair, but that's a boring word. I like carnival better.

Thus, I am officially going to be a carny. I've never been more eager to have a title in my entire life.

That may have something to do with the type of titles I have, such as "recovering alcoholic", or "overwhelmed mother" or "unpublished writer." Not exactly mount-on-your-wall, pride-filled titles. Although, to be honest, I'd rather have "recovering" before "alcoholic" any day, and motherhood suits me, even if I am overwhelmed at times (like last night when I stalked out of the house after I spent over an hour cooking dinner only to hear "I don't like this!" over and over - "Abandoning mother" maybe?)

But now I get to take on a wondrous new adventure. I get to become a carnival worker, which is so vastly different from the humdrum of my average day that I can't wait to run off to the country, grab my weekend pass and get to work.

Like any new position in life one must do some research. I read up on carnies and came to the following conclusions:

- I am a greeny. I'll be a new employee for a short time (two days).

- I'll be working a sugar shack (A concession or food-stand that doubles as a front for drug commerce & trafficking). Well, not really. At least I hope not. I'd rather not be asking "Would you like crack with that?" when people order their burgers. But since I can't find any slang for food-stand, I'm going to call it a sugar shack.

- I wonder if the chip truck I'm working at will have a possum belly? (sometimes possum gut) compartment under a truck or trailer). And if so, will I fall so hard that I become a possum belly queen? (A girl who would have sex in a possum belly)

Oh, not I. I'm no lot lizard (Describes a carny (usually female) who has multiple sexual partners (also carnys) Or one who tends to "sleep-around" or cheat with other carnies on the lot). Would Mr. Squid Tentacles hold me the way Geekster does? Could the Fire Breathing Moustache Man kiss me the same? Nay, I say.

At the end of my wild and crazy stint as a carny, I'll leave "the life" behind as I crawl back into my normal, suburban mom routine.

Although, before I come home, I may partake in some raw fish with Mr. Squid if he can keep his roaming tentacles to himself. Pervert.

Back-to-bliss!

Listen, do you hear that?

Oops, not that. That's the result of the two pieces of pizza I had for dinner tonight.

That other thing, lurking in the shadows, but not evil-like. It's a magical sound. A glorious sound. It's the impending sound of school bells. It's nearly time for The Maven to shove her most of her parental responsibilities onto the government's shoulders for seven hours a day. Intrepid and Gutsy are going full time, baby. Back-to-bliss, here we come!

Oh, don't look at me like that. If you had spawned the gremlins you would also feel slightly giddy at the thought of sending them to school. I could put a positive spin on it if it makes me less of a creton. Let's say it's like a capture and release program. I'm simply releasing them into the wild to do what wild things do. I've raised them from pups and it's now time make sure I taught them all the important surival skills, like how to be cool enough to sit at the back of the bus.

I'm sharing them with my fellows. I'm helping people. I'm educating the masses on chaos control. I'm allowing the school faculty to put those long hours of emergency preparedness training into practice.

Look at how nice I am. I'm good at sharing. See me sharing? That's what I'm doing. I'm sharing my children with the world, right after I file down their fangs and claws a little and hide those adorable horns under some new hoodies.

It's been a long time since I've only had one child at home during the day. Nearly three years, if I count the year I did kill-me-now-childcare prior to Spawnling's hatching in October of 2006. Three years of wiping multiple noses, wiping multiple bums, wiping multiple fingerprints off the television. What is a girl to do when she's nearly alone?

I have so many plans. First of all, I hope to jump start the weight loss again. It's been a lazy August. I'm hovering right around 242lbs, which is 10 pounds lighter than when I started just under two months ago. If I average that out I've lost five pounds each month, with a week to go until we officially slide into September. On the 1st I will celebrate my 32nd year of awesomness and that will involve eating some anything-but-low-fat cake. Delish! Then, once the street party, parade and fireworks are over I'll need to get back into exercise and skinny-mindedness.

Spawnling and I will go for a walk every day with our dog who weighs less than what I've lost so far and is afraid of everything: cars, people, sand. Hopefully she'll just run the whole way so I can get some cardio.

The Spawn and I will go to museums and get cultured. We will visit the art gallery, where the artistic passion within us will ignite. We'll then return home and, after an organic, meatless lunch, I will write prose rich enough to make editors weep while he sculpts naked people out of playdoh.

