Stop drinking soda/pop/soda pop/coke/whatever you call it. For real. The NYPD uses Coke to disintegrate blood from the street. You want to put that crap directly into your stomach? It eats through blood, people! It's terrible for you!
I just don't keep soda in the house. (Though this also may have to do with the rather tight grocery budget...) Either way, the Energizer Bunny knows what "al-kee-hul" is, but not soda. And no, that doesn't say anything about my parenting skills, so stop thinking it!
(Oh, and don't just buy bottled water instead. Save the money and the earth, use your damn tap, people survived for thousands of years drinking straight from the ground, you'll survive drinking from your tap.)
Friday, October 30, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #5
Take MY dog for a walk. Sure, sure, you think taking your dog for a walk would be just as good, and I'm not saying it wouldn't help, but taking my dog is way better. I promise.
You won't just get a brisk 15 minute walk, you'll be required to stay outside, for a minimum of 30 minutes, and it won't just be walking. You'll have the pleasure of increasing stamina by chasing squirrels, birds, dogs and cyclists; increasing bicep strength by playing a random game of tug of war; and increasing heart rate by dealing with intolerant strangers after a tug of war the prize of which is said strangers. She will also force you to continue this shirade well into the depths of sub-zero winter.
She is for rent. Will consider adoption to a loving...er...tolerable home.
You won't just get a brisk 15 minute walk, you'll be required to stay outside, for a minimum of 30 minutes, and it won't just be walking. You'll have the pleasure of increasing stamina by chasing squirrels, birds, dogs and cyclists; increasing bicep strength by playing a random game of tug of war; and increasing heart rate by dealing with intolerant strangers after a tug of war the prize of which is said strangers. She will also force you to continue this shirade well into the depths of sub-zero winter.
She is for rent. Will consider adoption to a loving...er...tolerable home.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Silent Treatment
When I get mad, I get PISSED. I yell, I scream, I stomp my feet and throw things and break things and hit things...
When the Unsupportive Louse gets mad, he sulks. He introverts himself and ignores the world and maybe pounds a drink or five...but mostly, he gives me the silent treatment. (Which of course pisses me off more, because all I want to do is yell at him.)
The Unsupportive Louse likes to point out to me that my version of mad is a terrible example to set for the sweet little, as yet still innocent, Energizer Bunny.
And damn if he doesn't have a point.
So the other day we got so ticked at each other that he actually raised his voice at me (haha!!) and I thought to myself, "Fine, I'll be a wonderful example since you can't seem to handle your job and give you a little taste of your own stupid silent medicine at the same time. See how YOU like it." This all thought in a very mature and not-at-all snotty or whiny tone. Of course.
I say nothing in response to his almost-yelling. Other than to go away and leave me alone. Which doesn't really count. Besides, I didn't yell it.
He proceeds to invite The Mooch to drown his sorrows in cheap vodka with him, then very loudly begins to relate all our recent sexual encounters to him. (The Mooch is getting free alcohol and therefore will endure pretty much anything.) And since the Unsupportive Louse knows I'm attempting to give him the silent treatment, and he's actually still really really ticked at me (possibly deservingly, but whatever), he KNOWS I can't come down and stop him without admitting defeat AND apologizing. Which I am not likely to do.
So not only did I not get to yell and scream, I also had to listen to my most embarassing moments told to my BROTHER, which will certainly be passed on to my MOTHER (after all, if the Mooch had to endure it, may as well make me endure whatever The Walking Guilt Trip can give me.)
Screw this good example shit.
When the Unsupportive Louse gets mad, he sulks. He introverts himself and ignores the world and maybe pounds a drink or five...but mostly, he gives me the silent treatment. (Which of course pisses me off more, because all I want to do is yell at him.)
The Unsupportive Louse likes to point out to me that my version of mad is a terrible example to set for the sweet little, as yet still innocent, Energizer Bunny.
And damn if he doesn't have a point.
