Smooth Is The New Skinny?

I basically hate Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20 and, poor thing, it isn’t even his fault.  I actually blame it all on Santana and that god awful song "Smooth" that was officially 1999’s Most Overplayed Hit. If you just had to click on that link to remind yourself of the song I am talking about, know that I am envious of your ignorance. 

Fun Fact:  I just fell down a Rob Thomas rabbit hole and found out that he originally wanted George Michael to collaborate with Santana on that song (Thomas originally wrote it for someone else)  and man if I don't feel like I just dodged a bullet since I probably would have grown to hate George Michael too!  Then instead of throwing away all of my Matchbox 20 albums what if I had thrown out all my Wham! Records?  OHMYGAWD, a world without Wham! is not a world I want to live in.

(Collective sigh of relief for a minute.  Wham! Rap FOREVER. )

So all the Rob Thomas talk is because I heard "Smooth" this afternoon and not only did I NOT feel even one iota of rage, but I listened to it all the way through!  I KNOW.  Are you dead from shock?  Don't Die! Come back to me!  Please?  Because I am about to tie this into weight loss and cross-dressing, and that is fucking impressive I think.  Besides, what else are you going to do right now?  Fall down a Rob Thomas rabbit hole?  I Do Not Recommend. 

So I didn’t turn the station because it reminded me of a text message I once got from my cousin Kelly when her in laws came to visit.  They were driving up from LA one weekend and upon their arrival Kelly sent me a text that said:  OMG, my father in law just rolled into my driveway in a shiny new mini-van blaring Rob Thomas and Santana’s “Smooth.”  And this struck me as so hilarious in that moment.  I mean, right now, I want you imagine your in-laws rolling up in your driveway in a brand new shiny minvan bumping Rob Thomas and Santana? Or bumping anything for that matter IN A MINIVAN?  I dare you not to laugh.  And when that song came on today I had a little perspective shift.  Instead of having PTSD flashbacks to 1999 as per usual, I thought of Kelly’s awesome Father-in-Law and his (obvs) awesome mini-van and enjoyed the entire song. 

Perspective shifts are magical!  Like Unicorns!

And speaking of laughing hysterically and perspective shifts, two people called me skinny at work today.  This has happened with an increasing frequency over the last few weeks and I drop dead of shock Every. Single. Time.  Mostly because the truth is, whether I have lost weight or not, I could still give the majority of NFL Linemen a run for their money if we were standing on scales next to each other.  I definitely do not associate the word skinny with myself.  I am not even close to my goal weight, and at 5’10 and NOT of tiny bone structure, I'm not afraid to tell you that my goal weight is somewhere around 175lbs. I KNOW!  That probably makes some of YOU want to drop dead of shock.  But here’s the thing, at 175lbs I will look strong and hot as hell, so don't die!  Get out your smelling salts one more time and come back to me, would ya?  Pretty please? 

(Boy all of this dropping dead is getting a little exhausting, but I have to admit a part of me just died inside just telling you about my goal weight in like, actual numbers.  But we're all friends here, right internet?  So why shouldn't I let you in on that goal!  175lbs it is!) 

So this other thing that I wanted to let you in on?  Was how I made Garrett try on women’s clothing the other night.  I know *kinky* right?  Speaking of dropping dead, Garrett just dropped dead of embarrasment because I told THE INTERNET that he wears women’s clothes.  All of his fears that his girlfriend is a blogger without boundaries have come true. MWAHAHAHAHA. 

Seriously though, it was only jeans, and I made him do it out of sheer curiosity that I promise to explain.  He is a good sport, that Garrett, that’s why I keep him around (see also: The Cuteness.) He goes along with these flights of fancy that I have and doesn’t even really look at me funny anymore when I write about it on the internet.  Can you believe I never even put that on my wish list of Character Traits In My Dream Man?  Single ladies, this trait is underrated.  Add this to your lists immediately.  It is worth its weight in entertainment value alone. 

So I made him try on women’s jeans not because I am crazy/kinky/cool, but because we were hanging out with my family the other night and everyone kept telling him how skinny he was and how he is going to waste away to nothing and OMG DO YOU EAT?  THE HORROR.  Yes, he has lost some weight.  Actually over 10% of his body fat since we started CrossFit and went Paleo, and now at 5’11 he weighs in at just about 175 lbs.   And, whoa whoa, wait a second -- that number sounds familiar doesn’t it? 

That is THE number. Only, you know he's a boy.  So of course I made him try on a bunch of different jeans to figure out what size he would be in women’s clothing.  And guess what?  HE FITS INTO A SIZE 12.  I mean what a freakin' waif.  You better watch yourself, Kate Moss. 

