F**king Diet!

The original title for this entry was completely inappropriate.  I changed it.  You're welcome.

Day 2 on my weird and wonky diet, and I'm not loving it.  If you have no clue what I'm talking about, see my previous entry "Reject Your Tummy to Dominate".  I got up early, and did my cardio for 10 minutes, drank my damn water and ate an apple for breakfast.  The good news was on the scale, though.  121.8 pounds!  Woot!  Lunch was my downfall, though.  I was thinkin' Arby's.  Next thing you know, there's a ham and swiss melt in my mouth, and I'm elbow deep in curly fries.  "I'm thinkin' Arby's" translates to "I'm chewin' Arby's" with terrifying speed.  Slip-ups are bound to happen, though, am I right?  (Say yes)  I mean, it's only day 2, but what am I?  A monk?  Self-deprivation is not how I roll.  I've had not another drop of water, but this Sprite is tasty.  And there may or may not be a little vodka in it....  Don't judge.  It's been a very hard day.  So, the moral of the story is today isn't over yet.  I can squeeze in a little more cardio and some weights.  Also, tomorrow is a new day and so on and so on.  Keep rooting for me, readers!

XOXO and stuff!

Reject Your Tummy to Dominate! (Engrish Muffin Tops)

In the spirit of self improvement (and probable mid-life crisis setting in), I've decided that getting fit is in order.  Not just thinner, but healthier.  You know, eating better, frying less *tear*, and exercising more.  I found a diet in a really weird book I got for free on Craigslist, and I'm going to try it - well halfass it anyway, and I'll blog my progress as I go.  Blogress, if you will.  First order of business, no alcohol.  Noooo!!!!!  (Picture me falling down a long, dark, sober tunnel here, ala Alice.)

Goodbye, cabernet!  Goodbye, martini!  Goodbye!

Next, drink lots of water.  Like too much water - 8 ounces upon waking and seven more cups throughout the day.  Also, eat like a shit ton of grapefruit and apples, and have a big breakfast everyday, but not with bacon and stuff.  Exercise for an hour a day, even if it's just a brisk walk, and eat whatever you want in the whole entire world - as long as you consume a giant salad first with only lemon juice for dressing.  And no, and I mean NO artificial sweeteners or refined sugar.  The book says to sweeten everything with natural sugar cane juice.  I'm wondering if I can count rum in this...  Naturally sweetened oatmeal?  Sure!  NO fast food, and no food marketed as "diet."  Processed foods are purple minions in yellow minion clothes, people.  They are BAD, and I don't have to be on a diet to tell you this.

I am become McMinion!!!

  Actually, all of this does seem quite common sense.  Not enjoyable, but sensible.  Good thing I like grapefruit.  Like some people of a certain religious affiliation, however, I am picking and choosing which parts of this book I want to follow.  There are things in this diet that seem too extreme (think colon hydrotherapy and juice fasts), and I just refuse.

High colonic?  Ain't nobody got time fo dat!

Right now, I weigh 123.4 pounds at 5'4", and I've been stuck here for almost a year.  I'll post my measurements as soon as I find the tape measure so I can be realistic about the whole affair.  Also, I am a mother of three, the most beautiful children ever to have existed, so there's that.  But my youngest is 6, so I'm thinking the whole pregnancy weight thing might be sorta played out by now.  Not all that overweight, I know, but I have a very small frame, and I've always enjoyed being tiny.  Even though people are often very mean to you when you're thin, but that's a blog for another time.  Although I'm not big enough for Discovery Channel to notice, I would like to trim, tone and lose some inches.  My muffin top is in full bloom, and I want to be strong enough to not struggle with my heavy ass dive gear. (Half again your body weight is no joke, y'all.)

Dammit, delicious muffin top!

Today, I got up at 6:10, drank my damn water, did 10 minutes of stupid cardio, ate some crappy cereal with no sugar for breakfast, drank some more damn water, showered and went to work.  For lunch, I'll be enjoying some tomato soup - and damn water.  After work, it's exercise with high reps, low weights and probably some more damn water.  Dinner will be fried chocolate, because I totally deserve it.  But only after I eat my goliath salad.  If attitude is everything, I may be screwed, but if I can be bitchy while still getting results, bring it.

Loveyoumeanit!

Extra, extra!  I found the most awesome article to help you if you are also inspired to lose your muffin top.  The best part?  It's written all in Engrish!  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  Here's the link:  http://www.ihomeremedy.net/how-to-get-rid-of-muffin-top-7-easy-steps/

Namaste, y'all!

What I've learned:  Just as you can find yourself on a downward spiral, you can also place yourself on an upward spiral.  Both are self perpetuating, but the upward spiral can be a little tougher to find and hop on.  They take more umph.  Downward spirals are a tricky wicket and super easy to slip into.  That's not all I've learned in my (ahem) 36 years here on earth, of course, but it seems to be my latest lesson.  (I've also learned that the human head weighs 8 pounds.  Thank you, cute little boy on Jerry McGuire.  More fun, but less relevant.)  The last few years of my life have been spent on one of these downward spirals.  It was a pretty-from-the-outside spiral, but one headed down nonetheless.  I won't go into details (please and thank you), but this seems to fit:

"You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. 

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked. 

A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin! 

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? 

How much can you lose? How much can you win?"

Dr. Seuss

I'd bet most of us have been here.  What got me around to unslumping my slump was first realizing that I was even in that place (not always easy from the inside) and then doing something that scared the everloving shit outta me - my scuba certification.  When I accomplished that, it was my first real grasp on the elusive upward spiral.  Since then, my self-destructive tendencies have been falling away.  In fact, when I look at it that way, it's probably a lot like what happens when people find God or Jesus or Scientology or yoga or whatever.  Water is my religion?  Not quite but almost.  

Everywhere I look, there is something telling us how to be better, do better, get better.  If you don't believe me, wander on into a Barnes and Noble.  Their self-help section is huh-yuge!  And isn't that what we're all striving for, y'all?  A better us?

So wish me luck on this journey.  I hope I can achieve the life I want and inspire others to do the same along the way.  I'll keep ya posted.

Namaste and stuff!

Welcome, freaks!

