Tag Archives: ramblings

My Next Husband

My next husband will be different. That is what I tell my current husband, Sweet Cheeks. I usually tell him this in lieu of throwing objects at him, or hurling obscenities because I do like to think that I am a civilized being.  Unfortunately, I have been known to do both, but in my defense it was only a glass of water.

Sweet Cheeks is a truly wonderful man. But living with anyone for 31 years can make you wish, sometimes, that you possessed an …, well I dare not say it – lest he be found one morning with a logging implement imbedded in his forehead and forensic technicians collecting evidence of a heinous act that would surely be blamed upon me. Anyway, I digress.

1. My next husband will have long legs. Long enough so that each pair of slacks purchased will not require hemming.

2. My next husband will KNOW things. Like, for instance, that I bought him a Kindle for Christmas because that is what I WANTED for Christmas. I cannot fathom why he has not figured this out. He will know the difference between a head of lettuce and a cabbage. He will know how to fix things. Anything and everything, but in particular a good margarita. He will know more than me about plumbing, computers, and dog care. He will know when I need a hug and when I need, um, other “stuff”.

3. My next husband will actually USE the knowledge that he has without being asked. Repeatedly asked.

4. My next husband will understand that there is nothing even remotely redeeming or endearing about spending all his waking moments watching sports, reading about sports, reminiscing about sports, or fantasizing about sports.

5. My next husband will not keep in his possession a photo of himself and his life-long best friend that makes me question not only his, but his friend’s sexuality.

6. My next husband will not share with houseguests the above-mentioned photo, taken during a cruise, and especially not BEFORE before showing a photo of us (as in he and I) taken during the same cruise.

7. My next husband will drink coffee – he will know how to make it, he will know how I like it, and he will know not to talk to me until he has served it to me, preferably in bed.

8. My next husband will not snore. Ever.

9. My next husband will sleep in another room if he chooses to snore (see #8) or rejects the use of the prescribed CPAP machine because he will understand that a rested wife is, to put it delicately, a less-bitchy wife.

10. My next husband will love fruits and vegetables of all kinds and he will prepare them enthusiastically as he will be responsible for all things food related.

My next husband  —  I think I hate him already.  I’d give it six months, tops.

The other thing that I like to tell Sweet Cheeks is “my last husband did exactly that same thing……”



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Caffeinated Pants –

Oh, for the love of latte, what will they think of next? Now, I definitely need to lose a few (about 50 times) but I think I’m gonna pass on the caffeinated pants for weight loss.

Apparently, you wear these pants that have been impregnated with caffeine for 5 hours a day and your butt and thighs will become sleek and svelte. I’m here to tell you, as does the video, that the only thing that will become smaller is your weekly allowance – you know, the money you COULD HAVE spent on real coffee that you drink. Which by the way HAS been proven to increase your metabolic rate and can contribute to a slight increase in calories burned.

Oh, and the manufacturer recommends that you use the pants in conjunction with a calorie-restricted diet and cardiovascular exercise? Really? Damn. I was gonna slip into a pair and hit the bar for happy hour, then the super buffet for dinner, run by DQ for a Peanut butter cup blizzard on my way home, then sit in front of the tv eating bonbons and let my caffeinated pants do all the work.

Besides, if coffee on your clothes could make you slim, I’d be a freakin’ supermodel because NO ONE, and I mean NO ONE, has spilled more coffee over the years on their clothing than yours truly.

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The Rapture – or I’m not cleaning this dump

Just in case this Rapture thing really does happen today and the believers ARE sucked up into the heavens, I have decided not to clean this dump, er, I mean my humble abode.  I would like to spend my last “normal” day before chaos ensues doing those things I truly love – reading, cooking, loving my dog, perhaps sewing a bit, writing a little, and lounging. Since Sweet Cheeks is sleeping (a nasty side effect of working all night), I guess I won’t be doing EVERYTHING that I enjoy. Sigh.   I don’t believe I will be ascending from my spot on the couch at 6 PM, but I’m not taking any chances.

Therefore, I will NOT lift a toilet brush, vacuum handle, mop, sponge, Swiffer utensil or dish towel on this day.  Of course, that doesn’t make this day REALLY all that much different from any other day, I guess, Rapture or not.

I can spend some of my reading time perusing this  website (http://www.raptureready.com/) to see what I should be doing to get ready, except that I have already plopped my capacious panties on the couch and I’m not getting up unless it’s to fix a margarita later.

This is entirely too funny.


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Mumblings of a metabolic mutant

Oh, for the love of cheesecake!!!  I just signed up for this this danged blog thingy and I see ads on my first “pseudo” post for Weight-Watchers, bariatric surgery, and some undoubtedly high-priced meal replacement powder.  And I don’t even have a webcam so I know they can’t “see” me sitting here.  Too bad, too, because from the neck up I can pretty much tolerate my body!

Seriously, though, I am anxious to start putting some of these thoughts and words down so that maybe the little voices won’t keep me awake all night (and thus I can better hear the chocolate chips that I have hidden from my beloved Sweet Cheeks).

As a matter of fact, I have achieved Lifetime status at WeightWatchers (at least one lifetime and a whole lot of pounds ago).  I have lost a thousand pounds since then (10 pounds 100 times, that’s a thousand pounds, baby!) I recently re-joined the cult and after only 3 meetings declared myself too intelligent for the mind-numbing babble and commercialized pablum that is handed out, along with fairly childish stickers that are given for various achievements.  Puh-lease.  I’m fairly intelligent (as mentioned previously) and think I can make it without your help, I don’t care how good Jennifer Hudson looks!  See how well I’ve done so far.  Oh, wait……….hmmmm.  Check back in a few months.

Seriously, though, I have lost about 25 pounds since November.  Of course, I was then at my most bloated and hideous after a 7 day Caribbean cruise.  I vowed I would never eat again.  That lasted almost until I got to the end of the gangplank.  I have been focusing on healthier eating and more physical activity (until a fractured ankle took me off the streets).  I re-joined weight watchers because I did not want to balloon up to my previous hideousness while lazing about on our dual reclining sofa and rehabbing the very sore ankle.

The three meeting limit was reached this week (the last 3 times I tried WW again, I only made it to three meetings  – I find my tolerance to be quite low). I find I spend most of the meeting time talking to myself, asking questions like “I’m paying for this BS?” “Really? Greek yogurt isn’t counted as a serving of dairy?” and “Isn’t he/she ever going to shut up?”  I mean, really, who wants to hear about Very Large Guy’s success (I give all the meeting attendees nicknames).  Really?  Success?  You are the size of a bus.  Then there are the “Sisters”, two Weight-Watching siblings who apparently can’t eat a meal without each other and dress alike (but they are not twins, I’ve asked).  They painstakingly outline for the rest of us their judicious (or not) use of their “points”.  Excuse me, I mean Points Plus.  See, I’m not cut out for their cult.

If losing weight were easy we’d all do it.  I don’t know anyone who wakes up in the morning and asks, “how can I best pack on a few pounds today?”  I don’t care if I only lose a quarter pound of blubber a week, I’m gonna do it my way.


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