Miracles do Happen: I Ran a Mile Today. And I'm Still Alive.

I've blogged before about my on-going struggles against my body. We have a love/hate relationship. You see, my inner goddess is fairly certain I'm still a size 2... while my actual body that the general public sees every day is more along a size 14. EEK! I've publicly admitted my arse is large. Next step, do something about it.

See, that's where I have issues. The doing something about it. For so long I've been content to live my life by this:

But, over the course of the past month I've been working with a personal trainer. The inches are slowly starting to drop down (maybe they'd be a little quicker if the hubs would stop bringing cookies into the house. Damn his speedy metabolism and my unwillingness to have any self control)!

So, after meeting a friend for coffee this morning, I had some free time before heading to work. I thought this would be a perfect time to log a quick run. "What? Someone your size can actually move at a quick pace," you say. Yeah, I'll deal with your smart mouth later... it's amazing how I know how snarky my reading audience is, isn't it?

Anyway back on topic: I changed, I went outside and I ran a few blocks. Then I hacked up a lung and walked a few blocks, then repeated the whole process multiple times.  I'm fairly certain more than one neighbor may have thought either a wild animal was dying outside or they should call 911 because an escaped mental patient in work out clothes was dying by their house. I actually logged a mile. I know, I know... that's not much to most of my friends who routinely run anywhere from a 5K to a marathon but come on, you know me. You know that in my mind exercise is right up there with unmedicated childbirth... an absolute unnecessary concept in this world of "give me a pill or medical intervention to make the pain, fat stop"!

So, while I"m still not this woman:

And I probably never will be... I am actually making it past the end of my driveway and turning back around for cinnamon rolls. And in my world, that's a pretty big accomplishment.

Toddler Man Plots his Take-Over

I may look cute and innocent,
but I will rule the world someday.

Toddler Man's vocabulary has been expanding rapidly recently. He's starting to string together sentences. He has named his piggy bank (a pig in a football helmet and jersey) "Tim"... apparently even at two he's a Tebow fan. He can string together a rather remedial sentence telling us we'll stay at home or do this or that... He knows football player's names.... but he has an odd hang up with his own family.

He will not, under any circumstance, call his brother by his name. He also will not call the dog anything other than "dog." I have a theory... albeit a rather disturbing one:

You see, Toddler Man, is quite the feisty 2-year-old. I'm fairly certain he's set upon World Denomination (picture Baby Stewy from Family Guy, minus weapons). The two creatures he tries his evilry out upon most often are his brother and the dog. I think he's willing to name anything else on the planet, but the things he wishes to destroy are required to remain nameless so the guilt doesn't wrack his little toddler conscience.

So, if you run into us and he's perfectly willing to explain to you who his favorite Manning is (Yes, he can differentiate between Peyton, Eli, and even Archie) but he refuses to call you anything other than "dis," I'd suggest you take cover. 

Toddler Child the Tattoo Artist

My house is slowly turning blue. And pink. A little bit of purple.  And any other color Toddler Child can get his little hands on. I keep throwing away markers, but alas the child has already mastered some fierce ninja skills and somehow manages to find more.

It's not just markers. Oh no, my ivory couch has been tatted with black ink as well as a lovely blue swirly marker design. The door to my office has some sort of green chalky substance smattered about on top of his trademark blue.

Even the floors - my lovely hardwood - has not been spared. No, here and there you will find a speckle of color. A dab of whatever he could get his hands on, even some of Oldest Child's lipstick made it's non-facial debut.

So, what's a mother to do? Squelch his artistic ability? Scream and put him in more time outs than his little toddler brain can comprehend? Beat him within an inch of his life? eh hem, calmly explain that we do not have an art room but we'll be happy to accommodate his freedom of expression in other ways?

For now, this mother is stocking up on Resolve Upholstery Cleaner and hoping the phase passes soon. But, be warned: if you see this kid - HIDE ANYTHING THAT CAN LEAVE A MARK!