Hell-freaking-lo, China!  Imagine my surprise when I pulled up my stats, and second in readership to the US?  China!  At the risk of sounding completely ignorant (and I know I do very often), I didn't know people in China got uncensored access to the internet so they could read my nonsense.  I must be absolutely no threat to any government anywhere.  See, I'm ignorant.  Now I feel bad, but not bad enough to stop talking, obviously.  China, I hope I didn't just alienate y'all.  I think you're fabulous!  Please keep reading.

Honestly, I'm happy that I have such a wide and diverse audience.  Germany, you're all pretty much my cousins, so welcome!  Australia, you spend a lot of time in the water AND you're mostly just totally hot.  I'm always happy to get a read from down under.  Same to you, New Zealand.  Plus you have kiwi birds and an awesome government, so kudos all around!  Eastern Europe, just keep being sultry and sexy beyond explanation.  Mmmm..........  Russia, Jordan, Brazil,  you're all on different continents, but I love you just as much.  Malaysia, you bring it like whoa!

I know I've left some out.  Blame it on the wine.  I'm just damned happy to have you all here, regardless of how you arrived.  You might of searched for my name directly (creeper, we broke UP, ok?), or maybe you searched for "naked gay columbian blog" (yes, I'm talking to all three of  you), but the bottom line is, I'm glad you're here.

Welcome, freaks!

Naked Is Best - A Short Story

Tonight I was changing clothes to get in the hot tub.  Omfg.  Really?  Now I must adon special attire to enjoy warm water properly?

Last night, I slept in my standard mom-army issue pajamas - boxers and a hopefully-not-too-stained tee.  This morning, I changed into something more appropriate to take my kids to the bus stop before school - yoga pants and a t-shirt with fewer stains.  You have to look nice at the bus stop, see?  Then I showered and broke out the big guns.  I had to look professional for work so it was pants, blazer, heels (I almost wrote "hells" instead of "heels" there.  Paging Dr. Freud!), the works.  It was HOT today in Florida, and humid like a mutha, so as soon as I got home, hello sundress and flip flops!  And now we're caught up to present, so yes, I'm writing a blog in a swimsuit.  Going into the hot tub soon.  Why?  I mean why the swimsuit, not why the hot tub.  Hot tubs are nice on sore muscles after long days.  What did a swimsuit ever do for anyone?  The moral of the story, my friends, is that nudists seem to have stumbled onto some wisdom.

Waving Goodbye...

True story!

"Excuse me, ma'am.  I think this belongs to you."  That's what the giant wave said as it giggled and proceeded to hand me my ass.  Like a broken washing machine stuck on a maniacal spin cycle.  "Here'syourasshere'syourasshere'syourasshere'syour..."  This is how it happened...

I've been super stressed out about work lately.  My life is a constant pressure, but I usually take it well.  My sister-in-law says I have Zen coming out my pores.  Not these days.  I feel driven and stuck, so I'm basically like a redneck truck mudding beyond its skill level.  I thought, "Oh, goodness, I should go diving.  That's so peaceful, I can center again."  So my sweet, sub-aquatic hubs and I headed for the beach for a shore dive.  We had our fantastic family watch the kids and headed out for H2O unknown.  Got to the beach, suited all up and headed for the waves.  That's when things got out. of. control.  I headed in ok, but when we descended, visibility was zero.  That means I couldn't see my foot.  I couldn't see my hand.  I couldn't see some random something that actually hit my face.  My imagination says "shark," my intellect says "seaweed."  Potato, potahto.  I quickly surfaced and decided to head in.  I was just fine until I got to the breakers.  The waves were big, and I could NOT get out of the water.  

I was trying to get out of a wave like this.  Really.

First, let's put this in perspective.  There is clumsy me, weighing all of about 120 lbs.  Add to this a 40 lb. tank, 8 lb. BCD (buoyancy compensator), and all the rest of my dive gear that I'm not weighing out for you.  If  you're curious, dear George, that's what Google is for.  I was knocked on my back like a 90-year-old land tortoise, and I could not stand up and move forward.  Sweet, aquatic hubs was screaming at me to quit panicking and stop taking out my regulator (the breathey thingy, for all my many non-dive friends).  "Just stand up and go!  Keep breathing!"  I'm glad he told me all that, because clearly, breathing and getting up were not on my agenda!  I was in no mood to squabble, but I hadn't been taking my regulator out.  I was struggling to put it back every time the psychotic rinse cycle knocked it out.  Fucking waves.  So I took my air out to tell him so, and to go fuck himself until he could drag me somewhere dry.  That's when a really BIG wave hit, and I got a nice big reminder of why you keep your regulator in.  That's your air, friend.  That's how you don't die.  Surprisingly, through all this I was calm.  I was getting beaten to death slowly in the pounding surf, but I had air for at least another half hour.  I had only been trapped and spinning for maybe ten minutes?  You can only lose so much blood due to shell cuts during that time, so I was going to survive.  Probably.  My husband split to the shore to lose his gear and come back for me about the time I decided to ditch my own gear.  Beautifully, that's pretty much the same time I heard a deep, disembodied voice from the heavens.  "Release your BC..."  No, it wasn't God or Poseidon.  It was the totally cute life guard.  He helped me finish shucking my heavy ass gear and scram to the top of the beach (also known as hauling my waterlogged nonsense) - where there was a margarita and a psychotherapist waiting for me, because that's totally what I needed.  Except there wasn't.  There was a crab and a crowd of passively interested bystanders.  Glad they were there.  I could be pinched, pitied and disregarded quickly.

Holy hell, lady!  Just stand up and go!
Ain't nobody got time for that!

To sum it up, I didn't die (obviously), but it scared me.  I won't be shore diving again.  Ever.  And while it wasn't the Zen I was seeking, a terrifying experience like that will give you new perspective.  You're sitting on the beach, alone, crying like bad poetry.  Blood is running down both legs, and there are seashells in your knees, elbows and part of your face.  You might wind up on YouTube soon.  And you thought work was tough?  I feel better now.

How I Went From Chicken of the Sea to Real Life Mermaid

You shoulda seen the armoire.

Let's start with some unrelated catching up first, shall we?  For starters, I apparently sleepwalk.  With a vengeance.  My bedroom furniture has a great fight story to tell about how it kicked my ass like Chris Brown.  Take that, bitch!  

Yay for my kinda lack of black eye!

Whatever.  I totally won.  The good news is, my armoire has learned a valuable lesson in tangling with the unconscious, and I have recovered nicely.  I mean, it's never a good idea to get physical with your bedroom furniture, but it worked out ok.

