And Where Have You Been, Young Lady?!

Let me put a disclaimer right up here:  This post is a total overshare and an intimate look into my real world. If you don't want to know, how about you head on back to Facebook now, or watch cat videos or something? If you're interested, or just plain nosey, read on.

"Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different?" C.S. Lewis is credited with this little pearl of wisdom. Did he really say it? I don't know, guys. I wasn't there. What I do know is how freakin' true this is. It's also true that sometimes everything changes, but so much remains fundamentally untouched. Cryptic and deep, huh? I'll explain.

You might notice that my last post before this was all the way back in April 2015. Where have I been? What have I been doing? That was a time of drastic change, and I have come out a new person on the other side. Or perhaps, I'm simply more myself. On June 28, 2015, I packed my 3 kids, 4 suitcases, and a box of stuff in my SUV and in the middle of the night, I drove away from my life. My marriage of 17 years had deteriorated to the point where staying was not an option. He owned the company I worked for, the house where I lived, the bank accounts. I had nothing but 3 kids, our clothes, a full tank of gas, and $500, and my family lived over 1200 miles away. As I headed west, into a total question mark, I was terrified. I went to a domestic abuse center for counseling, moved into a travel trailer, got a job waiting tables, and enrolled the kids in school. He filed for divorce on July 22, setting in motion an intense and expensive legal battle that's only now just finished. But in the words of the amazing Tyler Durden, "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."

Now, I could go into all the Lifetime Movie details here, but how about we just hit fast forward instead? I am now living in the small New Mexico town where I grew up. The kids live with me, and they spend their school breaks in Florida with their dad. I'm remarried, and my husband is a wonderful man who treats me like I didn't just hang the moon, but like I designed it and brought it into being. I have a good career at a company that makes loans to farmers and ranchers, and last year, we bought a beautiful home. For me, everything has changed in these three years, but when I went to update my profile, it was oddly the same. I am married with 3 kids, and I have one cat now, instead of two. His name is Mr. Meowgi, and he's kind of an asshole, but we love him. I still love hats and hate pickles. Through it all, I'm still me.

This is a picture from our wedding.  We eloped to a chapel on Rt. 66, just us and the kids on a random Saturday.

This is Mr. Meowgi, and this is his dating website profile pic. He's a total menace.

Life After Google

First world problems, people.  Serious first world shiz...

Since I live in Florida, epic thunderstorms are, happily, part of life. Seriously, I go crazy over !cRaCk!fLaSh!  Tonight, however, I was in the middle of getting some important work thing done, and everything went black.  Nothing saved.  Epic fail.  I swore.  A LOT.  Then I rebooted my computer to find a new devastation waiting for me around that particular corner.  Google was dead.  Dead to me, at least.  I am dating myself here, but I remember the days when card catalogs actually existed and held *gasp* cards!  I am part of the microfiche generation, and I remember the days when phones were for phone calls.  Shouldn't have been a big deal, right?  Wrong.  I panicked.  "Google?  Google?!  GOOGLE, where ARE you?!"  My email, my maps, my calender, my... my... my blog...  No recipes, no contact list, nothing.  Just error message after error message.  Happily, I restarted my computer (again) and Google....breath held....turning blue....worked!  So I started wondering, what would happen if Google DID die?  Like really, toes up, blue face, stone cold died?  What would we all do?  I could manage.  I would function after some trial and error, but what would we lose (aside from funny cat videos)?  I'd have to guess at restaurant copycat dishes and regress to Yahoo to get my email sent, I guess.  No offense, Yahoo.  And I'd be left to wonder whether or not humans can really outrun alligators on land.  

Leave me some comments and let me know what life beyond Google would hold for you. 

I Hate Baja Sauce, said No Juan Ever!

Hola, amigos!  After living in Florida for almost 8 years now, as transplant from the Southwest, I appreciate so many things.  For example, I love the Florida winters.  Christmas Eve at the beach?  Yes, please.  And speaking of beaches, I love that they are not only a short drive away, but they are not to be confused with hellish women when pronounced with a Latin accent.  I also love the art and culture.  Cubans have flair, no doubt, and we devour both performance and fine art equally.  The state's history is sordid and rich, and SO much fun.  We get to claim both not giving a damn, my dear, and running your rum, Capone.  As a foodie, who could help but love the ready access to deep fried southern amazingness and super fresh sushi served up on every corner?  Hell, fish is so available, we make our own sushi.  And let's not forget what Cuba brings to the table.  In a state where flip flops are a way of life and swimming with manatees seems commonplace, it would seem we lack nothing.

