Chased by Children

The F word.....I'm getting FAT!

So, my new found joblessness has had a unwanted side effect (besides poverty).  I'm getting FAT.  Now that I've given up fast food and am cooking for myself there is food in the house all of the time.  Which means that I can eat as soon as I feel the first little inkling of hunger.  Which means I DO eat at the first little inkling of hunger.

While I no longer have the vending machine at work to tempt me, I now have last nights tacos calling my name 10 minutes after I've had breakfast.  I  have more free time on my hands which is spent looking for a job, making spreadsheets about looking for a job, driving to the wasband's house to do laundry, and looking for a job.  These are generally sedentary activities.  No taco calories burned.

Occasionally one of the movies I watch while I work on the computer gets my heart pumping (or breaking) but generally not. Quentin Tarintino movies are usually the culprit (don't judge me -- remember I'm jobless).

I weighed myself this morning and it was a wake-up call.  I need to start being mobile (and sveltish)...and perhaps I should re-think giving up salad for lent three years ago and never going back (yes, the joke was tacky.  Shut it).

So, a new goal.  Let's hope it turns out better than the new year's "every day a new post" resolution.

Fingers crossed?

 

Vino

I saw the movie Julie and Julia.  Many of you probably saw it as well.

It was entertaining.  But it's greatest feature was the mouth watering descriptions of the food.  Specifically, Beef Bourguignon.  Several people in the movie tasted it and said "yum".

The princesses and I made it a couple of weeks ago.  It goes much faster when you have four people working on it rather  than just one (although there is nothing funny about LuLu's knife work).

However, it calls for three and a half cups of red wine.  Which is almost (but not quite) a full bottle.  I am not sure why I'm telling you this except that I defrosted half of the batch tonight for dinner.  Now, I know that most  of the alcholol burns off.  However, when you drink the leftover wine (alone in your adorable little townhome) along with the wine that is in the Beef Bourguignon, it is enough to get you feeling mellow.

I am a fan of red wine.  I've never been a big white wine drinker.  Something about the taste   Maybe it's the antioxidants that I love.  You know those antioxidants that we hear so much about. 

The first alcohol I ever tasted (as I've mentioned to you before) was beer.  My grandmother had it left over from the family reunion the day before.  She put the remains of the keg into pitchers and into her refrigerator and served it the next day with lunch.  That beer was so cold and flat.  With the leftover potato salad, and fried chicken it was perfect.

The first time I drank red wine was probably at my confirmation.  The Lutherans allow confirmands to take communion at their confirmation.  It was red.  Very sweet.  Less than a thimble full.  Pleasant.

But tonight I had a delicious dinner, a lovely glass of wine and a wonderful after dinner mellowness.  I savored it.

The Townhouse is looking like a Townhome

I just wanted to give you all an update on what my townhouse looks like. 

The family room looked like this:

And now it looks like this:

The Master Bedroom looked like this:

And now it looks like this:

The Master Bathroom looked like this:

And now it looks like this:

 

 

My Valentines: Mitzy, Lippy, Tipsy and The Eastsider

Mitzy drove. 

She makes a minivan look HOT! 

She even drove around and picked us all up (even before she heard about my accident she'd agreed to this).  On the way to dinner she warned us about the dangers of asking one of your offspring to look up an unknown word on google (sometimes you all learn something that you would rather not know).  In fact, the word (and what we learned about it) was so thoroughly disgusting and disturbing that I will not share it with you here.  This is a family show.  What?  Shut it.

Poor Lippy.

About 5 minutes into the evening, she figured out that she was in over her head with this group.  To say that she was shocked by the aforementioned google word would be quite the understatement.  However, by the end of the evening she was sharing all her secrets with us (well, technically they were her husband's secrets but.... whatever).

 Tipsy fell on the ice getting out to the car but didn't let it dampen her enthusiasm for cold beer and chicken wings. I sincerely admire that in a human being.  During the evening she was advising me on "dating" the second time around.  Her theory is that you start a list.  She did this after her divorce.  Her list was built after she'd gone on a few bad dates:

1.  He must have his GED.

2.  He must have no criminal record.

3.  He must own a car.

4.  He must have shorter hair that me.

5.  He must know more than 10 words.

I think I will keep her list and just add to it.  That's nothing if not a good start.

The Eastsider took a lot of crap from the rest of us about her choice of "going out" clothes.  She wore a Saint Whotheheck sweatshirt that said MOM across the chest.  Mitzy kept saying she would have to take it off when we got up on the bar to dance because we wouldn't want anyone to know where we were from....always thinking that Mitzy.  Tipsy commented that it was the perfect sweatshirt because when the Eastsider looked down it said "WOW". 

Such a great Valentine's Day date.  It was a hoot. 

WHACK!

That is exactly what my car accident sounded like.

I was driving along, minding my own business (and by business I mean I had just finished a call to my friend Cher) and out of nowhere there was a car RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.  It was a dark "countryesque" road and the car ahead of me had stopped to make a left turn.  I just remember thinking, "OH"....that's it.  A decent curse word didn't even come to mind.

