So Jamie Leigh Curtis posed topless on the cover of this month’s AARP. Well, supposedly topless. From the angle of the shot, my guess is she was wearing a tube-top. I emphatically told my hubby that she’d be topless on the inside to make her point that 50 is fine and dandy–and here, dear readers, have a gander at what it looks like. The good, the bad, and the saggy. Of course I was wrong. No nudity-petuty Jamie Leigh. Not that my heart was broken. I can look in the mirror and see what 50 looks like. In fact, here’s a sketch of the female body at “Nifty-50.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to bemoan my age. It’s only a number. Actually, aside from the hot flashes and a nasty headache once a month, I feel pretty good. I exercise, eat sensible (but not when we’re at a nice restaurant!), don’t drink pop–bah it’s nasty, toned down my wine intake, gave up candy. I never touch fast food. And I don’t take drugs–thus my hot flashes. I believe in prayer and letting God into your heart to bring peace. I certainly falter, and when I do, I have an amazing husband who reminds me I am loved.
So I came home today to a crime scene in my home.
Exhibit A. The 2 suspects. But I already know the Beagle is innocent.
Long story . . . but if my car had been fixed right, I wouldn’t have had to turn back to the Mercedes dealership (service light came on again on the way home from having the less than a year old car supposedly fixed!) and be delayed into the doggy dinner time hour.
Exhibit B. The evidence. Cocoa Puff, the Yorkie, loves my husband’s Janet Evanovich book that I bought for him. She ate the cover off of Three To Get Deadly, got scolded, and we thought that was the end of it. Silly me. I left the book out on the coffee table when I went to pick up my car.
Exhibit C. No dog chow, I’ll eat paper chow. There’s nothing left of the book. It was EVERYWHERE.
I shooed the offender outside with a stern reprimand. You’d think she would have cowered and said, “Sorry, Mom.” But no. She decided to do her new thing–walk across the pool cover and play in the water.
At least she looks a bit remorseful when I called her over. Either that, or she’s mugging for Yorkie of the Year in acting.
Go figure . . . I’m down nine pounds. Easter brunch must have evaporated in my stomach. In any case, I kept thinking something was wrong with the scale when I read the number. The battery did go out so I thought–ah-ha, that’s the problem. But the new battery confirmed. 9 pounds lost to date since I started this challenge. I’m probably at the halfway point so it’s an uphill battle. Eating out is killer. I did give up a glass of wine with dinner during the week.
In light of the fact I watch fat grams and not carbs, I thought this cartoon was funny.
I went to Costco today to buy my friend a birthday gift. I knew I’d get a good price on it–so the store gets big time kudos as having some fabulous prices. Plus the clerks are all very nice. But as I rolled my cart into the check out with only a handful of items, I glanced at carts overflowing with stuff and I wondered–what am I missing? I just don’t see the excitement of going nuts at Costco.
Mind you, I’m not dissing the place. I do shop there on occasion, but I never overdose on stuff. I don’t need 1,000 tablets of Ibuprofen. It would take me a decade to go through that, and by then, it would be expired.
I most def don’t want the body scale that moniters my every move. “STEP AWAY FROM THE CHEESECAKE, YOU FAT-SO.”
The 13 pound chub of parmesaen? It would be growing green fur long before I ate 1 pound of it.
I did notice something on Costco’s online store that I could use in the event of my untimely demise. I picked out the Argos Cherry wood casket, but would insist on the expedited delivery. I don’t want to start smelling gamey before they put me in the ground.
Costco is a great place for stocking up . . . I just wish I had a need to load up on five heads of lettuce in a shrink wrap pack . . . I like salad–but not that much.
One of the benefits of my husband’s job is that he travels and gets to plan some pretty interesting trips. We just got back from Scottsdale, Arizona where we took a customer and his wife to some Spring Training games for the Chicago Cubs. We met up with two other couples in the same business and we had a wonderful time. It helps that I enjoy baseball. I’ve lost touch with really following it over the years–seems like deadlines prevent me from watching the October classic. But I recognized some of the players names and it was fabulous sitting in the Arizona sun, eating a baseball hotdog and listening to the beer vendors hawk their brewskis.
On day two, I opted to stay poolside and let the fellas go to the ballgame so I could work. The weather was amazing. I sat in my bathing suit and wrote Chapter 16. So when you read it, you can picture me here.