So the other day we got so ticked at each other that he actually raised his voice at me (haha!!) and I thought to myself, "Fine, I'll be a wonderful example since you can't seem to handle your job and give you a little taste of your own stupid silent medicine at the same time. See how YOU like it." This all thought in a very mature and not-at-all snotty or whiny tone. Of course.
I say nothing in response to his almost-yelling. Other than to go away and leave me alone. Which doesn't really count. Besides, I didn't yell it.
He proceeds to invite The Mooch to drown his sorrows in cheap vodka with him, then very loudly begins to relate all our recent sexual encounters to him. (The Mooch is getting free alcohol and therefore will endure pretty much anything.) And since the Unsupportive Louse knows I'm attempting to give him the silent treatment, and he's actually still really really ticked at me (possibly deservingly, but whatever), he KNOWS I can't come down and stop him without admitting defeat AND apologizing. Which I am not likely to do.
So not only did I not get to yell and scream, I also had to listen to my most embarassing moments told to my BROTHER, which will certainly be passed on to my MOTHER (after all, if the Mooch had to endure it, may as well make me endure whatever The Walking Guilt Trip can give me.)
Screw this good example shit.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Purple What??
Adventures on a Bike, Part 4
I don’t wear underwear under my exercise pants. Whatever, I’ve said it, it’s true, and I don’t care if you think I’m weird. I think you’re gross getting your underwear all shoved up your crack while stretching/running/biking/toning/jazzercising/curving/whatever. So there. Now, on to the important part of the story.
After work every day, I change out of my jeans or other much-less-dressy-than-you-wear-to-work pants (and underwear) and change into my biking pants. I then put my jeans in my backpack and ride my wonderful purple bike home.
For my birthday, the Princess, my darling though somewhat spoiled “baby” sister (of 25…again…years), got me a bike basket. The first week with my new fancy shmancy bike basket on the back of my bike, I get down with my backpack stuffed full of jeans and think to myself, there’s really no reason to carry this extra weight on my back now that I have this ever-so-useful bike basket! So, OUT come the jeans, straight into the basket and off I go riding home.
Now, it just so happens that my birthday closely correlates to the beginning of the undergraduate school year here on beautiful University of Michigan campus. Meaning, the undergrads are back. (Ugh.) So I got about a billion odd looks on the way home. This is standard. I believe between the ages of 18 and 22, developing and perfecting as many ugly, odd, dirty, bizarre looks as possible is almost as important as underage drinking and promiscuous sex. So fine, whatever, I got funny looks.
I arrive at home, get down off my pretty purple bike and go to grab my jeans from my new oh-so-practical bike basket. And yes, there is my lacy purple thong hanging not only out of my jeans, but out of the basket altogether, caught by one simple thread to maximize the viewing pleasure of undergrads and commuters alike, dancing along in the wind behind me.
I don’t wear underwear under my exercise pants. Whatever, I’ve said it, it’s true, and I don’t care if you think I’m weird. I think you’re gross getting your underwear all shoved up your crack while stretching/running/biking/toning/jazzercising/curving/whatever. So there. Now, on to the important part of the story.
After work every day, I change out of my jeans or other much-less-dressy-than-you-wear-to-work pants (and underwear) and change into my biking pants. I then put my jeans in my backpack and ride my wonderful purple bike home.
For my birthday, the Princess, my darling though somewhat spoiled “baby” sister (of 25…again…years), got me a bike basket. The first week with my new fancy shmancy bike basket on the back of my bike, I get down with my backpack stuffed full of jeans and think to myself, there’s really no reason to carry this extra weight on my back now that I have this ever-so-useful bike basket! So, OUT come the jeans, straight into the basket and off I go riding home.
Now, it just so happens that my birthday closely correlates to the beginning of the undergraduate school year here on beautiful University of Michigan campus. Meaning, the undergrads are back. (Ugh.) So I got about a billion odd looks on the way home. This is standard. I believe between the ages of 18 and 22, developing and perfecting as many ugly, odd, dirty, bizarre looks as possible is almost as important as underage drinking and promiscuous sex. So fine, whatever, I got funny looks.
