100 Dead Bodies (or: PLEASE pick me to be the SITS representative for PestWorld.org)

There are a hundred dead bodies in my kitchen. They are splattered around the walls like a Trading Spaces episode gone wrong. Personally, I would rather have some freak of nature PAINT MY WHITE CARPET RED (WHAT?! It REALLY happened--back before having children destroyed my hang-around-in-my-PJs- (I was going to say UNDERWEAR, but I want you to be able to sleep tonight) and-watch-random- television-shows-days) than have a hundred dead bodies covering my walls. Just sayin'...

I finally snapped on Monday night. I couldn't take it anymore. The last time I felt this way it was about the floor in my house in Montana THREE years ago and there were no dead bodies. Thankfully, though my husband and children were pushing it. That particular time, I was scraping hardened oatmeal off of the floor for the ELEVENTH time that week (it was Tuesday) when some poor child had the misfortune of being THE ONE who dropped frozen (yet defrosted enough to REALLY do the job) blueberries. On my head. And on the floor. That I had JUST cleaned and washed. On my hands and knees. With my freshly showered hands. Yes--I took a SHOWER that day. THAT was definitely the straw.

Anyone who met me after January 17th 2009, knew a person who NEVER washed her floor. EVER. Everyone who knew me BEFORE that date knew a person who RARELY washed her floor. BIG DIFFERENCE. People would come to my house and try to take their shoes off and I would accost them at the front door noting,
"My floors are far dirtier than your shoes could EVER be and you will probably leave here with peanut butter and chili on your sock."
"You made chili?"
"Two weeks ago...and I don't want to TALK about the peanut butter."

This was my way of dealing with THAT breakdown. That was BEFORE little gnats (or fruit flys) invaded my home. I don't believe those bugs (and they are called "BUGS" for a REASON!) exist in Montana. *SIGH* Montana...(cue soft music for my brief reverie...thank you). Who would have thought that a place I referred to as "MonFREAKINtana" before we lived there would be so close to my heart. I love Montana. FRUIT-FLYLESS, GANGLESS, ROAD RAGE-LESS, Corwinless, Montana. But I digress...again. I KNOW what I was talking about because a little gnat is CRAWLING ON MY SCREEN and when I smash his little face in, I'm not sure if my husband will be pleased that I can no longer use the computer, or ticked that HE can no longer use the computer.

I decided to wait it out with the gnat. He's looking at me and I at him, but no one is making the move. The thing is, I will be able to "visit" him later with my (now broken) hot pink swatter that took care of hundreds of his little buddies. And my glass cabinet. And a vase from my mother. And almost my middle child. Yes, sacrifices had to be made, but don't judge. On Monday night I went all Norman Bates on their...wings? and slashed through  my kitchen like Freddie Krueger on Elm street. Yes, I am aware that most of you weren't even IN THE WOMB when either movie came out, but EDUCATE yourselves, people. Watch a little "Remember the eighties (seventies, nineties...)" on VH1 (YES, it IS a channel) and come play when you are done. You won't be disappointed.

So now I have black-spotted crown molding and little black splatters all over my ceiling. My cupboards (the ones that did not break in the attack) have a faux-bug-polka-dot finish. When I get going with my (now broken) (yes, I know I told you, but I'm really annoyed that a gnat the size of a sliver (and equally as painful) was able to split my swatter in half at the top. NO--I DON'T THINK I HAVE RAGE ISSUES--THANK YOU.) hot pink fly swatter, no one is safe. I heard my husband say to my children, 'Mommy's gone to the bad place again," and knew he was right. Though I AM winning the fight and will not go down until every last gnat-fruit-fly-bug is splattered somewhere in my house. Even if it's under the dried oatmeal and blueberries.

Pee-ka

I ran into a wall today. No, I'm not speaking metaphorically--I LITERALLY ran into a wall this morning. Okay, I LITERALLY danced into a wall this morning. I was zumba-ing like a maniac and as I shimmied back, I heard a thud and realized it was me. If I would have shimmied a little more to the left I would have hit the mat, but I shimmied right into the concrete. Fun times!

