Blah,Blah,Blahg

FAT SKINNY PERSON...

Ever since my"best friend" (I am using the term loosely) invited me to use her new treadmill, I have become obsessed with my fat.  See actual excerpt from email below:

morning gorgeous!
 it was so good seeing you too!!  been meaning to write to you since...
 wanted to say, maybe you want to come over and use the treadmill in the a.m.
 we could workout together...not that you need to, but with the wedding around
 the corner, i'm sure you want to be in your ultimate fighting weight..no??  let's
 discuss. 

I immediately forwarded the email to Jules of Pancake and French fries, she has an advanced degree and I felt that she could better analyze this email  than I could in my then hysterical state.

My concern was that this "best friend" might consider me getting chubby, in which case I would be very perturbed.  I have a lot on my plate and chubby isn't supposed to be one of them.

Confession--to the naked eye I am slim, to my Fancy's fat calipers (yes, he has them and yes he's used them on me)  I am basically ALL fat. I think 90% last time we checked, which caused him to make the comment:

"Wow, you are the fattest skinny person on earth.", Okay, he didn't use those exact words but I know he was thinking them.

My only problem with the fat is that I am lazy too.   Not with work or cleaning my house but with anything that remotely has to do with any kind of physical exertion (besides breathing).  I am the person that after a 10 hour plane trip sitting on my bum feels the need to sit down again at the baggage carousel.

I know this is a problem when my hot as 'h', Fancy is tragically obsessed with fitness. I don't know why I am so unmotivated in regards to this part of my life.  If your body is a temple mine is the equivalent of the French fry oil vat at McDonald's.  I am admitting it, I am kinda gross, a freak show, Java the Hut in skinny jeans. I think my bones have become subcutaneous fat tissue as well, I don't stand up I just jiggle down the street. I tell you this not to make you vomit in your mouth but because I think that being a few weeks before I tie the knot I should have some muscle to walk down the aisle, no?

CO-DEPENDENCE DAY

Whilst the rest of the U.S. of A. celebrated Independence Day, Miss B. celebrated Co-Dependence day.  It was a day dedicated to my Fancy.  It was all Fancy--all day.  My Fancy was upset that I mentioned his eye rolling the other day so I thought it might be best to let you know a little bit more about the man I plan to call my 'Ball and Chain' (btw, he said if I used the above photo he would sue me,--he was serious).

Yes, he is nearly a decade younger than moi but his personality is that of an 80 year old, nebbish, Jewish man.  So I  feel that we balance each other out.  I created a flow chart of sorts above.  Yes,that really is my Fancy in the middle, the outer spheres are what I can only consider an amalgamation of his personality.  He is very dead pan and quiet.  Most people believe because he's quiet he's an ass, but they don't truly know quite what an ass he is--smart ass is probably the best 'ass' qualifier for him.  He is a really great guy for anyone that can handle his neurosis.  Do I worry about him cheating?  No.  He is so neurotic that a) the fear of disease is always at the forefront of his brain b) if the person that he potentially would cheat with would allow him to open his mouth, they would be calling me to rescue them within minutes-- perhaps seconds.  I am too old to allow his neurosis to bother me. When you get older you forget things so when he repeats himself ad naseum I only remember the 100th time and nothing after that.  Yes, he repeats himself often.  I have suggested medication, but he hasn't taken the hint nor the blatant suggestion.

Now that you know a little bit about my darling Fancy, the nebbish, dead pan, seriously old man (do not read 'old soul'), person that he is, I am going to give you the highlights from our 4th of July:

Morning. Miss B. just out of bed, hair not brushed a complete pile of knots, teeth barely brushed, sleep still in eyes.

FANCY:  "You look great."

MISS B: (incredulous, as only a woman with no makeup and no coffee can be)
             
             "What's that supposed to mean?"

FANCY: (Completely serious and in his flat voice, he shrugs),
              
              "The opposite of bad."

MISS B:     "Would you like to go to breakfast?  My treat!"

FANCY:    "What are we going to talk about?"