I arrive at home, get down off my pretty purple bike and go to grab my jeans from my new oh-so-practical bike basket. And yes, there is my lacy purple thong hanging not only out of my jeans, but out of the basket altogether, caught by one simple thread to maximize the viewing pleasure of undergrads and commuters alike, dancing along in the wind behind me.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #4
A great way to add more whole grains to your diet is to start using whole wheat flour in your cooking and baking. Whole wheat is not only better for you, it's also more filling, and will keep you full longer.
As an added bonus, nothing tastes nearly as good, so you're sure to eat less of it. This tip will save you both calories AND money!
*added tip - don't substitute the entire amount of whole wheat flour for the standard bleached flour, start with a max of half and half. Unless you want to save a LOT of calories. And perhaps feed the dog something special tonight.
As an added bonus, nothing tastes nearly as good, so you're sure to eat less of it. This tip will save you both calories AND money!
*added tip - don't substitute the entire amount of whole wheat flour for the standard bleached flour, start with a max of half and half. Unless you want to save a LOT of calories. And perhaps feed the dog something special tonight.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Repairs Needed
Adventures on a Bike, Part 4
Undergrads are dumb. Phew, now that I’ve said that, I can continue to type with much less bitterness.
It’s not even vaguely unusual for an undergrad with earbuds in or phones to their heads or deep in a ever-so-important conversation about who Emma slept with last night, AGAIN… to not be able to hear me coming by. I quite frequently hop curbs or ride on the grass to avoid them. Sometimes even when they don’t have good excuses they don’t hear me. Whatever, they’re dumb, we’ve established this. All people not biking hate bikers, this has also been established and therefore all people side with the undergrads for their right to the sidewalk over dumb cyclists. Fine. I accept. (And freely admit that when I’m not the one on the bike, I hate them too…) So I always make accommodations without rolling my eyes too openly.
But one particular sweet red-headed, ear-budded Freshman (she just looked too naïve not to have been a freshman) could not have treated me worse if she’d tried to. She’s walking along a ridiculously wide stretch of sidewalk, looking down at her Ipod or other brand-name MP3 player, absolutely ignorant of the world around her. The sidewalk is so wide, I don’t even try to warn her.
Of course at the last second, as I’m about to pass her on the right, she glances up, see someone walking towards her and jumps 3 feet in the air at the massive shock of actually coming face-to-face with another human being and scuttles out of their way, directly into mine. I swerve and slam on my brakes, avoiding cute undergrad altogether, but making loud contact with a parking meter.
She stops and offers me a bandaid. I can only stare at her. What am I going to do with a bandaid?? Plus, I’m still standing. Bandaid…really? She then asks me what happened. I choose to pretend to be mute.
After I have made sure she is a respectable distance away from me, I begin again.
A few minutes later, I begin sailing down my favorite hill, on a street little traveled by either cars or pedestrians. As I’m nearing the end, I spot a car turning the corner and I squeeze my brakes to slow myself down…and I don’t. I squeeze harder. I can tell I’m slowing down, but certainly not much. To avoid certain death, I turn the corner myself and gradually stop.
Apparently my collision with a parking meter frayed the wire to my front brakes so badly that the brakes were no longer even touching the wheel.
If you find my little co-ed, please inform her she owes me $10.07 plus mental damages.
Undergrads are dumb. Phew, now that I’ve said that, I can continue to type with much less bitterness.
It’s not even vaguely unusual for an undergrad with earbuds in or phones to their heads or deep in a ever-so-important conversation about who Emma slept with last night, AGAIN… to not be able to hear me coming by. I quite frequently hop curbs or ride on the grass to avoid them. Sometimes even when they don’t have good excuses they don’t hear me. Whatever, they’re dumb, we’ve established this. All people not biking hate bikers, this has also been established and therefore all people side with the undergrads for their right to the sidewalk over dumb cyclists. Fine. I accept. (And freely admit that when I’m not the one on the bike, I hate them too…) So I always make accommodations without rolling my eyes too openly.
