Don't Feed the Animals...(Me)

Okayyy, I've eaten my way out of my size 27 jeans (technically, some of them still fit, but I can hear their screams when I put them on). I'm not a size queen...y'know the type of girl that wears a smaller size, because she can physically get in them. Not I...I prefer to look as if the pants are not an optical illusion and well there's that whole 'toe' thing.

Like many women I have tried every diet out there and even made up one involving a shit load of sugar-free Jello and a slight addiction to Xanex (just kidding, Mom). This time I'm on my version of the low-carb diet: meat with veggies, Cool Whip Free and vodka club sodas with an occasional handful of nuts or a spoonful of extra chunk peanut butter.

It's been nine days, I haven't tried my jeans on yet...but...I did weigh myself. Early conclusion: Scales are evil and they lie. I've lost four lousy pounds, but I think my butt is smaller (or perhaps that's just the result of distorted vision from being hungeeee).

After avoiding my arch-nemesis aka the grocery store for nine days, I braved the journey today, because let's be honest the supermarket is no place for a person in my condition. I spent about an hour at the store (mostly reading nutritional labels). I made it outta there without sitting in the bakery department abusing an overly frosted cake. Success.

Transparency

Who knew?

Choose Your Own Adventure: Grown Up Edition

Women are magnificent creatures. They give you life, bathe you, teach you, discipline you, wash your underwear, kiss your boo-boos, answer most of your questions and make sure your dad gets the abridged version when you get caught being naughty. However, your existence alone does not define your mother as a person.

It doesn’t matter where you live or what type of home you were raised in. The beauty of being an adult woman in the Western World is choosing your own path to the crypt. A couple of days ago, I read this article (h/t Allah Pundit), about a young lady living in New York that doesn’t want children. Do women, like this author, really lack the mom-gene or are they just successful, stylish women threatened by the idea of kids in their seemingly hip and uncomplicated lives?

When I was a little girl, there was a lady at my mom’s office named Penny. She was the only daughter of the company’s CEO. She was a beautiful, elegant, ageless thirtysomething with impeccable taste. Penny had been married and divorced, she was somewhat career oriented, but I could tell she was looking for another husband. Penny did not have any, nor did she want any children of her own, which was very good news for me. I was the beneficiary of all of her unwanted jewelry, handbags, scarves, perfume and makeup. Penny introduced me to Saks and Neimans, taught me about the importance of ordering a salad with the dressing on the side and took me to my first play at Ford’s Theater. I never wondered why she didn’t have kids. The last time I saw Penny was in 1999, at my father’s funeral. It had been over a decade since our previous visit, but I recognized her right away. She hugged me tightly as she offered her condolences; I wondered then if she regretted her decision to never be called ‘Mom’. I hope not.

Like Penny, that young New Yorker may never have children, but she’ll likely have other things that complicate her life, I hope those things are as fulfilling as the joys of a child. Resentment is a bitch and contrary to what some may think motherhood is not where fabulous women go to die.

If you know my story, maybe you’re wondering if I would go back and let’s just say…do things differently. The short answer is no. I am not someone who looks back and wonders what if. While, of course I have things that I wish I hadn’t done and people that I wish I hadn’t hurt, there isn’t a moment that I would ‘do-over’. Every gut busting laugh, every painful memory, every what the hell was I thinking (never mind I wasn’t) moment…all mine, located on a special place along my timeline…all parts of the person I am today…and I like her, a lot.

Warning: Maintenance Ahead

As women we are grouped into one of two categories, ‘low-maintenance’ or ‘high-maintenance’. Neither seems particularly flattering. Are we people or cars? What do those terms actually mean? And, why would a lowly maintained woman be a good thing?

I’m not what you would call a scheduler, planner or organizer...which I suspect is a high-maintenance trait…unless we’re talking vacation…then I’ll throw one of those hats on long enough to book a fabulous hotel and a flight that lets me sleep in as late as possible (high-maintenance?). But in terms of the everyday blah, blah, blah…I’m pretty easy going (and therefore low-maintenance, right?).