Future Picasso, or Tattoo Artist in the making? You be the judge.

I'm Almost Back!

I'm back! And doped up. So, you know, the reading should be fantabulous today. Mis-spellings, mis-punctuations, all that good stuff you look forward to in a blog.

Where to start? My hiatus has been for several reasons:

1. My adult onset ADD has kept me away from the computer and too inattentive to type more than a sentence at a time.
2. Vacation - we visited the hubs' family in Europe earlier this summer... don't worry a blog about that will follow, once I'm coherent again (which should be sometime this week).
3. Sinus surgery (hence being doped up on pain killers while typing this)

With the splints coming out today I should be back to a semi-normal state tomorrow and then the blogging shall resume! You've been warned. Feel free to duck and cover.

The Mayans Were Wrong - The End is Now!

I heard a few seconds of a sound bite on the news last night about the end of the world coming May 21. I didn't pay much attention. Chaulked it up to yet another crackpot who found a way to get airtime. But then, my former college advisor had a quip about regretting sending in his car payment, since the end was upon us and I thought this might warrant some investigation.

Of course, investigation on my part these days means googling things (I can hear all my former pr/journalism professors gasp that I'm too lazy to get off my chair and actually WORK at investigating - that is if I haven't already killed them by the misplaced punctuation that's rampant in my blogs). So after typing in "judgement day 2011" I found this lovely billboard:

                    

Nice, isn't it? I'm thinking this isn't doing such a great job of winning over people to listen to their station... unless it's to make fun of them.

OK, OK... that was harsh. But here's what I believe (and I'm not going to quote the Bible or anything so my non-Christian friends can relax), when the end of the world is upon us it will happen unexpectedly. None of us can sit here and proclaim to know the end of the world.

Besides, I doubt it's going to be next Saturday. The crazy, ranting street preacher downtown told me it was going to be last month, we're all still here. I have a European vacation next month that I've already paid for, dammit - I am not allowing the end of the world to happen before I get my monies worth!

"But wait, Beth, how can you be so sure? "  Yes, I hear your thoughts. How can I be sure? hmm... does January 1, 2000 ring a bell? We all just KNEW the end was upon us then... heck I know some folks who thought they needed to stockpile canned food b/c their refrigerator was going to go kaput. Guess what? At the stroke of midnight nothing happened and the world continued as usual. Finally, we all know that we've got until December 2012. Didn't you pay attention in history class when you studied the Mayans?

But, just in case the end IS upon us  I think I'll go shopping today... plenty of Manolo Blahniks and Christian Louboutins are in my future. Think of how many fabulous shoes I could have if I didn't have a mortgage payment (shh... don't tell the hubs)! 



My Stint as a Hobo

I am neurotic enough to have quite a few travel rules. Those of you that know me, know I'm not a really flexible person - rather set some ground rules and then stick to them fairly heavily. So, the predicament I got myself into yesterday is somewhat surprising... and unfortunately a little comical considering it goes against everything in my nature.

You see, I find myself stuck in a hotel in Oklahoma City with nothing more than my work kit and the same clothes I wore yesterday. I finished with my client meetings early yesterday and since I've decided that Oklahoma isn't exactly my favorite vacation destination I thought it would be a nice treat to go home early. Of course, when does anything I do not consist of some sort of oddball shenanigans?

Long story short, I sat in the OKC airport on stand-by for about 9 hours. Planes came and went, many going to Denver... none with me on them. At one point I had somewhat of a mental breakdown, so spent the last few hours sitting there with raccoon eyes from smudged eyeliner/mascara. Here is where I should note that my clothing, make-up, shampoo, etc. has all made it to Denver... while I sit here with a disposable hotel toothbrush and stale coffee. Oh... and did I mention the same clothes I wore (and slept in) yesterday?