Later that day as we cooked dinner I opened a can and preceded to slice open my thumb, blood gushing everywhere.

Before my Fancy passed out from the sight, he ran to find his panacea.  From the other room I heard the familiar cry of:

  FANCY:     "You need to get some anti-bacterial product on it, like Neosporin"

I have no idea why octogerians feel that Neosporin is a cure-all but they all think it is and go into a subdued panic when they need it at the ready (panic is hard on the heart).

 FANCY:      "You really better get the Neosporin on it.  You don't know what kind of vermin crawled over                         the top of that can and is now infesting your finger." 

Again this is not said in a panic but a matter-of-fact tone. 

As the day progresses into evening and I consider the idea of becoming a crazy dog lady my Fancy says:

"If I annoy you so much why do you stay with me?"

I answer "Because I love you." 

...but I also think because I am nearly 39 years old and the chances of me meeting someone half as nutty as you are are slim to none, so I am sticking with you kiddo.



Flow chart: L-R: Larry David, Napolean Dynamite (my Fancy hated this movie,I think he saw too much of himself in it), Woody Allen (pre-Soon-Yi), George Costanza (yes, I know it's Larry David but I feel the need to emphasize the Larry David reference), Chimp (this is more looks than personality, I can never imagine him throwing his feces at anyone for fun, but he does eat a lot of bananas), David Sedaris (my Fancy has a keen eye for the obvious, which makes me laugh at him and not with him)

HOW I WILL BE SPENDING MY WEEKEND....

Since today is like Friday and Monday is 72 hours away....

MAKE MY DAY....

 

This is how I have felt all week.  I know it's only Wednesday but I hope that gives you a clear idea of my current situation. I feel for Postal workers.  Is it wrong that the only reason I am happy that my Fancy is going back to school is not for his fulfillment but mine?  I keep hoping that one day I can go back to the life I once knew, which was not making much money, but working from home and being relatively content. When I decided to update the Blahg tonight he balked, 'What are doing?' I thought you needed to do some work.  "This is work," I argued, "Jules says there's a woman that makes tons of money from her blog."  Instead of giving me the 'ol thumbs up, pat on the back, he said, "Who's Jules?"  I rolled my eyes, "Duh, one of my cyber best friends."   He rolled his eyes right back at me. Then I thought I would impress him with my stats, I let him know how many people have visited the blog in its lifetime. His answer?  "Gosh, there's a lot of bored people out there".  Kids today...(for those of you unaware my Fancy is nearly a decade younger than myself, you'd think that would motivate me to exercise...)

SHE BANGS...

I went to brunch with my 2 best friends and my best friends' best friend-a homophobic gay man -J.  I don't usually brunch, nor do I usually see my friends.  I was quite surprised actually to find out I still had any.  My list of requirements for friendship is quite low but very focused.  My main requirement is that if I should become suddenly homeless that they would offer me and my dog a sofa to use until I become un-homeless.  I think this is very important and if I feel this is not an option then the friendship is revoked.  The other requirement is that they must feel comfortable that I am basically a shut-in, sort of like the unibomber without the bomber thing attached.  I am available once every six months for the most amusing 4 hours of the year and yes, if they needed a place to stay should they become suddenly homeless 'mi casa su casa'.  That's pretty much it, the rest is just icing on the 'ol cake of life, like the fact that they think I am funny.  I used to be the 'pretty' friend in my youth, slowly I became the 'stylish' friend (hide flaws with good clothes and shoes), now as life progresses I will take the 'amusing' friend role, as long as they are laughing with me and not at me I'm fine. 