O’course, ‘easy going’ in wifespeak means…if I don’t wanna do whatever it is that you’re doing, I probably won’t…but I also won’t complain about you doing it without me. I just like to be asked, if you don’t ask me along, I’m going to be upset…unless you’re going out for sushi…then don’t ask me…I don’t care (maintenance level uncertain).

After some light internet research I learned that high-maintenance refers to a shallow, emotionally needy, label whoring, drama queen...I know some of those. The low-maintenance woman is a bit harder to define…but by all accounts, she’s basically a dude with a vagina…I know one girl that I would truly describe as such…picture a white Whoopi Goldberg sans dreadlocks and an opinion.

Personally, while I find both labels equally irrelevant and silly…I’ve been called much worse so being categorized as either low or high maintenance neither describes nor offends me…in fact come to think of it…very little offends me…ma’am *cringe* I don’t like being called ma’am…oh and Becky…there is little that I hate more than being referred to as Becky.

An Ode to a Harvard Professor, a Cambridge Cop, President Obama and Beer

An Ode to a Harvard Professor, a Cambridge Cop, President Obama and Beer

(to the tune of Gilligan's Island)

Just sit right there and read this tale,
A tale of an unfortunate blip,
That started on a Massachusetts porch,
Of a professor with a brand new hip.

Professor Gates had forgotten his keys,
He's black and was breaking in his own house.
Some neighbors called 911 you see,
They mistook Gates for a louse.

The cops arrived at the home of Gates,
They wanted to see his ID.
Gates yelled a yo mama insult,
And then he got the third degree.

The white Sergeant put Gates under arrest.
The charges were eventually dropped.
Obama weighed in on this incident,
His words could not be stopped.

So this is the tale of an unfortunate blip,
That occurred in Cambridge, Mass.
Tomorrow the men are meeting with Obama,
For a beer in a glass.

No Bass, no Beck's, no Amstel Light,
Not a single Heineken,
The White House policy on brewskies:
American made, amen.

So wait and see how the drama unfolds,
We're sure to see some pics,
Of two dudes with the President,
Sharing beers and carrot sticks.

Pro-Choice?

Choices...we all make em...some good, some not so much...but they are ours as are the effects that ensue. Democrats claim to be the party of choice because of their Pro-Choice stance on abortion...but think about it...is the Democratic Party the party of choice? I think not. From school vouchers to Healthcare, the left side of the aisle has shown that the only choice they want you to make is how far you wanna bend over...pass the Astroglide.

Before I continue...this is what I think 'bout abortion. Firstly it is a states' rights issue...for example: you can get an abortion in Kansas later in the pregnancy than you can elsewhere in the US...if Roe v. Wade was overturned tomorrow...the debate and decision would go back to the states. Secondly...having an abortion is a very personal decision that should be made only after careful consideration (you can't really go back on it...and it could haunt you forever). Lastly...I'd like to see some similar legislation for dads. If a man doesn't want a child...he should be able to relinquish his parental rights before the child is born. Girls, we fought for equal rights...not different/better/special rights...and believe it or not...some women like to trap men in relationships with babies.

Clearly, the Republican Party is *the* party of choice:

What kind of gun do I want to buy?
Where do I want to hide my secret cash?
What kind of steak am I going to eat?
What minority group do I want to offend?
Which charity do I want to pretend like I care about?
Which version of the Bible do I want to thump today?
Which private school do I want to send my cherub to?
Which gas-guzzling SUV do I want to kill the environment with today?

I chuckle...and no we don't eat kittens (although, I've heard they taste like chicken). But honestly, other than abortion...what choices do liberals offer? Eat this, not that. I'm sorry your school sucks...stay there anyway. Oh...you chose a Directv subscription over health insurance, no problem...here's some...but wait, you can only go to these four doctors....what's that...you need a heart transplant...well you can't have mine...it's bleeding. You don't like Obamacare, no worries...you can stay with your company's policy, that is...until they stop offering it because it's too 'spensive because Obama raised every tax he could find and then he made some new ones...choice schmoice...do what I say and like it...bwa ha ha ha ha ha.