When the lady at the ticket desk said, "Oh, don't worry Mrs. Copic, we'll get you home today. Go ahead and check your bags and they'll meet you in Denver."  I should have insisted that I'd gate check everything. Some of you would say "why'd you check your clothes, you idiot? You should have sent your work kit." But that is where I'd say, "Any travelling salesman will tell you they never part with their kit. You can work in clothes from Target, you cannot sell wedding gowns based on drawings of a stickwoman in a poofy skirt." Next you'd ask, "Why didn't you go buy clothes from Target last night?" and I'd say "Because my GPS is in the suitcase that went to Denver and I couldn't venture to far from the airport for fear of never finding my way back!"

I had to sleep in the same dress I wore yesterday. I mean, it was that or sleep in the buff... and after the day I had it would be just my luck the hotel would catch on fire and I'd be standing outside in a bathtowel. If I'd lost the weight of a small wildabeast like I need to that might not be a horrible thing - but in the present state of my body we'll not go there.

And as I put my pantyhose back on this morning, I realized they somehow have a run in them. So yes, I'll be that lovely woman walking through the airport in the same clothes as yesterday, bedhead hair (and not the sexy bedhead) and holes in my stockings. I can't wait to get home and soak in my tub, use every Aveda product I have at my disposal on my hair and put some damn makeup back on! Hopefully the airport gift shop will have some crappy hairbrush I can pay a small fortune for and look a little less like a hobo.

Someone Actually Believed I'm Nice!

I know, that is a weird headline, but for those of you who know me well - you know I have a bit of an edge, I'm fairly blunt, and sugar coating things isn't always my strongest point. Blame it on my "half breed" status... I'm half Yankee, half Southerner. Sometimes the Yankee side gets the better of me.

Growing up in the South, I rebelled against our genteel ways. I was a bookworm, but I also liked to play in the dirt. I frequently had dirt under my nails and I didn't learn how to keep my hair presentable until adulthood - and sometimes "presentable" is still a questionable term. In fact, I went through a weird stage where I didn't want my Barbies to look like Barbies so I shaved off all their hair with my mom's razor. Afraid of what she might say, I stuffed the hair down the air vent in my room. She was much more angry about the fine silky Barbie locks floating around the room than she was the spiky buzz cuts I'd given them.

Once I hit college; however, I realized that there is something to Southern Charm. And, I'll be the first to admit - I frequently use it to my full advantage.

This past weekend I attended my company's sales meeting in California. Of course I was on my best behavior, and somehow that translated to the sales rep from the Northeast territory (also female) thinking I might have a hard time. You see, we are travelling sales reps for a bridal manufacturer. Six months a year I travel a seven state territory to place gowns in bridal shops. There's a lot of rejection. There's a lot of travel through the remote hinterlands of our country. There's 3 meals a day in sometimes questionable establishments. I love it. But, I travel the South/Southwest. I understand the mentality - and the idea that someone saying "Betty Sue, bless her heart, ...." may be a nice way of saying "Betty Sue, that stupid *&%$  idiot, ... "

So, getting back to my headline - over breakfast we were talking about different situations that could hit us out on the road. My counterpart turned, looked at me and said, "Do you think you're hard enough for this type of work? I mean, you seem to be a really good salesperson, but you're just too nice." I actually dropped my fork. I think coffee may have squirted from my nose, and I died laughing.

When we got to the office that morning, I told my boss. He died laughing too. You see, he grew up in Chicago. He's a somewhat hardened LA resident now. He told us of the first trip he took to the south. He described the average middle-income southern woman - perfect make-up, perfect hair, perfect nails, impeccable clothes and stylish shoes. Always smiling, nodding, speaking softly. How on that trip, he decided those soft spoken well mannered southern ladies were probably the most ruthless, scrappy group of women on the planet.

You see, we were taught to be a genteel group. To love our families, be excellent hostesses, and keep up appearances. But, we were also taught to look out for ourselves, be fiercely independent, and not to take anything from anyone. True southern women can cook you the most excellent meal you've ever eaten, take a leisurely stroll through the garden, and then, quite possibly, sharp shoot her way out of dodge.

Afterall, isn't it the quiet ones you have to watch the most?