That's me on my paddle board.
Look out, river!

In other news, I got to go paddle boarding.  That was a freakin' lot of work.  It's like Surfing met Canoeing, and they had the most difficult baby possible.  It was fun, I'll admit, but it's not for the faint of heart.  Or arm muscle.  I didn't fall off my board, but by the end of my hour rental, I was definitely thinking it would be easier to fall off and swim back, if not for the sting rays and jelly fish.  

So now for the meat of my story:

Yeah.... Remember back when I said I was gonna get scuba certified (click here for a quick refresher) and then I totally didn't?

Guess what!!!

I finally took the course, and got scuba certified.  I was terrified beyond all belief (think panic attacks complete with tears and hyperventilating - even in the hot tub, sometimes in the shower.  Don't judge me.), but at the end of the day, I rocked it like whoa!  

Here I am - coming OUT of the lake because *gasp* I didn't drown!

My only regret?  That it took me this long to grow a pair and do it. I hate that I waited so long.  I'm really good underwater, and I absolutely cannot wait to go again.  I've decided that scuba is a great equalizer.  Down there, there is no hurry, no wait, no competition, and everyone looks the same amount of beautiful in their scuba mask (see above photo).  It's the ultimate zen.  Plus it's just plain beautiful.  It's sort of like floating through Finding Nemo, only the fish come right up to you.  They're as curious about me as I am about them, and that's incredibly cool.  I've been sky diving and bungee jumping (Is it gonna sound awful if I add Rocky Mountain climbing here?  Yep.), and I've never experienced anything like this.  All that said, I don't think I could ever talk anyone into it, as much as I would love to.  I wish everyone could see and experience it, but I don't want to turn into "that" person either.  I've dealt with "that' person, listened to all their stories, reasons and platitudes.  All it ever got them was a big, fat "fuck you very much."  No, scuba, like religion, should be a personal thing.  I can't talk you into it, but if you decide to dive, will you come with me?

Mad props here to Keith at JnD Scuba.  He totally put up with my disorganized ass when I had no business in the water, and he was smart enough to scream at me to swim as I was trying to apologize for almost drowning.  I owe many successful future dives to him, I'm sure.  Gwen was my patient mermaid who got me through the nightmare of water up my nose and salt in my eyes, and showed me the right way to wash my hair on the dive boat.  Captains don't like to get wet, it seems.  Also, a big shout out to The Black Pearl dive boat in Ft. Lauderdale for making my certification dive rock.  Sorry, dive master Andrew, for almost grabbing your nuts when I was coming up the ladder.  Twice.  Getting back on the boat after a dive is difficult and a bit panic-making, and I'm a little bit embarrassed for my grabs, but desperate times and desperate measures and all that.  I'm sure you understand.  And thank you to my husband for planting the seed and never letting me give up on myself.  Ok, I feel like I should swim off stage with my mermaid grammy now.

Exaggeration: The True Story of a 5-Year-old

this morning:
*door SLAM*
Me: Shhh! People are sleeping.
Jadie: Sorry, but there was a wasp chasing us! Really! There were five wasps.
Me: Well, you still have to be a little quieter.
Jadie: But there were TEN wasps chasing us!

The End

I Want To Make One Thing Clear - As Soon As I Figure Out What That Thing Is....

If you have children, you probably remember your pre-child days and wonder, "What did I do with all that time before these pure id little versions of me came along?"  (Id [Freudian] - the "me me me me" part of your personality that is the center of your known universe, the "Fuck you, world!  I want a popsicle NOW!" part.)  That's sort of how I feel about life after Facebook, only in reverse.  Where did I find all that time to care about whether 300 of my closest friends were out of peanut butter, or out of their minds?  I haven't found a few spare minutes to spend on - hold onto your mom jeans - pinterest.  I haven't even found time to blog lately, and all these thoughts trapped in my head are building pressure.  I've been having all these memories (flashbacks) lately - of the time I ate over a pound of calf fries before I knew what they were, the time I had to prep calf fries to be cooked (*Skip this explanation if you're squeamish - Prepping calf fries involves washing the bull testicles, cutting and peeling off the skin, re-washing, and then butterflying them like shrimp.), and also the time I got attacked by Clark Smith's goat.  Goats are relentless bitches.

So I've felt the need to go shopping lately, not because I like shopping (which I totally hate), but because I'm tired of wearing only yoga pants and tank tops/t-shirts.  I deserve more from my wardrobe.  Since I have a loathing of all things retail, and since I have precious little time to devote to something like shopping, I decided to do it online.  Remembering my affection for Forever 21, I logged on to their website only to be greeted with my wardrobe from 20 years ago.  Wtf, Forever 21?!  Cutoff mom jeans and sailor stripe middies?  Put that with a Debbie Gibson hat, and there you have my old closet.  Shaken, but not yet ready to admit that I'm getting old (past my electric youth), I headed via modem to Charlotte Russe.  Damn.  These clothes were plucked from my 20-year-old closet as well.  Reluctantly, I logged on to kmart.com, and jackpot!  Oh, hell.  I am old.  UPS, my big, brown Santa Clause, should be delivering my order today.  Color me excited!
*Update - My clothes arrived, and I LOVE them.  I quickly put on my favorite outfit out of the lot, and my husband told me I looked like a farm girl.  So?

Happy me in my new Kmart farm shirt.

I LOVE music - music of all kinds (unless it's whiny country, and then you're on your nasally own, even if every damn light in your house is on).  My favorite artists include Dave Matthews Band, Mumford and Sons, Michael Buble, Skankin Pickle, Sister Hazel, Tristan Prettyman, Blues Traveler, Don Henley, Coldplay, just to name a few.  I could go on for hours, but honestly, who wants to read that?  One of my favorite songs is "Drive" by The Cars.  I think that my affection for this tune is owed, in no small part, to the irony of it.  Who else would sing a song called "Drive?"

In unrelated news, I was bitten by a flying ant today.  I was bitten by several normal ants this week too, which sucks because I'm way allergic, but the flying ant seemed especially unfair.  Hey, let's take something terrible, but mostly avoidable, and give it wings!  Evolution, you're a dick.

That is all.

