Running Towards Something Besides The Buffet

So I’m running now.

I mean, I’m running for reals. For exercise. Not because someone is chasing me with a butcher knife or I’m trying to get to the buffet before that old lady with the walker gets all the red jello.

Okay so technically I’m sprinting. Which I guess is a form of running, but I’m not like, running a marathon or anything. I’m running from the tree on the furthest side of my backyard to the furthest tree on the other side of my backyard. It’s probably 15 yards. But! I’m running there and back. Six times in a row.

I know. I’m pretty amazed myself.

This shit wasn’t my idea though. It was Captain Carl's. On Friday at 4pm he called me at work and was all “Hey, when you get home we’ll kick the soccer ball around for a few minutes and then run sprints and then go for a walk” and I was all “Gah?” and he was all “This is our new exercise program…3 times a week” and I was all “Ummm, okay?” and he was all “Excellent!” and I was all “Well, fuck.”

Yep, all his idea. His brilliant Friday night sprinting idea. My idea was to sit on the couch and watch 5 episodes of Ghost Hunters while eating microwave popcorn and twizzlers. My idea was way more awesome, I think.

So I get home and I’m all “I have a headache” and he was all “Nice try” and I was all “No I really do. In my vagina.” and he was all “Shut up and put your sports bra on and get outside”. So I stomped around my bathroom getting ready for as long as I possibly could because I so did not want to exercise but apparently he doesn’t love me enough to let me do nothing and get fatter. Big jerk.

So we’re in the backyard and mosquitoes are eating me alive and I’m all *kick kick kick* with the soccer ball and he’s all “quit kicking it up towards my face!” and I’m all “It’s called strategy” and he’s all “There is no strategy, we’re just warming up” and I’m all “Oh yeah? Your mom's warming up!” because I'm pretty much the queen of soccer insults.

Then he made me sprint.

A real lot.

So there I am. Running. When I start the first sprint, it’s not as hard as I thought it was going to be. Hey, I’m moving pretty fast…not bad for a fat lady. At the halfway mark, I realize something. I’m running on grass. Ohmygod, what if I twist my ankle? By the time I finish that first sprint, I remember that my sports bra is too small for me. I look down. My left boob has popped out. I have to finish with my hand cupping my chest, much to the delight of my husband. We take a 2 minute rest, as per whatever fitness website he’s been reading that day. The mosquitoes swarm again, but I’m not breathing all that hard. I can do this…five more of these is no problem. By the third sprint, I’m praying for God to hit my husband with a freak bolt of lightning from out of nowhere. I’m panting and probably foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. The Captain has beaten me on every sprint, even with the head start he gives me. “No fair!” I yell every time he passes me. “You don’t have boobs to hold up!” “You have more muscle than me!” “I hate you so hard right now!” And he just laughs and keeps running. At the end of the 5th sprint, my legs are shaking and I’m seriously considering punching him in the face. We are in our 2nd minute of rest before the final sprint when I decide to cheat. I yell “Go!” 30 seconds early and run like a crazy person. The Captain yells after me "It's not a race, moron!" but I don't care. My legs are pumping, my arms are swinging wildly, I’m laughing like a hyena. I’m winning this one! Yes!

And then I stepped in a rabbit hole and fell. I lay there like a slug, flat on my face, waiting for my husband to come pick me up and hold me and tell me he’s sorry and he’ll never ever make me do this ever again and then I'll be all "I could have been seriously injured, but I forgive you. Now go buy me some twizzlers" and he totally would on account of all his exercise guilt.

“Get up!” he yells from a distance. I raise my head and realize he has finished his sprint. “You left me here to die without twizzlers!” I scream at him. “Get up! Now we walk for 30 minutes!” he yells back. I roll over onto my back and stare at the sky. Mosquitoes are flying into my eyeballs. I’m sweating through my shorts and my knees are throbbing. I say nothing. He walks over and stands over me. He’s all “Come on, drama queen” and I’m all “I can’t” and he’s all “Yes you can” and I’m all “No you don’t understand!” and he’s all “I know, you’re tired and sore and don’t feel like it. But you will be so happy that you did.” and I’m all “No, it’s not that. I can’t get my boob back in my bra”.