I do want to mention no one had said anything about my 'Moe' bangs.  Now  this is a very drastic hair 'don't ' and I would think it would have caused tire screeching and comments along the lines of "uh-oh, what have you done now?"  Instead no one mentioned it, which was perhaps a way to make me feel more comfortable but in fact illicited the reverse feeling of comfort.  I finally mentioned it to Candace, "Did you notice my hair?", she suddenly needed to sip her coffee and divert her eyes and with her thumb and forefinger pinched together I heard a mumble, "A little short".  Why this bothered me so much I don't know.  They are short and I expect my friends to tell me things like you have something in your teethe, or you're drinking too much or your pants are too tight, I dunno, but I guess it bothered me because it's not something I could solve with a toothpick, A.A, or  sweatpants, they are going to have to grow back and it's going to take some time, maybe that's why they weren't mentioned in the first place.  I have decided to expand my list to include--'my friends need to be good liars in inordinately awkward situations that are out of ones control.'  That's not asking for too much, right?

THE WRITINGS ON THE WALL....

I saw these first signs on a bathroom wall and found them quite amusing and then I thought that perhaps you may find them amusing as well.  Also, if I tried to explain them I would get that dull vacant look when I try to explain things or better still if I hit the right pitch then I would get that look that reads 'this nut is a big fibber' (yeah, I know you know that look).

The best part was that the above sign was found in the loo of a very swank publication (I dare not name).  Can you imagine asking your co-workers to use a tissue and then wash their hands afterwards?  I've only been at my job a couple months, but I can't imagine asking anyone but my immediate family to do something like that and they would probably ask me if I have been skipping my O.C.D. medication again.

What's weirder the below sign, or that I am some random lunatic taking photo's in the ladies loo?

I think this would make a very cool t-shirt for some irreverent hipster type.  If you look closely those are not suds my friends but little vicious germ monsters.

Do you think the luxury brand that has hired me to be the public face of their company would be horrified to find out that I spend my time contemplating things like the above and have the audacity/insanity to let the world know?  How much does one get on the dole anyway? (For those that don't know the 'dole' is a very affected/effected way of saying welfare). 

I really liked this last image below, for one it meant I didn't have to spend time in a public bathroom and for two I felt it was almost prophetic, as if saying 'You Miss B.are going to heaven in a handbasket' as opposed to the other more popular version of the saying which isn't as nice.  I am planning on doing something with the image that will garner great fan fare and acclaim.  I will go on Oprah and let her know how I saw the signs and they changed my life....

WELCOME TO MY PITY PARTY!

I have been very conscious of not using my 'blahg' as a dumping ground for my emotional basket case of an existence, but when I was on the plane from NYC last night I decided that maybe if I shared some of my inner turmoil that perhaps I may be able to have guests attend my Pity Party.  You see, I feel awful when I complain because I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, a perfect (for me) love, my health, well, physical (mental could be disputed).  My middle class dilemmas seem so lame in the grand scheme of things but unfortunately (or fortunately) this is my life and I am going to spill my beans because maybe someone out there is as neurotic as myself and is feeling like no one understands them or you can read this and let out a sigh of relief that your life is so much better than mine.  So just like that my little ditty of a blahg is going to go from D.I.Y to C.R.Y and then some.  Don't feel sorry for me, I already feel plenty sorry for myself.

So my boss, the devil, uhm, no that's too kind, shoot, what if I get Googled and then he knows my true feelings?  Okay, my 'friend's' boss sent me to New York (isn't that what all your friend's bosses do?), and really it's NOT as glamorous as it sounds.  I will tell you ALL about it when I have recovered from the actual trip.  Now I need to tell you about my flight last night because it was particularly bananas:

I don't know why I am so easily annoyed, but I just am. Why would it bother me on a cross country flight that my seat mate would decide to play marathon air keyboard the entire time?  I know this shouldn't have bothered me and I tried to ignore him but I kept getting glimpses of his blur of fingers in my peripheral vision, why this made me want to break his knuckles was beyond me.  The real proverbial cherry on top was the snack that people were buying for this five plus hour flight--TUNA.  Yes, TUNA, who thought this was a good idea?  Is the person that suggested this snack and got the thumbs up still a part of the snack picking team?  I mean, I am no snack expert per se, but even I would know better than to have tuna ordered for a 3,000 mile flight in a metal encased thing with recycled air. Lest you think I am making this stuff up (I really am not that creative), I took a photo of the offending snack for posterity:

I apologize for the shoddy photography, I wasn't sure if flash was allowed in-flight and didn't want to risk that photo documentation of said bad snack idea was prohibited. 

