If ya ain't got no Xanax, make do with the AmEx!

First of all, let me just say that when me and Kelly are together, I'm not responsible for my (shopping) actions.

God love her, she flew down here week before last (left a week ago today) to show me some love since Ed's been gone. (I think she needed a break, too, but we're just gonna say her intentions were completely selfless) She did a great job keeping my mind off of my anxieties. Unfortunately, this is Tallahassee, and if it's not a Saturday (and a home game) there's nothing to do except...

GO TO THE MALL

*sense of impending doom*

Now, you'll refer to my last post about hoarding. That part is still true. But the part about my AmEx... not so much. I was having a particularly bad anxiety day. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I knew she was leaving... maybe it was because I was just plain weak. I don't know. All I DO know is that Gap was having a Buy One, Get One 1/2 off Sale and she left me alone in there! She didn't leave me alone in Victoria's Secret (but I only bought perfume!) and she didn't leave me alone in Bath and Body Works (where I only spent $8) and she didn't leave me alone in Traffic (where I got the CUTEST pair of brown knee boots for $25) but Gap... Gap was an epic fail.

I can say, though, that in addition to a couple other things, I got the 2 best fitting pairs of jeans in the WORLD. I heart them. AAANNNND they're a size 4. SO COMFORTABLE, not tight at all. Apparently it's all in the cut. I am a size 4, so long as the designer recognizes I gots hips. If not, then I'm like a size 25 with a BIG OL' GAP (pun intended) in the waist.

Hourglass figures are so overrated, y'all.

As we were leaving the mall, Kelly kinda chuckled and said "I cannot believe how much calmer you are after 2 hours in the mall and a few bags in your hand. You went from here (makes a motion above her head) to here (makes a motion at her waist) just like THAT." I said "See? I keep tellin' everyone that shopping cures my anxiety, but no one believes me. Now I got a witness. I ain't got no Xanax, so I make do with AmEx!"

But I can't make do with AmEx anymore. It's time to get back on the wagon. So AmEx is placed securely in my desk drawer here at work. Not to be used anytime soon. And I'm eating Ramen Noodles for lunch today.

How the mighty have fallen.

I have a confession to make...

I'm turning into a hoarder. I never dreamed it would happen to me. But it has.

I'm hoarding money.

Finally. I am FINALLY hoarding money. AND I'm not using my credit card. It's a frop'n miracle, y'all. It's amazing. See? I put the money in the bank, and then I don't go out to eat or go to the mall.

Or Target.

And then more money comes in before I can spend the money that was in there. Then I STILL don't go out to eat or to the mall.

Or Target.

And then MORE money comes in. Holy balls!

Now I ain't rich or nothin. Hardly. And I've always had "just enough" to pay my bills, but that was because I was buying what I wanted with my handy-dandy American Express (they heart me at AmEx... but they're about to hate me when I pay this sucker off in a couple months) I just did my bills for the week and I'll have a few hundred dollars left over AFTER I pay them... and by that time MORE money will have come in.

This could be the start of something truly beautiful. Sweet Baby Jesus, PLEASE let me remember this feeling always so I can STICK TO THIS.

AMEN.

Clearly I need professional help

(Like we didn't already know that.)

I think I'm pissed. I'm pissed and I don't know what to do about it.

Living down here in this swamp our nation decided to call "Florida" (a name they kifed from the Spanish, I might add) I always wondered if maybe I was a little "swole up" during the summer months. And by summer months I mean the better part of the calendar year; from April-November. My jeans ALWAYS fit better in the winter and I don't feel nearly as gunky as I do the rest of the year. Sure we have sand and sun and Mickey Mouse, but we also have endless heat and humidity. It's just... nasty. Surely when your body is in that WET an environment it's gonna swell up. Right? (Right.)

So that's how my vain behind has been gettin' through this endless hell of summer- with the promise that with winter will come my ability to rock ALL of my size 4s. But, as the summer drags on (and the 4s get a little snug, which means I'm dippin' into the 6's I had stashed away) I get more and more distressed. Then in walks "Logical Mandy" who tries to talk sense into "Vain, Paris Hilton, Mandy" (<--- we'll just call her VPH Mandy)

Logical Mandy: Ho, please. You are barely a size 6 and you're UPSET? Really?

VPH Mandy: Yes! I mean, look at Kim Kardashian! Not fair!

Logical Mandy: Kim Kardashian has a trainer, a chef, an army of hair and makeup artists and, let's face it, no one really knows what size she is. Oh and nevermind the fact she hasn't had a KID. Besides? Why does size matter?

VPH Mandy: It just does. There's something so satisfying about being a size 4. Cause when you're a size 4 then it's just a few more pounds to a size 2...

Logical Mandy: Yeah and then you die of anorexia, or bullemia, or go full retard. And you should NEVER go full retard.

VPH Mandy: *pout*

Folks, Logical Mandy may not win the war on VPH Mandy's sick obsession with vanity, but she has won the battle because, for now, VPH Mandy is MAD. Downright PISSED. Because WTH, America? There was a time when a size 6 was considered THIN. Size 6's were on the gotdang RUNWAYS. (Until that witch Twiggy came along and ruined us. Forever.) Even now, a size 10-14 is where the "normal" average American chick measures in. And here *I* am, 31 years old, with a kid, and bemoaning the fact that SOME of my size 4s don't fit me in the dead of hell. I mean summer.

*beats head on desk*

But I keep a'lookin at those celebrities. I see Kate Middleton and think "Ohhh... she's so tiny. How awesome would that be?" or I see Nicole Ritchie and think "Wow. She always looks so great... I wanna look like that."

(Did I mention that most of these people also probably have stylists? Not Kate. Kate rocks it on her own. But the celebs. They got stylists to pick out what looks best and hides any flaws they have.)

So today, I have vowed to eat and eat happily. This morning they had a fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society and I donated $5 to the cause and got me some pancakes and bacon. Yum-diddly um. At lunch, I didn't want anything heavy, so I went for my old standby- California Rolls (with no avocado cause. Ew.) and edamame which, as we all know, is just steamed soybeans. In 40 minutes we're having healthy snack day in the kitchen. That means yummy yogurt, granola and fruit. And it's free. Overall, I've eaten happily and mostly healthy. (Cause pancakes and bacon is NOT the norm- not the EVER- for my breakfast) Oh! It's my friend Jen's birthday today, too. She works here and her bosses brought in cupcakes to celebrate. And I got one. It's cookies and creme. It rocks.

It's not much, but it's a start. Today I am eating and enjoying it.

Suck it, VPH Mandy!

PS: For those of you who don't give a golly gosh darn what size you are, I applaud you. I know I tend to go overboard at times (most times), but I will always be mindful of my weight and size (mostly my size). What I'd really love, though, is to be happy whether I'm a 4 or a 6. Because neither one of those sizes is unhealthy. (<--- Thanks, Logical Mandy!)

So I've been reading a lot

Usually that's not cause for alarm. And I ain't sayin' it's cause now. But when I read to escape vs. read because I'm bored... well, it can get a little scary. So I present to you now, some of the more awesome quotes I've read lately:

"Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side."

"Love: It kills you. Both when you have it, and when you don't."

"It is strange how we hold onto the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures."

"Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs."

"Is falling in love with someone's story the same thing as falling in love with the person themselves?"

For what it's worth, even though it's (a little) melodramatic. I favor the "Love: It kills you. Both when you have it, and when you don't." quote. It's so true. Love is so very bittersweet. There's that age-old war of "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" vs. "Oh yeah? Try it sometime."

Personally, I think they both suck. I can't imagine never LOVING anyone completely, but having loved someone completely, I've experienced that loss. Like I said, it sucks.

I'm not sure where all of this is coming from (yes I am, I just won't bore you with it) but it's something to think on. Hopefully "Snarky, Bitchy, Cynical Mandy" will make a return next week.