So there we are, silent and motionless for a few minutes. He is contemplating how to get me up and moving again. I am contemplating how to fashion a shiv from blades of grass and my shoelace so I can take him down and shut him up about this exercise bullshit. He pokes me a couple times with the tip of his shoe. "Come onnnn" he whines. "No" I say and roll over onto my side away from him. He sighs and says "I'll go buy you twizzlers if you walk with me". I look over my shoulder at him and contemplate this offer. "What about my boob?" I ask. “It’s dark, no one will notice” he responds.

And that’s how I ended up walking through my neighborhood at 9pm on a Friday with a limp and my boob hanging out of my bra.

And The Award For Best Actress Eating A Hamburger Goes To…

I just realized this morning it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve posted something here. So sorry, little people, but I’ve been very busy becoming a movie star. After I sent my resume to the production assistant for the movie they are filming here by my office, I figured it wouldn’t be long before I’d find myself on the casting couch. And I wasn’t wrong, although technically I haven’t yet physically sat on the couch. Or met anyone associated with the movie in person. Or ummmm, acted in anything. Yet! Because this? Is totally happening.

See, I got an email response to my resume submittal. From the producer, y’all. Yeah, big time. This lady. Right here.

Producer Email: Received your contact information re: becoming an extra for the movie. Need your availability please.

Response: My availability is limited during the day, but I work right here in the office building you are shooting near so I could do it during lunch breaks or after 5pm. Also, that’s what she said.

Producer Email: I need extras mostly on Saturdays.

Response: I can do Saturdays like nobody’s business. I do Saturdays long time. Speaking of being an extra, some people say that I’m a natural when it comes to standing around in the background. Plus I have a really big head which I’m told translates well on film. Also, I am plus size and I know you want this film to be diverse, so there you go.

Producer Email: I have to ask this so we have complete information – what is your age?

Response: I’m 36, but could probably pass for 35. Oh and I’ve been rehearsing several characters that I think would be great for the movie. My “Lady Eating Hamburger In Crowd” is especially good. “Lady Drinking Something From Taco Bell Cup While Leaning Seductively On Car Hood” is also noteworthy but I'm not quite sure about it. Too Tawny Kitaen perhaps?

Producer Email: Also need your phone number. Keep in mind this is a children's movie.

Response: Gotcha...children's movie. Duly noted. My phone number is 1-800-HOT-CHUB. Heh heh, I kid.


So far I haven’t heard back from him. It’s been a week. I figure he’s busy deciding what role he’s going to give me. Probably the hilarious cougar neighbor lady that always brings burnt stuff to the neighborhood potlucks but hahaaa! who cares because dude, that fat chick is smokin’!

I’m thinking of getting my teeth capped in preparation for my role. And maybe getting my second chin sucked out too. I don’t know. It depends on how much volunteer extras get paid.

Finally, Peeing My Pants Has Paid Off

Someone is filming a movie right outside the building I work in. I’m not really sure why here and I’m only partially sure what it’s about. A coming of age story about a little boy who find mischief and fun in his neighborhood blah blah blah Mr. Wilson blah blah blah rip off blah blah blah Dennis the Menace. Something like that.

But that’s not the important part. The important part is that I. AM. ABOUT. TO. BE. FAMOUS. The director has put out a casting call in my building for extras. Which means you are about to see me on the big screen. Or the tv screen. Or ummmm, online. I’m not really sure how big this movie is going to be. Today the director is walking around in the parking lot pointing at businesses and gesturing wildly with a crowd of 15 people and they’re all wearing sunglasses which kind of seems Hollywood-ish, but only one of them is hot and young and the rest are basically boring and kind of overweight and older so maybe this is only going to be a made for tv movie. But who cares because I am all over this shit.

