Category Archives: me-me-me

The Fake Weight

Not to brag much but the other day I got on the scale and realized I had gotten down to my fake weight without leaning on the wall.

“Fake weight” — the number we put on official documents like our driver’s license applications and other “public” forms. Every woman I’ve mentioned this to knew exactly what I was talking about.

Men, however, had no clue. They apparently don’t have a fake weight! They’ll deny it but they have a fake height or fake length they tell themselves…

But, honestly, I’m here to tell you that it’s a little disconcerting if you ever see your fake weight on a real scale. I mean, with attainment of the fake weight all should be perfect in the your world, right? The fake and the real have merged and anything is possible!

We should at least expect a rousing parade or curly confetti to miraculously fall from the sky or Ed McMahon with a big check.

But no. I got none of that.

Given my up’s and down’s with life weight, I’ll likely bounce back up and the fake weight will once again become fake if these Girl Scout cookies have anything to say about it.

Or maybe it won’t, in which case I’ll be required to come up with a new fake weight. Where do our fake weights come from? Old insurance charts? Some online weight calculator? An asshole ex-boyfriend? A number from your past? The Miss Universe pageant?

The fake weight must be lower than your actual weight, but not so far removed as to cause snickering at the DMV or when your driver’s license is broadcast on a local news show after you run off with the soccer coach go missing.

I will confess that once I touched on my fake weight, it somehow managed to lose its power. It is just an artificial, externally-imposed number. Health, strength, energy, focus, these internal traits are the things that should have meaning and magic for us all through life, right?

All of which I promise to ponder deeply as I Google weight charts and calculators to generate my new fake weight.

Anti-Gravity Movie Popcorn

[Warning: she’s getting her bitch on]

I took the Kid to see Hugo in 3D after ripping into our lottery winnings in our mattress. The movie was great in a very dontwealllovethemovies kinda way. If you go, be on time or you’ll never have me as your movie date because the opening shot in 3D is the highlight of the film, imo.

But this post is not about the movie. It’s about the concession stand. What they think we are not seeing them do there.

First off, I am a popcorn fiend. I admit it. I am powerless to it. So, I usually always get some at the movies, however nasty it may be. I said I’m powerless, you judgey judgers! Plus, concessions is where the exhibitors make their money, and haven’t you heard, the movie business is in trouble, so I’m doing my part.

But what amazes me is how they serve up those golden morsels nowadays. They lift the scoop of popcorn highohsohigh above the bucket and let those popped fluffballs of joy float, single file, down, down, down. Leaving as much air in the bucket as possible while still remaining on Planet Earth.

Now, if you’re 15, this is The Way It’s Always Been. But if you’re 29, like me, you have not forgotten the days when they were not so lovingly tender with the corn.

They roughly scooped, slapped it down in the bucket, and scooped some more. And then, they’d pound the bucket on the counter several times like they’re about to make a free throw shot with 1 second to go to settle the corn and make room for yet another incoming scoop of popcorn.

I am not shitting you. That is how it was done. It was a beautiful thing. Ask your dad.

Now that I’ve written this, honestly, I’m lost in my movie concession stand reverie, so talk amongst yourselves. *sigh*

Do you have any great memories of going to the movies?

how to make yourself feel better with a scarf (G-rated)

I have recently made a discovery. I am sad, desperate child who will take any crumb of chocolate chip cookie the Universe will toss to me. I’m not proud. I’m just confessing because I have realized a certain shall-we-say manipulation that you humans are powerless to refuse.

It is . . . my pink scarf.

To be honest, once I realized my powers I felt a tad guilty, but hey, I got over that

Here’s the deal. Whenever I wear my scarf, whenever wherever, someone tells me how awesome it is. They can’t help it.

So, now, I put it on every day wondering what unsuspecting innocent will be my victim? (Last time it took 1 hour, and that included 40 minutes of driving alone).