An Open Post to The Bloggess

For those of you who have yet to experience the awesomeness that is The Bloggess, what the heck is wrong with you?!? She's HILARIOUS. Much like with me, though, if bad language and a general lack of political correctness offends you, you probably shouldn't read her.

Anywho, the reason I write this is because the other day Jenny was talking about her cat Posey. Read that post and come back. Don't worry, I'll wait.

******************************************************************************

While I cannot offer ACTUAL vampire blood. I DO (seem to) have an immortal rabbit. I haven't done a scientific analysis to see how compatible cat and rabbit blood is, but considering the rabbit blood is going into the cat (and not vice versa) and cats EAT rabbits, I think it's safe to say that their blood is compatible. My rabbit, Moe is nigh on 10 years old. Mo Fo won't DIE.

Now I pride myself on being an awesome caretaker. I've raised orphaned baby squirrels since I was a little girl and move wayward turtles off the road, lest they become roadkill. And my kid is still alive. I kept her going when she needed me most. But really, when I got Moe in April of 2002, I really didn't think he'd live more than a year or two. All the other newlyweds were getting rabbits, which is the reason I wanted one. Because my friend who'd just gotten married, HER husband bought HER a baby rabbit so I wanted a cute lil baby rabbit too! Dangit.

So with a great, heavy sigh Ed took me to the mall and there I found Moe. My pink-eyed, albino, bunny who I named Kujo initially, cause them damn eyes freaked me out, but somewhere "Moe" got thrown in there and stuck. Moe who I loved SO MUCH that when he was 2 1/2 (and had already outlived the other newlywed rabbits) I took to the vet because his eyes kept watering really bad. That's when I found out MOE WAS BLIND. "It's actually very common in albinos" the vet says. "Wow." I said "That explains SO. MUCH. Like why he always jumped when I went to pet him."

I feel the need to pause here and defend dear Moe's... disability. Moe may be blind, but he ain't stupid. (Obviously, the wanker's figured out a way to outlive most people's DOGS) He's a very proud bunny. He doesn't use sunglasses or a cane (or a guide) and still he's never run into anything. I also found out that bunnies have SUCH a sophisticated sense of smell that after a bit, they can tell, by smell WHO is touching them and whether that person is male or female. C'mon now, I don't care who you are, that's pretty frickin awesome!

Jenny, thanks to you, I have my own, desk-sized Beyonce. She went to Minnesota with me and she loved it. You've added HOURS to my lifespan from the laughs you've given me. Please let me help you keep your precious Posey going. Come take some of Mo's blood. It's the least I can offer after all you've done for me.

This Must Be How Cinderella Felt When Everyone Was at the Ball But Her. :(

So last week (Thursday to be exact) Ed packed up the last of his stuff and booked it to Minnesota, where it is currently a BALMY 58 degrees, cloudy and windy.

But I ain't jealous. Nooo.... not at all.

Bah, who am I kiddin. Haters gone hate. And right now, I'm a hater.

I am not a fan that I was FINALLY starting to like Ed. Finally able to count on him to help around the house and with CJ. And he left.

I am not a fan that he gets to see my BFF daily, and I'm stuck here.

I am not a fan that in about 6 weeks it will still be hotter than Satan's Testicles and he'll be marveling in the beauty that is the first snowfall of the season.

I am not a fan that 2/3 of the people that I love most in the world are up THERE and I am down HERE.

Nope. Not a fan.

I AM, however, a fan of him having the opportunity to get out "on his own" and make it.

I AM a fan of him being true to himself and doing what HE felt was necessary, regardless of what everyone else (including me) thought.

I AM (gonna be) a fan of the money he insists on sending home to help pay down the credit card bills *cough*thataremine*cough* because he knows how badly I want to live near Kelly. I can't do that until the bills are gone and at the rate I was going it would be a few years. With Ed helping, it'll be a few months.

I AM a fan that we're going to be more than a day's drive away from his family so they can't stalk us.

As easily.

The logical part of me knows that this is an amazing opportunity for him. Truly, if it weren't for me or his parents, the boy would not have a roof over his head. Living here he's not even CAPABLE of putting one over his head b/c his industry is so slow right now. I will say this: he was NOT mooching off of me. At all. The fact of the matter is, my mortgage was gonna be paid regardless of whether he lived there or not. So he could stay there. He helped buy food and did work around the house, but I wouldn't let him do more than that cause it was my house and my responsibility.

I cannot imagine being unable to provide for myself and CJ. I cannot not imagine that kind of fear and insecurity. Ed lived it daily.

I cannot imagine having to ask my parents for a DIME. Ed lived it daily.

Then, what started as a joke with me telling Jon last month, "Hey- I know a guy who can rebuild a Detroit in 17 hours!" turned into a legit opportunity for him to make $20/hr, work 50-60 hours/week. (Apparently they do NOT get slow in the trucking industry up north. Jon desperately needed a smart, slightly manic mechanic who could help him from stroking out at 32, Ed needed to be needed and appreciated. And kept busy)

SO. Kelly helped Ed find a place to live- he'll be sharing a duplex with an older guy, who seems totally cool, according to Kelly and Jon (and Ed). He's only gotta pay $300/mo for rent, and that covers everything except the food he wants to eat. He'll live all of 6 blocks from Kelly, and a few miles from work. Won't need much gas, doesn't have any other bills to pay 'cept his cell phone and the Snap-On man. He'll save some, he'll spend some, but a good chunk will come home to me to save and pay off my good friends at American Express and Mastercard. For the first time in his life, he'll be putting a roof over his head and unselfishly providing for his "family" without help from anyone. F-in' A, man!

I feel the need for a disclaimer: I told him he provided fine. He paid his child support, he helped out around the house and with CJ, and that's all he needed to do. He said he was glad that those things helped, but it wasn't enough for him, as a man. He felt that bringing in money was a huge part of what constituted "providing" and he had a chance to make it. Short term loneliness, long term happiness. And that's ok. He has to be right within himself, ya know? It's not ALL about money, but if we ever want to get ahead and live worry free, we need to be done with the bills and live off one income.

I also feel like this is a great litmus test for our relationship as a whole. CAN he resist the temptation to blow all that money? To be come the dependable partner/father that he wants to be? To be my knight in shining armor?

Or is Kelly gonna end up taking a turn at throwing him in the padded room for a few days?

Then there's me. I have a great job and a house down here. I refuse to be a landlord, so I'll have to sell the house in a crap market (which is fine. I'm content for someone to just take over the durn payments. It's not like I HAVE to make a profit on this sucker. I just want it off my books) I'll be giving up the Princess-iest job in the world, that brings in lots o' money and benefits. Don't even get me started on the FRINGE benefits.

So what do I get in return? (Because keep in mind, I'm going NOWHERE unless I have no bills and money in the bank in MY NAME in case shiznit goes down at some point. Mama will ALWAYS have an escape fund. Always.)

I get the dependable man I always wanted. (Dependable Man also comes with self-esteem, a stronger work ethic and a Kung Fu grip to handle those wankers that get in your way) It also just so happens to be the same man which I have invested much time and love into, and who's my baby daddy.

I get to try a different way of life at a good time in my life (I'm still young- relatively speaking- and since we wouldn't move until CJ was done with VPK, she'd have to start "real school" anways. It's not like she'll be totally uprooted). Besides, if I decide I hate it there, then we come back to Florida debt free and with no regrets because, hey, we gave it a shot.

I get to live near my best friend!

I get to see leaves change!

I get FALL! And SPRING!

Because there won't be debt, I will get to take time setting up a house (we'd rent until after CJ was done with Kindergarten, then reevaluate and decide which one of us would buy a house if we opted to stay for a longer period of time) and I can take my time choosing a job that I'll really enjoy vs HAVING to take a job because I have bills to pay.