So I went to the production website and it’s all “We will need 300-400 extras for a July 4th celebration scene” and “if interested, please send your name, age, email and general availability”. I worked all night on my resume. I mean, it doesn’t specifically ask for a resume but I figure it’s implied for those with previous acting experience such as myself. So I was all *type type type* and Captain Carl was all “Whatcha doing?” and I was all “Writing my acting resume” and he was all “Gah?” and I was all “For the movie they are filming by my office” and he was all “You’ve never been in a movie” and I was all “I have plenty of acting experience” and he was all “What role are you trying out for?” and I was all “An extra” and he was all “You have to audition to be an extra?” and I was all “Probably. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter because once they see my resume? Blam!” and he was all “Blam?” and I was all “Blam! Front of the crowd extra”.

I think you'll all agree that I'm a shoe in....


______________________________________

Resume for Miss Yvonne – Actress Not Appreciated In Her Own Time

1977 – Peter Rabbit
Martin Luther Elementary School
Played role of Mother Rabbit in Mrs. Vandervolt’s morning kindergarten class production.
Noteworthy – Managed to completed both lines of dialogue despite having a crush on boy playing Peter Rabbit and peeing pants minutes before the curtain rose.

1986 – America The Prosperous
Roosevelt Middle School
Co-starring role in video on American Capitalism for Mr. Benson’s 6th grade economics lesson.
Noteworthy – Let Nathan Johnson grab boob under costume without anyone noticing.

1991 – Pop Singers
Buffalo Gap High School
Co-starring role in year long production of 50’s and 60’s inspired song and dance routines.
Noteworthy – Totally rocked mall bangs and a spiral perm. Managed to make a tuxedo shirt and ankle length skirt look sexy while pretend surfing to a Beach Boy’s song.

1992 – Santa Lucia Festival
First Lutheran Church
Starring role of Santa Lucia in Christmas pageant.
Noteworthy – Wore a crown of burning candles on head. For reals.

Special skills:
Can kind of play the piano.
Know sweet dance moves such as the Roger Rabbit and the Sprinkler.
Good at reciting hip slang phrases, such as "Oh no you didn't!", "You go girl!" and "Bitch please".
Went to a taping of Charles in Charge once. Waved at Willie Aames. Pretty sure he saw me.
In possession of a blonde 70’s afro wig. Willing to wear it whenever.
Can do that cool Bollywood dancing hand move thingy.
Giant man hands. See above.
Can recite any line from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure upon command.
Strong background in character acting. See below for examples of my work:

Pirate

Drunk Pirate

Fin.

See you on the big/small screen, bitches.

14 Hour Super Manic Crazy Arms Energy Drink

I was dragging yesterday at work. I’m having a hard time getting back in the swing of things after being on vacation for a week. I decided to try an energy drink for the first time in my life because I had shit to get done. So I walked over to the gas station across the street and found something called Seven Hour Revitalizer. I’ve heard of 5 Hour Energy but never tried it. I figured an extra two hours would be even better.

Yeah, probably wasn't a good idea.

