Fighting Fatness

So The Skinniest Bitch has gone into retirement. If you've never been there, let me do the debriefing, briefly:

My pal Scotty and I decided to challenge each other to six intensive weeks of healthy weight loss. Doesn't that sound like a GREAT idea? Yeah, and then we both went on various and assorted vacations. Bwa! Try losing weight on vacation! Well, okay... I actually did lose some weight, but mostly because my vacations involved walking over the rivers and through the woods, not to mention the occassional marathon through antique stores and consignment shops. But I digress, and I promised to keep this brief.

Six weeks has come and gone, and I got extremely bored with The Skinniest Bitch. She was not fresh and exciting. Posting once a week about a pound or two was hardly interesting writing OR reading. On the other side of the blog, Scotty was perfectly content with his weight and didn't want to lose anymore. So we decided to shut 'er down.

However, I'm still trying to lose weight.

I've got New Orleans for New Year's Eve...


Italy again next summer...

(Yes, every man in Italy DOES look just like this.)

...and most importantly, Fantasy Fest in Key West next October.


Hell, I'm not going to get my body painted if there's even a hint of disgusting belly growth protruding over my cooter.

So here at FunkyBug, you will be treated to the occasional update on my progress. Jeez oh Pete I'll try to keep it to once a month, or maybe tuck it in my sidebar. If I ever get that damned weight ticker to fucking work with my template, I'll just let it speak for itself.

Home Sweetness, Home

After six long weeks with their father, my children have returned home. A house that once screamed with silence is now peacefully chirping with chattering teens. Likewise, a kitchen sink that was once sparkling and clean is now full of dishes and catsup stains. I'll take the later, if it comes with the former.

It's true that sometimes you don't realize how much you miss something or someone until you have them back again! Who would have thought that I'd enjoy having my down-time interrupted with pleas for assistance with computer problems or scary spiders? I do! Hugs are sweeter, smiles are brighter, and my life as a mom resumes again.

In four or five years, they'll be gone - off to college or out in the field learning a trade, and my house will be quiet again. My sink will stay clean, and spiders will take over their abandoned rooms. Hugs will sit in my memory banks, never as sweet as the actual arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

I fucking love being a mom.

An Open Letter to Melonie

It's recently come to my attention that you've been reading Scott's blog. Now, I'm no narcissist, but I assume that at least ONE of the times he's linked to me, you've given in to curiosity and ventured here. I hope you come 'round today, because I've got something to say to you.

I've made my share of bad judgment calls in my life, and I completely understand crimes of passion and sins of the heart. I also understand that at some point, you have to accept forgiveness and rely on mercy to help you become a better person. Sometimes we do things in our life that we're not proud of, but couldn't/wouldn't change for anything. Believe me, I'm in those shoes and I fully understand. That being said...

You asked my ex-husband, as reported to me by my daughter who was standing in the same small room, what it is that you've "done" that has made me dislike you. You said, "Robin doesn't like me because I'm a homewrecker" and then the two of you shared a hearty laugh. You said, if you knew what it was, you'd apologize for it...you're willing to forgive and forget. That's mighty big of you, Mel. I think that definitely deserves a response, so here it is.

I don't dislike you because of anything you've "done" as much as I dislike you for the person you are.

You see, talking shit about me in the presence of my kid is - well, a very un-likeable action. It's manipulative, and it speaks to your character. Further, it speaks to the fact that you haven't changed one bit. You're still playing middle-school games with peoples' lives, and you're still trying to get what YOU want at the expense of whomever happens to be standing in your path. Why do I say that? Your words, though I'm sure quite sincere (/sarcasm off) didn't necessarily need to be said while my daughter was in the room now, did they? Be honest (if you can): you're smart enough to figure out that if you really wanted to "apologize", all you had to do was ask Scott for my e-mail address or phone number. I guess it's more fun to gossip about me with my ex-husband while my daughter watches. (Oh, and yes, my daughter and I ARE quite, how did you put it, "tight." What a strange question for you to ask her.)