Much like Ed lived with me and I paid "my" bills here, I would be doing the same with him. He would be paying "his" bills and CJ and I would live there (enter: Escape Fund, just in case) Any money I make would go into savings for tires, alignments (cause their roads succcckkkk up there) and visits home. Because metal would have been tested and proven, I would trust that he would pay the bills, he would trust that I would keep a healthy savings account and neither of us would be liable for anything (like vehicle payments) since our finances would be separated because we aren't be married- and have no plans to be anytime soon.

Bad-scene scenario? Ed tells me mid-February, "Baby, I can't do this. I'm sorry, I tried, but when my year is up, I need to come home. I know I'm partly miserable b/c you aren't here, but the lack of sunlight is really messing up my brain, the meds aren't as effective and it's just not good for me long-term." Shoot, I can respect that. So he comes home next fall and we're debt free.

Worst case scenario? Ed's up there, blows the money he was supposed to send home, I still get child support and continue on my original plan of paying down my bills slowly, but surely, and live in security with my job, in my house here in Tallahassee.

WORST worst case scenario? The bills are paid off, the house is sold, we move up there, Ed flips out for some unknown reason, I have my escape fund and CJ and I live just fine, like we do here.

See? Even my contingency plans have contingency plans. (Thank you, FSU Risk Management Department for your EXCELLENT teaching staff!)

Overall? I'm REALLY excited. Because I finally have a chance to get out of debt quickly and start new. Some people *cough*mydaddy*cough* can't fathom why I'd want to leave the set up that I have here. It's not that I WANT to leave it, but I can say "I know I'd regret it if things fell into place and I didn't take the opportunity." I'm a real believer in things working out the way they're supposed to. That Ed was able to move up there, get the job and start working happened WAY too well and WAY too easily for it to be sheer coincidence. If the same happens here for us to be able to move, then we will.

For now? I'm kinda sad. Like the title says "This must be how Cinderella felt when everyone went to the ball but her." I feel like I'm missing out... I feel like I'm "stuck" scrubbing the floors and doing the laundry while everyone else is having fun. But then I remind myself, that's not the reality. Reality is that Kelly is MY best friend, not Ed's. And while he loves her to pieces, and her him, they'd both rather *I* be there with them. Ed is working 60 hours a week in a place he's been to only once (for the interview, 3 weeks ago) in a climate he's had ZERO experience with (except for that one week in 1999. For real. He spent a week in the snow Michigan in 1999. And hated it. Yet, he's gonna go give it the ol' college try for me. Awww...) And he's doing it with relatively little "life" experience, because he's been so sheltered/enabled all these years.

Y'all... that's pretty freakin' awesome. Downright ballsy. Could he fall on his bum? Ab-so-frickin-lutely. But he can also OWN this. He can prove to everyone- most importantly, himself- that he's fully capable of having this gawd-awful illness (bi-polar disorder) and still function juuuuust fine, thank you very much.

When I asked him why- why would he leave everything he's ever known he said "I know how much you love Kelly and want to be near her... and I know I need to prove myself. This can accomplish both. I just want to be with you and CJ. You could tell me you wanted to live in Alaska and I wouldn't care, just as long as I was with you and CJ. If I can go up there and live a few months on my own, send home money and help get you where you want to be faster, then how can I NOT do this?"

Wow.

Yeah. He MIGHT just be a keeper. Proof'll be in the puddin', but he's off to a good start. What's that old saying "The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step."?

Personally, I like "SHOW. ME. THE MONEY!"

Greedy beyotch, remember?

Wishes and Regrets

There's a lot of things I "wish" for.

I wish I hadn't gotten into credit card debt.

I wish I had kept that stupid Saturn and paid the durn thing off.

I wish I had saved more money.

I wish I had more patience with kids.

I feel like if all the above had happened, I'd be in a much better place right now. Less irritated, perhaps. I wouldn't be worried about paying down debt (though, honestly, I'm really not WORRIED about it, I just want it gone).

But honestly, that's it. Regrets? Got none.

Zero.

Zilch.

NADA.

Because I live life with no regrets.

I don't REGRET my credit card debt. It made me realize the value of a dollar. To those of you *cough*myparents*cough* who don't have to get $20k in the hole to figure this out, then kudos to you. I did. I'm grateful I was smart enough not to rack up more than I could afford to pay each month (ie: I pay WAY more than the minimums, even though I can't pay off the full balance)

My Saturn was a good car. And Lawd how I took its gas mileage and $1.25/gallon gas for granted! But if I hadn't traded her in, I wouldn't have gone down the line to get ALexus. Which I adore, is much more spacious and whose gas mileage is actually still pretty decent. I'm pretty sure ALexus is in this for the long haul. She's mah be-be.

Saving money. Again, the value of a dollar. I see people who have a crap ton of money "saved" and it does em no good cause they're too paranoid to spend it. *cough*myparents*cough* Saved money is good- a few months' worth of income is best- but I'm convinced that you can save too much just like you can spend too much.

Patience with kids. Yeah. I think I probably have juuuust enough. Probably what I shoulda said is I wish I wanted more kids. Cause then I'd get to experience nursing and stuff again. But you couldn't pay me enough to shell out all the money I've already shelled out on another human being again. Ever. (And if you question the validity of that statement, I'd direct you to previous blogs wherein I describe my issues with selfishness lol)

I guess the moral of this post is: MODERATION.

Spending? Moderation

Saving? Moderation

Cars? Moderation

Kids? For the love of Pete, MOD-ER-A-SHON (I'm lookin' at you, Michelle Duggar)

I'm rambling...

I've learned a lot lately. By lately, I mean today. I would respectfully request that you bear with me as I ramble on about some of the more... life-changing things I've realized. In hindsight, it's all very common sense, but hey, it's been a long weekend and we could all use a good life lesson reminder now and again, right?

No matter what path in life you choose, you'll never get EVERYONE to agree with it. And if you live your life for everyone else, you never get to live your own life. (<--- That's 'bout to be my FB status, y'all)

Anyone that knows me knows that I welcome the opinions of others, take them into consideration and then do whatever I dang well please. Know why? Cause *I* am the one that has to put head to pillow at night knowing that when I wake up the next day I have to live with the consequences of the actions I took the day before.

You know what else I've learned? People change over the years. And that's ok. I think it's called EVOLVING. (And I don't mean in the chimpanzee to human sense) I mean you live and learn. Literally. Things that were VERY black and white at 21, suddenly have a few shades of gray thrown in a decade later. A position in which you'd NEVER thought you'd budge or see another side of suddenly becomes crystal clear... from the other side.

And lastly, the hardest lesson I've had to learn- a true friend doesn't cut you out of their life b/c you make decisions they don't agree with. (<---Pardon my dangling participle) They may not talk to you as much... they dang sure won't agree with you... and you might get a head shake or two, but they DON'T cut you out and tell you "I can't have someone like you in my life"... simply because you aren't doing what they think you should. You aren't forcing your beliefs on them, you aren't trying to get them to join your gang, you aren't doing anything but sharing something that you think is really cool. And yet they still cut you out. Sad.

The good news is, I don't have to live with the consequences of that action. I mean, it sucks I won't have a relationship with that person anymore. But it's on their terms. I have no problem with them. If they decide that maybe they were a lil judgmental and double checked that name plate (that didn't say GOD on it) and call me up, I'll welcome them with open arms. Maybe that's dumb of me, but I've also learned that it really IS hard work to stay mad at someone. It really IS hard work to judge somebody up and down. So, I choose not to do it. (Assert my opinion? Yes. Call someone a dumbass? Yes. But cut a loved one out of my life cause they went a different way than I woulda gone? Heck no.)