Farm Times: A True Story OR "Don't Be Afraid, Just Reach In and Scoop." (I couldn't decide on a title)

I had toast with jelly this morning for breakfast.  Remarkable, huh?  Not so much. But every time I eat it, I always remember how much I really like jelly, and then I go on this nostalgic mental train ride where my mom used to make all our jelly out of sandhill plums and from the peaches that grew on the weird little peach tree in our back yard.  At least, I think they were peaches.  The flesh was white, and the outside was always green, even when they were very ripe.  They never got properly peach.  Then one year, the tree just died.  Suddenly.  Can trees have heart attacks?  It was like that.  The train ride (Yes, we're back on the train, guys.  Keep up.) where I grew up on a farm, fed our cow/future dinner, was woken out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night on more than one occasion to help deliver a litter of piglets (Have you ever done this?  Deliver piglets, not wake up.  Cad.  It's wonderful and amazing and unbelievably damned squishy and gross beyond compare.  Nothing like making life happen when you're elbow deep in a pig vagina, your dad in the background like some awful cheerleader out of a redneck nightmare, saying in his most encouraging voice, "Don't be afraid, just reach in and scoop."), and where having both a railroad box car full of baby chickens and a random farm animal in your yard was normal, the train ride that ended up with me being me.

So, I've been met recently with some incredulity about my having grown up on a farm.  I guess I just don't seem very farmy?  So yes, y'all, I didn't make all this up, and I'm pretty sure I didn't hallucinate it either.  I did grow up on a very small farm, and last night, I found the pictures to prove it.  Enjoy a walk down my weird little memory lane:  

In order of appearance, from left to right:  Annie, Me, John, cow/dinner
That shed blew away in a tornado shortly after this photo was taken.

When I was 7 years old, I was roused from a peaceful slumber
to go help these little cuties get born.  Awww, they grow so fast.
And to set the record straight, yes, this is the pig, the one with the vagina.
See the boxcar in the background?  That's the one full of
baby chickens (who look cute but are actually monsters).

Here's me on my horse.  We called him Lightening.
I don't know why.  He wouldn't go faster than a walk.
That's probably good because I was a pretty clumsy kid.

So, you may have noticed there are no pictures posted in my blog of me serving up hot meals to Florida's less fortunate or snuggling sea turtles.  You may have also noticed I'm not sporting purple hair, or throwing back some rocky mountain oysters (calf fries, bull jewels, swinging beef, cowboy caviar, etc).  You may be wondering why this is.  If you're thinking right now, Well of course you're not, crazy.  What in the world are you talking about?, you should read this.  If you have read that, and you're wondering why I haven't done the things I promised, I can assure you it's not because I don't want to.  Sea turtles are attractive creatures, right?  Totally snuggle-worthy.  And I think I'd look super hot with purple locks.  It's simply because I haven't reached the donation levels I've set for my son's school thing.  If you're wondering why not, I can tell you, I am wondering the same thing.  If I had a dollar for every read I've gotten this month, I'd be on a mechanical bull right now instead of in an office chair, writing this entry.  I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.  On the bright side, I'm not likely to be thrown from my chair, not that it hasn't happened, but I'm sober right now, so it's not likely.  Yes, guys, I know this is shameless.  I don't care.  We are coming down to the wire (May 10 is my drop-dead date for most of the money - $8000), so if you can give, please do.  If you've been sending your good vibes, keep it coming.  You must be doing something right because I have received some very generous support from our local businesses.  I will be sure to write an entry about them once this is all said and done, and I'll give them the mad props they deserve.

*Update:  I just sent out a giant stack of letters asking for support.  My son has also agreed to do some volunteer work in exchange for donations.  His volunteer choices are making oyster mats, a day-long beach clean up and helping build a house at Habitat for Humanity.  I will be honoring those donations with my promises as well.  So basically, he and I will both do the things we promised, regardless of the source of our donations.  Wish us luck!

My happy little winner.

Because You Can't Mail Children

I went into the post office accompanied by several children, ages 10 to 13.  We waited patiently in line until it was our turn.  When we stepped up to that weird high post office counter, the lady politely asked, "What can I help you with today?"  So friendly.  I replied, "I'd like to mail these to Indiana.  Preferably overnight.  How much does that cost?"  She looked all confused and was like, "Mail what?"  I rolled my eyes (only in my head, though, because it's rude to actually roll your eyes at people, even if they are being obtuse) and waved my hand back toward the gaggle of children behind me. "These," I replied patiently.  "I need to get these guys to Indiana.  They don't have to be there until June, and like I said, overnight is preferable.  I'm just trying to find out how much it will cost so we can budget accordingly."  That's when her face got all funny and she quietly suggested I leave the post office.  That's pretty much how it played out at the UPS store too.  You'd think with a name like Goin' Postal, they'd be more understanding.  What's wrong with people?  We should all be so budget-minded.  That's what I think.

So now that it looks like mailing children is not an option (I have yet to ask Fed Ex, but I can't really see it going any better.) we still have to find that original $10,000 we're trying to come up with to send them to the Future Problem Solvers International thing in Indiana.  (click here for a refresher:  http://whatelainasays.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-clown-fish-is-winner.html)  If you want to help these brilliant kids (seriously, you guys, they are way smarter than me) get to the international competition in Indiana, there are a few ways you can donate. The first one involves a smartphone.  Scan this QR code:

And then download the snap.tap.give app.  It's free and super easy.  The suggested donation is $5, but you can go all the way down to $1 and presumably all the way up to about Johnny Depp's salary.  Totally up to you.  Another option is to send money via PayPal to fundraiser.wflfps@gmail.com.  And if none of these work for you, comment me, and I will get you an address where you can do it old school (send a check via snail mail).  The donations are totally tax deductible, and they come not only with our undying gratitude, they also come with a list of dares and do-goods - things I will do if we reach certain donation goals.  Here's the list:

$100 - I eat something gross (calf fries, chocolate-covered crickets, stuff like that)

$200 - I donate a morning at a soup kitchen

$300 - I dye my hair purple

$400 - I volunteer a day at the Sea Turtle Preservation Society helping our cute little shelled friends live quality lives

$500 - I ride the next mechanical bull I see

$10,000 - I get a pink flamingo tattoo (the Florida Future Problem Solvers logo is a pink flamingo)

You may have noticed that there is a gap in that list.  $600-$9900 are missing "challenges" because I'm out of ideas.  I thought of alligator wrestling scuba diving with sharks, but while I'm totally down, those things are expensive and that sort of defeats our purpose.  Please feel free to comment with your suggestions (or if you know someone who'll let me wrassle their gators for free).

