Archive for April, 2006

Oh Misery

April 21, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your glass.” ~Martin Mull

Yesterday there was apparently some talk of preparing for beach bodies. You know, rock hard abs, a tight ass and arms that don’t do that crazy jello jigglers thing. Though I was not part of the conversation, I was told that it was said that I’ve been “looking good lately”. Apparently losing 14lbs doesn’t go unnoticed and neither does the four lbs gained over the past week.

My reaction to this statement was an “Oh…but I haven’t been to the gym since the Neolithic period”. No one wants to hear that they’ve been looking good when they’re depressed. I want to hear that I’m getting paunchy and that my ass is looking mighty flabby.

So I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I went to Five Guys and gorged on ye old veggie sandwich (for future reference, they melt the cheese with the mushrooms and then they melt in your mouth and you praise the good Lord for fungus) and some Cajun fries. When I had finished stuffing my invariably chubby face with my food, I moved onto the chocolate Teddy Grahams and capped it all off with a glass of Shiraz, so that by the end I could be confident that I would be puking. But thankfully, there was none, but instead a stomach full of crap and one little chocolate graham arm lying next to me. Poor little bear.

Despite all of this there was a dark cloud looming above as a few days beforehand I had already pretty much sold my soul for a good cause. I’m sure that when I did it, I was being inhabited by someone else because when it comes to a good cause I’m all about shelling out the doe rather than actually doing something. I actually once cried while doing Habitat for Humanity because it was hot and I was tired and oh…I’m going to HELL. Apparently all of that didn’t matter the other day and my fingers and brain were doing the walking and my body – specifically my legs – wasn’t in on this conversation. A conversation in which I signed up for a fucking 5K… this 5K to be exact.

So you know what this means right? It means more time at the gym and less time stuffing my face with Cajun deliciousness and red wine. It also means putting this misery holding pattern that I’ve been in, on the back burner. Though perfectly capable of running 5K quite smoothly, I’m not about to embarrass myself in front of a few thousand people. I just look at it this way, hopefully this will keep me out of hell after the whole Habitat thing and I’ll probably lose like 10 lbs in the process. There’s also that whole I fucking hate cancer thing that makes me want to do this oh and this minor detail. Let the running begin.

And of course all of you wonderful, kind, witty, pretty people can contribute right HERE.

As an added incentive, for all you local kids, if you donate the most, you’ll get a little something from me…besides my undying love and affection that is.

With Sadness

April 20, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind.” ~Seneca

In the midst of searching around for my work ID, I came across my planner from 2004-2005. In it were such trite things like due dates for papers and presentations, final and midterm dates, random highlighted stars that signified who only know. On November 3, 2004 it says “Best day Ever or Worst day ever”…it ended up being the worst day ever. The 2005 part of my planner starts off with a bang. January 15th, I left for Spain. Mid-February there was a trip to Andalucia and Portugal. Barcelona, Toledo, and Segovia were sprinkled in there as well. Looking at April was the hardest though. For spring break/Easter I went to Mallorca (sorry Majorca). Two weeks later we took an extra special, holy motherfucker-worthy trip to Morocco…there was camels, the desert and camping to boot. Then a weekend jaunt to Malaga and Gibraltar and finally to Salamanca. So as you can see, I busy April indeed.

This April falls somewhere between that time I dropped a bowling ball in my pinky, thus rendering it broken and that time I threw up on the school bus all over myself and my clarinet, in the grand scheme of things that suck hairy balls. I am technically scheduled for a fun filled four day jaunt to Austin, TX. I say technically because due to circumstances beyond my control out in the realm of more things that suck a whole hell of a lot, I may not be making this trek. Now, I’m no doctor or anything, in fact I once failed biology, but the prospect that I may not be able to go has rendered me rather despondent, because people NEED to get away. I had these grandeur dreams of margaritas, delicious food, bars on Sixth street and getting to see the lovely SK. I NEEDED this vacation. I NEEDED to go somewhere that wasn’t on fucking 95 and didn’t involve a coffin. But instead I’m trapped here and I NEED to get the fuck out before my head explodes. And from what I hear, exploding heads and decapitation is not very high up on the meter of fun.