To Wit: My best friend and I do not always agree on things. She does some things that really get my head to shaking. I assert my opinion and tell her I think she's being a dumbass and then you know what I do? Tell her I love her no matter what and change the subject to what does she think about that dude on that one episode of Millionaire Matchmaker. Know why? Cause I love her. Unconditionally. (Someone double check me, but I'm pretty sure that's in the Bible somewhere) She does the same thing to me. Shakes her head, calls me a dumbass and then we talk about what happened on the latest episode of Celebrity Rehab w/ Dr. Drew.

DISCLAIMER: If there's someone in your life who is a bad influence b/c they're harping on you constantly to do bad things then please, by all means, make arrangements to distance yourself. But I think having someone try to convince you to build a meth lab in your kitchen for em is in a whole nother league from sharing exciting news about a possible life change (that's not illegal).

I take great comfort in the fact that to call out people who exhibit this type of judgmental behavior and cutting of the ties (who also usually happen to be under the age of 25. Coincidence? I think not) would be depriving them of the EVOLVING I mentioned, above.

So to all my younger readers out there (ha. ha. This is funny because I have sooooo many readers.) Keep what Auntie Mandy has said in the back of your mind, but most importantly: KEEP YOUR MIND OPEN. Cause when you close it off... when you deal in absolutions... you back yourself into a corner. And that's a real hard place from which to extract yourself. (<---Proper English. SCORE!)

You Know You Got It Bad

when you spend $335 that coulda bought a PLANE TICKET to the happiest place on earth (Minnesota, y'all. F Disney World) on NFL Sunday Ticket.

Cause you just gotta see your boys make the plays.

It's clear. I'm a Vikings fan, now.

FOR LIFE.

My Vacation Was So Epic, it has its own PLAYLIST.

1. Murder Reigns- Ja Rule

“I feel the rain comin’ down on me… when the sun gon’ shine… My Lord, somebody help us all”

Dang right. Whoever invented 4:30am should be drug out into the street and shot. A 7:15 flight doesn’t sound so bad WHEN YOU ONLY LIVE 20 MINUTES FROM THE AIRPORT. Factor in an hour and a half drive and shit just got real, y’all. That was my bad. And I’ll be on the EVENING direct flight outta Jacksonville from now on.

2. But I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Lookin’ For- U2

“I have climbed the highest mountains, I have run through the fields, only to be with you… but I still haven’t found what I’m lookin’ for”

Mama needed some Starbucks. Mercifully, I didn’t have to look far because the geniuses at JIA strategically placed a Starbucks DIRECTLY in front of the security exit. They then strategically placed Starbucks next to Terminal A. And 50ft down Terminal A, they strategically placed Gate A5- my gateway to Narnia, I mean, Minneapolis.

3. With You- Chris Brown

“… you mean to me, what I mean to you, and together there’s nothin’ we won’t do…”

That’s me and Kelly. Period. The second I jumped into that girl’s vehicle I LITERALLY felt a shift and all was right in the world again.

4. I’m So Hood- DJ Khaled

“I’m out the hood, and if you feel me put your hands up…”

Little did I know that going knockoff purse huntin’ in the Minneapolis ghetto was on my bucket list. It was and it is now crossed off. Me and Dolce & Gabbana have bonded. Fake or not, my purse is hot.

5. Fancy- Drake

“Spendin’ hours in the salon on your hairstyles… in the mall steady rackin’ up the airmiles.”

Three words: MALL OF AMERICA. That is all. That is enough.

6. Raise Your Glass- P!nk

“So raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways, All my underdogs, we will never be, never be, anything but loud and nitty gritty dirty little freaks.”

Go Twins! Target Field was awesome, and even though the underdog Twins lost to those fancy-schmancy Red Sox, we raised our glasses to em!

7. Lazy Song- Bruno Mars

“Today I don’t feel like doin’ anything. I just wanna lay in my bed…”

I didn’t dub Kelly’s basement bedroom “The Cave” for nothin! I literally spent an entire day in that sucker. Watched me some Regis and Kelly, watched me some Ellen… Millionaire Matchmaker, Basketball Wives. Frickin’ awesome.

8. The Edge of Glory- Lady GaGa

“I need a man that thinks it’s right when it’s so wrong… right on the limits where we know we both belong… I wanna run right to, to the edge with you, where we can both fall over in love.”

For those of you that know me. You know what I’m referring to. And I’m referring to it TWICE. Thank you and good night.

9. Like a G6- Far East Movement

“Now I’m feelin’ so fly like a G6”

10. Put It Down- T-Pain

“Drinkin’ and sippin’ on that Patrone, we done been got it on, boo”

11. Club Can’t Handle Me- Flo Rida

“You know I know how, to make em watch and stare as I zone out. The club can’t even handle me right now. Watchin’ you, watchin’ me, I go all out. The club can’t even handle me right now.”

Now those three songs pretty much sum up our night with the Vikings- and I don’t mean those pale faced folk from Scandanavia. I mean the Mother F-ing MINNESOTA VIKINGS. Training camp is in Mankato at Minnesota State- which is exactly 26 miles from New Ulm. We happened to go out Thursday night. Which happened to be the last night of training camp. And whaddya know? The boys were unwinding at a lil bar called "Boomtown."

Donovan McNabb grabbed my love handle, y’all. I had words with Adrian Peterson, gave Christian Ponder a hug for luck, did a shot of Patrone with Jamarca Sanford and like to fell head over heels for rookie running back #48 Matt Asiata. Which leads me to…

12. If We Ever Meet Again- Timbaland ft. Katy Perry

“Do you come here much, I swear I’ve seen your face before. Hope you don’t see me blush, but I can’t help but want you more… Baby tell me what’s your story, I ain’t shy, don’t you worry, I’m flirting with my eyes, wanna leave with you tonight... I’ll never be the same, if we ever meet again, won’t let you get away, if we ever meet again. This free fall’s got me so, kiss me all night don’t ever let me go. I’ll never be the same, if we ever meet again.”

I. HEART. MATT. ASIATA. Just… Google him. He is the cutie-est, patooty-ist thing to ever come out of Utah as far as I’m concerned.

And yes, he’s a Mormon. The fact that I told him I was one too pretty much made his night. Some blonde bimbo came to hit on him, he grabbed my hand and didn’t turn loose till the coaches rounded erry-body up for curfew. *sigh* If we ever meet again INDEED.

Sidebar: Saturday we watched our boys play the Tennessee Titans. It’s a whole new experience once you KNOW them. Like personal ‘n shit. It was like cheering for family. Go Vikings!

13. Down on the Farm- Tim McGraw

“Well you can come as you are, there ain’t no dress code…”

The Brown County Fair was in town and out came the country girl. I loved on me some goats, and sheep, bunnies and piggies, cows and even a llama and a camel.

14. Don’t Wanna Go Home- Jason DeRulo

“Ayo, me say, day, oh, daylight come and we don’t wanna go home…”

All good things must come to an end, so Sunday I flew back to the dirty south. *cry*

Even now, as I write all of this out, it seems like 99% of this stuff was a DREAM. I cheered on the Twins, partied like a G6 with the Vikings, got fancy, the club couldn’t handle me… kept myself “grounded” with the help from a certain someone so I could come home and keep on livin’ life. It’s hard to imagine that we could ever top those 9 days.

To that I say, roll on Christmas week. Cause I already know the first song on THAT playlist:

1. 2012 (It Ain’t the End of the World)- Jay Sean

Leavin' on a Jet Plane

Finally! It's almost time! 2 more days of work and then I am OUTTA HE-AH! I shipped all 24 lbs of clothes and shoes up yesterday. My packin' skillz iz gettin' better the more I go up there. I can't wait to see my Kelly, go to the Twins game and just RELAX.

Highs in the mid-70s will rock, too.