We will go to playgroup where we will both learn some social skills and make new friends. We'll attend every week because the organic lunches and visits to the chiropractor will keep us healthy and strong. The flu? We shall balk at the flu! Ear infections? Only suckers get those, not fit, skinny people like us!

We will keep our house immaculate through careful organization and a lot of time on our hands. People will french kiss my floors as they fall head over heels in love with the cleanliness I will invoke. Spawnling will amuse himself as I clean by watching documentaries on endangered species, followed by reading library books and making crafts on how to save the rainforest.

Oh, and of course I'll have plenty of time to blog as well. I'll probably write three or four times a day with all the spare time I'll have!

Just nobody pinch me. Not for at least a month, ok?

Why eating feelings is a good thing and other ramblings

I'm just going to get this out in the open right away.

I gained a pound while on vacation.

Yes, an entire pound. And I'm rather glum about it, I might add. It propelled me to buy good foods at the fruit & vegetable specialty store, thus spending more money than I had in the food budget this week (well, we actually have no money in the budget for food anymore as we spent it all on our vacay, if you care to know.)

Thanks to my foray into a store which forces healthy eating habits upon mine self, I will undoubtedly lose that pound in the very near future. We hope.

I stocked up on blueberries and cherries and lettuce, oh my! I procured some of the finest cheeses and deli meats, to be used sparingly with whole grain products of the utmost quality.

(In other words I bought some stuff on sale that looked expensive and will make me believe it's worth eating less of it so I can enjoy it more often and feel as though I'm eating like an upper crust snob.)

Now if only I could get back into exercise. After four days in either a van, a hotel room or a tourist trap with three boys, the very last thing I want to do is exhaust myself further. The idea of lifting more things to make myself sweaty is about as appealing as gouging my eyes out with an ice cream scoop. I'm praying this feeling goes away shortly and that pilates once again becomes a friend of mine.

Other than wanting to strap Gutsy to the roof of the van for the ride home, our trip was wildly successful. The gremlins were mostly well-behaved, but let out of their usual cage and set loose into a new city allowed for certain... behaviours to come out. For example, Gutsy chose highway 401 going through Toronto with 14 lanes of traffic around us to let us know he had to go pee "right now! Soooo bad!!!" and that "it was coming out NOW! STOP THE VAN! STOP IT, PLEASE! I HAVE TO PEE RIGHT NOOOOOOWWWW!"

I realize that five-year-olds can't reason well. I realize that offering him a bottle and a cap to put on it afterwards in order to hold the yellow contents until we could get off the highway is probably very foreign to a young child. However, screaming for an hour while we sat in traffic with no exits in sight and no safe place to stop was not my idea of fun. For an hour he screamed. First we comforted him. Then we tried (unsuccessfully) to reason with him. Then we started getting a tad pissy with him (I'm such a awesome punster). Then we ignored him. Then he screamed louder and hurt Intrepid and Spawnling's ears. Then Intrepid screamed at him. Then Spawnling cried his little eyes out. Then I about stopped the van on the world's largest highway and strangled him.

Thankfully, just before I became a mother of two, we made it through the other side and found a McCrapples. Gutsy went pee. I breathed. I ate too many fries (there's my pound, people). I got mayo on my new shirt because I was eating a chicken sandwich while simultaneously merging onto the 401.

Peace returned to our vehicle after we stuffed everyone's feeling with fast food. We enjoyed the rest of our 6 1/2 hour drive home and all but collapsed at the front door.

We were missed, though. So very missed. I received two free coffees today both from Sisterella (AKA Photo Lush) and Flashdance, my regular coffee fairy. Random delivery of coffee is always appreciated, but especially as I recovery from a traumatic event like screaming little boys nearly urinating on the highway. Then we were blessed with an impromptu visit from The Butler Did It and family. She and I went to get coffee, although she didn't buy for everyone (well, neither did I, but that's besides the point). I'd make some snarky comment about what a cheap friend she is, but she's lending me a book I want to read so I have to be nice. Friends who loan friends trashy novels are definitely worth keeping around, even if it means fending for oneself at the coffee shop.