My lugubrious state has also left me cranky and ornery (as seen above) where even going to the gym has turned into a difficult task. Of course that will only last until tomorrow given that I’ve watched the numbers on the scale slowly creep up high enough to scare me back into 3 sets of lunges every other day. I’m bummed and I’m just a tad bit pissed and holy hell I’m being exponentially more whiny than normal. Even Coach and Five Guys won’t make it better (trust me, I’ve tried both. NADA.). But have no fear dear readers because despite being a melancholy ball of blubber, I have been inspired. Though if I tell you all about my future plans that may or may not involve depleting my Orange ING account and losing about 20lbs, then I’d be jinxing myself. And beyond missing out on a fun-fucking-fantastic vacation, jinxing myself is a close second to things that will make me cry, freak out and possibly throw shit. As a former shot put thrower, I can definitely throw things and I doubt you want to see me try.

This is the story that never ends: Quatre

April 19, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

Read parts one, two and three

In Threes

Ok, so where were we? Ahh yes. Thursday, well Friday now. But Friday is altogether forgettable, but in a good way. Sometimes I need average to appreciate things. Remember the curious incident of the fuck me boots? Well this is better. These are fuck me peep toe heels, that compliment my outfit and every outfit in my closet, quite well. A purchase that makes me praise the DSW Gods and not mind wearing a size 11. There was also a requisite trip to Friendly’s. And more visit with family that discouraged my liberal ways of being a vegetarian, who likes gay people, and believes strongly in the Democratic Party. I even have a donkey as a keychain. Word.

As you see, wonderfully mundane. And Saturday follows suit, except for a trip to Friday’s and a visit with a former AP Public Policy teacher. But once again, that’s something that I cannot discuss, lest you want to hear about that time my mother said ‘fuck’ and ‘asshole’ in the same sentence. The best part though would be the fact that I got my ass kicked in golf by a man with a heart condition. We’re talking about a man, who spent all of last Golf season bed ridden and strapped to an IV. My father beat me badly and in a way it brings tears to my eyes. Not because I only hit the ball like 30 yards at one point, but because last summer he almost died (like panic calls from my brothers, almost died) and now he can make a birdie and enjoy happy hour in the club house.

Now, the say bad things come in threes, but I feel like I’ve already hit the three marker and so now I might be headed towards double doses. But, I’m no punk and I can handle it. If you’re keeping score at home, so far my uncle has died, my aunt has been diagnosed with breast cancer and my grandfather has died. So that’s three right? You see three bad things there…but of course, what’s life if you don’t get thrown the occasional loop? My great-aunt, who was 95 also died. So that makes four, if I’m counting correctly. Which totally defies the laws of bad shit happening and like I said, I’m really fearing that we’re heading towards the number six.

Anyway, despite all that, I’ve come to the conclusion that I wish I had been home longer. I’ll probably never admit such a thing again and apparently after this admission hell will freeze over, but two days were certainly not long enough. I needed more time to veg and get my car interior and exterior washed for $15 and appreciate the wonder that is my mother’s strawberry delight and baked macaroni and cheese and to just sit around and get fat(ter) and lazy. It’s nice.

I guess that brings us to today (er, Monday) and my tiredness and the reason for why I limited myself to fruit and water. Because if you noticed, I went to Red Lobster, Friendly’s, Friday’s, Cinnabon (on the way back), macaroni and cheese, potato salad, pizza, a strawberry/cool whip/angel food cake concoction and oh yeah, a visit to the arch nemesis on the way up; and nary a gym visit in sight. So really, I spent a weekend trying to become an eating contest contestant and wondering how much it takes for me to gain back 14 lbs. Let it be known that if I were to enter myself in such a contest, I would totally kick ass.

This is the story that never ends: Trois

April 18, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

Read Part One or Part Two

Relativity

Having recently received some flak from a family member about something wholly innocuous written, I feel pretty limited at this point of the story, for this is the best part. The crème filling to the Cadbury egg if you will, but sadly you will not be partaking in much of the crème. Most especially since my father has recently discovered ‘the Google’ and this little internet party over here and has subsequently decided to inform his brother and sister in law of my blog (Or website or internet thingy or whatever those crazy kids are calling it these days). When he told me this I rolled my eyes and he questioned why. “Because it’s weird.” He replied; “I told you so.” Touché (Heather: -10; Father: 233).