And I can't lie... I'm intrigued to see what happens with Twatwaffle. According to my trusty Magic 8 Ball, things could get... interesting. (You should know that Magic 8 Ball has, like, a 90% accuracy rating. That's better than Delta's percentage of flights showing up up on time, y'all.)

Don't know if I'll post again before I go, but if you're friends with me on FB, you'll be able to see what I'm up to till I get back. (As one of my bosses/FB friends put it "It's like watching Gulliver's Travels or something!")

Anyways, play nice. And if you can't be good, be good at it.

*MWAH*

It's (almost) my birthday and I'll bitch if I want to

I know what I SHOULD be. I should be grateful. I should feel BEYONDDDD blessed that come this Saturday at 8:55pm, I'll have been given 31 years of life.

Make no mistake-I am grateful. No one loves me more than me (Trust me there) so I don't wanna kick it for a good long while.

But let's get this straight: I'm grateful for LIFE, not for age.

I cannot shake the fact that I'm going to be THIRTY-FRICKIN-ONE years old. It just sounds... ancient! I'm not sure WHY it's bothering me so bad (Yes I am. My gotdang vanity, but I'm trying to come up with some noble reasons here) I know that every birthday since my 21st has been met with AWFUL trepidation.

I had a meltdown on my 23rd birthday. A full blown, all out, no holds barred MELTDOWN. I was inconsolable for a day and a half.

Mandy Smith: Hatin' on her birthday since 2003!

I have no logical reasoning for any of this. I'm happily divorced (Y'all know we're way happier now than we were when we were married), I've had a kid- with no plans for another- I've got a college degree and a career. I've got a house, a nice car, money in the bank, a best friend that I visit almost whenever I want. I've got... well, we'll just call it a "distraction"(or a twatwaffle. Whatever.) for when I decide I wanna daydream. Hells bells I even got a 401k with thousands of dollars in it.

Wanna hear the funny part? (Also known as irony) I have more money now, less stress, I LOOK better physically (True story- I was, like a size 10 when I was 23), I FEEL better mentally (except for this whole birthday BS) and overall I'm WAY better off.

Have I mentioned I'm a walking contradiction?

There's nothing I can do. I can't stop Saturday from getting here... I can't stop the numbers from ticking up, up and away.

Clearly I can't stop the blind panic that seems to get exponentially stronger every year.

Anyways. There's really no point to this post. The title says it all: "It's (almost) my birthday and I'll bitch if I want to"

Hugs to all of you for hearing me out. XOXO

Really? Wow.

I'm proud to report that the twatwaffle broke rank night before last and texted me. I'm also proud to report that it's clear I had made more peace than originally thought with the whole thing because you coulda knocked me over with a feather when I saw that sucker come in.

I'm SAD, however, to report that I texted back and that the conversation went on for a few hours.

I did NOT unleash hell- I figured that was a dish best served personally.

Like next weekend maybe?

What surprised me the most was the context of the text "So are you ready for your birthday?" (Oh yeah, that's what I got after 3 weeks of NOTHING. Not "Hey"... "'Sup?"... "Sorry I snapped at you for no reason, please consider this my mea culpa")

Ok. REALLY? You ask me that a week EARLY and then when I ask "Do you even know when my birthday is?" I get the correct response (Yes, July 30) and I even get ("And 31 is not old")

Stop with the mind f***!!! Granted you can see all of that on FB, but since when have you shown THAT much initiative to go LOOK?!?

Life would be easier if my brain overruled my heart sometimes, I swear.

I freely admit. I'm sitting back and waiting to see how this ordeal plays out. I'm not even gonna front.

And I have my BFF on standby with a shock prod if I get outta line.

Blame HIM (points upwards to heaven)

Today's quote is brought to you by Rosie O'Donnell in the movie "Beautiful Girls"

“OK, look, girls with big tits have big asses, girls with little tits have little asses. That’s the way it goes. God doesn’t f*** around, he’s a fair guy. He gave the fatties big, beautiful tits, and the skinnies little, tiny niddlers. If you don’t like it, call him.”

Yes indeedy. If you don't like it, call HIM.

"Fiddle-Dee-Dee"

But first? A birthday shout out:

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GISELE BUNDCHEN! YOU BIONIC BE-YOTCH!"

The only thing giving me comfort is the fact that no matter what, Gisele, you will ALWAYS be 10 days older than me. Always. You will also always look 25 times better than me. But that's because you're a billionaire. And bionic. And that's okay. Cause you're STILL older than me.

Hag.

Next subject!

You may remember in my previous post we discussed principle and my fierce dedication to it. I've had approximately 21 hours to reflect on that post and around hour 10, it dawned on me that there was a deeper issue at hand with they-who-shall-not-be-named and the fact that they haven't said anything to me (besides the obvious, previously discussed principle of the matter, of course).

But first. More background. (I'm such a historian. I know. But this is an integral part of not only my theory, but also who I am as a person, so humor me.)

When I read a book I can almost ALWAYS relate to at least one of the characters. That IS part of the reason we read, right? To escape into this imaginary world and say "Oh I would TOTALLY be like that!" Of all the books I've read (and BELIEVE ME, I've read A LOT) the two characters I most closely identify with- and have had people back me up on- are Stephenie Meyer's Bella and Margaret Mitchell's Scarlett O'Hara.

I have Bella's "Super Self-Control." I don't always wanna exercise it (We all know how bad Bella wanted her some human blood when she was on that first hunt with Edward!) but when it's truly necessary, I have it. I also agonize and agonize over a decision. But once the decision is made, the rest is follow through. I'm not one to go back on a decision and I'm grateful for that.

The one I REALLY embody though, is Scarlett. And it's not just because I'm half Irish. Today, I'm only going to bore you with one of the ways I'm like Scarlett. To list them all, and my subsequent admiration for this character, would take much more of an attention span than either you or I could muster.

*Sidebar: Kudos to Vivien Leigh and her British self rockin' that southern accent. AMERICANS can't rock that accent as well as you did. Thank you for not butchering it.*

I realize that some of you may not be as familiar with Gone With the Wind as I am. I seriously read this book when I was, like, 8 years old. And it's seriously about 4" thick. The movie is about 4 hours long... and they edited out half the book.

Gone With the Wind is both my favorite book EVER and my favorite movie EVER. (Yes, even more favorite than Twilight.)

The story begins abouuuuut 3 days before the Civil War breaks out with Scarlett as this spoiled little southern princess. Truly, her vanity gives mine a run for its money. She loved to look pretty and have the guys falling all over her. And boy did they. Those guys fought over who got to sit next to her at the Bar-B-Que.... then they fought over who could go get her dessert. Then the guy who she CHOSE (yes, CHOSE) to go get her dessert about passed out from happiness and declared his undying love to her.

That bitch had GAME, y'all.

But there was one guy she wanted- Ashley Wilkes. WHY she wanted Ashley Wilkes was a mystery to me for the longest time. (Personally, I thought the Tarleton Twins were MUCH cuter. And once we get to Rhett Butler? *swoon*) Anyways. Scartlett wanted her some Ashley Wilkes. But Ashley Wilkes only wanted him some Melanie Hamilton.

*'Nother Sidebar: Ashley and Melanie were first cousins. They got married. They had a kid. Can we say "EW!"? No wonder everyone thinks all the southerners are inbred. Thanks a lot, Margret Mitchell!*

This irritated Scarlett to NO. END. It didn't matter how pretty she was, how much money she had, or how many guys were panting after her, SHE. WANTED. ASHLEY. Now she'd amuse herself with other men in the meantime- there's a reason her full name is Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler- but she never took her eyes off the prize.

Anywho, as the story goes on, the war breaks out, all the women are left to fend for themselves and Scarlett ends up realizing just how mentally strong she really is. Them damn Yankees was NOT gonna beat her down. Sherman's stormin' Atlanta, you say? To hell with him! After the war was over and she was about the only family member left with enough kutzpa to take care of Tara (the plantation that was her heart and soul) she sees Ashley again. And Ashley sees Melanie again. And Scarlett's irritated again.