This wasn't even in my difficult zumba class--you know, the one with classmates who are not in AARP. If I had done it in that class I would have felt less shame if only because it moves so fast that no one would notice. Instead I did it in the AARP class--most of the members of this class are also in my yoga/body ball class and remembered my tumble into the pipes. I know I've covered falls several times on here, but I still have so many more to share with you. I guess today wasn't really a fall necessarily, but it made the AARP ladies talk. In the next (more advanced) zumba class I look like I am having a stroke each day, but I hope that if I stick with it I will eventually be able to move without falling and endangering others. Hopefully.

It seems like I am constantly hurting myself. I'd like to say that this is new, but I would be lying. My first year in college, my friends and I went out to dinner off campus. The restaurant was Casey's and it is irrelevant, though I needed to show my brain that I could remember it.When I go out to eat, I consume a ridiculous amount of water. I always have, though now we think it is a symptom of one of my medical... anomalies. This particular night  I drank about ten Pizza Hut-sized glasses of water and did not use the restroom. We chatted, I drank more. Chat, drink, chat, drink...leave.

I didn't think about using the restroom until we tried to squeeze into my friend's car. I could have gone inside, but I didn't. First, no one wanted to have to wait for me, and second, I didn't want to go back. I thought I would be fine. We parked in front of the dorm and I hobbled to the door. I was almost home-free, but the combination of an ice patch and my dress shoes sent me flying and landing on my tailbone. There was instantly a puddle surrounding me. I was mortified, but I could not stop laughing which made me pee more. I was laughing so hard, it looked like I was bawling. Some guy friends of ours were leaving the dorm and saw me on the ground. They saw me "crying" and all of my friends laughing. I will never forget my friend Scott's look of disgust as he reprimanded my friends for being so mean to me. 'You guys aren't even going to help her?! Here, Nika, let me help you up..." I remember the terror that ran through me at that moment. "I will not get up," I thought. "...ever!"

I just shook my head at Scott and refused to move. He stayed for way too long as far as I'm concerned, but he finally gave up and left me alone. Maybe the smell of urine was wafting through his nostrils by that point. Even after he left I refused to get up. I truly thought I would sit there forever. I'd laugh, then cry, then sit. Finally my "girls" formed a circle around me and covered my bottom half with jackets and bodies, inching our way to the showers. From that day forward one of my friends (who shall remain nameless, Chrissy!) called me Pee-ka and we would all bust out into laughter. Okay...maybe I didn't  love the nickname at first, but it really was one of the funniest (and admittedly, the most disgusting and embarrassing) things to happen to me. Of course, there are SOOO many things that I have done to try to hurt or maim myself, though few resulted in the laughs after that lovely Casey's dinner...

 Recently we helped our dear friends move. No, we aren't really as good and nice as this makes us sound. These particular friends have helped us with our own move (the husband, we'll cal him Lad, drove our U-Haul across the country nearly killing himself in the process. THEY are good people. WE are just returning the favor!), so it was the least we could do. Because of the fact that I am a walking nightmare and my bazillion (it's a number) illnesses render me useless to the whole moving thing, I was on kid duty. We had a great and fun day and returned as they were closing up the truck. I felt like a big jerk for not being able to help, especially because everyone was singing my praises for doing things like swimming in the lake (fully clothed of course...that's how we roll...), playing at the arcade, and eating ice cream. It was a rough day--I'm lucky I made it!

Event though they had unloaded the truck and the cars, there were boxes everywhere, so I was able to unload some things which helped me to feel more useful. The next morning we wanted to help a little before we had to head home. My friend...let's call her Madaline...and I were talking about where to put everything. She has a gorgeous throw rug that she thought would look great underneath the table in the dining room. Madaline had to deal with cable or phone or something, so I thought I would roll out the carpet (so to speak) and get the dining room done for her before I had to leave. I always want to be that friend who gets things done for you and who makes you feel so happy that I came to "help." Unfortunately, I am the friend who kinda makes things worse and who needs that friend to help me to function in life!

The rug was rolled and taped and seemed easy enough to maneuver. I set it on the table and pulled the tape off of it.Somehow, as I bent down to get the tape off of the bottom roll of the rug, it did a see-saw sort of move, slammed into the ceiling fan (brand new with an extremely thick brushed glass light cover on it) and fell on my head. Yes, my head. As it was falling, I saw Madaline enter the room, a look of horror on her face. I was pretty sure that I looked like Carrie at the prom, but luckily, no blood was drawn. I had shards of glass covering my upper extremities and was a little afraid to move or to blink, but I came out of it with two cuts on my forearm that make people question whether or not I'm a cutter. other than that (and an enormous bump on my head), I was fine. The ceiling fan, however...that had seen better days!