2:00pm: Drink entire mango flavored energy beverage.
2:01pm: Chug a Diet Coke to get rid of rancid mango flavor in mouth.
2:20pm: Walk to bathroom. Realize I have weird tingly sensation in upper arms.
2:25pm: Stare at self in bathroom mirror while shaking arms. Tingling intensifies. Weird.
2:45pm: Left leg seems to be twitching a lot.
2:50pm: Decide twirling around and around in my chair is a great idea.
3:00pm: Notice hands are shaking.
3:15pm: Think about how weird belly buttons are.
3:30pm: Cotton mouth. Chug another Diet Coke.
3:39pm: Stare at McDonald’s cup until words begin to blur. Become convinced there’s a hidden message.
3:45pm: Get sweaty armpits.
3:50pm: Get heartburn.
4:00pm: Contemplate if sitting in office cube is really happening or is just a figment of someone else’s imagination.
4:02pm: Become convinced someone is standing right behind me. Look quickly over shoulder multiple times in attempt to catch them.
4:10pm: Seem to have developed some kind of facial tic.
4:15pm: Realize I can see new colors behind my eyelids.
4:16pm: Dig empty bottle of energy beverage out of garbage. Attempt to read ingredients.
4:17pm: Search for glasses on desk, in purse, under desk, in office plant. Freak out and yell “OHMYGOD, I LOST MY GLASSES!”
4:18pm: Realize glasses are on face. Attempt to read ingredients again.
4:19pm: Bottle says “Contains 2 Servings”. Get a little nervous.
4:20pm: Directions on bottle say “Always begin with ¼ bottle to assess tolerance. Never exceed more than ½ bottle per 7 hours.”
4:21pm: Realize that I have ingested 14 hours of energy. Contemplate panicking.
4:22pm: Decide best solution is to lay on back on cubicle floor.
4:23pm: Ask cube mates if they can see my heart beating through my shirt.
4:24pm: Yell at cube mates “What? I can’t hear you over this rushing sound in my ears! Can y’all hear that? Ohmygod! The ocean is IN. MY. EARS.”.
4:30pm: Walk to bathroom. Try not to tip over. Decide splashing water on face will help.
4:40pm: Walk back to cube. Cube mates ask why right side of hair and front of shirt is soaking wet. Pretend to have no idea what they are talking about.
4:41pm: Take off shoes because toenails feel funny.
4:45pm: Field phone call from vendor. Ask vendor “Is it weird that I can’t feel my tongue?”.
4:55pm: Stare at own reflection in window. Flare nostrils. Laugh hysterically.
4:58pm: Pack up and leave office. Wonder why all the building lights are flickering.
5:00pm: Try three times to fit key into ignition with shaking hands.
5:01pm: Begin drive home.
5:05pm: See Dunkin’ Donuts.
5:20pm: See Jack in the Box.
5:40pm: See Sonic.
5:50pm: Pull into driveway.
6:30pm: On sofa. Have no recollection of how I got there. Wonder why I am surrounded by two dozen donuts, 12 tacos and three chocolate shakes.

My Family Went To Minnesota And All I Got Was Bieber Fever

So I'm back from vacation. I didn't tell y'all about it (again) because Captain Carl is convinced that somehow one of you crazies figured out my real name and where I live and are just waiting for me to announce an extended time away so you can break into my house, eat my food, molest my cats and sniff my panties. But ha! Jokes on you because I never leave dirty panties when I go on vacation.

We spent a week with my parents in Minnesota. I was inebriated approximately 75% of the time, courtesy of my mom's brandy slush. Ever had a brandy slush? No? Get me up to 500 followers and I'll give you the recipe. You gotta work for it, bitch.

My dad has leukemia and was on a week long break from chemo while we were there. My mom is diabetic and found out the day before we left that she has to start on insulin shots. Sounds like a non-stop party, right?

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the most relaxing of vacations. But I adore my parents and miss them terribly when we are apart. So I did my best to savor every moment and then sobbed myself to sleep on our last night there. I do it every time we go and all Captain Carl can do is lay there and pat my back until I'm done.

And then we drove 18 hours straight to get home the next day. Awesome. I slept until noon today and have the worst travel/brandy slush hangover known to mankind. And tomorrow I get to go back to my job.

Well, fuck.

I had what was probably the most meaningful conversation I've ever had with my 13 year old niece, let's call her Red, while I was up there.

Me: How's school, Red?
Red: It's okay. We have, like, only 4 minutes of passing time between classes this year.
Me: Is that bad?
Red: Yes, we had 5 minutes last year.
Me: Well that sucks.
Red: I know! We have to, like, run to our classes.
Me: You should run for student council and then you could change that.
Red: We voted for student council last week and the teacher told us we should tell whoever gets voted on about what we don't like and they can, like, say something to, like, the principal or something.
Me: You better track down your councilman and bitch about the 4 minutes.
Red: And also they play really stupid music during passing time.
Me: Like what?
Red: Like some kind of old stuff.
Me: They should play Justin Bieber.
Red: Ohmygod yeah!
Me: I heard you love him.
Red: Ohmygod yeah! I am, like, his biggest fan.
Me: Maybe you should suggest that your school have a Justin Bieber class.
Red: I could totally teach that class.
Me: Hmmm..I don't know if you know enough about him.
Red: He's 16 years old, his favorite color is purple, his favorite meal is spaghetti and his favorite type of food is Italian...
Me: What's his favorite breakfast?
Red: I don't know.
Me: You better find out or they'll never let you teach that class.
Red: He won't let anyone touch his hair...
Me: Well I can see why. It's so, ummmm, Bieber-y?
Red: Only his hairstylist can touch it.
Me: Probably because he'd lose his powers if it got cut too short.
Red: Maybe...
Me: He's like the modern Samson.
Red: What?
Me: Except instead of strength, his power is his beautiful girlish voice.
Red: He's not girlish!
Me: Listen, don't waste your time on Justin Bieber. He'll only break your heart when he comes out in a few years...
Red: What are you talking about?
Me: Two words. George. Michael.
Red: You are so weird.