Life is about consequences. If I speed...I may get a ticket, sure...I'll cuss, but I'll pay the fine and slow down. If you eat your weight in cheeseburgers, while spending all your 'extra money' on flex-pay rings from QVC instead of on health insurance...that's up to you...I'm okayyy with it...I'm not gonna make you swap out your snazzy ring collection for health insurance...oopsie now, you've got shugabetes...sorry, but remember you made those choices...own them.

Bottom Line: Gandhi said: 'Be the change that you want to see in the world.' I say: 'Take responsibility for your choices. Don't be a victim...and if you are...press charges.' Zen worthy indeed.

Summer is...bacon wrapped, fried gold

Long Time, No Blog

Sorry...I've thought of you often...wanting to share my birthday, 4th of July (and beyond) adventures with you. It's just that well...I am actually pretty lazy and often uninspired and therefore unmotivated...well not necessarily in the conventional sense. I mean...o'course me and my life are spectacular and you certainly should be interested in what I'm doing, what I think about...everything and well...to be perfectly honest...me in general. But I do occasionally feel pressure to make sure that my thoughts are complete with (non-fuzzy) details and if applicable...photos...and so, without further ado...

Birthday Eve

My favorite day of the year is...the day before my birthday. Probably because I'm a spoiled rotten child on the inside and I love to shout...'tomorrow's my birthday!!!' It's not about the presents...I mean...don't be silly...I love a good birthday present...but...it does not have to be your birthday to get a present.

This year my birthday fell on a Thursday...which meant either an Okoboji birthday or a hungover car ride to Okoboji in Friday before the 4th of July traffic. I opted for a Boji birthday...even though that also meant that I didn't get to celebrate with all of the usual suspects. *sad face* You know who you are, you were missed.

the husband bought me this 'new' table for my birthday...the wood is over 100 years old...it is exactly what I wanted

a crop duster in the sky (trust me)

a field of soybeans

sleeping Fergie (and the directions to the lake)

more soybeans

a hog farm

more farm scenery

Never a Dull Moment

The husband had some work to finish before we left...we began our 200 mile journey to Lake Okoboji at around 5 pm on Wednesday the 1st. The route we take is not conducive to bathroom stops...unless you can pee in a ditch or a cornfield. We were about 45 minutes away from the lake when my hubby *needed* 'to stop'. We took a ten minute (one way) detour to Albert City, IA for a toilet. We stopped at the Cenex gas station/convenience store in Albert City where they have one unisex bathroom. We got out of the car...Fergie (my beloved Chihuahua) stayed in the car...the following convo took place as we were walking into the store:

me: 'did you lock the car'
the husband: 'no, I left the keys inside...it's Albert City, IA, Fergie will be fine'
me: 'if anyone steals my dog, I am divorcing you'
the husband: 'I can live with that'

We made our way into the store...he went to the bathroom...I perused the snacks. I realized the husband was gonna be a while as I decided on a push-pop. I hadn't brought my purse in to the store so I went out to the car to get some money for my chosen frozen treat. There was Fergie standing up at the window, looking adorable, scratching at the window...that's when I saw that the doors were locked...Fergie hit the power lock button with his tiny paw...ARGHHHHHHH!!! Keys: locked in the car, purse: locked in the car, husband's phone: locked in the car, my phone: locked in the car, my precious baby Chihuahua: locked in the car. I was immediately hysterical as I tried to get Fergie to unlock the doors. A few moments later, the husband comes outside to a very frazzled (bordering on straight-jacket worthy) Rebecca. He being the calmer one...went inside to call for help. The dispatch said the local sheriff 'for an emergency' would be there in about 20 minutes. My husband could tell by the dispatcher's tone that a Chihuahua locked inside of a car was not an emergency, according to the Storm Lake Sheriff (even though it was about 80 degrees out). Meanwhile, I was still trying to instruct Fergie on how to unlock the doors...his little nose making fog on the window and then scratching it away with his little nails...I was now officially an emotional wreck.

The husband was trying to get the Cenex clerk to give him a coat hanger off of some dry-cleaning that hadn't been picked up yet. Apparently in Albert City, you drop your dry-cleaning off at the gas station. Anyway...the lady was reluctant. Which turned out to be a good thing...because she gave him a fly swatter instead...you know the old kind with the metal looped end. The husband had the locks popped 30 seconds later...Fergie and I were reunited and I didn't have to get divorced. Side note: Volvos are very easy to break into.