So much for being the friend who helps! I'm more like "...the friend who ruins your things and then gets hospitalized..." No one wants to be that friend! At least I didn't pee, right?! 

LOVELY BLOGS!

Thank you Moore Organized Mayhem for this One Lovely Blog Award! It felt so great 

to be recognized and to know that someone is still reading! It also gives me an idea 

of what to write about since I seem to be embracing an eleven-month case of writer's 

block! If you haven't visited Moore Organized Mayhem on her blog or on facebook, you 

should do it now--she is so much fun and always has a smile or a laugh. 

Thanks again!

My nominees for the One Lovely Blog Award:

1. Your Doctor's Wife  I feel like Emma and I have been friends for years. Her posts will have 
you cracking up whether you are a doctor, a wife, a doctor's wife, a doctor's husband, a nurse, 
an orderly, or just a guy named Ralph. She. Is. Funny. Check out 
Show me Your Juicy Boobs Please--it may be one of the funniest posts 

I've ever read. Really.

2. Living in Kellie's World Joe (and Kellie) are so funny and Joe does a great job 
of bringing us into Kellie's world--a hilarious place to be, I must add. I was also lucky 
enough to win my first (and only) blog prize from Joe--though that had no influence on 
me (yes, I can be bought and I do love book stores (it was a GC for B&N. B-a-r-n-e-s 
and N-o-b-l-e. It's a BOOK store. A book is something you read. Before Kindle and i-Pads, 
books were used almost exclusively. There are PAGES...forget it.), but I'd like to think that 
$25 wouldn't be quite enough for me to sell out. Make it thirty and we'll talk!) Check out 
his post Meno-Poise--I swear I don't only love it because I am living it right now...

3. Daddy Knows Less His post today would be worth looking at simply because 
of his picture of "Peanut" at the pumpkin patch. CLASSIC.

4. The Underachiever's Guide to being a Domestic Goddess--She is gorgeous AND funny--and she 
made sure she remembered me when I went off the grid. THAT is something! 
This post really had me laughing--you will, too!

AAAAAAANNNNNNNNDDDDDD...

5. My SISTAH from another MISTAH...A Little Lucidity and I could chat for HOURS...and we 
have! She recently celebrated her one year Blogoversary. Hopefully that means she will be back 
to guest post...

7 random things about yourself:

1. I have a big toe the size of Rhode Island.

2. I have somehow been blessed with the most amazing friends anyone could ever hope to 
have. really. It is actually a bit bizarre that wherever I go (even virtually on my blog!) 
I meet THE most amazingly nice, helpful, and GIVING people. It ALWAYS happens and 
I really don't deserve it. I DO appreciate it.

3. I do not like to share my water bottle with ANYONE. EVER. Of course, when people 
are looking and judging and my children are nearing dehydration, I will allow them to 
drink, but that is RARE. In high school (you know...back when the first water bottles 
were "invented," we brought bottles to our field hockey game. My friend did not have 
one and she asked me for a sip. I watched the water go into her mouth and come right 
back down into my Evian. needless to say, I gave her that bottle and was done sharing 
water after that day.

4. I played field hockey for like fourteen seconds my senior year of high school. I was not good.

5. I danced for like nine years, yet when I try to "Zumba" everyone runs for cover.

6. For years I would carry around Styrofoam McDonald's or Chik-fil-A cups full of water. 
Students would tell me that I was hurting the environment. When I told them that I used 
the same cup for a week or two and washed it, I was told, "You are so Ghetto, Miss Corwin..." 

7. My husband and I think we are on a sitcom. We BOTH expect to hear a laugh reel 
whenever we say something we deem to be funny. We need help.

LOVELY BLOGS!

Thank you Moore Organized Mayhem for this One Lovely Blog Award! It felt so great 

to be recognized and to know that someone is still reading! It also gives me an idea 

of what to write about since I seem to be embracing an eleven-month case of writer's 

block! If you haven't visited Moore Organized Mayhem on her blog or on facebook, you 

should do it now--she is so much fun and always has a smile or a laugh. 

Thanks again!



Like with most things, winning blog awards usually comes with rules--the good news is, 
the rules are generally fun to follow and help to get the creative juices flowing.  
The rules this time are:

* Include the blog award in your post.    CHECK    (This one is not so eas y a task for me, 
as every time I try to add a button or do anything but...type...on my blog I end up deleting 
things and making a complete mess of it...hence the strange stolen format...I really need to 
take a class...)