Anyways, back to me, just Joshin', I miss you all really I do...

MAYBE ANNA NICOLE REALLY WAS IN LOVE AND OTHER MYSTERIES SOLVED...

You must know by now that I have a love for good branding and marketing.  I feel the same way about a good campaign as some feel about shoes, chocolate or a new love.  When I see a great campaign en force, my heart skips a beat or two, my stomach does a somersault and I sigh with light head onto my fainting couch.  That my dears is how I feel about the campaign of Katie Lee Joel.  You don't know who she is?  Oh she's Domino mags cover girl and a newly published cook book author and yes, the girl that married the old guy (you know you are  thinking it...):


Why is this campaign so successful?  Well, even though you want to be a hater she is so likable.  How is that possible?  Well, I have a few ideas, the major one is she hasn't been assoicated with her 35 year senior husband in any of her recent press.  The 'pitch' being that he doesn't get involved with her career.  Brilliant!  What you can't see won't hurt you. On her own she is a charming dopelganger for the young Ali McGraw. She dresses age appropriate unlike Mrs. Cruise, who should hire Mrs. Joel's people pronto.  I like it.  The whole thing is brilliantly executed.  Whomever these people are, they are worth every single penny.  I  remember being 21 (believe it or not), I was VERY mature for my age.  I started my own company at 18 and I had been self sufficient since 'Nam.  I can tell you this much if a gentleman older than 29 tried to date me I would have been grossed out.  If a guy 40 years old tried to date me I may have called the police.  There are certain generational gaps that can not be closed, no matter how mature you are.  So, the fact that I would even be interested in her after all this rigamorale is amazing.  She's like a car crash, you know you shouldn't be looking but you just can't help yourself.  This my pretties is some good a*%$ PR...

REDRUM.

As if.  Really.  Just for your edification, I am an extremley modest individual.  There are things that are the norm, that are certainly not the norm for Miss B.  It is with great humilation that I recount the following events, but since it has me in such a tizzy, I know I can share with you.  You see my cyber bestest friends, I love you and I know that you and only you can share my psychic agony that I have endured.

I came home tonight before my Fancy, no pups to greet me at the door.  Fine.  I understand, they both hate me now. I really was under the impression they had no sense of time, but my dogs must be the fittest species of their kind as they seemed to have evolved to not only understand time but completely comprehend abandonment. Whatever.  I am tired and over puppy pleasing.  It is then my dear friends that I round the corner to the loo where my life becomes a scene from 'The Shining', I thought perhaps Bella had eaten her 3 pound sister G.G., but noooo, she had broken into our bathroom to find my feminine necessity and made a dire mess of the situation.  You see, here in lies the problem.  I don't even go to the loo when my Fancy is around or anyone for that matter (as I don't need to go remember?)  In all the time my Fancy and I have been together and my best friends and I have been best, I have NEVER, EVER gone to the loo in front of them (as I don't need to).  To see this horrible situation where Bella had taken something and basically created a crime scene was enough to make me check myself into the nervous hospital.  My only saving Grace was that my Fancy wasn't home.  I cleaned the loo, the dog and myself and locked the bathroom.  I went to work on some work and duly got preoccupied.  A couple hours later when my Fancy was home and on the sofa, I hear a meek, 'honey?" coming from the other room. 'Yes?" I say.  "Uhm, I think you need to take care of this."  I come out and it looks like the bathroom did not stay locked for long as Bella had brought my business into the livingroom and proudly dropped it at my Fancy's feet.  If I said I hate my life right now it would be a gross understatement...And to think my greatest fear was her peeing on the wood floors...

Hello?

Hello?  My Mommy can't get to the Blahg right now as she has to go leave me for the next 10-12 hours.  She says it's so I can get more treats and she can put some kibble in my belly-whatever....Yeah she also said she couldn't undo the underline either....