I hit my brakes. 

I hit the car. 

The air bags deployed and I remember thinking as my truck spun, " I hope nobody is coming the other way because they will t-bone me." When my car finally stopped I somehow drove it to the side of the road. Interestingly, air bags have a powder in them that smells weird (probably from being stored in a messy car for two years).

The car I hit was actually a truck, a Ford Explorer driven by a nineteen year old.  He had pulled to the side of the road as well and immediately jumped out.  He was talking on his phone behind his truck bathed in the light of my headlights. I could see that my hood was bent up pretty badly.

A good samaritan was immediately at my car window.  "Are you okay?"

"yeah, I'm fine."

Then the nineteen year old  was suddenly standing at my window too. 

"Are you okay?"  He was so worried about ME, the idiot who had just rear-ended him.  And as he was standing there showing concern for said idiot, his left eye was swelling from where HE had hit his steering wheel. As I would later learn, from a nice police officer, your airbags don't deploy when you are hit from behind.

The on-star lady was asking me about injuries and I was explaining that the kid had a serious cut above his left eye and she was saying that emergency services were on the way. 

An ambulance, two police cars, a fire truck all converged to make sure we were okay.  They put both the nineteen year old and me in the back of the ambulance to get us checked out.  I remember thinking as they asked him medical questions that his HIPAA privacy rights were probably being violated but (and this shows I was probably in shock) I didn't say anything.

The police officers asked if there was anyone I could call.  I thought this might be too much for anyone (including the wasband) to handle so I said, "no".   He clearly felt sorry for me and agreed to drive me home.

He had stuff in the front seat of his cruiser so I had to sit in the back (a place designed for people in hand cuffs, ahem).  The entire back seat was sheet metal of some kind, I imagine it's easy to clean and briefly thought it might be a good idea for my next car.  He explained that the shape of the seat would actually be more comfortable if I was in handcuffs because there was a cut-out in the back for that configuration.  There were so many smart alec responses that I could have shot at him about that ... but again said nothing.

He let me out at my house and sat in his cruiser outside filling out paperwork.  I wondered what the neighbors must have thought. 

He knocked on the door a half hour later and gave me a ticket for "failure to reduce speed".  I thanked him and then he was gone.

The next day was full of calls to insurance (I use Travelers and they are AWESOME) and the tow company and the repair shop.  But that night as I got ready for bed it did not seem possible that all that had just occurred.

Out of nowhere.  Whack.

Blessed and Blossoming (um, except for the colossal failure of my new year's resolution)

So, I'm a slacker.  Sue me.

The big news (since I ran out of gas) was the "Divorce Shower" that my darling friends from Stepford threw me.  It was part "shower" and part "housewarming" and part "an excuse to get together for cocktails".  It was absolutely amazing.  They brought furniture and small appliances.  They set me up for a comfortable existence here on my own.  I was especially moved by the women who'd been divorced themselves who brought me furniture that they'd been given when they got divorced and moved into their own homes. 

My parents came early on Saturday and FIXED my place UP!  Dad hung all the drapes and hung the moulding frame that he made (!) for my bathroom.  My mother brought all the comforts of home with enough OXO kitchen tools and gadgets to make Rachel Ray jealous (because clearly nothing actually produced in my kitchen ever will).  And the soft goods...oh, the soft goods.  The towels, the rugs, the hot pads.  The woman knows how to shop for a new home.

The princesses also got gifts at the party.  Lots of games and art supplies (and their nana brought them each a hamper for their rooms).

Lovely.

Running out of Gas...literally.

So yesterday was a busy busy day. 

I drove an hour to a meeting with an incredible lady who runs an "executives in transition" networking group.  She was helpful and motivating.  But she is not the topic of this post.

I then drove 45 minutes to see my lovely therapist, Julie.  She was helpful and motivating and funny.  But she is not the topic of this post either.

I then drove 30 minutes to eat dinner with a new friend.  He was delightful and funny.  But he is not the topic of this post.

I then headed home, roughly 40 minutes away.  And a funny thing happened after that very busy day of driving, driving, driving. 

I ran out of gas.

I RAN OUT OF GAS.

At my age.  In the luxury automobile that I can no longer afford.

Out of gas with the other cars whizzing by at an alarming rate ( I did manage to guide my car off the actual road).  And being an adult woman with no job and few friends I'm willing to bother at nearly 9pm because almost all my nearby friends have young children.

So what did I do?

I called the wasband.  And he is the topic of this post, people.

He leapt out of bed and ran and got some gas in a gas can then he risked life and limb jumping over a median and pouring the gas into my tank (at least some of it got in my tank, a lot ended up on the ground for some reason). 

Over the course of this blog I have been unkind to George (the wasband) but last night he really came through for me.  It's not the first time.  It probably won't be the last.

Thanks George.