* Thank the person who nominated you.  CHECK   But I will do it again...THANK YOU 

Moore's Organized Mayhem!

* Nominate 5 people and let them know you have done so. CHECK  Well, I still have to let 
them know, but for the sake of argument, let's say, CHECK!

* Tell 7 random things about yourself.  CHECK  Enjoy!

My nominees for the One Lovely Blog Award:

Your Doctor's Wife  I feel like Emma and I have been friends for years. Her posts will have 
you cracking up whether you are a doctor, a wife, a doctor's wife, a doctor's husband, a nurse, 
an orderly, or just a guy named Ralph. She. Is. Funny. Check out 
Show me Your Juicy Boobs Please--it may be one of the funniest posts 

I've ever read. Really.

Living in Kellie's World Joe (and Kellie) are so funny and Joe does a great job 
of bringing us into Kellie's world--a hilarious place to be, I must add. I was also lucky 
enough to win my first (and only) blog prize from Joe--though that had no influence on 
me (yes, I can be bought and I do love book stores (it was a GC for B&N. B-a-r-n-e-s 
and N-o-b-l-e. It's a BOOK store. A book is something you read. Before Kindle and i-Pads, 
books were used almost exclusively. There are PAGES...forget it.), but I'd like to think that 
$25 wouldn't be quite enough for me to sell out. Make it thirty and we'll talk!) Check out 
his post Meno-Poise--I swear I don't only love it because I am living it right now...

Daddy Knows Less His post today would be worth looking at simply because 
of his picture of "Peanut" at the pumpkin patch. CLASSIC.

The Underachiever's Guide to being a Domestic Goddess--She is gorgeous AND funny--and she 
made sure she remembered me when I went off the grid. THAT is something! 
This post really had me laughing--you will, too!

My SISTAH from another MISTAH...A Little Lucidity and I could chat for HOURS...and we 
have! She recently celebrated her one year Blogoversary. Hopefully that means she will be back 
to guest post...

7 random things about yourself:

I have a big toe the size of Rhode Island.

I have somehow been blessed with the most amazing friends anyone could ever hope to 
have. really. It is actually a bit bizarre that wherever I go (even virtually on my blog!) 
I meet THE most amazingly nice, helpful, and GIVING people. It ALWAYS happens and 
I really don't deserve it. I DO appreciate it.

I do not like to share my water bottle with ANYONE. EVER. Of course, when people 
are looking and judging and my children are nearing dehydration, I will allow them to 
drink, but that is RARE. In high school (you know...back when the first water bottles 
were "invented," we brought bottles to our field hockey game. My friend did not have 
one and she asked me for a sip. I watched the water go into her mouth and come right 
back down into my Evian. needless to say, I gave her that bottle and was done sharing 
water after that day.

I played field hockey for like fourteen seconds my senior year of high school. I was not good.

I danced for like nine years, yet when I try to "Zumba" everyone runs for cover.

For years I would carry around Styrofoam McDonald's or Chik-fil-A cups full of water. 
Students would tell me that I was hurting the environment. When I told them that I used 
the same cup for a week or two and washed it, I was told, "You are so Ghetto, Miss Corwin..." 

My husband and I think we are on a sitcom. We BOTH expect to hear a laugh reel 
whenever we say something we deem to be funny. We need help.

A lesson in Chapstick

So when I taught I was always blessed enough to teach the most gorgeous and talented students. Sadly, I'm old enough that most of them are in grad school, working professional jobs, getting married, and having babies. Of course some of my students (very few, thank goodness) did the baby thing while I was teaching them, but that is for another day.

One of these beauties posted on facebook the other day and it made me laugh for two reasons. A. Because it was funny and 2. Because I had just posted about Jennifer and although her name is not Jennifer, she is DEFINITELY a natural beauty. Which brings me to her post:


When you tell your makeup-artist friend that you just want to wear Chapstick in your engagement photos, she responds with a saucy email written in the most god-awful fonts (including Comic Sans and Papyrus - yack).

You sully her trade, she'll sully yours right back. ;)

At least she's honest!

I don't know if both all of you will enjoy this as much as I did, but my children were so excited to tell me about the fact that they were able to use REAL voting booths at their school today.