I had Greg take my picture by FLOWERS. You don’t realize how much you miss the color and fragrance of flowers until you go somewhere and they’re in bloom. The lilacs were pretty, the grounds at our hotel (The Kierland Westin) were amazing. I’d definitely go back. In fact, we will. We figure out it would take approximately four hours in our airplane. My bags are packed!
On the weigh in front . . . I actually lost a pound on vacation. Go figure. I also cut 4″ off my hair just before the trip.
P.S. And I did not leave the alarm set at the crap of dawn for the next patron like somebody previously in our room. I wanted to kill the culprit. Grr.
Okay, you know who you are, and I’m not happy with you. To all those people who leave the alarm clock turned ON in a hotel room for the next patron to wake up at say . . . 6:00am–shame on you! Grr!!!!!!!!
I don’t know why I buy those lean frozen diet meals. I don’t like them. They stink my microwave up like vomit. I’m not picking on any brand, but they all taste really icky. I guess I throw a few in my grocery cart for the convenience. After eating my lunch today, I know why these meals are called “lean” meals. Simply put: I can’t eat the whole thing because the taste kills my appetite.
I managed to choke down most of the above for lunch, but was wondering how the chicken got so rubbery. I figure out the parts of a chicken used in these meals has to come from the top of the chicken’s calf.
From there, it’s processed and packed, turned out on to small trays in either recognizable forms or . . . not. Take the chicken hotdog. Low in fat. Questionable in content, but wrapped around wheat bread to present a lean lunch offering.
Or, in some cases, this part of the chicken is also best used to feed hearty appetites.
I think it’s safe to say, that if I continue on my diet plan eating lean meals, I will have to, at the very least, lose a pound a week. Or go completely nuts and dive into the boxes of Girl Scout cookies in my garage.
So after eating from theses three countries in three subsecquent days, me thinks I will stick with the two pound loss on Friday and call it good. I went to weigh in on the scale, and that rascal put his arm out and said–”Don’t hurt me!”
On my behalf, I did walk on the treadmill every day and lift my weights.
Is anyone watching Oprah’s Big Give? I caught it last Sunday night and thought it was an interesting concept. At Christmastime, I did a “mini’give”–I paid for someone’s toys at Toys R Us and that was really neat to see the family’s appreciation. In fact–I ran into the guy at physical therapy. He told me he started going to church and was thanking God for his blessings. Way cool!
I’ve figured out that Miranda Hobbs is a man-hater. Steve Brady even tells her that the day after he first meets her. Or course knowing the outcome of the series, Miranda and Steve have a son, get married, and Miranda takes care of her mother-in-law. Big changes for a snooty lawyer. She’s my least favorite character in Sex and the City and I figured out why today. She’s rude to men.
Me . . . I did a little “sneak peak” and I lost two pounds. Let’s hope the scale gods are in my favor come the Sunday morning weigh in.
In a world of fabulous things, what gives me great pride are my fabulous daughters. I’m so incredibly proud of the young women they’re becoming. They’ll be nineteen and twenty-one years old in April and I’m taking them to Disneyland for their birthdays. This is their dream come true. You’d think they’d never been, but we estimated this is probably their twenty-fifth visit to Mickey Mouse’s house. This was them last year. It’s one of my favorite photos of my fabulous daughters.
(Yeesh, the girl behind them looks like she’s going to spew.)
My daughters are already planning which Fast Passes to get first, what we’ll go on. I’ll probably be either the Tower of Terror or Indiana Jones. I vote for Screamin’ California, the upside down roller coaster. It’s a good thing none of us get motion sickness and we thrive on speed, turns, and the horrifying drop of the Terror elevator. Last time, we did Screamin’ California back-to-back three times. Just love it.
My fabulous oldest daughter works very hard at her job and attends Boise State full time. She’s studying to be a high school counselor. My fabulous youngest daughter is in cosmetology school and just got a way cool job at a new trendy store in town. When I see both of them doing so well in their lives, working and going to school, taking care of themselves in their apartment together, I’m filled with joy. I couldn’t have asked for two more fabulous girls!
As for fabulous . . . I’ve heard that word like a bazillion times this week watching my DVDs. Carrie and Mr. Big got back together. Miranda is overfeeding her cat so it won’t be hungry and eat her face off if she dies alone. Samantha meets Leonardo DiCaprio, and a ton of other guys too. Charlotte is still searching for the one to marry. Me, I put on a pound and a half. I can only hope it’s muscle from lifting weights . . . or maybe not. Even so, I hope I’m still fabulously fabulous.
As Scarlett O’Hara would say, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”