But one particular sweet red-headed, ear-budded Freshman (she just looked too naïve not to have been a freshman) could not have treated me worse if she’d tried to. She’s walking along a ridiculously wide stretch of sidewalk, looking down at her Ipod or other brand-name MP3 player, absolutely ignorant of the world around her. The sidewalk is so wide, I don’t even try to warn her.
Of course at the last second, as I’m about to pass her on the right, she glances up, see someone walking towards her and jumps 3 feet in the air at the massive shock of actually coming face-to-face with another human being and scuttles out of their way, directly into mine. I swerve and slam on my brakes, avoiding cute undergrad altogether, but making loud contact with a parking meter.
She stops and offers me a bandaid. I can only stare at her. What am I going to do with a bandaid?? Plus, I’m still standing. Bandaid…really? She then asks me what happened. I choose to pretend to be mute.
After I have made sure she is a respectable distance away from me, I begin again.
A few minutes later, I begin sailing down my favorite hill, on a street little traveled by either cars or pedestrians. As I’m nearing the end, I spot a car turning the corner and I squeeze my brakes to slow myself down…and I don’t. I squeeze harder. I can tell I’m slowing down, but certainly not much. To avoid certain death, I turn the corner myself and gradually stop.
Apparently my collision with a parking meter frayed the wire to my front brakes so badly that the brakes were no longer even touching the wheel.
If you find my little co-ed, please inform her she owes me $10.07 plus mental damages.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Sweet Little Old Lady
Adventures on a Bike, Part 2
You know no one likes a biker. It’s true. You people in cars hate waiting for cyclists. You people walking hate having to move aside for a bike to fly past. It’s just a fact. So if I get a dirty look now and then, I deal with it and get on with life.
One particularly nice, early summer day, I’m riding along, thinking how blessed I am that I live in such a beautiful town with such fantastic people (the undergrads weren’t around, remember) and have such a perfect family. Nothing can ruin my mood.
I throw my hands out wide “king of the world” Titanic style, speeding down the hill a la Meg Ryan just before she gets slammed by a truck in that movie with Nicholas Cage from a million years ago, and when I slow down at the end, I’m coming up upon a sweet little old lady.
“Excuse me!” I sing it out sweet and in-love-with-life style.
No response. Nothing new. Plus, she’s old so she’s probably deaf.
“Excuse me, ma’am, coming by on your right!”
Still no response, but she’s enough on the left that it’s fine for me to ride right on by, I just don’t want to shock the living daylights out of poor old granny.
One last try as I pedal by, not too fast, not too slow, “Good evening, ma’am! Coming by!”
“Shit!” she yells as I pass by her. If this was all I’d heard, I would have continued to assume I’d misheard, just as I immediately did. But no, she continued.
“Fuc*ing bikers! Should all go to Hel*!”
Apparently all is NOT right with the world. Old ladies do NOT swear when all is right with the world. Do they?
You know no one likes a biker. It’s true. You people in cars hate waiting for cyclists. You people walking hate having to move aside for a bike to fly past. It’s just a fact. So if I get a dirty look now and then, I deal with it and get on with life.
One particularly nice, early summer day, I’m riding along, thinking how blessed I am that I live in such a beautiful town with such fantastic people (the undergrads weren’t around, remember) and have such a perfect family. Nothing can ruin my mood.
I throw my hands out wide “king of the world” Titanic style, speeding down the hill a la Meg Ryan just before she gets slammed by a truck in that movie with Nicholas Cage from a million years ago, and when I slow down at the end, I’m coming up upon a sweet little old lady.
“Excuse me!” I sing it out sweet and in-love-with-life style.
No response. Nothing new. Plus, she’s old so she’s probably deaf.
“Excuse me, ma’am, coming by on your right!”
Still no response, but she’s enough on the left that it’s fine for me to ride right on by, I just don’t want to shock the living daylights out of poor old granny.
