BEING HELD ACCOUNTABLE

Okay, so back in the tail end of October, I made a decision to join Weight Watchers.  

This decision came about when I stepped on the rotted out subfloor during our kitchen remodel and fell through.


And someone witnessed it.


And that someone made a not-so-funny but legitimate crack about my weight.

And tears of anger, frustration and humiliation were shed.

And that was when I knew it was Time.


And since I had already done two tours of duty with WW with minimal results (MY fault and not the program's), I said to myself, "Hey, third time's the charm!"


So off I went, where I stepped on the scale, whimpered and forged ahead.


So far I've lost 15lbs and I've only missed one meeting (I had flu cooties).


Yay, me!


A couple of weeks ago, our Leader presented a Tracker notebook 

and asked that each week, one member takes it home and and tracks her Points Plus, Activity, etc.  You know, journal.

This week, I volunteered to be the Keeper of the Tracker for two reasons.

1.  Nobody else volunteered.

B.  I've kind of slacked off (kind of???) and needed a kick in the pants to get back on track.  


So of COURSE I had Crack for breakfast.


I know.


But I was honest and I DID write it in the journal.


And felt shame, as well I should.


The girl who kept it last week said to me as she handed it over, "Don't judge me!"


Like I have room to talk.

And at my meeting today, I also decided to splurge on a pedometer and I am bound and determined to get my 10K steps a day in.

I do have a long-term goal:  to do the Long Beach Marathon in October.  

Okay, the HALF Marathon.

And walking, not running because have you SEEN my chest?  SO not made for jogging.  Someone would lose an eye.

So wish me luck and...

Don't judge.
 

DON'T MESS WITH MY TOOT TOOT!

What's that sound you hear?  It's me, tooting my own horn.

Why am I tooting my own horn, you ask?

I'll tell you.

Guess who was selected for the highest honor in my racing organization, AMA District 37, for her contribution to the sport?

 Can't quite make out the name on that 3' and change tall trophy?

I KNOW!!!

It really is a huge honor because the recipient (that would be ME!) has to be nominated and then the entire organization has to vote and I didn't even know I had been nominated until a few days prior and my flabber was more than gasted when they announced my name.

I really wanted to kiss the trophy, raise it over my head and do a Stanley Cup Victory Lap. 

But that probably wouldn't have gone over very well with the crowd.  Especially the other nominees.

And OF COURSE I had to rub it in to Thing 1, who couldn't be bothered to attend the award ceremony (because "it's so boring!"), that MY trophy is bigger than anything HE has ever won. 

Because who is a Gracious Winner?  

Not his Mother.

Now my big problem is finding a place to put this massive, and massively heavy trophy.  Currently, it's sitting on my kitchen island so that all visitors can't help but see it and know that they are in the presence of Greatness.

Because who's modest and humble?

Not This Gal!

Oh!  I totally need to take my trophy wherever I go and take pictures.  Dinner, the supermarket, the park, etc.  It'll be awesome!

*The AMA District 37 Sportswoman of the Year is available for (paid) personal appearances, children's parties, Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebrations, photo and autograph sessions, motivational speaking engagements and attendance at hockey games.

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

Source: instagr.am via Kelly on Pinterest

The gloves couldn't come off fast enough.

I STAND WITH PLANNED PARENTHOOD

That arrow is supposed to be pointing at me.  Because I stand with Planned Parenthood.

However, my photo is on the OTHER side.  But just humor me, 'kay?

And listen to my story about why I stand with Planned Parenthood.

Actually, READ my story since this isn't Books on Tape.


I was 17, sexually active by choice and neither my partner or I used protection.  Instead, we preferred to roll the dice by using the rarely effective "withdrawal" method, thinking that getting knocked up was something that happened to other people, not to a Cheerleader and her professional motorcycle racer boyfriend.

When I realized I was pushing my luck, I went to Planned Parenthood to get birth control.  And it was during my very first physical exam, the kind where your legs are in stirrups, that I heard the words I hoped I wouldn't hear.

"Looks like a pregnancy here."

After I got dressed, shaking and terrified, a staff member took me to a room to talk to me about my choices.

I could proceed with the pregnancy or I could terminate.  Whichever I chose, Planned Parenthood would guide me and support me.  They did not judge me or try to steer me in either direction. It was MY choice to make, not theirs.


I asked to think about it and went home, shocked, crying and wondering how the hell I was going to tell my parents, let alone my boyfriend.


I never had to make that difficult choice because I started my period that very night.  A week later, I went back to Planned Parenthood and got a 3 month supply of birth control pills.


Over the next several years, I continued to use Planned Parenthood for my health needs, especially because birth control was not covered by my insurance plan.


One of my greatest fears is that women will no longer have the right to decide how, when and if she will bear a child and because of that fear, I will continue to support stand with Planned Parenthood.


Read more stories from real women and how Planned Parenthood saved them.

Please, stand with Planned Parenthood.

IN WHICH THE TELEVISION GODS CONSPIRE AGAINST ME

For reasons beyond my ken, the television Gods are conspiring against me this fine Winter Sunday where it's 80 degrees in my neck of the woods and remind me again that Global Warming is a myth, will ya?

WHY are the television Gods conspiring against me, you ask?

I'll tell you.

For starters, I had set my DVR to record several programs today.  Several IMPORTANT programs.