No one can get over how svelte he looks, but you know if he was a woman, he would technically be a Plus Sized Model and most brands of “Investment Jeans” wouldn’t even sell his size, FATTY FATTY FAT PANTS.

  

And those Size 12 jeans he was trying on?  Are the jeans that I *hope* to fit into when I get to my goal weight.  My own personal skinny jeans.  But the truth is, I don’t even know how I feel about that word skinny anymore anyway?   Do I really want to be *skinny*?  I don't know.  I’ll tell you what I do know though:  I am working hard.  I am a work in progress and that is okay.  I am doing my best to become a healthier person so hopefully someday we can have kids and I can tell them about how their dad used to dress up in womens’ clothes.   Well okay, maybe not that exactly. 

I know I’m doing my best to learn about how my body works and what is healthy for me.  And I’m also working hard to make sure that throughout this process I continue to look in the mirror and like what I see.  Not just physically, but emotionally.  And most of the time that last part involves some serious shifts in perspective.  It's a process, you all, but I'll tell you what -- if I can shift my perspective enough to listen to an entire Rob Thomas song after 10 years of wanting to stick my finger in my eye every time I hear it, then frankly I can probably shift my entire perspective on almost anything.
_______________________________   

Schooled

Look, Facebook is the devil.  I know.  I hear it from Garrett all the time, since he refuses to join (even though he is the only person I know who loves just about every single person he went to high school with.  For real.)  I once read a funny status update that said "Remember when stalking via the internet was weird and creepy?  Now it's just what we all do at work on Thursday mornings when we're bored"  and I am convinced truer words have never been spoken.  I'm sure it won't end well, and at least I'll admit that I sometimes have a Crisis of Douchery when I'm posting about what I'm doing, or what I'm thinking or what I'm cooking -- but, hey! everyone else is doing it, so why the hell not?   (Though for the record, no I don't want to jump of that bridge with you.  Sorry dude, gotta draw the line somewhere.) 

That said, there are moments on Facebook where the brilliance is just too, well...brilliant for me not share.  So with that, I present you this Q&A for your reading enjoyment.  Maybe you will learn something too! 

That right there is the *Magic* of Facebook.

Well It Put A Smile On My Face And That's Really Saying Something

Seriously, I want to be blogging kitties, puppies, and unicorn farts today but I am in an oddly bad mood and practicaly giving the stink eye to old ladies on the street. I need a nap, a reboot, and to start over again tomorrow; however, a few things have made me smile today.

And for your viewing pleasure, those things are as follows:


This website via Metalia.  Partly because it is hysterical, and also partly because when she tweeted it, she warned that it was slightly NSFW due to "partially nude hobos," which, I mean come on...you can't NOT laugh at that. It makes me very grateful that I drive my car to work.

Also, this post via Sarah Brown.  I was practically snorting my iced tea, which in itself was not very funny, but the post was.   

(Mmmm...Peet's Summer House Iced Tea made me smile today.  Yummy.)

Also these lame jokes:
Did you hear about the guy who was addicted to line dancing?  He entered a 2 step program.
What about the guy who was addicted to drinking brake fluid? He could stop anytime he wanted.
(Via Ken Koch via Becky Johnson on Facebook.  Thank you for those, Becky...really.)

And last but not least, DJ Pauly D is going to be in Sacramento on Thursday night.  And if there is anything funnier than sorting through Google Images to fine a picture of Pauly D to post, I don't know what it is. 

He loves Cadillac and Peace...what a guy!  I'm hoping a workout, asparagus, bacon, and pinenut pasta and some bad television will be just what the doctor ordered. 

The Surreal Life

So I'm currently sitting in a terminal in LAX across from Adrian Pasdar and Milo Ventimiglia from Heroes. (And for the record, they are not doing that weird man embrace like in the picture, but strangely enough they are wearing suits.)

I'm amused that I can be in an airport and yet also blogging about this as I keep making sporadic eye contact with them (You know, in between all the text messages that I'm sending EVERYONE I KNOW WHO MIGHT THINK IT'S INTERESTING). It's so cyber-meta. Ah, technology! So wonderful! So creepy!