I will take pictures and post them so you know I really did the things I promised.

Thanks, y'all!  And as always, much love.

I'm posting this picture of Adam Levine for three reasons:
1.  He's very hot.  (Even if you're a dude, there's no denying it.)
2.  It's a thank-you for reading my blog.  You're welcome.
3.  My entries always get more hits when Adam Levine is included
and I'm totally shameless in promoting my kid's fundraiser.

Guess What?!? I Now Come In PG!

I started a new blog, guys!  It's just like this old one, only shiny and new and with nicer language.  It's called Me In PG, and you can get to it here:  http://meinpg.blogspot.com/

The reason I created it is actually in my first entry over there, but let's recap, shall we?  In case you're too lazy to actually click the link, or your fingers were suddenly broken, or whatever.  My son and his phenomenally smart friends won a state competition, so they were invited to go on to Indian to participate in the international competition for Future Problem Solvers.  You can read my entry about it here:  http://whatelainasays.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-clown-fish-is-winner.html

The only problem is that it's hella expensive to make it where they can all go, so I'm soliciting donations.  You can also read about that in my other blog too.  I'm basically offering to do things like eat gross stuff and dye my hair purple to get donations so his team can go.  There's even a tattoo in the mix, but it's not cheap.  Here's the link to the blog with the details:  http://meinpg.blogspot.com/2013/04/sacrificing-some-of-my-time-and-lot-of.html

I'll also post the details on this one here later.  Basically, you can send donations through PayPal (email:  fundraiser.wflfps@gmail.com), or you can scan this QR code to donate from your smartphone.  You'll have to download an app, but how hard is that?

It's high-tech panhandling, y'all.  If you donate (or if you already have) THANK YOU!  If you're not able to donate, no hard feelings.  I love you anyway.

Much love and many thanks!

Macaroni and Cheese, Bitches!

There's a title that really benefits from proper punctuation, eh?  Imagine if the comma was missing.  That would be crazy awesome, no matter how you slice it.

So, I'm a little pissed as I write this tonight.  My mom (the polypollyist) is the goddess of homemade macaroni and cheese.  I do well if I can produce something edible and not too overtly orange (like me after a spray tan) out of those little Kraft boxes.  Tonight, I feel like giving my kids a little more than the oompa loompa of the  mac and cheese world, so I'm trying to figure out how to make this shit in a pan in the oven with actual cheese, y'all. And I am failing.  So I tried to call my mother.  That's what you do when you're adrift, right?  Doesn't matter that you're way past 30 and been on your own for a bit.  In fact, the first three Ramen-with-corn years don't even count.  Neither do the three following Hamburger-Helper-with-corn years.  So, I figure, I'm only 12 years into this, and if I can make the most kickass enchiladas and chicken fried steak and roughly 14 badass chicken dishes like a boss, then I have a get out of dinner jail free card.  Unfortunately, the ever-easy, yet totally unkind mac and cheese is eluding me like a bitch.  So, since my mom isn't home, I naturally turned to google and found this nugget.  Let's see how this goes.  My first thought, upon reading through the recipe, is that this woman is also a goddess of mac and cheese and totally awesome.  My second thought is, Fuck, I have to make a roux?  What is a roux?  Let the games begin!

Here's a link to the recipe in case you missed it up there:  Link to awesome mac and cheese recipe  (You gotta read this first, or the rest makes even less sense, trust me.)

Ok, so I forgot the egg.  Just totally forgot.  Well, I mean, I got them out of the fridge, cracked one, beat it like a little bitch and then left it sitting right on the counter.  Fuck you, egg.   It's baking now (the mac and cheese, not the egg), and it smells good.  I'm a little frustrated that the recipe doesn't provide a cooking temperature, but we'll cook it at 350 (I'd cook it at 311 ideally, but my oven won't let me) and forgive her because she's still pretty awesome, especially with all those pictures that I didn't bother to post.  I'll let you know what the kids think when it's done.

Votes are in, and it is.... fanfreakintastic!  It was all melty and delicious.  I made the macaroni SUPER al dente, so I added a little milk to make sure my noodles wouldn't break your teeth.  I also used 1% milk instead of whole because that's just how I roll.  For the cheese, cheddar and monterey jack, and I threw in salt, paprika and even a little parsley because it's pretty.  I would have added a bit more pepper and maybe some cayenne for a kick, but it is a hit, and I will be making it again, fo sho!

Part Deux of My Trip Back Home: The Part Mostly About Food

This is the pecan farm.  Huge and beautiful.

Who would have thought it would take this long to finish a blog entry?  I wrote part 1 of my trip home back in...? January!  Here's a link if you need catching up:  the link to that other entry.  Now, you're all caught up.  So, I left off at cow poop.  When visiting eastern New Mexico/west Texas (let's just do the Bennifer thing here and combine it into Weastern New Texico), cow poop is the beginning and end of lots of things.  Well, the end of lots of things anyway.  Mostly your appetite.  So we drove on into Roswell (sorry if you're lost.  I am a little lost too.  Let's just stick together, and we should be fine.), and we spent the week on my Granddad-in-law's massive pecan farm.  We (meaning not me) murdered squirrels, ate our weight in pecans (totally me), and enjoyed Christmas, country style.  They have lots of tractors on their farm and llamas in their yard, and we totally pigged out at the Golden Corral.  It was super fun, and it's always great to see family.  We also made the trip to Carlsbad Caverns that week, and I was happy (as a native New Mexican) that my kids got to see that wonder of the world.  It was a long hike, but a cave like that is amazing by any standard.  The sheer size of the caves, and the formations inside are mind blowing.  Additionally, I got lost around Artesia, and that is scary like a Stephen King novel.  NEVER get lost around Artesia, y'all.  Carrie and some sentient cars are always lurking around there, along with Blaine the monorail and Randall Flagg's rundown boots.  (If you're all WTF? right now, please check back when you're nerdier.)  

...or not to sell pecans?  That is the question.

This is what happened when little kid Chuck Norris decided to
dig a hole to China.  BAM!  Carlsbad Caverns, baby.