And now I am about to go collapse onto the couch and watch my boyfriend, Doctor Who, save the planet again. He must eat a lot of feelings with fast food. Imagine the stress of that job....

Vacations are for Crazy People

I know I've probably ruined my readership's week by not posting updates as often as I said I would. This life thingy I've acquired lately is really tapping into my energy stores. Please blame my real life friends and family for infringing upon the blogosphere of The Maven. It's all their fault with their invitations and their niceties and their time-consuming love.

Anyway, back when I was pregnant with Spawnling I used to call myself Shamu. I truly looked like a killer whale when I wore the right outfit. I was fat to begin with, which didn't help. Add to that a black top stretched over my swelling kazoondas and black maternity yoga pants with white stripes brimming with baby belly, and I instantly morphed into a waddling, grunting land whale. It was a truly sight to behold! In fact, our local coffee shop still swims with stories of the Great Caffeine Guzzling Orca. There's even talk of adding my old home to the bus tour of local urban legends. Sideshows were looking to hire me for a while before the baby came... Just crazy!

I can't say I miss being a maternity marine mammal, but I now feel as though I share a closer connection with my blubber bound sisters of the sea. Us larger animals get each other. We know how much harder it is to do all that swimming and walking and eating and breathing with all the extra weight. We know people laugh at us, yet do so quietly, for fear of being squashed or eaten in one fell swoop along with some delicious krill. I've longed to some day connect with my kin of the deep, to tell them that I understand their lives that much better thanks to the miracle of pregnancy and too many donuts.

Tomorrow, I shall get my chance. For today, I am in Niagara Falls.

Did you get that part? I'll say it again: I am in Niagara Falls. By "me" I mean myself and the appendages which cling to me for love and attention: my spouse and children.

So what, Maven? You're, like, taking a trip or something? What's the big deal? Everyone takes trips, you loser.

You balk, I know. You think I'm trying to act all special like because I'm in a touristy area in a touristy hotel doing touristy things, including tomorrow's trip to Marineland. But don't you see? This is a huge deal, people. Huge! This is our first real live trip to anywhere, other than a brief stint in Toronto in the Summer of 2006 for a family ruining... er, reunion. When we stayed two nights in a room with no windows.

That's right: no windows.

Feel bad now? You should.

Look. We're not naive, first time parents. We're well aware that family trips are expensive enough to contemplate bank robbery, stressful enough to require a preemptive pacemaker surgery, and chaotic enough to want to stash some chloroform in the carry-on bag for some tough love naptime enforcement.

We don't do trips. We let other people do them and they tell us about them, show us pictures and sometimes bring stuff back for us. Then we don't have to go and yet we feel slightly more cultured thanks to the expense, stress and chaos of others.

It's worked so far. We're not divorced yet, anyway. I bet a study could be conducted that would conclusively prove that family vacations lead to 30% of separations.

But this time is different. This time the in-laws decided enough was enough. They would not let us chicken out anymore. They would take us on a real live vacation and help us with the kids. We would get adjacent rooms and we would dine together and swim together and see the Falls together and - yes - even go to Marineland together.

Things are going better than expected on Day 1. Intrepid and Spawnling are being incredibly well-behaved, and I've only thought of giving Gutsy to a more patient family three or four times. Nobody terrorized the other kids in the hotel's pool, nobody tried to jump into Niagara Falls, and Gutsy only freaked out one driver as he mocked running into a downtown street for fun. Things are, indeed, expensive enough to want to sell one of my kidneys, but that's the beauty of generous in-laws and some room on the credit card.

Tomorrow, however, involves us having to chase down three gremlins at an amusement park. Let's hope Grandma and Grandpa Geekster are getting their sleep! I should probably do that, too.

Oh, weight loss stuff: 242.8. Very slow and not about to get much better while we're here. The goal this week is not to put on any weight. I don't really care if I lose it right now, although seeing 10 pounds gone would be nice. My black and white, seal-eating sisters might not even recognize me!

(And Keren, I totally remember you! I'm a good stalker, too, when I'm not in a hotel. I'll have to come by MDC and see what all you granola types are doing. I'll just hide the disposable diapers first so as not to get pummeled with organic apples)

Random Thought Bubbles

Because I'm only going on about nine hours of sleep in a 48 hour period, I'm not nearly coherent enough to write a post with meaning. Therefore I will share some tidbits I've picked up along the shoulder of the crazy highway of my life.