One last try as I pedal by, not too fast, not too slow, “Good evening, ma’am! Coming by!”
“Shit!” she yells as I pass by her. If this was all I’d heard, I would have continued to assume I’d misheard, just as I immediately did. But no, she continued.
“Fuc*ing bikers! Should all go to Hel*!”
Apparently all is NOT right with the world. Old ladies do NOT swear when all is right with the world. Do they?
Friday, October 9, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #3
At every meal, make sure you have more fruit or veggies on your plate than meat. The FDA recommends 5-6oz of meat/beans/protein per day. PER DAY. Do you know how much that chicken breast weighs? Probably 7 or 8 with the way they're going these days. And don't forget about what you had for lunch...
If I make large slabs of meat for dinner, I only make 3 - one for the Unsupportive Louse, one for the Mooch and I share mine with the Energizer Bunny (who only needs a total of 2oz per day). As an added bonus, this also teaches the small child all about sharing. And if the Unsupportive Louse is really hungry after he's eaten his slab of meat, he can eat some half-chewed, slobbered on pea-sized bites from the Energizer Bunny's plate. Shockingly, this prospect keeps him lean too.
If I make large slabs of meat for dinner, I only make 3 - one for the Unsupportive Louse, one for the Mooch and I share mine with the Energizer Bunny (who only needs a total of 2oz per day). As an added bonus, this also teaches the small child all about sharing. And if the Unsupportive Louse is really hungry after he's eaten his slab of meat, he can eat some half-chewed, slobbered on pea-sized bites from the Energizer Bunny's plate. Shockingly, this prospect keeps him lean too.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Red Hot Spandex Biker Shorts
As biking season is quickly coming to an end, I thought it might be fun to write a little series of blogs about the exciting adventures I’ve had this year.
Adventures on a Bike, Part 1
I’m riding along one day, when I get that eerie tingly feeling, the one you feel when you’re sure someone is watching you. I glance back over my shoulder and see a rusty blue pickup truck slowing down and pulling into the right lane, closest to the sidewalk, but no people. I shake my head, thinking I must be going crazy…er.
Not ten seconds later, I see the old pickup ease next to me, going maybe 10 miles an hour. I wrinkle up my forehead wondering what this could be about and try to sneak another glance at the truck without falling off my bike. As I do, the passenger side window rolls down.
The driver leans waaay over and yells out the window at me, “Damn, you look ree-eal good on that bike!” I could only laugh.
Not many people can pull off red hot, short short, spandex biking shorts, but apparently you are acquainted with one of the few. Aren’t you proud?
Adventures on a Bike, Part 1
I’m riding along one day, when I get that eerie tingly feeling, the one you feel when you’re sure someone is watching you. I glance back over my shoulder and see a rusty blue pickup truck slowing down and pulling into the right lane, closest to the sidewalk, but no people. I shake my head, thinking I must be going crazy…er.
Not ten seconds later, I see the old pickup ease next to me, going maybe 10 miles an hour. I wrinkle up my forehead wondering what this could be about and try to sneak another glance at the truck without falling off my bike. As I do, the passenger side window rolls down.
The driver leans waaay over and yells out the window at me, “Damn, you look ree-eal good on that bike!” I could only laugh.
Not many people can pull off red hot, short short, spandex biking shorts, but apparently you are acquainted with one of the few. Aren’t you proud?
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #2
Pretend you're broke. For most of us, this won't be a problem. But, if it is, just pretend you're me. Really broke. Budget $50 per week for groceries to feed four people - two grown men, one ravenous energizer bunny and yourself. This needs to be a very strict budget, it's best if you take fifty dollars in cash to the store and know if you go over the limit, you will be shockingly embarrassed.
In no time at all, you'll find yourself avoiding most snacks, the chips and candy aisle altogether, and practically all meat as well. This will do wonders for your waistline.
In no time at all, you'll find yourself avoiding most snacks, the chips and candy aisle altogether, and practically all meat as well. This will do wonders for your waistline.
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