The first sign of trouble was when the first program, AMA Supercross, wasn't shown when CBS said it would be shown which makes them big, fat, hairy liars.  Instead of the scheduled Supercross, it was some stupid political show with Michelle "Crazy Eyes and a Closeted Husband" Bachmann and some other people yammering on about who is the "True Conservative" in the current crop of GOP Presidential wannabes.

And because my DVR and Verizon Fios programming still insisted it was CBS Sports Spectacular (Spectacular FAIL!), my DVR recorded said political show.

Isn't that swell?


If you are friends with me on Facebook, you got to witness a serious fit being pitched about the CBS Supercross Switch.  The was much gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, tearing of hair and screams of rage.

We take our motorcycle racing serious in this house.

So then a mad scramble ensued to find out exactly WHEN CBS would be showing last night's Supercross and ALLEGEDLY, it will be shown here in the LA area at 4:00pm but we shall see and I'm not holding my breath.

But it gets better.

The Supercross Lites race was scheduled to be shown on SpeedTV and I had made sure to set my DVR to record that.

But when I checked my DVR "Scheduled" page, the Lites race was not showing up in the scheduler.

So I check the channel and the Series Manager and yes, it's got the little check box thingamajig that tells me it's a Series that will be recorded.

But guess what?

It would not record.  It would not record.  IT WOULD NOT RECORD!!!!!

So then I decide I'll just delete the recording from the scheduler and record it manually.  Sounds easy, right?


WRONG.


I could not make a single change to that particular program.  It wouldn't record but it wouldn't let me delete or change anything.  I tried and I tried and I tried and my DVR and Verizon Fios programming just LAUGHED at me and my feeble attempts to take control.


Finally I just flung the remote across the room and let out a wail of anguish that brought the dogs running to my assistance and caused Thing 2 to roll her eyes and to tell me to take a chill pill.


I think there were daggers shooting from my eye sockets at THAT.  Thing 2 has zero interest in anything motorcycle.  Obviously, she's a Changeling left by the Gypsies.


I was finally able to record the Lites race but on the non-HD channel.  Which is like recording something in black and white on a color TV.


It's just wrong.


The CBS and its programmers are WRONG!!!


Bastards.


But on a positive note, NBCSports did nothing to screw up the NHL All Star game.


CBS would have.


Because THEY DON'T CARE.


Bastards.


 

Point, Counter(top) point

Well, TheManTheMyth and I nearly dropped the gloves because of our %&^#! countertops.

You'd think it would be easy peasy to decide on a color for concrete countertops but if you thought that, you'd be wrong, Mister.

This is kind of what I had in mind when TMTM suggested we do concrete countertops:

But then he started talking about staining the concrete to be any color I wanted and that's when it all went wrong.

Oh, sure, how hard is it to pick a friggin' color, you may be asking yourself about now.  Well I'll tell you, IT'S FRIGGIN' HARD!!

And because I need to SEE something live and in person before making a decision that I'll have to live with FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE (not really; I'm just being dramatic to which you're thinking, "No shit, Sherlock!") we (meaning, *I*) have changed my our minds way too many times.

This morning, we took a field trip to a concrete place because TMTM said the concrete floor of this joint was divided into all sorts of different colors and this way I could SEE for myself what a color would look like and it'd make it much easier to decide.

And guess what we found when we got there?


They had ground all the color off their concrete floors.

And I'm all, "Really?" 

Of course.


So we finally chose yet ANOTHER color (to compliment our walnut butcher block island countertop) and TMTM is hard at work sanding, grinding and whatever else he needs to do to get the countertops DONE.

After all this, there is still the chance that it'll have to be shitcanned, especially when it comes time to move this heavy ass piece of concrete out of the garage and into the house and then we'll be back to square one.

Because that's how we roll.

THE HONEYMOON IS STILL GOING STRONG

It's been almost a whole week since George came into my life and the honeymoon is still in full swing.


The simpering.


The giggling.


The cooing.

The anxiety when we are separated.


The fondling.  Oh yes, the fondling.


I know it's weird to love a cellphone THAT MUCH but I do.


I've had more fun this week playing with George and downloading apps and choosing ringtones and notification tones and wallpaper and oh!  I love George!

What's so fabulous about George is that he delivers e-mails RIGHT AWAY!!  And I can actually send a response!

I know!

Who'd a thought?  Ain't technology wunnerful?

There is one problem, though, with George.

Unlike the real George Parros, iPhone George is quite the delicate thing.  Seriously, I'm terrified I'm going to drop him.  I honestly did not expect this phone to be so slick and slippery and glassy.

In all the years I've owned a cellphone device, I have never dropped or broken my phone.

So when the guy at the Apple store asked me if I wanted to shell out the extra $100 for the Apple Care for iPhone plan, I hesitated because see previous sentence.  But as soon as I picked up George out of the box, I said, "Sign me up!"

I've ordered me an Otterbox to keep George safe but it's going to be a few days until it arrives and until then, I have to be extra gentle with George.

But I don't mind because we love each other!  And George doesn't mind that my wallpaper is of Jonas Hiller (whom I also love, that hot Swiss Mister!) instead of a picture of George Parros himself.

Because George the phone is that awesome.  And understands my obsession for hockey players.

Unlike Siri and her "I'm sorry, I can't help you" when I asked her to help me find some hockey players.

I'll remember that, Siri.  Trying to keep me from my intended targets.

Anyway, I have found my Soul Mate of a cellphone

And yes, I know I am weird.

But happy!

With George!