"Who will you vote for, Mommy? Rodney or Obama?"

"Well, first, it's 'RoM-ney,' and second, I need you to know that it isn't polite to ask people what they weigh, how much money they make, or who they will vote for in an election. Of course, I don't mind telling you, but remember that when you are with others..."

Brayden: "Well, I voted for Barrack Obama."

Ryan: "So did I--and he WON!"

Me: "Wow! Brayden, why did you vote for Barrack Obama?"

Brayden: "Well, I just really think that he has done a great job with our country and he deserves another chance to do it again."

Me: "Wow...good explanation...what about you, Ry--"

Ryan: "Oh--I just voted for him because he looks good!"

"

Jennifer three thousand

I just have to say that the best thing about being a SAH parent is the fact that the clock doesn't rule my life anymore (next to the fact that I get to be home with and for my children--I swear I mean that!). Not that I was ever to great at listening to the clock when it did rule my life, but I don't have that constant cloud hovering over my head telling me that I am disappointing...everyone and should always be doing something other than what I am actually doing.

Of course, I also love that I don't have to stress out about what to wear. That's not to say that I shouldn't stress out about that--at least occasionally. I mean, for at least two years I didn't even look in a mirror. Seriously. Can you imagine? I guess I had my mind on so many other things and was so worried about  the appearance of everyone else in my family that it just didn't even occur to me to look. That and the fact that I knew I wouldn't like what I saw pretty much sealed it for me.

I decided recently that I would take the time to actually look at myself after my shower--to look at my hair if and when I brush it and to try my best to at least attempt to look like I care about my appearance. I figure if I actually make an effort and tell myself that I care, maybe my body will reward me. It can't hurt, right?

This new...relationship...I have with myself is proving to be time-consuming. I like being able to shower and get ready in ten minutes. I like being low maintenance. What I don't like?  Looking like Molly from Mike and Molly-- but not from her role as Molly--from her role in the movie Bridesmaids--I don't remember her name, but she was HILARIOUS, though hilarity doesn't necessarily go hand in hand with hot. In fact, hilarious and hot tend to operate quite separately. He's a fair God...those who make you chortle or guffaw tend to not be models and those who are Brad Pitt pretty (yes, I know he's a...HE, but tell me he isn't pretty...SEE--you can't!) generally don't have people laughing 'til they pee. Of course, I hoped to be HILARIOUS (let's be honest--that ship has sailed!) AND hot (hot never even stopped on my doorstep), but evidently you can't just will it to happen.

I always wanted to be one of those natural beauties...you know...like Jennifer Garner and Jennifer Anniston. And Jennifer Lopez. And Jennifer-Love-Hewett (though maybe her...ladies...are less than...natural...) And pretty much every single Jennifer I have ever known (and I grew up in the seventies and eighties, so you know that is like an infinite number of Jennifers). I would name them all, but there isn't enough room or enough time. Plus, I'm pretty sure that would be creepy/stalker...y, so let's just leave it that (in my eyes, at least) those named Jennifer could roll out of bed each day without make-up, unshowered and unbrushed, and throw on grungy clothes and still look great--hot even.

I don't know why I wanted to have that girl next door look (unless the girl next door had a head full of frizzy hair and a proclivity for spilling--well--everything all over--well--everything), but it started in middle school. Although I wasn't even allowed to wear make up, I had some great friends who would help me to make my lashes electric blue or bright teal (gotta love the eighties!) and would help me remove it again before the walk home. Sure, I got caught most of some of occasionally. but it was worth it to have my slightly creepy science teacher sing, "Electric Blue" to me in class!

I had one friend who gave me a hard time every time she saw I was wearing make up and even when I wasn't. It got to the point that I would lie every time she snarkily (it's a thing) asked me if I had makeup on my eyes. I would stare her right in the eyes while fluttering my bright blue eyelashes and say, "NO!" I'm pretty sure I fooled her. (I never claimed to be too bright...) I don't know why it was her business or why I felt the need to lie, but I obviously wasn't too good at it! A victim of the eighties, I also remember using Final Net and Aqua Net like it would save my life (as I single-handedly took out the ozone) and I remember my father saying, "What guy is ever gonna want to run his fingers through that?! His hand'll get stuck--they'll have to amputate!" and although I had some snotty teenagery retort at the time, it really hit home with me. I agreed with him--and no teenager ( not even if her name is Jennifer) wants to agree with her father.