I don't wanna spoil the ending for you audience members that have yet to experience the awesomeness that is Gone With the Wind, but I will say this (because it's the point of this entire blog post and the reason you've humored me this long): When it's all said and done, Scarlett has an epiphany: It's not that she LOVED Ashley so much. She just wanted Ashley to want HER. She realized they really had NOTHING in common and once she got him that she would get bored in about 3 seconds. Of course she cared about him and loved him in her own way. But that true blue, deep, long-lasting love? Nah. She just hated that he wanted damn "mealy-mouthed" Melanie Hamilton over her. (That's a real quote, btw, "mealy-mouthed". That's how proper southern ladies cussed back then.)

So that's the root of my problem: I just want that twatwaffle to want me. By not texting or acknowledging my existence on a regular basis, I process that as "lack of interest" and get pissy. Sure I care, and we have a good time together. But when it comes down to it, that's the source of my irritation and bitterness: there's something out there (probably work) that's his "Melanie"... and it irritates me.

But not anymore. Nope. I'm cured. Or at least I'm on my way. Things have changed in my little corner of the south. People that have been a part of my life for a long time have done the impossible and changed in a way that has brought me more enjoyment than I've experienced in years. I'm going to be happy with my Rhett Butler, because he's the one that I really have the connection with. And in the end, that's what I need to focus on. Because that's what's going to bring me long-term happiness.

So I'll leave you with this: a fan made trailer of Gone With the Wind. It's the least I can do after giving you the massive headache you're now experiencing from reading this mess.

XOXO

Because there's PRINCIPLE involved, that's why.

First of all, let me start out by saying there's PRINCIPAL and there's PRINCIPLE. (If you don't know the difference between the two, click each word and you'll get the definitions. Don't hate. I'm a grammar nerd and I want us all to be on the same page here.)

Secondly, you know those people in your life that you go WAAAAAAY back with? (<--- ha. The grammar nerd just ended her sentence with a preposition. I can admit it though, so we're not gonna hold that against me. k?) Like, middle school back with? You don't talk much now, but when you do it's like you never lost contact? I've got a friend like that. His name is Justin. And he's exactly 23 hours older than me. Justin and I go allllll the way back to 8th grade. (That'd be 1993. Old. Ugh.) I'm not sure how it happened, but one day he and I realized that there was one thing we would fight to the death about:

PRINCIPLE.

(And by fight to the death I mean with others, not amongst ourselves. Because I cannot recall a single instance, in 18 years, where Justin and I disagreed on the principle of a matter.)

*Sidebar: Those of you on FB, when I refer to my "Puddin' Buns," I'm talkin' about Justin. He calls me "Sugar Britches"... which I consider an improvement over his high school nickname for me which was "Ghetto Bum." But that's a post for another day*

So, with all that background covered, let's get to the point of all this jibberish.

I used to think that principle was always a good thing. For the most part I still think that, but lately, I'm learning that principle can be a serious pain in the ass.

Good Principle: You promised someone that you would bring them dinner. But then you get busy and forget. They tell you not to worry about it, they're not that hungry anyways. NO MA'AM. That's not the point. So you turn around and get them their #5 with a large Sweet Tea. Why? Because there's PRINCIPLE involved.

Pain-in-the-Ass Principle: Someone you like A LOT (and claims to feel the same way about you) snaps at you for no reason via text message. You let them know, in no uncertain terms-via text message-how you feel about that. (You're not in favor of it, btw) They never write you back. No "Hello." "Goodbye." "F you" NOTHIN'. They never even acknowledge that MAYBE they shouldn't have snapped at you. It's been 2 1/2 weeks. You refuse to break rank and text first. Why? Because there's PRINCIPLE involved.

Damnit.

So now there's a big fat war going on in my head. "Principle" vs. "Pride Goeth Before the Fall" There's no clear winner so I still I can't bring myself to break rank. No matter how much I HAAAATTTEEE not talking to this person, the principles of, well, PRINCIPLE are ingrained WAY too deeply in my psyche to cave.

PRINCIPLE! PRINCIPLE! PRINCIPLE! (<--- say it like "Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!")

This could all be avoided if that damn Twatwaffle would just text a simple "Hi."

Clearly, I'm going my grave on frop'n PRINCIPLE.

In fact, y'all have that engraved on my tombstone:

Here lies Amanda Colleen Smith

July 30, 1980- _______

Bless her heart, she went to her grave on frop'n PRINCIPLE

Insert Evil Laugh *HERE*

Y'all know I heart Minnesota like white bread. Not only does my BFF live there, but in the winter there's SNOW. Snow makes me happy.

Because it's AWESOME. And cold.

This time of year (when I'm sweatin ball sacks) I frequently pull up pictures of me buried up to my eyeballs in snow to remind me that in a few months I can go back and do it all over again. Sometimes, though, that has an adverse effect and it makes me sad. Cause, well, not only do I miss my Kelly, but it's frickin HOT now.

And there's no snow. No snow makes me sad.

Then I see this:

Temperature

92.1 °F

Feels Like 116 °F

Y'all, that is the current temperature and heat index in New Ulm, Minnesota as of 3pm Eastern Time today.

This is the current temperature and heat index in Tallahassee, Florida as of 3pm Eastern Time:

Temperature

88.3 °F

Feels Like 94 °F

I couldn't help but laugh. HARD. Cause they got "Excessive Heat Warnings" and all out.

BOO. FRICKIN'. HOO.

Welcome to my Fresh Hell! What you're feelin' right now? It's like that 10 outta 12 months a year here. (That's 83% of the year for all you math majors out there) That's right. 83% of my year is spent in absolute HELL.

Suck it, Yankees! And come this winter, when the windchill is -40 and there's 6ft of snow on the ground, don't bitch about how AWFUL the snow and cold is.

You just remember how HOOOOT and MIIIIISERABLE it is right now (and will be for the rest of the week)

And how SOME OF US have to fly halfway across the country for relief.

*MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA*

UPDATE (4:12 pm Eastern)

Temperature

94.5 °F

Feels Like 121 °F

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

See what happens when I don't take my Ambien?

(or some other sedating drug)

I'm big into dream interpretation. Why?I don't know. Well, that's not true. I have a theory. My theory is I hate not knowing why things happen. And I REALLY hate my subconscious. (Since dreams are supposed to be a manifestation of what your subconscious mind is filing away) Like, why the hell can't my subconscious just come out with it? If I'm harboring some deep rooted insecurity JUST. FREAKING. TELL ME. Don't give me some crazy, wild-A dream so I wake up and spend hours Googling the meaning of "freaking in the haze with a purple hippo". Balls up and tell my conscious mind WTF is going on.

/end rant

*deep breath*

So last night I dreamed that I was back in high school. Band to be more exact. But even though I was 11 years back in time, the events going on were modern (ie: Prince William and Duchess Kate make an appearance. Don't worry. It gets better.) Apparently it's an away game since a school bus was involved, but it was also the first game of the season. (We're gonna chalk up the "football" portion of the dream to the fact that there's like 50-some days left till college football season kicks off and I'm a hot mess of withdrawal right now) Enter Mandy... flipping the F out b/c I can't find my uniform. EEEERYBODY'S got their uniform but Mandy. The always responsible, never forgot anything ONCE in 4 years of Marching Band Mandy.

And it's not just ANY uniform. Oh no, if that were the case, I could just grab a spare. No it's my DRUM MAJOR uniform (Yes, I was a drum major. Queen of the Band Nerds. And I loved it. Don't judge me.)