When I come back to Indiana to see my friends, please don't worry about (or waste my time) apologizing to me. I haven't lost any sleep wondering if we'll ever smoke a peace pipe. In fact, other than the occasion when someone calls me or e-mails me to tell me about some ridiculous thing you've said or done, you don't even cross my mind. Quite frankly, I'm slightly annoyed that I have to take time out of my day and use up space on my blog in order to request that you to keep your goddamned mouth shut when my kids are around. If you want to apologize for that, feel free to leave a comment.

Or you could try this: grow up and get over it. Don't you have better things to do than wonder why someone who lives half-way across the country thinks you're a colossal joke? No amount of faux-sincerity will ever change that, Mel, because you show your hand with every card you play.

*edit for clarification due to comments below:

Melonie is not my kids' stepmom, and Scott is not my ex-husband. She was, however, trashing with my ex (maybe the only person in Bedford she could find that actually dislikes me) while my daughter was in the room. Why my ex chooses to associate with her, I have no idea, and could care less.

Melonie is a person from my past and is not related to me or my kids in any way shape or form. She is still friends with Scott, and again, that's his choice to make. I choose not to have her in my life because I think she's pathetic - but that's just me.

A New Leaf

The lines blur once again between student and blogger. I'm stuck doing a stupid-assed report for my computer class. I chose, of course, blogging. I figured it would be easy enough, then noticed that two of my references had to be a book and a magazine. The magazine was not too hard to find, but the book? Man, why hasn't anyone written a book on blogging? ARE YOU LISTENING, BRANDO? NO ONE HAS WRITTEN A BOOK ON BLOGGING!

My point? Oh yes, my point. While constructing this paper, I ran across an article on blogging etiquette. I owe you an apology.

Essentially, good little bloggers POST REGULARLY. They do not make their readers/friends guess when their next post will come. They set the guidelines, and they stick to them come hell or high water. So I haven't been updating much lately, and I'm really sorry.

Here's my new leaf; Monday thru Friday I WILL post something. I promise. Unless I get hit by a truck or win the lottery. I will post one more time on the day I win the lottery, but the truck thing might be a bit hard to overcome.

I will also reply to your comments - e-mail if you've got it, comments either way.

I will NOT define my blog though - can't do it. I'm an eclectic mess, and I just can't catagorize myself.

My new leaf - just in time for Fall. Bwaa haa haa...okay, that really wasn't funny at all.

...And the way you look tonight.

Friday was Date Night, and the last one before my kids came back home to roost. I ran out during my lunch and picked up a little black number - you know, the classic black dress with a cutting neckline. However, upon dressing for our date, I became a tad bit self-conscious of the massive amounts of cleavage spilling forth. I tried to reduce the plunging neckline with a safety pin, but that left a shiny little piece of metal, so I covered THAT up with an antique rhinestone pin. Then I grabbed my little black purse and tucked my MICHAEL BUBLE' tickets inside and headed out for the evening.


I could review this performance, but how bored would YOU be? Besides, I replay it constantly as is...suffice it to say I swooned...a lot...and I finally understand how my mother, at 30-something, could still turn red and get hot under the collar while listening to Elvis. I think you could best describe my behavior as, groupie.



After nearly two hours of swooning, LoveBug took me for a late bite at our little Italian cafe in Hyde Park. We (yes, both of us) talked on an on about the incredible show Buble' puts on for his fans, AND their spouses/partners that really didn't want to be there but only went in hopes of getting sex later. We had a fabulous dinner with great conversation, and suddenly, it was midnight.