Eventually we headed to the Clovis-Portales area.  My stomping ground, if you want to stomp on peanuts, I guess, or cow poop.  That's abundant everywhere out there.  God, now we're on cow poop again.  Sorry, y'all.  Portales is called Goober Gulch by those in the know because peanuts are sort of its bumper crop (and peanuts are also called goobers), unless you count wind.  There is a shit load of wind.  Most of my family is still hanging on in that neck of the woods, so I was excited to see them.

We interrupt this blog for some incoherent thought processes. (Because, you know, coherent thought has been the name of the game so far, right?)  Please proceed to the nearest exit if you're a sissy or a stickler for story telling that actually makes sense.  I would just like to take a moment to point out some inconsistency between the Schoolhouse Rock teachings of the 80's and modern day common knowledge.  In the 80's, we were taught (via talking salads and other foodstuffs) "You are what you eat."  Now we learn that zombies have a healthy appetite for brains, yet they are quite stupid.  'Nuff said.  Here's a link to support my theory:  The Link That Supports My Theory

Oh, boy.  If I had a sushi restaurant, the feature item on my menu would be the Rick Roll.  That would be good stuff.

We now continue with our regularly scheduled thought process.

Everyone should have such a rhino in their front yard.

We stayed the first night in the Goober Gulch vicinity with my dad, which is always an adventure.  He had, during our previous visit back in July, a 2 1/2 foot tall fiberglass rhinoceros in his front yard, which he had carefully painted to look "realistic."  Of course he did.  If you've read the previous blog entries about my dad (or if you know him personally), this probably seems outrageously normal.  But the kids totally loved the rhino, and spent lots of time "riding" it.  Sadly, the rhino was gone during this trip, and the kids lamented its leaving.  Even so, staying with my dad, there is always potential for adventure.  He and my stepmom were not only gracious enough to put us up, but they also let me host an impromptu house party, and I got to see lots of people who are near and dear to my heart.  

And this is in my dad's yard.  He painted it, and I decided
to include it just because I like it.

The rest of the trip was spent enjoying time with family and trying to cram as much of the local food in my mouth as possible.  If you ever have occasion to visit Clovis or Portales, New Mexico (I can't imagine why you would, unless you're from there, but you just never know), here is a list of must do's and must-eats:

This was my delicious burrito

Allsup's Convenience Store - Fried burritos with lots of taco sauce.  Don't knock convenience store burritos 'til ya try 'em.

Leal's Mexican Restuarant - Chili relleno.  That is all.

Taco Box - Green chili cheesburger and/or combo burrito and spanish fries (no, they are not just tater tots)

My little one is obviously thrilled about
the candy store.  They're not lying about
the giant peanut patty either.  Thing's as
big as a pizza!

Leslie's Candy Company on 7th St. in Clovis - They are the only one in the world and the real deal.  They make all their candy on site in this little building in an older part of town.  Their ribbon candy, cinnamon lollipops are all amazing.  Plus, it's the only place I know where you can get green chili flavored peanut brittle.  Or was it jalapeno?  Whatever.  It was green, and it's really good, I promise.

Twin Cronnies in Clovis  - It's an old-fashioned drive up, locally owned and a Clovis original.  I like the jalapeno cheese balls and fried okra, but their burgers are all incredible too.  Plus, there are totally dancing hot dogs on the sign.  You can't go wrong.

Pat's Twin Cronnies in Portales  - totally different than the other Twin Cronnie but equally awesome.  They have tons of great milk shakes (peanut butter is the bomb diggity), and you have to try the fried cheese on a stick.  It's like a corn dog, only with cheese where the frank should be.  Sooo good!

JJ's Jumbo Burgers  - I'm pretty sure somebody just started this place in their kitchen and opened their back porch for business.  Seriously.  But the burger meat is the freshest ever and all locally grown, mostly by 4-H kids, and the fries are made out of actual cut up potatoes.  Take that McDonald's!

Main Street in Clovis - It was hit hard when our first mall and Walmart opened up in 1989 (Clovis was a late bloomer), but there are still a lot of great local merchants out there, and it's definitely worth a look.  I mean, you're in Clovis, so what else are you gonna do anyway?  Plus, most of Main Street is still brick, so that's pretty cool.

This is it - my Grandmother's kitchen.

My Grandmother's kitchen - But you can't go there without me.  Seriously, I don't think she'd understand.  She has always made the best enchiladas in the whole world, and the ambience is perfect.  All homey and stuff.

The high school football stadium

My souvenirs from home

And that's pretty much it for Clovis and Portales.  I've provided links (or at least Urban Spoon links) in the list where I can, so you can waste even more time on here if you're really bored.  You're welcome.  Although fine dining isn't really much of an option, the place is a foodie's dream, but it's otherwise pretty devoid of unique things to do.  The people and the food are pretty much the best parts of the whole area.  If you happen to be there during football season, you could catch a game at the high school (Leon Williams Stadium).  Clovis is definitely a Friday Night Lights town, and it's where Hank Baskett got his start.  You could also visit the Blackwater Draw Museum, I suppose, though I wouldn't recommend it.  It's pretty boring.  Sometimes there are art exhibits at the Clovis Community College and at Eastern NM University.  The only other thing to do there is leave.  You can take a drive to the more scenic parts of New Mexico, like Ruidoso, Santa Fe, or even Albuquerque, or pop on down to Fort Sumner for a trip through the Billy the Kid Museum.  

*Author's note:  I blame much of this blog entry on allergy meds.

If the Underwear Fits...

Wow, two blog entries in a day.  Is that normal?  Probably not, but who cares?  The last one was an "everyone" entry.  It was about my kid and his awesomeness, suitable for all audiences.  This one, not so much.  I mean, it won't be vulgar (well, not very vulgar) or violent, but I do like the freedom to speak my mind.  So if you're sensitive, you should go play with a puppy now.

Still here?  Good.  You'll be glad you stayed.  First on my agenda is Adam Levine.  That puts me in what, the 98th percentile?  He is going to be in Orlando at the end of the month.  Sigh.  So close, yet so far away.  The concert is already sold out, and I'm broke as a joke, so it doesn't matter anyway.  What I wonder is how many pairs of panties the janitorial staff is going to have to sweep off the stage after the concert.  Why do you do this, ladies who throw panties?  Do you think he's going to pick yours, fall in love and then come find you so you can live happily ever after like some skanky version of Cinderella?  Can you imagine how that door-to-door search would go?  "Um, excuse me miss, but are these your drawers?"  Speaking of Mr. Levine, and I often am, I had a great idea for a birthday party game.  Instead of pinning the tail on the donkey, we could draw the tattoos on Adam Levine.  Heck yes!