Today I’d Like To Punch All Teenage Girls In Their Collective Faces

Only because they are so stupid. Oh so so so stupid. Still. I was really hoping they would have evolved a bit since I was one 20 years ago. But no. Nope. They are exactly the same, except with less rolling of the jeans and mall bangs.

Bunny is still moping over my boy. It’s been 3 months since he broke up with her. I remember what it’s like to get dumped when you are that age and I know it sometimes takes longer than 3 months to get over it. But seriously. The girl needs to stop, because my son? Not really thinking about her. I want to grab her by her cute little arms and shake her and yell “snap out of it!".

I have tried to talking to her several times over the summer. I’ve told her in the nicest way possible that he’s not ready to be the young man she wants him to be. And she nods her head and says she gets it, but girlfriend is lying because she keeps posting shit like this on her facebook wall.

9-8-10…the day that should have been but never was.

Yesterday would have been their 1st dating anniversary if they had stayed together.

Yeah. It’s just that pathetic, y’all.

The girl is in her senior year. The boy she is hung up on is now in college and has moved on. Way way on. So I’m thinking about sending her another email with all the for reals true reasons why she needs to get over it.

Here's what I've got so far...

1. The boy has already been with at least two girls at college. I know this because for some reason, he feels the need to share this information with his father.

2. See number 1 above. See it a lot. Lots and lots of times. Burn it into your brain. The boy is a man whore. He will be until at least the age of 23. I cannot stress this enough. He asked us for two things before he left for college: A laptop and a monthly supply of condoms. This is not a joke. I wish it were, but it srsly is so not a joke.

3. I love him, but damn the boy is gross. I mean, I am seriously concerned for his dental hygiene while he is away at college. Because I was still reminding him the week before he moved to brush his teeth every day. So basically he's walking around with fuzzy stink teeth. You don't want nay part of that, my dear.

4. Did I mention he’s gross? Because he’ll wear dirty socks and underwear if he’s out of clean ones. Several times.

5. Let’s play a game, shall we? I’ll ask you a question and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. Okay, here we go. Apushoversayswhat?

6. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Please please please…I beg you to stop perpetuating that delusion.

7. Did I mention the dirty underwear thing?

8. He's an uninformed voter and will probably vote straight Republican like his great-grandfather. Save yourself before it's too late. I bring you this message from the inside. It's not pretty here. There are guns and Newt Gingrich biographies. Run.

9. He loves Buckethead.

10. He's 18 years old. Therefore, he is a jerkface. To you. Not to me. To me he is my sweet, loving baby. To you he is a jerkface. This is something you already know but seem to be willing to forget. Need I remind you of the time he dumped a water bottle on you because "it would be freakin' hilarious"? Yeah. Jerkface.

And then I'm going to wrap it up with this little bit of advice...

You’re a sweet girl, but seriously…you need to grow a set and stop posting that shit on facebook. You are not helping your cause here. Boys don’t want to read that…it makes them run faster and further away. Not only will you never hear from my boy again, all the other boys will avoid you too. What you need to do is post something like “So glad I’m single! Having the best time porking all your loser friends that didn’t go to college and are still living at home!” Then say you’re thinking about becoming bisexual.

p.s. I apologize for that last one. Totally inappropriate for me to say that. But it would totally work if you are looking for a date on Friday night. Just sayin’. You didn’t hear it from me.

All I Need Is This Teapot. And This Wind Chime. And This Candle. That’s It. That’s All I Need. And This Cookie Jar.