I actually would not have even noticed them at all because they are rather diminutive figures, which in my experience is always the way it is with celebs, but as I was making my way up to the LAX Security Line there were a ton of paparazzi stalking away with all of their flashbulbs. It wasn't even a huge group but I thought to myself gee, that must get so old. Can you imagine? One camera guy had even gone through security and gotten upstairs into to the carry-on scanning area (Great job, TSA). I wondered to myself if he had bought a ticket just to get up there and get a shot, or if he actually had a plane to catch and this was just a coincidence? What a bizarre lifestyle when you think about it. And one of the photogs was a girl just like me -- in her 30's, smartly dressed, looking like she just got off work at her office job.

LA is a surreal place sometime.

When I first walked into to the Southwest terminal it was like 90 degrees inside and of course I was juggling a suitcase, a giant purse, and a carryon and my sunglasses kept falling off my head and I really had to pee. It was starting to get so hot that I thought my face must be glowing, so I basically dropped everything, peeled off my jacket, and started to fan myself with my boarding pass (Operation Cool Down, by the way? TOTAL FAIL. Confidential to LAX: It's 79 degrees outside. The heat inside? It isn't doing anyone any favors). What I'm trying to tell you is that in that exact moment, I was so graceful and put together you could have called me Posh Fucking Spice. In fact, you should have called me that because I'm sure I also looked slightly anorexic, incredibly tan, and with perfectly coiffed hair (as usual).

So anyway, it occurred to me right then in that moment of absolute glamor, that I am so grateful that I have the luxury to be my giant mess of a self in anonymity. Did any of you catch that Britney Spears documentary (excuse me, "documentary") on MTV the other night? What a shitshow, right? Her photog situation is unreal! I feel sorry for those having to live under a microscope. I know everyone says "Bah! They're rich, that's what you sign up for." But honestly, is it worth it for millions of dollars to have your every move documented?

I'm gonna say no thanks. I mean, it never stops! If it's not the paparrazi being all flash-bulby and annoying, then it's some random Sacramento girl blogging about how you are wearing a suit while eating McDonald's french fries-- LIKE IT IS ACTUALLY NEWSWORTHY -- all while she stares at you coyly across an airline terminal secretly wanting to know if Hayden Panettiere is as stumpy and weird looking in real life?

Surreal, I say. Surreal.

If I ran PETA...

I'm really not sure what purpose Paris Hilton serves on this planet besides being a constant emaciated reminder of what entitlement would look like if personified. I'm sure she's a very nice girl and all, but she doesn't do very much and is filthy rich and frankly that bugs me. If I were more zen and stuff I probably wouldn't care, but I'm just not, and besides if I were more zen and stuff I probably wouldn't have much to write about, and what fun would that be? Anyway, confessions aside, when Paris had flour thrown on her by PETA for attending a fashion show where fur was being used, I have to admit I found it somewhat humorous.

Today at work I started thinking a little deeper about it though (I mean I deserved a break from all the deep thinking I've been doing about Anna Nicole right?) and I came to the conclusion that this flour throwing stunt really wasn't that efficient. Actually, I'm ready to say that PETA's haterade tactics are generally not that efficient -- and boy I should know because I am a connosieur of the haterade. You see, I'm an underwriter for an insurance company by trade and I spend the bulk of my day looking at specific qualities of companies who desire insurance in an effort to determine their potential risk factors. It's not really rocket science, I mean its pretty well documented that certain traits tend to yield certain results. For example people with bad credit scores have more of a tendency not to pay things than people with good credit scores, and people who leave expensive things in places where there are no security measures in place tend to get robbed more often than people who keep their bling under lock and key, ya dig? All of this takes extensive training I assure you, but I won't bore you with the details. Basically on a regular basis I decide whether providing property/liability insurance for a certain business is going to be a good investment for my employer. And for the most part it's actually a pretty rad job, but the one uncontrollable side effect is that its turned me into kind of a hater.

See it's a total NERD-ALERT occupational hazard now, that when I'm on the premises of a business I am unconsciously determining exposures to loss in my head. I walk down to my local Safeway, and the cracks in the parking lot make "SLIP AND FALL HAZARD" appear in my head in neon lights. I pass quaint lofts above neighborhood bistros and I think "ALERT ALERT - life safety issues for all tenants. What happens when that kitchen catches on fire??? YOU DIE!" You get the picture - I just have a hard time turning that off. So what does all this have to do with PETA, you wonder? Ah, what a tangential train of thought this brain weaves...allow me to explain.

So on my way back to work from lunch today I passed the Planned Parenthood building off of Biz 80, and thought smugly to myself as I usually do, "ha ha! we would NEVER insure that!" Who wants to insure the building of any location that people like to bomb? Not I said the fly- er...rather, said the company I work for. And for some reason this made me think of the aforementioned surprise attack PETA made on Paris, and how even though this got so much publicity, did it really deter Paris from wearing fur? Um, no more than it detered her from being a vapid, orange waste of space, methinks.