I feel it's important to note here that in real life I was a drum major only during my senior year, therefore I only ever owned and had need for ONE uniform. And drum majors get a different uniform every year. (Unlike the band which keeps the same ones year after year)

But here I am, flipping out on the bus b/c I can't find my gotdang uniform from LAST YEAR. Furthermore, I just KNEW that I had purposely LEFT said uniform on the bus for safekeeping (WTF? Safe? On a school bus? And the SMELL!?!? EEWWWW) Well lo and behold I FIND IT. And I'm all "See?!? I KNEW I left it here!" And then Dream Mandy was smart enough to say "Oh geeze. I hope it doesn't reek." My next thought was "OH NO! I hope it still fits!" (Aaaand I'ma chalk THAT one up to me being obsessed with my weight) And then my last thought was "Wait. I'm supposed to have a new uniform for the new season." and I turn to the band director and say "Where's my new uniform?" To which he replies "Uh... You haven't been fitted for it yet." "I haven't?" I say. "Nooo... that's why I'm wondering why you're so worried about last year's uniform." I said "Well everyone else is out there in THEIR uniforms. I'd look pretty freakin' stupid if I was directing them in JEANS and a TSHIRT" (Duhhhh.)

My high-school boyfriend was in the dream too. (That's not unusual, he and I are actually still REALLY good friends to this day and talk all the time.) So he was there in the background of the whole thing and once I'm dressed everyone starts telling us "You two look JUST LIKE Prince William and Kate. JUST. LIKE. THEM."

Y'all, the last time I checked. Kate had WAAAAY better style than a drum major uniform from 1998. Granted, it was a snappy uniform, but still. Kate? Really?

Hell I didn't care. I looked like a Pretty, Pretty Princess. Everybody said so, so it must be true. I was grinnin ear to ear.

And then I woke up.

So the only conclusions I've been able to draw from all of this are:

1. Mandy without her College Football is like Peanut Butter without Jelly.

2. I wanna be a princess.

3. I follow Wills and Kate WAAAYYY too much on People.com

4. I SERIOUSLY need to work on that whole "vanity" thing. It's gonna be the death of me.

and finally

5. Don't be a hero. Take your frickin' sleeping pill so this crap don't happen again.

Any other conclusions are most welcome.

Hilary Duff has knee fat. And that makes me happy

(shout out to my girl Angelina for inspiring me with that title, btw)

I think we've all heard about the 7 Deadly Sins. In case you haven't, here's a recap (in no particular order since I figure the Big Guy ranks em all pretty even on the "deadly" scale):

1. Envy

2. Greed

3. Pride

4. Lust

5. Wrath

6. Gluttony

7. Sloth

Sadly, I did that all from memory. Clearly I think about these a lot. Mostly I think about "Which of these am I MOST guilty of...?" Then I wonder "At what point does an idle 'Dang, I wish I had Paris Hilton's fortune!' trigger the "ENVY ALERT" button in Heaven and I'm sentenced to burn for all eternity?" I mean, do you have to like dwell on the sin for AWHILE, do you have to let it consume you? Is just the mere thought enough to sentence you to eternal damnation? (For a more in depth discussion of the 7 Deadly Sins, I direct you to you the source of all sources: Wikipedia.

And WTF does all of this have to do with Hilary Duff's knee fat?!? I'm getting there, I promise.

After much thought and deliberation, it's devastatingly obvious to me that I'm guilty of ALL of these. (Especially since they all kinda stem from each other, if you think about it)

1. Envy- See Paris Hilton thought, above

2. Greed- When you grew up wanting your own money bin like Scrooge McDuck and your #1 rule is "Don't F with my money!" It's safe to say you're a greedy bitch.

3. Pride- I flip my s*** when my size 4s get tight. That's pretty dang prideful, y'all.

4. Lust- Two Words: Minnesota Farmboy

5. Wrath- I consistently plot revenge. Usually on the object of #4. Truly, I'm a walking contradiction

6. Gluttony- Thanksgiving Dinner in the South, anyone? HELLO.

7. Sloth- Laziness. My favorite thing to do. Period.

So. After much MORE thought and deliberation, I decided that my #1 Deadly Sin is *drumroll please*

PRIDE

Yep. Pride. AKA Vanity in my book. I am forever worried about what size I am, how dark my tan is, how fat my ass looks in those jeans, why the hell won't my fat ass fit into those jeans, I swear to God they fit last week, this is BS! And, well, you get the picture. One of my (many) bad habits that feeds this Pride/Vanity thing is looking at the celebrities. I mean COME. ON. When you see Miranda Kerr and her "12-week post baby" bod, you just gotta wonder, WHERE IS THE FREAKING JUSTICE?!? I mean, I couldn't look like that on my BEST day.

*beats head against the wall*

Yeah, I KNOW she's a freaking supermodel so her paycheck depends on her body bouncing back ASAP after a kid. I KNOW it's her JOB to be in the gym 8 days a week and eat specially prepared meals when she's not on the runway. I know she has a prep team and body makeup.

And Photoshop.

I KNOW.

I also know if I would maybe put a LIIIITTTLE more effort into working out instead of utilizing Sin #7, I might not be as bad off, but I digress.

Seeing those pictures just makes me feel less than... pretty. All I see when I look in the mirror is a set of thighs that Col. Sanders would roll over in his grave for and an ass that's got too much back even for Sir Mix A Lot. So when I come across pictures of the few celebrities out there that have REAL bodies, I become their #1 fan. For realz, Penelope Cruz is my homegirl.

And then I came across THIS. Hilary Duff. My new hero. She looks great, right? But them ain't no chicken legs, y'all. Them is REAL. AMERICAN. LEGS.

And there's even a little bit of knee fat.

They're kinda pasty white too. Which isn't a bad thing. Just means she won't be gettin cancer cut out her skin at 45 like I prolly will be. (See? That damn vanity's gonna end up bein LITERALLY deadly!)

Hilary (and Penelope)- THANK YOU for being normal. I'm sure you probably weigh less than me, and I'm sure you're much more toned than me. But this picture here proves that you AREN'T bionic like Miranda and Gisele. You're a girl. With knee fat. And prolly even a lil cellulite.

And for that I thank you.

And this is why you don't F with seagulls

For those of you not familiar with the animals that live near the ocean, read this article.

http://www.foxnews.com/world/2011/07/12/british-mans-eyeball-pecked-out-by-seabird/?intcmp=obnetwork

And then commit this to memory: I will never. Ever. Ever. Ever. EVER f*** with a seagull.

Ever.

PS: I speak from experience. Although I was lucky enough to survive with all my body parts intact.

Oh, Gerty...

You know that whole "love/hate" thing people talk about? I can't decide where the love is in this (involuntary) relationship I have with Gerty.

For those of you won't don't know, Gerty is what I've named my thyroid. Because she's huge. Like a goiter. Ok, not REALLY, but I'm self-conscious and she FEELS like a goiter. So. Gerty the Goiter it is.

Mine and Gerty's relationship was non-existant till after CJ came along. Apparently, it's somewhat common to develop thyroid problems after a baby. (Thanks, kiddo! Cause the 39 hours of labor wasn't enough of a present for me!) I have what's called Hashimoto's Thyroiditis- an autoimmune disease. In Layman's terms, HT is when your thyroid is going along minding its own business when suddenly, out of nowhere, my own ANTIBODIES (you know, the thingies that fight infection?) attack it. No cause. No provocation. Somewhere a switch was flipped and the antibodies declared war on poor, innocent, Gerty.

When I was first diagnosed, I asked my Endocrinologist "Well... can we just yank it out?" (As most people who know me will tell you- Mandy's answer to everything is "Put me to sleep and take it out.") Nope. They can't take it out. It's too risky a procedure for something that might not work. So I said "Well, why wouldn't it work? Antibodies attack thyroid. Thyroid goes away. Problem solved." Oh no. See, they would have to SCRAPE all around my larynx (possibly damaging my vocal cords) and even then there's a chance that they wouldn't get all the tissue... which would just lead to continued problems. Awesome.