- Roadkill are not the same as tidbits. They are less useful and smellier. Do not pick up any roadkill.

- Popcorn laced with trans fat tastes significantly better than low-fat, trans-fat free, diet popcorn. The two bowls I shared this week may send me to an early grave, but it will be a much saltier, tasty grave.

- A five-year-old boy with a pair of plastic handcuffs will not stop at simply arresting family members, but also inanimate objects, such as chairs and television stands.

- Coffee in a $250 coffee maker tastes better than one in a $50 one, even if the $50 one has blue LED lights that make it sexier than its rich cousin. I will covet mine neighbour's coffee maker in such instances, although will stop short of actually stealing it (mostly because it wouldn't fit inconspicuously under my clothes)

- Nearly 32-year-old women should not - I repeat, NOT - stay up until 4:30AM unless they are doing one of the following: giving birth, driving non-stop while the kids are sleeping, or packing an entire year of sex into a single night. Any other reason might seem like a good idea at the time, but no amount of coffee from a $250 coffee maker is going to make your grammar anything but shoddy when you're blogging the next evening.

- Uncles with latte machines at their cottages are very, very useful after two nights of staying up late playing sleep-over (minus the sleep) at a friend's house.

- Having a husband who makes pizza and low fat ceasar salad for dinner on nights like tonight is what marriage is all about.

- Sure, he spent close to $200 on some generator, UPS thing-a-ma-doodle for the servers while I was gone, but I just don't care because I'm blogging and he's cooking and we're watching a movie while we eat and then I get to have a bath and go to bed early and my gosh I love that man.

- It's very easy to run out of things to write about when you're tired and you have a trashy novel like The Other Boleyn Girl beckoning to you on the bed (thanks, Pixie!)

- It's pretty damn impressive that I've written this much in a week. Now I just have to start reading everyone else on a regular basis before I get hung from a network cable by my toes and beaten by my fellow bloggers. Eep!

The Butler Didn't Do It

It's 7:30PM. Do you know where your Maven is?

Why, still hanging out in the boonies with The Butler Did it and crew! We were supposed to go home this morning after driving the poor girl to an early grave, remember? I hear there were some betting pools going in my favour. You're not going to like how much money I lost you.

Lo and behold I was blindsided with someone as resilient as the kittens Spawnling has been found dragging around this house by their ears (no, really - he's evil, I tell you!). She actually asked if we would like to stay another night.

I laughed out loud at first and figured she must be either the most patient soul on the planet, or a cannibal hell bent on turning us into country charm meatloaf surprise. Then I realized she was serious. She hasn't simply tolerated us for the last day and a half, but seemingly enjoyed our company.

Who on earth enjoys our company? Who, I tell you?

When they cannonize the next saint, she will surely be Saint The Butler Did it. She even let me have a shower this evening when I was fading fast. I was on my way up to the roof myself when she intercepted and offered some sanity through hygiene and coffee.

Why was I in desperate need of some R&R? It could have something to do with the six horned fiends we've been herding since yesterday. It could also be the giggling fits we had while watching horrible movies (ever see The Ruins? Don't. Man-eating plants do not make for compelling horror anymore, Ben Stiller. Way to produce a movie). We were up until 3:30AM and up again less than six hours later with a hungry horde to feed.

Oh, sure. You may be very jealous that she's been able to spend this much time with yours truly. Two whole days with The Maven is the stuff legends are made of! But she's also seen the ugly side of me: the racoon eyes after my makeup runs at the beach, the grunts and morning shuffle to the coffee maker (that I taught her how to use - she doesn't drink coffee! I've curbed my prejudice in this one case and have accepted her presence despite that glaring character flaw), the need to check for blog comments three times the day to confirm that I am loved and frequently read (only five people have loved me in the last 48 hours). There are so many things that make me unbearably... me. Temporarily shacking up with me makes these glaringly obvious.

Maybe Geekster hired her to do away with me in my sleep and she was too tired to pull it off yesterday. According to reports from my husband this morning, he was given a new laptop from work yesterday and is enjoying the quiet time setting it up.