Fergie after the incident (looking a bit stressed)

Myyyyy Birthday

I started the day with a Bloody Mary with a side of bacon. The weather was perfect out on the lake. We had a low maintenance, no fuss, drama free celebration.We boated all day and bar hopped all night...Thank YOU to everyone for all of the birthday well wishes. You guys made my day even bettah *smoooooch*

toasted after boating all day with Grey Goose

a wild turkey taking a stroll at the lake

4th of July Fireworks, Okoboji style @ Maxwells

July 7th full moon...Oooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Minneapolis

My consort travels, for work, up to Minneapolis at least twice a month. Personally, I'm a big fan of having the whole bed to myself for a few nights a month...albeit, I do miss using his razor when he's gone (shhhh, don't tell him). Once in a while I will make the trip up there with him, usually for a specific occasion or event...but this time I went along...just because.

The Lions Club International was in town for their annual convention and the Yankees were playing the Twins...the only hotel available was the 601 Graves...which doesn't suck. I booked the room online and we were on our way. The Graves is located directly across the street from the Target Center. Upon arrival, it was evident that not only was there a concert that night, but it was one that I didn't want to be within a two block radius of...let alone right across the street from it. It turned out to be...the Jonas Brothers. *barf*

As we were checking in, I noticed that the front desk associate was having trouble finding our reservation. He was quietly speaking to another person behind the desk, who seemed to have more authority than he did. It turns out...the Graves was overbooked. I became nervous, imagining myself staying at a Super 8 in mega-mall hell, Bloomington. The clerk explained that they were totally booked, accept for the penthouse level. I thought...Super 8, here I come...and then, I heard angels as she smiled and said it was a hotel error, so we would not be charged for the upgrade. I peed my pants (just a little) and almost forgot the Jonas Brothers were across the street.

It was about 10 pm...I was hungry...after a quick freshen up we headed to the 112 Eatery which serves food until midnight. We walked the three and a half blocks through the Jonas faithful (mostly tweens and their psychotic parents) as they lined First Avenue hoping to get a glimpse of the virginal trio. The 112 Eatery is one of those trendy places with a slightly obscure menu...I had a bacon and egg sandwich with something called harissa (a spicy condiment) on it...it was de.li.cious...the fries were pretty terrific too.

The next day I hung out in the room, took a bath in the jacuzzi tub (while watching TV on the bathroom wall flat screen), drank a $10 beer from the mini-bar. The husband was due back around 6ish. I headed to the hotel bar around 5:30 where I drank Grey Goose and tweeted while I waited for him. After a couple of bar drinks we headed for Zelo for dinner...we shared a pizza....it was very good. The bartender informed us that a few of the Yankees were supposed to come in...I was ready to express my hatred in a nice enough way to still get a picture...alas, they never showed up. After dinner we headed to Barrio Tequila Bar for a nightcap...which for me was the old standby Goose and soda...I dunno what the husband had...but I'm sure there was tequila in it.

a peek at the new Twins Stadium and the top of the Target Center (where apparently they grow sod???)

the most comfortable bed in the history of hotels

The Basilica was having a block party...Rock out with your...Bible out

a watchtower on the way to uptown for lunch

my lunch at Figlio's...a delightful BLT

back on the road heading to Okoboji on a beautiful day

Minnesota corn

me in the car, on the wayyy to the lake

The People of Iowa Welcome You...Fields of Opportunities

a windfarm

another windfarm

this is the only 'lake pic' I took (just before we left)
so...imagine these:
1. me moaning while eating warm, cheesy crab dip at Yesterday's
2. a fat, bald guy singing Sweet Caroline at Cocktail's
3. an old, drunk dude half asleep, nodding off to the beat of some crappy Billy Joel song
4. me rolling my eyes as I wonder why karaoke exists
5. me wishing I had a gong
6. a competitive game of midnight Pictionary after drinking all day

the corn is getting tall

a big ole farm thingie

a rainbow halfway home