And when they find I-like-your-scarf or what-a-pretty-scarf involuntarily pouring out of their mouths, I say Thank You and smile graciously on the outside while I’m MWA-HA-HA-HAAAAA’ing and mentally putting another notch in my scarf-conquering belt inside.

But I wanted to gloat share this insight because maybe you, too, have those times when you feel blue, or your prescription ran out you need a tiny boost from a total stranger in order to feel better about yourself.

My advice is this: Get your own an awesome scarf, because you ain’t getting mine a) getting compliments feel good, b) manipulating the human race feels good, and c) having just one thought of hopeful expectation for your day was one of Oprah’s favorite things may save on your liquor store bill.
No promises on c).

Yes? What’s that? I’m listening…

My Dear Santa Letter

Dear Santa,

It’s not you. It’s me. It’s actually you.

I had hoped we could have some fun together, but I’m seeing problems now that are hard to ignore. For starters, you’re totally obsessed with the children of the world. Day and night, night and day, they seem to be all you think about. How is an ordinary and somewhat high maintenance woman to compete?

But it’s not just that. You’re, shall we say, a tad judgmental about it all. Naughty, nice, good, bad, all your love is completely conditional. I’m sure if you held me to that standard, I’d be getting that famous lump of coal, coal you like to coerce behavior with, coal you make those poor elves mine.

Which brings me to the elves. The more I know them, the more they seem like slaves. There’s really no payroll, is there? Sure they sing while they work, but I can’t get comfortable with that. How do you sleep at night?

Actually, between the snoring and the sleep apnea, you don’t. You should consider a better health regime, San. I’m sure once you drop out of the obese category, you’ll sleep better. That and getting Rudolph off the bed. I know he’s your favorite, but still. Hello? Antlers. Plus, sitting around 364 days and then an insane energy burst one day of the year would not be good for anyone.

Anyway, I’m sorry it’s not working out. Maybe you just need someone better suited to your lifestyle. I know you said it’s a marriage in name only, but you may have been on to something with that Mrs. Claus in the first place. She’s certainly tolerant, if nothing else. I bet if you put some effort out, she may come back from St. Thomas. That chief elf couldn’t really mean anything to her.

Best of luck to you,
Me

P.S., My kid would love an iPad2 and an Xbox 360 with Kinect. Thanks bunches!

Getting Discovered

Lots of bloggers like me folks online are waiting to be discovered, hit the big time, be rich, be applauded be given free maid service and car detailing for life.

Well, years have passed with this here blog…and I’m still waiting.
*fingernails tap tap tapping*

In fact, this week officially marked another one, a birthday for little ol’ me. Okay, perhaps it should be just “old me.”

While having a margarita with a couple of friends, they surprised me with “birthday speech!” “birthday speech!”

Just ask the Hubs about me and impromptu words (hint: when surprised by our rent-a-minister saying “you can now add your own vows” during our marriage in Belize, a stunned and speechless me let the Hubs go first. And what jewel did I say after? “Uh, can I ditto?”).

There’s a reason I take improv classes…

And what wise morsels did I, a more mature Wendy, dish out for my birthday well-wishers this week?

Errrrr, the older you get, the less you know!

and

I realize now how little control you have over pretty much everything in life!

Uplifting stuff, yes? That might explain the silent, disappointed gazes

Years ago, I thought life was a learning curve, steep at first and then totally flattening out, and then you just are.

But again I was wrong.

I’d say now that life is more like a dig, for discovering things, mostly things closely related inside you, like yourself.

And everyone is doing it, whether you are hammering with a chisel on that rock that is you, or just sitting by a river that flows rapid and rough during storms or calm and peaceful on summer days. Excess rock gets removed to reveal more of your true form in every moment, in each breeze.

So, surprise! Maybe, if you’re lucky and live long enough, you are getting discovered.

By you.

And, birthday friends, now that I’ve had time and no tequila yet today, that is my birthday wisdom for you.