That could be code for 'porn', but I'm more inclined to think otherwise. Geekster is all about the dual boot partitions for Linux and Windows. That's way sexier than naked ladies to him.

Well, not really, but it's a close race. Maybe he'll set it up and then check out the nakedness.

No weight report today. I dare not weigh myself after last night's popcorn and chocolate incident. Let's pretend that my lack of sleep means I burned more calories alongside constant giggling over flesh-munching plants in horrid films.

Yeah, that's it.

I should probably go help her clean or parent my kids or something. That would be the right thing to do.

... So I'll check Facebook first.

A new leaf, a new weight and some crazy folk

This month I'm turning over a new leaf. Well, more like an old leaf. But not a smelly old leaf that's seen a year or two of bug nests and dog urine. A good leaf. A better leaf. A leaf of.. of... excellence!

"A leaf of excellence"? This is what happens when I blog at 12:30AM. This is what I'm reduced to after several hours without caffeine in my veins. I'm desperate for good jokes and witty comparisons, yet lack in both. For shame, Maven. For shame.

Here's the underside of the new leaf: I'm going to blog at least once every two days this month. No, seriously. I actually mean it. I'll make myself sit down and write out the epic tales that make up my life. All three of my readers will learn about our exciting trips to people's homes, the mall and the backyard. They will enjoy every savoury pound of my weight loss as I stand triumphantly (or fearfully) on the scale every morning. They will see the antics of the gremlins unfold before their very eyes in prose so rich and interwoven that they won't be able to turn away from the screen.

Oh, yes. It will be marvelous. The Maven is back! Not four-posts-in-a-month back. That's commitment fit for a little sissy man. Since I am a girl and not a man and big instead of little and not so much a sissy but more of a hot mess, that amount of writing will no longer suffice.

Besides, I'm a new, improved maven. I eat berries every day which are rich in antioxidants and fiber. I see a chiropractor to get myself adjusted so I can sit better in my blogging chair. I no longer have an ass groove on the couch because I'm always up and moving.

(I kind of miss my comfy ass groove so I might as well rekindle the romance with the blogging chair anyway.)

This arrangement could work out well for all four of us. Together we can get me back into writing and get you back into wasting time reading my crap. You can read about what a terrible mother I am and thus feel superior in your own parenting. You can skim through paragraphs describing my disastrous abode while you smirk and glance around your cleaner one (because you either have no children or you hire someone or you have absolutely no life, I might add. Those are the reasons why I can't possibly be jealous of you and your clean house. Well, only a little jealous, then.)

I will make you feel good about yourself again. I will make you happy you're not me. You'll get more and more reminders why it's so damn good to be you. And I will actually answer your emails, too. I've been bad about that. Blame the restricted caloric intake and its effect on my shriveled little brain.

Anyway, I should go to bed soon. I have big plans tomorrow. See, I have this friend. We'll call her The Butler Did It. Anyway, TBDI was foolish enough to - get this - invite myself and all the gremlins and - are you ready for this? It's so good - the dog...

for a sleepover.

HAH!

But it gets better!

Her husband and I were great friends growing up. We used to wreak havoc upon our sleepy little neighbourhood back in the day. We were bad, man. Really bad. He has now spawned three of his own hooved wonders who intermingle quite nicely with my own. Combined, he and I have created triple the minions to follow in our footsteps, which I must say I'm very proud of.

But anyway, that's besides the point... The bigger issue is this: Who invites us for a sleepover? Why would you do that to yourself? Are the four of us not enough? You also need to have our hellhound over?

I have a very sensible theory.

I think she has suicidal tendencies but she just hasn't had enough motivation to go through with it. She must figure a good 24 hours with The Maven and co. will give her the added incentive she needs.

What she doesn't realize is that, if the boys and I put in a solid 10 hours, we could get her on the roof without having to change into our pajamas. We're really that good at what we do when we put our minds to it.

If she survives this I'm going to be very impressed. If she survives this and invites us back ever again I'm going to place her on my list of Gods to pray to. It will really take a miracle.

But the Gods are smiling in my favour lately. When Jobthingy was over on Friday (and the lovely Sky Girl, and their crumb snatchers, which is entirely documented on Job's blog along with pics, so go have a looky), Jobthizzy had a momentary lapse of reason and offered to watch our boys overnight sometime this month.