I do, however, miss many things about my pre-Florida existence.  I am an avid hiker, for example.  The highest hill I can find here is the bridge that leads to the beach.  I am also an admitted snow bunny, but hitting the slopes is definitely not an option.  Still, I would not trade it for a minute because one of the things I miss most is the food.  Luckily for me, and for the people who love my cooking, I can bring my love of the Southwest flavor and add some Florida flair.

On that note, I'd like to share my recipe for Florida Baja Sauce.  It is AMAZING on fish tacos.  And regular tacos.  And burgers.  And fries.  And chicken.  And grilled cheese sandwiches.  It's soooo good on almost anything.  ALMOST.  Please do not put this on your hot dog, pancakes, pet dog or family members.

No Baja in Florida?  Think again!  Here's the recipe.  You're freakin' welcome.

1 cup mayo
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon key lime juice (KEY lime!)
2 tablespoons of finely chopped onion
1 jalapeno, seeded and finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon paprika
2 teaspoons sugar (Florida crystals raw sugar is my fav)
2 teaspoons red chili powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon cumin

All the measurements are approximate.  You like garlic?  Do it up!  You're eating this, sucka.  Mix it all together in a pretty bowl (good recipes belong in pretty bowls), refrigerate overnight to let the flavors marry.  Then put that ish on everything!  Enjoy!

On Building a House and Becoming a Dude

Wow!  6 months since my last post?  Where has the time gone?  My life has been busy (much like just about everyone else in this world, I suspect), so let me update you.  Remember the house skeleton I bought?  Almost finished!  Read about it here if you have no idea what I'm talking about.  Now look at it!

This is my closet!  Holy walk-in, right?!

If anyone ever tells you that building a house is not that hard, you should probably just punch them in the throat.  It has been a daunting amount of work. 

In other news, I've been running my marketing legs off on my company, and running my other legs off chasing my 3 children.  We're basically down to stumps now, y'all.  

All this building and selling and running makes for a very worn out Thinkerbell.  I have grays springing up like ragweed and bags under my eyes that Michael Kors would envy.  My cortisol levels are probably that of an extremely stressed out, pre-menopausal elephant (hence the stubborn extra I have around the middle).  So I did some research, and came across an unlikely solution - testosterone.  According to an article I read from Huffington Post, some of the benefits of increasing testosterone in women include:

"

• Relieving symptoms of menopause, like hot flashes, vaginal dryness, incontinence and urinary urgency.
• Enhancing mental clarity and focus. Researchers at Utrecht University in Holland recently found that testosterone appears to encourage "rational decision-making, social scrutiny and cleverness."
• Reducing anxiety, balancing mood and relieving depression combined with fatigue. Dr. Stephen Center, a family practitioner in San Diego who has treated women with testosterone for 20 years, says the regimen consistently delivers "improvement in self-confidence, initiative and drive."
• Increasing bone density, decreasing body fat and cellulite, and increasing lean muscle mass. "Testosterone is the best remedy available for eliminating midlife upper-arm batwings," says Dr. George Yu, a urologic surgeon and aging specialist at Aegis Medical and Research Associates in Annapolis, Md.
• Offering protection against cardiovascular events, by increasing blood flow and dilating blood vessels, and against Type 2 diabetes, by decreasing insulin resistance.  "

Medical science is busy busting up the myths that I will slowly morph into a dude, so I'm trying it.  The well-intended of you that will probably give me a bunch of advice about talking to my doctor, trying other approaches first, blah, blah, blah - Thanks, but no thanks.  Let's do this old school - try it and see what happens.  This morning, I took dose 2 of an over-the-counter testosterone booster "ideal for active men".  I'll keep you posted on the results.  Right now, let the record show (for better or worse) that as of today, I am 37 years old, 125.8 pounds and still a girl for now.  I have what would probably be considered an average sex drive, I feel moderately fatigued, often stressed and sometimes depressed.  Follow along, and we'll see if anything changes.

Opinions and Catharsis - Intellectual Vomit All Over Your Comfiest Shirt

Here I find myself on the soapbox again.  Dammit all to hell, I hate heights.  Here are my list of complaints and my excellent opinions to back them up.