I became kind of  ashamed of using make-up and tried to limit my product usage (though I am a product whore--that is a story for another day!). I would put brown or black mascara and eyeliner on my eyes and pretend like my eyes just looked like that. I'm not sure who I thought I was kidding--"No--I'm not wearing make-up! The smudgy brownish black stuff on my eyes is naturally  a part of my face!" Why I thought it was better to have blotchy facial deformities rather than a little bit of make up on my face, I don't know--maybe because the deformities were natural? I told you--I never claimed to be too bright--to get into the psyche of that girl would be quite an adventure, one I would not want to endure alone!

Of course, if my mother had just named me Jennifer like all of those other mothers did in the seventies, I would be low-maintenance AND hot and wouldn't have had to have a secret relationship with eye make up. Who knows--I may have been HILARIOUS, too. 

Would I trade my husband and children for it? Maybe not...

I love television--I really do. More than a normal person should love television. In fact, for the last few years, I have lived for television. I believe that TiVo...DVR...whatever is/was the most important invention of this century. I swear--I really do. At least for my family it is. Well, maybe not even my entire family (so relax Mr. McJudgerson--my children aren't TV-heads...but they definitely could be)--we try not to teach our children our horrible habits, but eventually...there will be five of us!

This obsession with television began in the late nineties, early (thousands?!)--right after I met my husband. As a side note, most  of my bad habits came to me after meeting my husband. Coincidental? I think not. Of course, I (basically) stopped being a booze-hound (kind of) and I stopped bringing strange men home (for the most part), but I also stopped moving (unless it was in the direction of the refrigerator) and spent most of my free time watching shows and eating popcorn. THAT is what we do. It started in 1999 and I can honestly say that doing that is the one thing that has remained consistent in our lives. We used to have movie marathon weekends where we would get a barrel of popcorn (you know it's true--that thing is bigger than Rhode Island) from the movie theater (with layered butter and salt...I just threw up in my mouth a little bit, sorry...) and would rearrange our furniture so that we were DIRECTLY in front of the television and would stay there all weekend. Of course, we would leave for a few hours to sleep, but for the most part we were held hostage by our television and we loved it. In between all of our movies, we would watch our taped shows (THANK YOU inventor of DVR type things!) to clear up more space for new ones.

One show we tried not to ever miss was Alias. That. Show. Is (high-pitched squeal here) AWESOME. Sydney Bristow was my hero--and not just  because she could rock a purple wig (though she really could!). About a year or two ago (maybe even three now...it all gets lost once it hits my brain...) a fb friend posted something about the show Alias. It was when I was just getting the hang of facebook (as if I ever did get the hang of it!) and the whole posting on walls thing was foreign to me. I thought I was posting on his wall when I commented something like, "L-O-V-E Sydney Bristow--she is (high-pitched squeal here) AWESOME and my hero!" Not so embarrassing on his wall since he was actually discussing her. Unfortunately, I posted it as my status. So people who didn't know me or worse, did would read: "Nika Corwin: L-O-V-E Sydney Bristow--she is (high-pitched squeal here) AWESOME and my hero!" Kind of a freak, right?!  At least now you know that I am serious about Alias (if not certifiable)-- if you didn't watch it, I am certain you can get in on Netflix. DO IT. You won't be sorry. Unless you are and in that case please don't tell me!

Another show that was on around that time was called, Eyes. We loved that show. It had the guy from Wings (yes, I mentioned Wings because who DIDN'T love THAT show?!)--the serious brother-guy who is now on Private Practice (ask me how many grams are in a kilometer and I'll tell you, "Orange," but this I know) was in this show and he was (insert high pitched squeal here...all together now...) AWESOME! (well done!) The problem? Eyes  was taken off the air after too few episodes. I don't really want to remember exactly what was happening and what went unresolved in the show or it will upset me again, just know that we were (are) so annoyed that we didn't get the time we wanted needed deserved with Eyes. My husband still mentions it like an old friend who doesn't keep in touch and refuses to get on facebook. So sad. Moment of silence please.


Thank you.

Another show that tore our hearts out (I seriously need professional help. The first step is admitting there is a problem and I l-oooo-v-e hanging out on the first step!) was Studio...54? 64? 60?--the one with Chandler from Friends, not the one with naked people in it. It was about the making of an SNL type of show and it was (I think you know where I am going here...high pitched squeal) AWESOME!  We were so sad to see it go and tried to seek counseling over it. Instead, we found more shows to watch and tried not to get too attached--just in case they left us, too.