So then I thought, why doesn't PETA ever head on down to their local Black Angus or Ruth's Chris and flour up all of their patrons in their pretty suburban-nite-out outfits? I mean doesn't that make more sense? Haven't you seen those Ruby-Tuesday commercials? They use 3 kinds of steak in their burgers!!!! It's called efficiency, people! If your fighting for the humane treatment of animals, why don't you start with carnivores? I mean sure Paris probably shows up here and there in a fur coat, but I mean all you have to do to remedy that is call up Anna Wintour and tell her the next big trend is Hefty bag dresses...and then the whole world will see Paris in the couture that she was really born to wear. I mean I may never insure another steakhouse again, but c'mon, Paris Hilton in a trash bag? Wouldn't that just make the world an infinitely better place? C'mon PETA, get rid of the flour and get on the bus!

Next on my Reading List

Well isn't he a jack of all trades . Who knew???

How to Annoy Me...A User's Guide

So I'm hoping that I'm out of the woods with this rummy haze I've been in
for the past two weeks. With some holiday extravaganzas happening and
a bout with a nasty cold that just refuses to go away, I've been waiting
patiently for some clarity of mind to return so I could post something
incredibly witty and useful, but I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen.
Frankly, I'm overly crabby. Though I've secretly always wanted to have a really bad cold just so I can test the medicinal acuity of only whiskey and sleep -- right now I am very over still being sick -- and when I'm feeling sorry for myself for being sick, everything starts pissing me off it seems.

For example:

1. Why do people mistake the word Bravado for Brave. Just because you
add an -ADO onto the end of a word, does not make it more fancy. It actually does what I like to call, CHANGES THE MEANING YOU IDIOT! And just because something almost sounds like something else...doesn't mean it is something else. Isn't this like one of those things we learned in Kindergarten?

2. Why do people assume when they have any kind of sore throat that they have strep throat? For the record, strep throat is a very specific virus, which you must be tested for to confirm. Just because you wake up in the morning and your throat hurts a little and it happens to be Winter, DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE STREP!!!!!! These are the same stupid people who think you get a cold from it "being" cold. Once again, I know they sound similar, but they are NOT THE SAME.

3. Piggy backing on that -- Attention people with headaches: just because
you are incredibly put out when your head hurts "really bad" does not mean you have a migraine. Migraines, as well, are a very specific type of headache. Unless you have a license to practice medicine or you ate a brain tumor for breakfast, I'm pretty sure you probably don't have one, and I'm definitely sure you can't diagnose it. So don't. There are lots of people to whom you can pay exorbitant amounts of money to do that for you...and there are even more people you can pay exorbitant amounts of money to create little pills you can take for it. And by "it", I mean the stupidity that's being cultivated in your brain that is clearly causing it to hurt!

4. Why does anyone in their right mind re-heat any sort of exceptionally
spicy, fishy, meaty (read: stinky) food in a confined space? Does that make any sense? Maybe fish head stew, or oxtail casserole, or plates of quivering beef taste good to you -- and that's fine. I'm very proud of you, and not knocking your taste in cuisine. But if the smell makes me want to vomit, then I'm pretty sure it might make a few other people want to vomit as well, and might I remind you, we are in a confined space, and vomiting is not what we're trying to do here, remember?

5. And while I'm at it -- Who hell carts their dogs around in a BABY STROLLER? Why is Paris Hilton famous? And why can't Britney cover up her lady parts?


Some days I think I just should have stayed in bed.

Regarding # 2 below...I AM NOT ALONE

My tech saavy impresses you, huh?

Yes, I Have Been Eating Retard Sandwiches Again

I have succumbed to a fate more horrible than death, and I assure you my tendency towards overstatement is not in effect here.

I have fallen in love, against my better judgment, with the TV show Grey’s Anatomy. I have exhausted all possible solutions for falling out of love, and I have thus come to the realization that nothing can be done. The show is overly hyped, overly stylized (c’mon you haven’t noticed that every set of scrubs Izzy wears perfectly compliments her “resident hot intern” figure?), and it is so musically manipulated that I often wait with anticipatory glee for the background music so I can listen to the words to tell how I am supposed to feel. But no matter how hard I try, I still love it! And at this point, I’m actually ok with that part. I’m not scared of a little guilty pleasure -- I revel in it actually. The horror, and yes – there’s horror, stems from the fact that this show is so bandwagon! So bandwagon, I assert, that it is almost competing with the caliber of fans that show up to the Staples Center when the Lakers are in the playoffs (Ah, how the beginning of basketball season has got me chomping at the bit to disparage the Lakers at any and all opportunities). Apologies for the digression.