1.  Retiree Roadblock:  This one is certain to seal my fate as a bad young driver and a worse geriatric driver.  Fuck you, Karma.  Imma go all Grand Theft Auto.  (Not really.  I'm sorry, Karma. I totally didn't mean it.)  I can't stand driving amongst a population that is well into its golden years.  (I'm bound to make enemies on this one.)  If you drive 5-10 miles under the speed limit, STAY RIGHT, for the love of Pete, Jesus and all that is.  We don't want to go around your old ass when we're late leaving Point A and pissed about how long it will take us to reach Point B.  If you drive more than ten miles under, stay home!  I will run your errands for you.  It would be faster than being stuck behind you.

2.  The method of execution for those convicted and sentenced to death:  It has been a recent topic of hot debate.  Obviously, this topic has more gravity than the previous one.  I have been reading about recent protests regarding the method of execution for convicted murderers who have been sentenced to die.  Ok, I don't relish the thought of my own death.  I have too much to do, so I suppose I'll never die.  I doubt many of us do (if you do, please get help), but I've also not ever killed anyone.  I've wondered many times why convicted murderers, those deemed beyond morality by a "juror of their peers" is allowed to continue living and even to expect a humane death when they have inflicted such pain on another.  I imagine in a certain trailer a number of years ago, a certain young victim would have prayed for the mercy of a botched lethal injection.  Yet, these "people" who show such a disregard for life and humanity, have had their day in the sun declaring that lethal injection is inhumane.  Maybe we should just beat them to death with hammers instead?  After all, they've squawked, nay SCREAMED, about their rights.  As far as I am concerned,  unless you killed someone in self defense, your rights as a human being end the minute you confiscate the life of another.  You are both murdered in that instant.

3.  Minimum Wage Increase:  For details, see my earlier entry  http://whatelainasays.blogspot.com/2014/02/minimum-wage-increases-will-eat-your.html
Wtf, y'all?  It's only gonna help until the rest of your 99 cent menu rolls into $1.49, and your $1.49 stuff now costs $1.99.

4.  The fact that I've become a Republican capitalist:  FML, how did this happen?  In an instant, I go from almost socialist do downright deplorable.  Big government with lots of well intended, yet shockingly easy to abuse assistance programs, is much of the problem in my opinion of admittedly   This is the last I have to say on the subject, actually, unless you ask me true, Capt. Jack Elliot.

5.  There are no jobs:  This one ties into #4 and #5.  Jobs, apparently, have become the stuff of legend.  Like unicorns, they are only a pretty imagining.  The fact is that I've employed several people in the last few years.  Granted, I haven't employed as many as Wal-Mart (thank our lucky stars every day that I'm not Wal-Mart), but I have employed some.  There are jobs out there, y'all, and it's been my observation that people don't actually want jobs, though.  How silly.  They want checks.  Obviously, I don't speak for you all.  If you're offended right now, you're either hella guilty of being a lazy ass or you're truly down on your luck.  If you're the former, this opinion is aimed straight at you, asshole.  Be fucking employable.  Don't sit at home and wonder how your drug habit or your "Murderer" neck tattoo screwed you over.  Put on a turtleneck.  Get clean.  Go fill out applications, quit interviewing like a dumbass (and worse, not even showing up for interviews), and life is bound to turn around.

You sure are, honey.  And you're speshul too.

That concludes our episode of "I'm Desiring to Piss Everyone Off on a Global Scale".  Next up, "Parenting Against the Masses"

Spongebob? Eye Candy? Where Are We Going With This?

I was looking over my blog today and realized I've only made one entry this year.  One is the lonliest number, you know.  This is testament to the fact that I've been beyond busy, so allow me to catch you up.

First order of business, I've been having dreams about diving with sharks, singing karaoke and being stuck in a cave.  The word that leaps to mind is "anxiety" but I don't want to run to a doctor because I don't want some diagnosis that will follow me until the end of time.  I have three kids, a husband, a functioning business, and at least two budding baby businesses I'm trying to manage.  What stress?  Remember the good old days when everything could be cured by rest and Flintstone's vitamins?  I'm trying that early 70's "When licking lead paint doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger / Seatbelts, what seatbelts?" approach.  So basically, I bought a bottle of wine and some Spongbob gummy vitamins.  Wish me luck, y'all.

Secondly, R.I.P. my trusty little iPhone 4.  I suddenly feel like I am missing my thumbs.  Calendar - gone.  Phone book - peace out.  Deposit checks or run credit cards?  Nope.  Alarm clock?  Good luck waking up, chump.  No camera, no on-the-go travel reservations.  Instagram, nooooo.....  I went diving over the weekend, and iGills (nifty [not] little apparatus that turns your iPhone into a dive computer) happened to it.  It wouldn't come out of iGills mode, and then suddenly the entire screen stopped working.  Time for a new phone.  And dive camera.

