What Is My Motivation?

My friend Marcello just got a new iphone for his birthday and I am so bitter! And jealous! And I can't even pretend not to be. I suck.

But, there is a silver lining!

Since my success with the biggest loser at the Y I've kinda-sorta-maybe gotten a little lazy with my healthy eating plan. Right after the Y contest was over we went on vacation. Then the rest of the summer has been a frenzy of traveling back and forth to Pittsburgh. I have a hard time turning down pizza from the shop where I worked in high school and candy apples from Kennywood. 

Or combos on the PA turnpike, for that matter. Gross, right? 

So even though I haven't entirely undone the good work I did during biggest loser, I'm still up a few pounds. Which means next week I'm going back to Weight Watchers. I'm also going to try walking more in addition to my regular workouts now that the weather isn't so molten. Instead of driving the kids to the playground we're going to hitch up the old double stroller and go on foot. Instead of driving a few blocks to pick up the dry cleaning we'll hoof it. I've been walking Sam to school for the last 2 weeks and it's been great, aside from the oozing, bloody blisters I got on the first day. 

How does this all tie into my bitter, blinding jealousy over my friend's new iphone?

Simple! It's going to be my reward. My prize. My destiny. When I achieve my goal weight at WW (and maintain it for 6 weeks) then I get an iphone. It's just that simple. The faster I get there, the faster I get my iphone. Last time it took me almost a year to lose 65 pounds. I'm don't need to lose quite that much, so I'm hoping to be a bit quicker.

And I'm hoping that SOB will agree to this plan, too! 

Wherein I Win the Award for the Lamest Lame-Wad Way to Render Yourself Lame

I sprained my ankle last night. In such a way that will require medical attention once all this New Years holiday malarkey is done and over with. And how might I have done such a thing? Well, let me set the scene for you.

It was about 9 o'clock. We were all hunkered in for the evening, having been unable to secure a baby sitter. We were planning to eat some dinner, watch a movie or two, and ring in the New Year with America's Oldest Teenager.

There was some amount of wine consumed. Not a small amount, but not a large amount, either.

Before we settled in with the flicks, I came upon an episode of Made on the new TiVo. This particular installment featured an athletic boy who wanted to be made into a figure skater. As a former figure skater, I totally geeked out and started watching the episode.

(Side note: my excitement over this horrible show is the least embarrassing part of this story. You are in for a doozy.)

While the program was on, SOB and I started discussing ice skating. I plan to get Sam on the ice sometime in the next six months, but since I haven't been on skates since high school SOB began taunting me. He was insinuating that I wouldn't be able to keep myself upright on the ice anymore. Well, his mostly good natured ribbing escalated into a full blown quiz of my knowledge of figure skating. Try as I might, I couldn't explain the difference between a toe loop jump and a salchow jump.

Do you see where this is going?

My mildly inebriated self decided it would be a great idea to demonstrate the difference between these two jumps in my living room. Just in case you were wondering, there is no ice rink in my living room. I did a fair job of demonstrating the toe loop, but when I was coming down from the salchow I landed on Sam's shoe.

(By the way, totally my fault the shoe was in the middle of the living room floor. I am a horrible housekeeper. Still more embarrassment to come...)

SOB was about to laugh, but he heard a sickening sound that stopped him dead in his tracks. As I laid sprawled on the floor he began to mobilize, getting ice and an ace bandage. After a brief but thorough exam, he concluded that luckily I didn't break anything, but that it was likely that I sprained my calcaneofibular ligament (CFL).

Since it was new year's eve, and I wasn't even considering the idea of heading to the ER, he fashioned me a cane from an old curtain rod. It's more of a staff than a cane, really, but it helps to keep my pimp hand strong.

So what was the most embarrassing thing about this entire event? That I was watching (and enjoying) bad MTV shows? No. That I am a horrible housekeeper? No. That I have a pimp limp to go with my new cane? Not even close.

That while all of this was going on, in honor of the anniversary of the night SOB proposed to me, I may have been wearing this.

Master of the Blow-Out!

Check out my review of Beauty Confidential over at The Cheese Says....Mmmm! Trust me, you'll be glad you did!

Learning By Doing

(By the way, once you're finished here, you really should check out my new post over at The Cheese Says....Mmmmm!)

When I was 12 years old, my parents decided to allow me to wear makeup. Their own special way of telling me this was to buy me a makeup mirror for my bedroom as a Christmas gift. Additionally, in their infinite wisdom, they told my 9 year old brother to buy me some makeup. While I'm sure their intentions were good, the results were not. Being 9, and not having much money to spend, my brother headed to the dollar store. Where he purchased the most horrific cosmetics known to man.

After we opened all of our gifts, it was time for church. Mass was at 11, so I had plenty of time to get ready! I ran upstairs and opened my new mirror. It was the type that had several different light settings (day, home, office or evening) so that you could apply your cosmetics to suit your environment. Well, the church was fairly dark inside, so I set it to evening and got started.

45 minutes later, I walked downstairs. Thinking I looked more beautiful than Mayim Bialik, I stood silently and waited for the compliments to come raining down. Instead I was greeted with shocked silence. Not only had I applied enough pink eyeshadow (and matching lipstick) for an entire army, but I had caked my face with pressed powder the color of my grandmother's pumpkin pie filling. I probably looked like a day-glo freak. At first, I just assumed that my family was simply awestruck by my breathtaking radiance, which was so consuming that they couldn't even speak.

Finally, my mother came over, took me by the hand, and led me back upstairs. Where she helped wash my face. 4 times. Then I got a little lesson on natural looking makeup.

We went to the 12:30 mass instead.

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Back in the Saddle

I just got back from my first bikini wax since I was pregnant with Sammy. It was quite an adventure, to say the least. My trusty Russian woman kept clicking her tongue and shaking her head at me. And? I forgot the first rule of bikini waxes: take an advil half an hour before you go to help stave off some of the discomfort.

Do I even need to say it?

Ouch.