Though admitting my father correct is a rare occurrence, it is not the crux of this story, and as wholly entertaining as it is, it’s not something that can be written here. Thing is that my older brothers are considerably older than G and I. They were also raised in Long Island quite close to my father’s side of the family. Their mother still lives out there as well. So growing up they were often around my cousins etc. At my grandfather’s funeral, there were people there who I had last seen in 1989. It was pretty much me and G, sitting together listening to my cousin’s and other family members having these vivid recollections of the time that they spent with my grandfather. That is not to say that I haven’t spent time with him or anything like that, but they just had more. My last visit with him was December 23rd. He was a patient at an assisted living community, due to alzheimers and a stroke he had recently had. He asked about the Giants and my golf game, which only proved to me that we were very much related. The previous visit with him was years ago in Fresno, in which he explained algebra to me. So there are memories, not a million and one of them, but they’re there.

Actually I should say that it was just G and me sitting there until Ty decided to show up out of nowhere; thus turning the three of us into an uncontrollable bunch of heathens who demanded alcohol and to be taken to Carnegie Deli immediately. Instead we got Red Lobster, an institution that I had previously ridiculed because it’s not the Oceanaire Seafood Room. But the Oceanaire Seafood Room doesn’t have cheddar cheese biscuits. You also can’t question your waitress’ ethnicity there (for the record she was Puerto Rican not Mexican), or be obnoxious and you probably can’t say “kiss my ass” or “I’m going to fuck his shit up” in the parking lot.

Next up: There’s a strong possibility that I may never be Aree Song.

This is the story that never ends: Deux

April 17, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

Read Part I here

A funny thing happened on the way to the funeral

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Like, I set my alarm for 7AM with the intention of going to the gym before I left for Long Island. Did I go? Nope. Was I a little upset by this, yes, because I hadn’t gone Wednesday either (Heather: 0; Heather’s waist: 457). One day without the gym, pisses me off; two days, make me think about a colonic. I also intended to leave my apartment at 10AM thus giving me plenty of time to lounge around my Aunt’s condo for three hours, prior to my Grandfather’s viewing and funeral service. I left at 10:11 AM. Perfect.

Now, let’s play a fun game called Guess who got a flat tire on I-95 and doesn’t have AAA, a map or a clue as to where she’s located. Ready? Go! I mean I knew I had hit some bumpy road, but then I had the all too familiar feeling of rim on pavement and the smell of burnt rubber. Deep breaths, this will only put me an hour tops off of the projected course. All is well (have I mentioned how anal I can be when it comes to driving times, but when it comes to being at my desk by 9AM, I find that a wee bit difficult?). So um yeah, again I call my mother who tells me to call 911.

When I first learned how to dial 911, it was in the age of Rescue 911. I always envisioned my first time to be to save my mother after she had a horrible injury. Or maybe to save Garrett after he fell in the (fictional) pool. But alas not, as my first time calling 911 was because I’m an idiot who doesn’t have AAA. Long story short, I called, they came and put my donut on and I was informed that no, I wouldn’t be able to drive the 3 hours left to NY and that the next exit was a mile away. Ok. Fine. In East bumble fuck Delaware. Like, I expected cows and shit in them there parts of the state. I had to stop at three different places before being price gouged for a quality BF Goodrich. I got the tire and then left on my merry way…

Like I said paved to hell…I started back onto I-95 when my mirror. The busted mirror that was precariously held to my car with clear duct tape, was flapping in the breeze as I was doing 80MPH. Convinced that I was about to be mirrorless and/or pulled over, I decided to get off at the next exit (this time in New Jersey). I figured that like in most cities, there’d be a CVS near by, but then again, this is New Jersey. So instead of a CVS, I happened upon a Walmart. There’s something to be said for reapplying silver duct tape to your car in the middle of a Walmart parking lot.

I’ll spare you the inane details of the remainder of the trip, which included – but are not limited to – traffic, a 45 minute wait to get gas, pouring rain, the brief second where I contemplated leaving my car sitting on the Belt parkway and walking from JFK to Long Island, and when I decided that chocolate teddy grahams are the best fucking thing on earth. Lesson learned: Get ye some AAA and always use the silver duct tape.

Next up: It’s all Relative