And while we're on the subject of gorgeous people, some Colombian model has announced that she thinks eating chicken makes people gay.  I wonder if she also thinks that eating people would result in gay chickens.  Being a supermodel, you would think she would have plenty of gay people around to point out her flawed ideas.

I was thinking the other day that maybe I could prostitute my blog out to Google and let them place ads on my page.  Then I would get some sumpin' sumpin' for all this entertainment I provide.  Turns out, they will not let you do that if you use "excessive profanity."  Really?  Just what do we call excessive?  If I'm talking to my young children colorfully, that's probably excessive.  But say I'm at a sailor convention?  Or Ozzy Osborne's house?  What say you, then Google?  Is the judicious use of the word "fuck" excessive?  

My mom and I were talking about imaginary friends and the fact that my kids have none.  Does this mean they are just that damn well adjusted, or that they lack imagination?  I can't decide, but imagination doesn't seem to be a problem thus far.  (overheard in my kitchen:  No, Jadie!  You're the walrus with a purple skirt!  The villagers are bringing you brocolli!)  But I had an imaginary friend.  He was Mr. Cooey, and he wore a tall top hat, like a way cooler version of the Monopoly guy, no monocle.  One day, though, he went on vacation to the south of France, and he has yet to call or write.  Bastard.  He's probably still out partying with his friends.  Being an only child, you might call that normal, to invent a companion, but my mom had a brother and a sister, and she had, like, 7 imaginary friends who were all named Polly.  She was a Polypollyist.  

The Clown Fish Is the Winner!

This entry has nothing whatsoever to do with Finding Nemo.  I just like that movie line.  A lot.  (My apologies to my Russian readers if I've already lost you.  That usually doesn't happen until much later in the blog.  Do you guys have Nemo over there?)  It does have to do with winning, though.  It's all about that.  
I have won very few things in my life.  I placed 9th in a spelling bee once, and one time I won a case of Dr. Pepper from a local radio station in my itty bitty home town.  I won an xBox once from a random drawing at work, but that doesn't really count because I didn't do anything other than work there and have a name.  I have a whole photo album of "participant" ribbons for everything from elementary school field days to art contests and science fairs.  I have no idea why my mom wanted to keep all that, much less immortalize it in a photo album, but it's like some weird testament to my chronic loseryness.  (Yes, y'all, that is a word.  I just said it.)  My son, however, seems to have chosen a more charmed lot in life.  It's almost as if John Hughes is directing his life.  He will get all angsty as a teenager, but still come out on top with a random musical number just because.  He is in the gifted program at his school, and last year he won first place in a chess tournament while his friends stood around him and cheered him on during his final Bobby Fischer moves.  A couple of months ago, he entered a writing competition through his gifted program and an organization called Future Problem Solvers (you can click on it if you want to know more).  The students could choose from a variety of topics and then write a short story based upon a fictional, but possible, story set in the future.  
They say it better:   What is Scenario Writing?  Scenario writing is an individual competition in which students develop short stories related to one of the five FPS topics for the year. The story is set at least 20 years in the future and is an imagined, but logical, outgrowth of actions or events taking place in the world today. The story should focus on one main character and develop that character through the plot of the story.
The topic he chose was Megacities,  and wouldn't you know it?  He placed high in the district in the junior division (4th-6th grade) and got to go on to the state competition.  He spent 3 days at the Lake Buena Vista Resort in Orlando, along with over 600 other students in the Future Problem Solvers program, ranging from 4th graders to high school seniors, participating in competitions and activities geared toward (drum roll, please) solving the world's problems.  His writing was then being judged at the state level to determine if he would go on to the international competition in Indiana in June.  He had an amazing time with his friends, and their team did very well.  

So he calls me on the last day, right after the award ceremony where he learns how he placed in the state.

Him:  Hi, mom.  We just got out of the award ceremony.
Me:  Well, how'd you do?
Him:  I got 8th place.
Me:  In the whole state?!  Honey, that's great!  I'm SO proud of you!
Him:  Nah, just kidding.  I placed 1st.
Me:  No you didn't!  
Him:  Yeah, really, I did.  Looks like we're going to Indiana.
Me:  *tons of tears*  ungh...
Him:  Mom?  Are you ok?  Mom?

He came home yesterday with a big trophy and an even bigger grin.  I'm sure I don't have to tell you how proud of him I am, or how lucky I am.  I must have done something right to deserve this kid.  So if I haven't lost you by now, good job!  Way to hang in there, you trooper!  I'm posting his story below in case anyone wants to read it.

The Merge

Aaron awoke to the irritating sound of the bedstand box, an ugly brown box that perched on every night table in the Peace Time Regime.  "It is Six.Forty.Five, November 19, 2072.  It is time for your weekly Dose.  Please approve with an eye scan."  The dreaded box - it told the time, woke you up, kept your schedule, and above all, administered the Dose.  Aaron waved his hand through the sensor and sat up sleepily while the crimson light washed his eyes.  The bed stand box's lid slowly hovered up and it stopped when the pill was visible.  Aaron reluctantly took hold of the Dose.  He knew it was an emotion control Dose.  Ugh, the Dose!  All mega cities, such as New York and Omaha, used the Dose to control crime, keep the swelling population in order, and ensure continuity of leadership.  The Dose had originated in New York and spread.  With every peaceful control, every quelling of the masses, its distribution grew.  Now the whole country utilized the Dose.  The government introduced it to the public, touting it as a savior, reducing crime, moving civilization forward.  And it worked.  The crime rate dropped 89% in a matter of twelve years.  A convenient side effect is that the current government hasn't met opposition since 2060.  When the United Public Order took power, the democracy gave way with no resistance.  The leader, Commandez Clark, has used the Dose to retain his power, uncontested, for nine years.

Aaron drew the Dose tablet to his mouth to do his Citizen's duty, to swallow the tablet.  At the last minute, he swiped his hand down and pocketed the hated medication in his sleep clothes.  He quickly changed out of his plain red standard issue night clothes and tossed them in the hamper.  Its bottom dropped out every twelve hours, and the transport train hauled them to the public wash.  Clockwork.  Easy.  He assumed that the Dose would dissolve while being washed.  He got dressed for work and walked out the door, knowing that his first day of Year Three at the machinery would be just as dull as the first day of Year One.