I made him tell me ONE MORE TIME how gorgeous I looked in my little black dress, then finally released the girls from their pinned enclosure. The rhinestones were constantly getting caught on the seat belt and the safety pin was most likely ripping the material anyhow. As we drove we rambled the way tired people ramble when they have to drive but MUST stay awake. We talked politics, cracked jokes, discussed future remodeling projects, and then I went into a ten minute rant about my crazy-assed family. Suddenly my husband interrupts me. "Look out your window. Isn't that Michael Buble's tour bus?" I craned my neck and could see that indeed, the red tour bus appeared to be the same one parked outside the concert hall. Better yet, the back window was open. I waited for us to approach, hoping to catch a glimpse of maybe a band member, when lo and behold, there was Michael Buble. With one leg propped up on the seat across, in blue jeans and a salmon colored t-shirt, he chatted away on his cell phone. As I'm squealing, "Oh my GOD it IS him!" against the closed car window, he meets my eyes, raises his hand, and wiggles his fingers in hello. Me! He wiggled me! So I'm wiggling back and blowing kisses as the bus approaches the exit and he's no longer in sight.

I sit back, sigh of sheer bliss. I replay the incident, but only briefly before the reality of the incident comes home. I look down, and my breasts, once neatly tucked into a pinned enclosure, are free as birds and glowing in the milky moonlight. I flashed Michael Buble'.

Abandoning

I promised to tell you stories of my summer journeys. I feel like starting near the end.

My husband's brother jokingly tells us that we need to buy a hotel. With two blended families, it's the only way we'll ever be able to live under the same roof. They have five kids between them, we have three between us. He tells us of an abandoned hotel on the North/South Carolina border.

I've always had a thing for abandoned structures. Don't tell me buildings don't "feel" because they do - or maybe I just feel something when I'm standing amongst the forgotten, unwanted, unsalvageable pieces.

This 50's motel almost made it. Someone evidently tried to fix her up, but ultimately gave up and let her go back to nature...or left her naked in the mountains to be raped by vandals.

My lens gobbled up shots in an attempt to appease the artist behind it. I will always love abandoned structures because I forget to guard my thoughts, and the walls come down. Only in those moments can I admit to myself that when I'm amongst the forgotten, unwanted, and unsalvageable, I'm at home.

The Evil Co-Worker - Volume III

The evil co-worker is continuing to pollinate the workspace with vile comments.

Case in Point #1: My cubicle buddy (the one earning only 17k/yr) bought some new shoes on her lunchbreak. They're cute as hell! You know those tennis shoes that kind of look like bowling shoes? She's seriously excited. Evil co-worker probably heard the crinkling of paper (my dog does the same thing - she hears a crinkling wrapper and immediately assumes she is getting a food treat) and pops her head around the corner.

"What did you bring back for lunch?"
"Shoes." Holds up shoes.
"Those are ugly."
Cubicle Mate ignores her.
"I said, those shoes are ugly."

Later in the afternoon, Evil Co-worker comes into our office.

"Does anyone have any popcorn?"
(me)"I do."
"No, real popcorn, not that diet junk."
"Then no, I don't."

Five minutes later...

"Where's your popcorn?"
(me)"What? You couldn't find fat popcorn anywhere?"
My cubicle mate gives me a wierd look and I smile my evil smile.
"No. I'll just take your junk and add butter to it."
"Middle shelf, far left."

As my cubicle mate scratches her head in wonder, I shoot her the following e-mail.

"It's not my popcorn. Remember when we cleaned out the storage room? I found the box in a corner, covered in dust."

Sorry About the Unannounced Hiatus

I've been trying to keep up with three blogs, which wouldn't be so bad if ONE of the blogs didn't require playing Sims2 and posting the stories! Then there's the entire issue of trying to keep up with all of my favorite blogs...do homework (ha)...clean house (bigger ha)... and breath.

This drive-by is to let you know I'm back in the saddle, and I'll be riding into your town soon! Hopefully I'll have some pictures of my weekend in Key West to share!

Public Safety Announcement

Let's say, hypothetically speaking, your wife has pulled a muscle in her back. You're a good and loving husband, so you offer to rub her down with some BenGay before bed. You rub and you rub and you rub until your wife drifts off into sleepy, tingly land.