Ok... well, what about meds? Something to help regulate this? Nope. That won't work either. Really? REALLY? I have GOD awful hot flashes, like I'm frickin' menopausal. I get insomnia so strong that nothing short of general anesthesia will put me out, my periods are all over the place... WHY on God's green earth can you not give me some synthroid? "Oh... well see, here's the thing. TECHNICALLY your thyroid is still working properly."

Eh?

"Yeah, see if you look at the bloodwork, your T3 and T4 levels are totally where they're supposed to be. It's just that when something triggers your immune system (thus triggering the antibodies into action) it causes things to spaz out IMITATING an overactive thyroid... but it's really not overactive. So if we were to give you thyroid meds, you'd be totally F'd up after the inflammation died down because your thyroid REALLY didn't need the meds."

Eh?

(Yeah. It took me awhile to get it too)

Ok fine... well what about the symptoms? Can we treat the SYMPTOMS? Can I have some Ambien for the insomnia? Is there anything for hot flashes? "Yeah... about that. Ambien's kinda addictive, so we don't like to give that out much and no... there's nothing else we can do. But cheer up! At SOME POINT the antibodies will win the war, your thyroid will die and THEN we can put you on synthroid." Yet again, AWESOME.

Now let me say this: Gerty does have some redeeming value. Well. She has ONE redeeming value: my metabolism. Gerty got me from a size 8 to a size 4 in a year. With no exercise, no dieting. Pretty freakin' awesome right? Sure... if you don't mind random hot flashes, insomnia and a ginormus lump in the middle of your throat. But I can't really dwell on all that because, again, Gerty WILL die one day. And then I'll get fat. And that's just not an option. Guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

So now my new game has become "Guess when Gerty's gonna blow" Because SERIOUSLY, people. She is the most FINIKY thyroid I imagine has ever existed. A lot of folks know that stress can trigger your immune system (how many times are you working a bunch of OT, or trying to balance your budget and then you come down with a cold or something? It's because the stress lowered your immune system making you more susceptible to that cold) What a lot of people DON'T know is that your body can't tell the difference between "good" stress and "bad" stress.

Good Stress: Flying up to visit your BFF for 10 days

Bad Stress: Going through a divorce

Truly, the body reads them both as stress and therefore sends out the call to the antibodies. And with me, like I said, my antibodies ain't just lookin for germs.

So Gerty could blow at anytime. When my spring allergies kick in... when I spend a week and a half with Kelly... when Ed & I get into a big fight. Yup. NOOOOOO tellin'. Have I mentioned how AWESOME this is?

Last year I started taking the pill again. I really had no reason for it except that I was hopeful that the hormones in the pill would override Gerty's mood swings and could keep my cycle on SOMETHING of a schedule. So far so good. But now I'm starting to wonder: Are the extra hormones/signals that Gerty is sending out when she's pissed interfering with the hormones in the pill?

So. I've told you all of that to tell you this: My boobs are huge. Like, really huge. Like, I'm pretty sure they weren't this swollen when I was the sole nutrition source for another human being. And they huuuurt. Baaaad. My bra hurts. No bra hurts. Nothing helps, everything HUUUURTTS. I'm swollen (I hope. I hope this isn't fat) to the point that my size 4s are just barely on this side of uncomfortable and now I cry when I have to put on my size 6s. (I know most people would kill for EITHER of those sizes, but when you've been a size 4 with no issues for a year or so, you don't EEEEVER wanna go back. Don't judge me.) Anything other than flip flops hurt my feet. (See swelling, above) My poor mind is exhausted, but my body won't stop unless someone shoots me with a damned tranquilizer dart.

So do I stop the pill and wonder when the hell I'll get a period? No. That's just trading one set of problems for another. Do I live in a bubble away from all stressors, good and bad, for the rest of my day? I wish, but no. Apparently the bank likes their mortgage payment on time. GAH! I hate it when I don't have options!

Gerty. I'll find a way to tolerate the hot flashes and the insomnia. And I can learn my angles to hide your goiter-ness. But so help me GOD. If you EVER let me get fat again, I swear on everything that's ever been held holy by anyone on the face of this earth- I'll rip you out MYSELF.

I don't know much...

but I know how to breastfeed. Yup. I'm going to brag about my bodacious ta-ta's and how proud I am of them.

My dear friend had her baby girl on Friday. I went to visit her Friday morning and again Friday evening. She asked me so many questions- everything from breastfeeding to post-partum bleeding- and I had ALL the answers. All of em. And they were the RIGHT answers. (I had a nurse tell me that I should stay the night with my friend cause I knew exactly what to do lol)

Then it dawned on me: WOW. I can finally impart maternal light and knowledge upon a new mommy. Holy crap- I know what I'm doing!

Then the evil thought: If I had another baby it would be SOOOO much easier this go round. I know about pregnancy, labor, epidurals, breastfeeding, toddlerhood.

Then the thought that brought me back to reality: I also know all about sleepless nights, money being thrown down on box after box of diapers, the REAL cost of daycare, sharing the TV...

And I realized, "Nah. I'm good."

But I digress...

So my boobs. Apparently they were super boobs. I thought it was normal to get as much out of them as I was getting. Last night I consulted with my childbirth coach (who is also a really good friend) and told her about my friend having issues nursing and if there was still hope for milk (there is, whew!). When Kim asked why I was asking I told her that E couldn't really get anything out of the pump and was worried. And Kim said "Oh that's normal before your milk comes in." I said "Really?! I used to get like an ounce every 2 hours before my milk came in." Kim looked at me funny and said "Yeah. You had generous boobs. That's not how it usually goes."

Then I found out the 3 ounces I could get off each breast and STILL be able to nurse CJ full after? Also not normal.

Oh. And there's no Easter Bunny, either.

Turns out though, that it was a win-win. Thanks to my Super-Boobs, I always had plenty of milk for CJ and last night I was able to give E encouragement in the form of "Not to worry! I was a super-freak. Your hooties is normal! Give em time!" She was relieved and so am I. (I also felt bad that I mighta made her boobs feel sub-par, soooo my apologies E's boobs!)

I'm taking Thursday off to help out with the baby. (Poor E can't drive for 6 weeks b/c of the c-section and her fiance had to go back to work, so I offered to help out for a day.) I'm excited to be the one to answer the questions (if she has more), give advice- and feel COMPLETELY CONFIDENT in what I'm saying!

I do miss the baby months though. But only the fun stuff like snuggles and rocking and nursing. I figure I can get 2 outta the 3 Thursday.

And that ain't bad.

There's a First Time For Everything

One thing you'll learn quick about me is that I suck at keeping up with things.

But only certain things.

Money? Not a problem. My checkbook is balanced to the penny. Daily.

My kid? Easy-peasy. I keep her entire schedule in my head.

Work? My boss can ask for a random file that hasn't been touched in 5 years and I put my hands on it in 5 seconds.

But journaling? (and now blogging) Whoo, boy. This'll be a challenge.

It's an important challenge though. I spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week in front of the computer. And though I usually think my life is boring, a lot of people ask me if I have a blog, so maybe there's some mild interest? I dunno. HOWEVER. Since I AM in front of said computer so long, I figure I might as well take to the "webwaves" whenever the mood strikes me and speak my mind.

Speaking of speaking my mind. I feel the need for a disclaimer: I am not politicially correct. By a long shot. So if you're easily offended. You might not wanna read this. I'm also extremely opinionated. And sometimes my opinions are different from others'. That's ok.-It's what makes life interesting. But if you're easily offended. You might not wanna read this- cause I ain't gonna apologize for how I feel. Govern yourselves accordingly.

So now... I'm off to brainstorm for something to write about. May God have mercy upon us all...