****

The lights in the control room flickered on and off, like a digital thunderstorm in a dark bedroom.  The door burst open as the patrol scout stormed in.  Startled by the sudden intrusion, Commandez Clark jumped up in his chair seething, staring at the patrol scout.
"I have something for you, Sir Clark," the patrol scout announced.
Angry with the sudden intrusion, and impatient over any interruption, Commandez Clark demanded, "What?!  WHAT?!! Get on with it!"
"We have found Dose particles on a citizen's clothes," reported the scout with a robot's dispassion.  "Citizen Penland.  Penland, Aaron. Should I assign an additional Dose?"
"No, not yet.  Let me talk to him," replied Commandez Clark, suddenly patient, suddenly collected.  "Let me have a little chat with him first."

****

Home.  Finally!  Utter exhaustion overtook Aaron as he collapsed onto his bed.  Slowly, he became aware of a light in his peripheral vision.  Blinking.  Blinking.  Blinking.  Sighing with frustration, he pressed the "receive" button on the hated bedstand box.  "You," the box announced, sounding more nasally and oddly snobby,"have a conference with Commandez Clark.  Please report on November 20, 2072 at Six.O.Clock. A.M."  Ugh.  Really?  45 minutes early?  Aaron had already used his limited teleports for the month, so he would have to get up early to walk.  Now he was starting to wish he had taken his Doses.  At least then he wouldn't care about his cruddy job at the machinery, his mediocre lot in life, the drab existence that didn't seem to bother anyone else.  The gray fog of his life descended on him as he drifted off to uneventful sleep.

****

6:05 a.m.  Oh, man!  Late!  Aaron, heart pounding, ran into the reception lobby.  Commandez Clark had specifically ordered a meeting, and now he was late.  The office, an ugly steel bunker, was not what he expected.  The pipes were dripping, the vent was blowing dust.  Aaron had really expected more from the Supreme Leader's office.
"Take a seat.  Now," commanded the cold, demanding voice issuing from a dark corner.  Lights blinked nonsensically from a unit on a cluttered desk, and a set of dark eyes peered over an impossibly balanced stack of infraction papers.  Aaron couldn't identify the voice's owner, but he obeyed immediately.  The icy voice, trying too hard to be casual, slowly said, "I heard you were skipping your Dose.  Is this true?"
"No," lied Aaron, as smoothly as he could.  Why in the world would I admit that now?  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a patrol scout, a lurking shadowy robot of a presence.
Suddenly, the owner of that coldly punctual voice spoke again.  "My information came from him."  A shadowed head nodded toward the patrol scout standing sentinel off to the side.  "He said they found Dose particles on your clothes.
"They didn't.  It must have belonged to someone else," Aaron replied flatly.
The irritating voice from the paper stacks opined, "You're not convincing me."
"I don't care."  And he didn't.  What did Aaron care if some droid paper pusher believed him or not?  Hopefully, though, Commandez Clark didn't share the mindless paper-pusher's reservations.  Suddenly, the double doors to the office exploded open.  Aaron jumped back, startled.  He hadn't even realized those doors were there.  Clouds of dust and random infraction papers slowly drifted to the floor.  Unbothered, almost bored, the voice behind the cluttered desk said, "Well, I guess you can go in now."  Aaron stood slowly, uncertainly, and headed toward the open door.  As he passed through the threshold, he was suddenly greeted by a giant hand.  Startled, Aaron stepped backwards.  A jolly red face appeared above the outstretched hand.  Both the hand and the face seemed impossibly large and impossibly friendly.
"Aaron!" boomed a cheerfully maniacal voice.  "Penland, is it?  Aaron Penland!  Good to meet you, my boy.  GREAT to meet you! I'm Charles.  Oh!  Clark!  Commandez Clark.  Please, call me Chuck!"
Whatever Aaron had expected, this wasn't it.  The jolly giant led Aaron through another set of double doors that smacked shut as they passed.  Commandez Clark moved around a massive desk and made himself comfortable, indicating a chair across the vast table to Aaron.  "Please, my boy!  Please sit down!  Make yaself at home.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee, water....?"
"N-n-nooo," Aaron stammered, finding his seat, completely uncertain of himself for the first time.  "Thank you, sir."
Commandez Clark, seeming to sense a weakness, dived right in, cheerful like a shark at a birthday party.  "Now, Aaron, some crazy things have been brought to my attention.  Disturbing things!"  Aaron drew a breath to protest, but before he could speak, the Supreme Leader jumped in again.  "I know these things aren't true, of course!  Of course they aren't!  I mean, why would a good boy like you go on skipping the Dose?  Just makes no sense, does it?"  With that, he spread his hands complacently.  Then he grinned a devil's grin.  A knowing grin, loaded with evil happiness and empty charity.
Completely off balance, reeling from this display of false good will, Aaron knew the gig was up.  It was done.  But he couldn't go on.  The Dose was an emotional flat line, and he just couldn't live that way.  Nothing but a gray fog under this regime.  "Do  you take the Dose, sir?"  Aaron knew this was the wrong question but he had to ask.
Clark's eyes flashed with a controlled fire.  "Why, certainly I do," he lied. "Now, I know you know what's best for you.  For the Republic.  When you get home, your Dose will be there.  It'll be waiting for you.  And we'll make sure," his voice dropping, "that you are taking it."  His eyes clouded, and his fists clenched.  "Am I clear?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, sir," Aaron replied.  "Very clear."
Clark leaned back in his chair, and suddenly the broad smile appeared again.  "Good!  Real good!  Now my scout will show you out.  You make sure you have a real good day!"
Aaron shuffled out of the strange office with the patrol scout and out into the sunlight.

****

Commandez Clark watched Aaron disappear through the double doors.  Trouble maker!  He picked up the phone and pressed a blue button.  "Yes," he said, "make sure Penland, Aaron receives his Dose in the morning, as scheduled.  And go ahead and make that Dose 3207."

****

The bedstand box droned, "It is Six.Forty.Five, November 21, 2072.  It is time for your Dose.  Please approve with an eye scan."
"Already?" he wondered aloud.  "I thought it was weekly."  Not wanting a repeat of yesterday, afraid of Commandez Clark, Aaron quickly swallowed the pill.  He was dead before his head hit the pillow.