On the bright side, my dive was amazing (no huge waves or grabbing onto diveboat staff's "handholds" when trying to get back on the boat).  Click here and here for those stories if you need catching up.  We dove out of Pompano Beach off of the Safari Diver.  For those of you that dive, I TOTALLY recommend this boat.  I've been on the Black Pearl every dive since I've been certified, but Safari takes smaller groups, and is way easier to board after a dive (especially when you are a total idiot on the surface and can't remove your fins).  It goes out of South Florida Diving Headquarters - just like the Black Pearl - but seems to have a more laid back vibe.  That's probably due to the fact that there are fewer divers aboard, and they know some awesome little reefs.  Awkwardly enough, dive master Andrew (of the afore-blogged accidental almost nut grab) was aboard this dive as well.  (so embarrassing)  If he remembered my "incident" (which he probably didn't), he was nice enough not to say so.  He's super helpful and competent (and totally adorable to boot), so my scuba husband didn't have to assume the role of the only eye candy on the trip, and I didn't have to lift a single tank.  Also, I got some great shots on this dive.  Lots underwater.  Although the water was cold, and the visibility was a little low, it was a good dive.

My most epic selfie.  Ever.  I still can't believe this is me.

There was a shark in this pic, I swear.
Ok, so it was a only a nurse shark.  Still....

We saw lots of bugs on our dive.
Caught a couple for dinner.

"At 60 ft,  hair looks its best," said no one, ever.

Schools of little, yellow fish.

Still newbie diver enough to love the bubbles.

Merhusband

Minimum Wage Increases Will Eat Your Grandma

Minimum wage raises are not the answer to our economic woes.  They will not stop inflation, and they are only a band-aid solution to our still-ailing economy. The formula is simple, guys.  Minimum wage raise = inflation.  Sure it's a little bit long term, but there it is.  My opinions tend to be pretty unpopular in some circles (and by "some" I mean "most'), so let me tell you a story, boys and girls.  Something whimsical to make my point...

  Once upon a time, there was a girl named Little Red Riding Hood.  She was industrious and kind and worked very, very hard.  She operated a service that provided meals and companionship to lonely and hungry grandmas.  She was REALLY good at what she did, all the fat and happy grandma's could testify.

  And they did!  By word of mouth, her business doubled.  And then it tripled.  And poor Red Riding Hood was running herself to death, trying to keep the grandmas happy and fed, and keep nefarious wolves at bay.  (The little pigs were her biggest supporters.)  She decided very quickly she needed help, so she carefully selected a very competent fleet of delivery drivers, professional grandma-sitters, and big, burly wolf bouncers and, per her state's regulations, paid them all the expected salary - minimum wage.  Her business flourished, and over time some of the employees stood out.  She gave some of them raises and appointed them to management, allowing her to hire even more fabulous people to help keep her grandmas happy and the wolves away.  Then, one day, the king decreed the minimum wage should be raised.  She had to give all her helpers more, and why not?  They deserved it.  But then she was at the end of her labor budget.  She wasn't able to give her managers raises, but that was ok.  They were above the minimum wage anyway.  Everyone was happy.  Slowly, though, food prices started to creep up.  It seemed that the food suppliers had been hit by the wage increase as well, and food was getting expensive as the cost was passed down the line.  Red Riding Hood was facing new cost increases, but the worst part was, so were her workers!  The minimum wage guys (the delivery guys and the wolf beaters) fared about the same.  In the long run, none of them was any better off, but they were no worse either.  They were making more money, so they could afford it when their porridge cost a little more.  Little Red Riding Hood felt a pinch, but she was a wealthy entrepreneur by now, so she simply tightened the belt a smidge, raised her prices a bit and went on with her life.  The ones who were hurt the most were the managers.  They were making just above the minimum wage to start, and now everything was costing more?!  Slowly, the managers (the middle class) started to disappear.  Red's business started to fail because she simply couldn't keep up, and because the grandmas, who were on a fixed income, couldn't afford the price increases.  More of her management fell to simple labor because the funds had dried up everywhere else.  As the minimum wage increase took a strong hold, the pyramid started to crumble, because there was no middle.  All that was left was the bottom and a quickly disintegrating top.  Once the top was gone, the bottom began to crumble too.  The income was gone, and the money dried up.  It was at that point, the wolves paid off the workers and ate all the grandmas.  The end.

Grandma - it's what's for dinner!

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!