Did you read that correctly? Go back and read it again.

I was flabbergasted. Excited, terrified, but mostly flabbergasted. I knew she was a bit nutty but this goes beyond anything she's pulled before.

Then, while we were at my uncle's cottage today, he and his significant other volunteered to take our boys for an overnight as well. This was after forcing me to sit on the couch with a trashy novel and making me a latte and NOT watch my children for a while.

Is this some cruel joke? I'm on Candid Camera, right?

But, um, if we're going for a blessed life, could I also get some money? Go big or go home, I always say.

And finally:

Starting weight on July 1st: 252lbs
Current weight: 243lbs.

Shazzam!

Just another day in paradise

I survived a trip to one of those warehouse membership places with three children today and did not come home to eat my feelings. In fact, about the worst thing I bought was 100 calorie ice cream treats and some low fat microwaveable popcorn. I mean, come on. Am I good or what?

When the girl at the cash told me how cute my boys were, I told her I was contemplating having them stuffed. All the cute, no noise. She laughed a little too nervously. I should have told her to put the lotion on its skin before it gets the hose again. That would have made my Friday.

Current weight: 246. That's a total of 6lbs down so far! I kind of what to celebrate, but with what? I don't drink, do drugs, smoke or eat bad things. What is left? Pouring a champagne glass of water would be about as fun as stabbing at my eye sockets. Maybe I'll do something diet. Will Coke Zero burn through my crystal wine glasses as quickly as it will, say, my intestines? I'm crossing my fingers that it will have ravaged my brain before I can give it too much thought.

Before going on the shopping survival training exercise we stopped in at the chiropractor's. It's my turn to get some adjustments. I was a little skeptical, but I feel better now. I had to see if she was dangerous first by letting her work on my children, Guinea Pig and Lab Rat... uh, I mean Spawnling and Intrepid. They seem okay so she can touch my back now.

Before the intial consultation I had to provide her with a bunch of information. Included was a pre-drawn sketch of the human body where the patient should place specific patterns where he or she feels pain, discomfort, tingling or numbness.

I was nice enough to include arrows leading from several parts of the body where I had drawn a patterns, to new locations on the paper where I then drew additional patterns. My chiropractor's response to my artistic interpretation was very politically correct: "Hmm. You have a lot going on with you..."

And she's not even inside my head. A peek in there would drive the childless insane.

Meanwhile, my patience was wearing thin as the gremlins spewed destruction throughout the waiting room, down the hall and into the examination rooms. No, not only mine. Other vacant and even not-so-vacant rooms as well. More specifically, Spawnling ravaged the toys and slammed doors while spreading forth his pestilence in the form of a vile runny nose.

So sweet, my boy is.

"Spawnling has a lot going on with him, too" said the Chiro. She can make anything sound okay, you know that? No wonder she makes the big bucks.

When an elderly woman with a cane and previous nursery school experience offers to occupy him (code for "contain the demon wreckage to a single area") while I get my exam, you know it's time to line up some child care for the next time.

Now I'm hoping that no one who reads my blog would also be someone I would call upon for childcare. I will deny all of this if they ask me. Every single word. One of my many superpowers is the power to edit my own posts.

I'll admit I'm a bit spoiled. I have a husband who can work from home sometimes and thus my childcare problems are normally nil. However, he's currently geeking out at a conference downtown and couldn't possibly miss all the nerdy talks. Things like: Choosing the right decals for your pocket protector, Who knew cell phones are also for getting girls' numbers?, and why stripes and plaid should not be worn simultaneously.

You know, all the important stuff.

Tonight I go to my 12 Step meeting. I fully plan on grabbing an extra large coffee, hold the donut. I must stay on track, people! I'm looking forward to being one of those skinny bitches we all hate so much. I think it would be a neat experience to envy myself for a change. Would I make myself cry at the sight of me? Would I tell myself I'm so unhappy I can't eat? Maybe that all I have is my svelte body because my husband is planning on leaving me for the 20-something Intel recruiter at the conference?

Oh, and to answer a popular question: Did Richard Simmons have an aftertaste? Yes. He tasted like sweaty man short-shorts. *shudder*