You go to the restroom to pee before bed. You drop trou' and grab your penis. You awaken said wife with a blood-curtling scream.



Please, for the love of God...if you rub your wife down with BenGay, wash your hands before touching your dick.

This Public Safety Announcement brought to you by the husband of FunkyBug.

I'm Back (sort of)

This is raw (that's code for "not photoshopped") but I wanted to share what may potentially be my favorite shot from this trip. I took over 200 photos of waterfalls and swamps and cemetaries and abandoned hotels and ghost towns, but this one speaks to me. It speaks to me because I just spent the last week with my husband's family - my family - and cherished every morsel of time, every fragrance of laughter, every instance of commonality. It was a sacred experience to commune with nature, with family, and with new friends.

Unfortunately, everything I would have done last week had I been home, graciously waited for my return and is currently demanding all my attention. Therefor, this post will be sort of a driveby, sort of an update, and just an all-around, "Howdy friends, I'm back!"

The OTHER Arrest - sort of

I was 19 and screwing up left and right, which is hard to accomplish under the watch of parental units. I was tired of getting yelled at for sneaking in past curfew. I was holding down two jobs, so I struck out on my own, or rather, I moved in with the hottie from the ice-cream shop. He neglected to tell me that he still lived with his dad in a two-bedroom apartment. He also neglected to tell me that his brother was autistic and liked to masterbate in the kitchen. Small matters really, in comparison to tucking ye ol' tale and moving back home.

Before long I discovered my ice-cream boy liked to steal things. Specifically, my ice-cream boy liked to run around night, trying the handles of car doors. If they were open, anything in the car was public domain: music, clothing, coffee mugs, cigarettes, groceries, etc... One morning Ice-Cream Boy decided that we needed to be nice to his dad and go get some groceries...oh, and this is his mom's check so would I mind signing it? I'd met his mom - she was nice. It made sense - pretend to be the woman on the check.

After we unloaded the groceries, Ice-Cream Boy informed me that I had committed check fraud. I was officially a criminal. After that realization I began keeping score. The paper reported a burglery at a high-end beauty salon. I searched the apartment until I found a stash of expensive hair products and a neon "open" sign. I stopped taking his CD's to the office, stopped borrowing his clothes to jog in, and started eating take-out.

One morning at the office I was going about my business when the silent alarm (a flashing office light) went off. I LOVED that, because I was buddies with security and they would let me come to the booth and watch the robbers get nabbed. Imagine my surprise when said robber was Ice-Cream Boy trying to buy a fucking television with a stolen credit card.

I was fired (guilt by association) and moved out the same day, but it wasn't soon enough. I had only been at my new residence (a couch in the basement of a friend's house) for a few weeks when my mom called. Two uniformed police officers were at the door with a search warrant, and their car was in the driveway with lights a-flashing. They were looking for me.

I did what any good citizen does in a time like this: freak the hell out. When I calmed down I decided to go to the station. They printed me and photographed me. They told me they were investigating Ice-Cream Boy. The grocery store identified me as the person who had passed the bad check. They offered me a deal; show them where Ice-Cream Boy's mom lived and they'd lose my file.

Oh god I sang like a bird. I sang about everything there was to sing about. I got in that squad car and sang all the way to Indianapolis and back. "Here's where his mom lives...what? Pawn shop? Oh yes, turn left... Yes, he did fantasize about armed robbery, turn right and I'll show you the store he said he wanted to knock off...yes-sir-no-problem-sir..."

Ice-Cream Boy was busted a few days later trying to pawn off stolen good to pay for his attorney fees from the credit card bust. True to their word, I was forgotten.

***and with that, dear friends, I leave you for a week. I'm heading to the mountains, heading to Charleston, heading wherever the camera leads me. Have a wonderful 4th, and I'll "see" you when I return on the 11th.***