There is a place that most know about but seldom speak of in polite society. A place where men fear to tread. A place that turns a normal adult woman into a crazy lunatic the minute she walks through the doors. A place filled with objects that can strike terror in the hearts of even the bravest of souls.

That place?

The Cracker Barrel.

*sigh*

Never has there existed a restaurant that makes me behave in such a terrible manner such as this one. I don’t really understand what happens. I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of evil tchochke vortex located directly in the middle of their “country store” that sucks me in. We only visit Cracker Barrel when we’re on road trips. Usually it is the place we stop on our annual drive to Minnesota to see my family. I think it’s the biscuits that lure us in. Captain Carl is always the first to suggest it.

Me: Where should we eat?
Captain: I think there’s a Cracker Barrel about 30 minutes up the road.
Me: Are you sure you want to go there?
Captain: Why not?
Me: Oh, I don’t know…
Captain: I love their food.
Me: Me too.
Captain: Okay, let’s stop there then.

And then we walk in. And then he remembers why he should never, ever take me to the Cracker Barrel.

Me: Ooooh look! Yankee candles!
Captain: Shit. I forgot about the country store.
Me: They have cinnamon scented ones!
Captain: You have a million candles already.
Me: But not this one! I have to get it. Ooooooh! Would you just look at those cute teapots!
Captain: Come on, let’s get a table and eat.
Me: Just a sec. I have to see these teapots.
Captain: Fine.
Me: Ooooh!!! Look at this one! *holds teapot up by face*
Captain: You don’t even drink tea.
Me: I know, but look! It has bluebirds on it! Awwwww! And hearts!
Captain: *rubs eyes* Come on…I’m starving.
Me: Okay okay. *squealing* OMG!!!! Wind chimes! *runs off*
Captain: Damn it!
Me: Honey, we don’t have any wind chimes…
Captain: Because I hate them.
Me: Why do you hate them again?
Captain: Because the sound is too random.
Me: Oh but listen! *runs fingers through all 50 wind chimes* See? Beautiful!
Captain: *sighs*
Me: We should get the one with the dogs on the top. Oh no! This one! With the fall leaves! It’s almost fall, we have to get this one!
Captain: I’m getting a table. *walks away*
Me: Okay, order me a Diet Coke. I’ll be there in a minute. *runs to corner of store* 70% off! *yelling* Honey! 70% off!!
Captain: *pretends not to know me*

20 minutes later

Me: You’re eating. You ordered without me?
Captain: I told you I was hungry.
Me: Check it out…I got the best deal ever! *opens shopping bag*
Captain: What the hell is that?
Me: It’s a cookie jar!
Captain: It’s in the shape of a John Deere tractor.
Me: Adorable, right?!!
Captain: I just…why?
Me: It was 70% off! *hand up in the air* High five!
Captain: Which made it….
Me: $29.99. A total steal! Huh? Huh? Come on...high five! *looks at hand*
Captain: *stares at cookie jar* Why is this a necessity in life?
Me: We need somewhere to put the cookies. *gives self high five* Yeah! I'm awesome!
Captain: You hardly ever bake cookies.
Me: I will now that I have this!
Captain: And also it’s a tractor.
Me: It’s decorative. Nevermind, you don’t understand.
Captain: What’s in that other bag?
Me: Oh ummm….just some things.
Captain: Wind chimes?
Me: Maybe.

One hour later…on the road.

Me: *moaning*
Captain: What’s wrong?
Me: Why did you let me buy that junk?
Captain: What? I didn’t LET you do anything…you just did it. Just like you always do.
Me: Well you're the husband. You're in charge. You should have stopped me.
Captain: I haven't been in charge since I met you.
Me: But still....a John Deere cookie jar?? Gah!
Captain: Last year it was those creepy angel statues. The year before that it was all those dry soup mixes. And then there was the Great Santa Mug Debacle of 2005.
Me: Seriously, I don’t know why I do it. I’m like a crazy person in that place.
Captain: Agreed.

*silence*

Me: We have to pack lighter next year.
Captain: Why?
Me: So I can fit one of those Cracker Barrel rocking chairs in the back.