Some of our favorites through the years (and by "favorites," I mean those that encompassed our lives in such a way that we actually felt like they were family were, Friends (duh), 24 (Seriously...Jack Bower and Sydney Bristow need to team up...) which I deemed to be the best show of all time that first season. And the next. And most of the rest...it ALWAYS had me quite literally (and not in the way that it does not actually mean literally) on the edge of my seat clenching anything that could remotely...clench in my body until that last second ticked away and I had to wait for scenes from the next week's episode.  The same proved true for Lost, though we lost (punny!)some of our recordings when we moved (I'm still not over it--), so I need to rent the final season.

We watch all of the CSIs--most of the time to make fun of the placement of sunglasses on the nose before a corny pun is uttered over a bloody body. Criminal Minds is a good one--though too many episodes have taken place in places where I've lived.  C-R-E-E-P-Y. There are so many more...it really is disturbing how many shows we do and have watched, but it's what we like.

When I was teaching I would often times refer to my shows (House for example...so sad it's gone!) to help validate  whatever we were discussing that day. I had students tell me that English teachers aren't supposed to like television. They claimed that they never had a teacher who promoted television before they met me. I need to clarify...I'm not against reading--in fact, I love to read. I have stayed up way too many nights because I couldn't put a book down until it was finished, but while teaching I didn't have that luxury. I needed to go to bed at a reasonable time and I needed someone to do the thinking for me at the end of the day. Sometimes you just want to be entertained and you don't want to do anything for it.  That's why I love television.

Because of this love (and because of the fact that I lost my funny ), I am going to [try to] devote one day a week to television. I may talk about shows that made me laugh out loud ('cause that is really a thing) (Friends shouldn't even have to be mentioned...it should be understood.) like New Adventures of Old Christine or Everybody Loves Raymond, or those that make me laugh now, like The Middle or Modern Family. I may write about shows that everyone should watch, regardless of sex (no--not whether you are having it...) like Bunheads or Ally McBeal (THAT was a blast from the past, right?!) or shows that very few people discovered like...well, I guess that could be Bunheads again, though there are way too many shows for me to be listing doubles.

I know what you are thinking--this will be the only time I "discuss" television because history states that I do not EVER stick with a plan on here. Well, you got me. That is why I didn't pick a day. Perhaps if I give myself an entire week to make it happen it will...actually happen.

Until then, I have some research to do. I'll start by watching Friends...and maybe grabbing some popcorn...

"OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH"

I had surgery in May so I stopped exercising. I guess I didn't stop completely. We have a pool and we were in it almost every day this summer and I have a rule (with myself) that I need to be moving constantly while I am in there--leg lifts, running in place, laps, lunges...anything that keeps me moving. The problem is, my body hates me and unless I am in pain or visibly uncomfortable, it rejects any of the benefits of whatever I am doing.

The same thing happened last summer. I was in the pool and moving every day and still gained over ten pounds because I didn't take out extra time to exercise. I joined the Y and lost a little, but when I stopped for surgery, I gained ten more. I told  you. My body hates me. I have to set extra time aside in my day to only focus on exercise for it to count. My body is like a spoiled child--we'll call it Veruca Salt (although it more closely resembles Violet Beauregarde or Augustus Gloop) and if I don't show it extra attention, it shuts down on me. It doesn't matter if I spend each day running and playing or swimming and jumping around with my children--if I haven't inconvenienced or hurt myself in some way, it doesn't count as exercise and I pack on the pounds. Stupid body.

I planned on going back to the Y, but there is a gym in town that offers more classes for a lower price, so I decided to go there instead.  I LOVE my new gym, but there is one catch--all of my...classmates...are senior citizens. Senior citizens who could wipe the floor with my exhausted middle-aged body and would gladly do so if I mess with their...chi.

I started going regularly to my new gym the second week in September. My very first class was Yoga with the body ball. You are going to need a back story here. I may be the most uncoordinated person...well...EVER, so balancing on a body ball should have set off alarms for me, but I forged ahead confidently. You would think that my nine? Ten? years of dancing and my dance classes in college would give me the background necessary to conquer stretching and meditation, but  you would be wrong. In fact, in my twenties I belonged to a gym in downtown Buffalo and "spinning" and step aerobics were introduced for the first time. I was maybe twenty-five and in pretty good shape (though I would NEVER have thought so at the time!), but I'm pretty sure that I took out a line of dancers when I was supposed to be pivoting or stepping or spinning...and that was when I was IN shape--imagine me now!