So anyway, it’s bandwagon – and I HATE bandwagon! I don’t hate it in “boys who wear black eyeliner and listen to underground bands” kind of way, but in more of an anti “hey, let’s all meet up at the Sorority house on Thursday nights and borrow each other’s Bebe outfits” kind of way **insert retching noise here**. But at the same time, the show is really, really addictive! You see the only reason I even rented Season 1 (and only the first 5 episodes, mind you) was because I was sure I would watch one or two episodes and think to myself “McDreamy? uh…more like Mc-LAME-y! What waste of celluloid, and precious time that I could better spend killing brain cells watching Laguna Beach marathons”. But after two lousy episodes I began to wonder where Patrick Dempsey had been for the last 10 years, and mentally planning my trip to crispy, cool Seattle for a mini-vacay. Somebody get out my sorority roster, I’m about to invite the gals over!

I’m only one third of the way through Season 2, and already I’m glued to my dvd player at basically every free moment. I’m totally ashamed. I guess I should have asked for Bebe gift certificates for my birthday.

Celebrity Parents Should Just Give Up

Dearest Dina,

Lindsay Lohan is idiot. And frankly, she is idiot spawn, so its really difficult to even blame her.

I read the article about the letter that the studio exec sent her the other day and I thought to myself...Wow, Lindsay Lohan is a total fuck up. She is getting paid millions of dollars to show up and look beautiful (which I will give her, she does nicely) and she can't even handle doing that. She is too busy being hungover, or still high, or still walking funny, or whatever, after wild nights out with her hotel-heir boyfriend, or lounging at their Malibu beach pad. I get it. Life is rough. But c'mon she should still be able to get to work on time. She doesn't have to stop at the bank to cash her welfare check on the way to work while riding the bus...so I don't know what the heck could be keeping her from showing up at like 9 or 10 am to a beach front set fully catered with fabulous craft services...since I'm pretty sure her Mercedes works just fine. (Well, then again it might be in the shop because another dangerous papparazzo hit it, but then I'm guessing she could probably borrow Harry Morton's Rover, or one of the many Benzos that she has purchased for your mooch ass).

So then I read People.com, and saw you come out and say that the studio exec is a BIG MEANIE! How can he say such harsh words to your baby...she's just a little girl. Interesting word choice. I think just a few weeks ago we were all watching you "little girl" leave her teen years behind, celebrate her 20th birthday drinking champagne on a yacht, and oh yeah...give head to some random guy in a fucking rowboat. Mrs. Lohan (it is Mrs, right? I mean technically you are still married to that imprisoned drug addict right??) I hate to say it, but your little baby bumpkin is hittin the skids...I mean little girl she's not. She's definitely going to NEED botox in the next 5 years or else the years of 24-7 tanning booths might start rearing their ugly heads...so needless to say I think "little girl" is not the set of words that anyone with any brains might choose to use while describing her.

Oh wait, but on top of all that ridiculousness, your pathetic excuse making goes even further. Not only is your little baby a classy hard worker, but she was "stricken with exhaustion, and dehydrated." Oooooooooooooooooh, is that all???? Well maybe she should get some effing sleep and drink some water. And while she's at it, maybe we can wrap her up in her blankie and burp her after every meal at Koi. PUHLEEZ!!! Lindsay has now been hospitalized for "exhaustion or dehydration" at least 3 times that my good friends at UsWeekly have informed me of, and at only the tender age of 20??? What next? Why don't you just admit that your "little girl" has been doing some crank heavy-E, and she is just too busy grinding her teeth on set to ask for a glass of Evian? What are you going to tell everyone when she gets send off to Promises Malibu for dippin a little too heavy into the nose candy? That she's going to fat camp??? Well at least that one will be believable!!! Instead of being honest, we have to hear you re-hash the tragedy of "bronchial asthma" OVER AND OVER....thanks Dina, we get it. But frankly, I'm just sick of it. Sick of hearing the remedial spin-doctoring that your little pea sized, post-Rockette fame, celebri-mom brain can come up with for explaining away why your daughter is a ho.

Yes that's right, your daughter is a ho! And frankly, a waste of oxygen...and we all know that clean air is a precious commodity in smog stricken LA. I suggesst suicide. But then, hey--to each his own.

Warmest Regards!