It's also important to note that I went out ALL the time when I was in my twenties. All. The. Time. In fact, it started to feel like a job (IF ONLY...), I went out so much. And I danced. At least three nights a week you would find me rocking out (or crazily and grotesquely flapping my limbs) for hours until some cranky DJ told me that I didn't have to go home, but I couldn't stay there. I never thought of it as exercise until I went to a wedding recently and felt like my legs may buckle beneath me before the end of the first song. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that I went to the gym regularly and went dancing most nights that made me able to endure it then and perhaps my body is rebelling against me now that I don't do all of that. Or any of that! 

Of course, every time I got into a relationship, I would stop going to the gym and stop going out "clubbing," and would spend more time eating out and  leading a sedentary lifestyle. Every time the relationships ended, I would get back to the gym and back to going out and would lose the weight again. I met my husband through a former boyfriend who worked with him (there are sooo many stories from that time that should not be told!)--we'll call him Joe. Joe and I went to see Patch Adams (does anyone even remember that movie? Robin Williams is a doctor with a clown nose...? Anyway...) one evening.  We were walking up the stairs to our seats and I [somehow] tripped over...nothing...and ended up on my butt,  all the while yelling, "OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH" because I was convinced I was going to spill the popcorn and drink and because I often let out little yells when I fall. Or when I hurt myself. Or when something surprises me. Really I am just a noisy person. Luckily, there were only like three other couples there, though that didn't assuage my embarrassment much.  What's funny is the fact that my husband loves this story. Mostly because because he finds it funny that "Joe" had me carrying everything in the first place--and also the fact that I have a similar fall at least once a week.

In fact, about a year and a half later--a month before our wedding--my husband and I were eating outside at a restaurant in Charlotte when a bee started buzzing around us. Our table was directly in front of the window of the restaurant, so everyone inside could see (and hear) what was happening. I got a little panicky (I do that) about the bee--no, I am not allergic, I just have an unnatural fear of bees. My legs were wrapped around the legs of the plastic chair, so when I tried to get up (after the bee had the audacity to land on me), my feet got tangled up in the chair and..."OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH!"  I was on the ground with the chair and the table on top of me. I saw everyone in the restaurant leap up to see if I was okay and some cars in the parking lot pulled over to help me. I still have the scar on my forearm where I scraped off a good chunk of my skin and my knee and foot were pretty bloody as well. As for the BEE...well, he stuck around to laugh at my wounds for a minute and then flew off to attack some other innocent bystander. My husband assessed the situation and calmly observed, "Well...at least you didn't get stung!"

All of this brings me back to Yoga and the body ball. And the senior citizens. My first day, the teacher greeted me and gave me a ball. I set it up with my mat and left to get a drink which took maybe three minutes. By the time I got back an eighty-eight-year-old bully had taken my ball, was sitting on it, and was looking at me like, "So what are you gonna do about it?" This woman could barely stand upright (that is not an insult--I have my own troubles with standing), but I felt confident that she would cut me before I could say, "Wheel of Fortune" if I even addressed her thievery. I decided to let it go and opted to not make eye contact. Bitches be scary. (That's got to give me some street cred, right?!)

I learned my lesson for the next class and did not leave after I got my ball. You would think that there would be nothing further, but again, you would be wrong. We were practicing different...exercises? in balance before class even officially started. I am pretty sure it was the one where we center our backs on the ball and then lift one leg at a time and then both legs. I'm not really sure if that is what we were supposed to do, but that is what I did--until I didn't any more and the room echoed with my "OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH" as I tumbled over, taking out the leader of the geriatric Cryps, hitting my head on the PVC pipes that are used to house the body balls (two of which came bouncing down on top of me), and scraping my knee and forearm (strangely enough on the same scars that were from my bee experience) in the process. As everyone rushed to my aid (including my Cryps friend who actually had balancing issues herself--not related to my fall and she was fine), but I was quick to send them away noting that it was more embarrassing than painful. Luckily for me, they all were adamant that everyone falls at least once and I shouldn't worry at all. 

Until I take out the geriatric Tai Chi team...