Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Behold The Brilliance That Is My Husband....Again.

For the last two days, Rhode Island (and Southeastern Massachusetts) has been pelted with an unprecedented amount of rain. So much so, that the President of the United States has declared most of the state a major disaster area. We have friends and family who have had 3-5 feet of water in their basements. And let me tell you...when you see that water level in your basement rising dangerously close to your electric panels? That is scary shit, people.

Thankfully, Hubby and I have been spared a major cleanup for the most part. Sure, like most others, we had some water in our basement. And our septic system has had all it can handle---meaning that we haven't been able to wash clothes or wash dishes or take showers today. And our sump pump is and has been running like a mofo for three days straight. But, all in all, we are lucky and are feeling pretty grateful. The rain has finally stopped. The rivers will crest this afternoon. But, by tomorrow, waters should start to recede (We're looking at sunny weather for the next 6 days---whoo hoo!) and hopefully, things will get back to normal around here.

Even with all of this chaos, I---along with the brilliance that is my husband---have managed to drum up a funny story for you. Here we go...

Yesterday, in the midst of highway closings, public hysteria, and seeing shit floating down the street---Hubby and I decided that we should leave work early because the news stations were telling us how difficult our commute home would be.

We left my car at work, climbed into Hubby's pickup truck, and headed for the long drive home. As we made our way through rivers of water, I started to get nervous...what with all of the firetrucks and police cars maneuvering around trying to rescue people whose cars were stuck and smoking all over the place. To lighten the mood, I decided to enlighten my husband with this piece of news:

Me: So. Did you here about Ricky Martin?

Hubby: Um. I don't think so. What?

Me: He's gay.

Hubby: Uhhhh...Wasn't he ALWAYS gay?

Me: Yes. But, he just came out of the closet yesterday.

Hubby: Came out of the closet to whom?

Me: The world.

Hubby: Seriously? I mean...who the hell didn't know he was gay?

Me: I don't know.

Hubby: And everybody knows that his father is gay, too.

Me: They do?

Hubby: Duh! Yeah!

Me: His father? You know who his father is?

Hubby: Oh, please. The whole world knows his father. And they know he's gay.

Me: WHO THE HELL IS HIS FATHER?

Hubby: What do you mean who's his father? His father is Julio Iglesias!

I am not even fugging kidding, people. That's what he said...Julio Flippin Iglesias!

Me: JULIO IGLESIAS is not Ricky Martin's father! Where the hell
did you get that from?

Hubby: Are you sure? I always thought he was! Isn't his son a singer?

Me: His son is Enrique Iglesias! The Latin dude with the mole!

Hubby: ****pausing to reflect****

Me: AND, FYI? Julio Iglesias is not gay! He's like a hundred years old and has babies! That means he's still spreading his old ass seed among the young chicks!

Hubby: Hmmm...Really?

Me: Yes, really.

Hubby: Wow. And all this time I thought Julio was Livin La Vida Homo. Imagine that.

Imagine that, indeed.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Great Minds Think Alike?

Yesterday, I took my seventy-eight year old MOTHER (who lacks a mouth filter) to Wal-Mart to pick up one of her prescriptions. This is the sh*t she said to me while we were there:

*After waiting 45 minutes for her cholesterol medication, only to be told that they didn't have enough pills to fill her script and we'd have to come back in TWO days, my Mother turned to me IN FRONT OF THE PHARMACY CHICK and said *insert Portuguese accent and Sophia Petrillo attitude here*, "I tink all da people dat work in this stow-a have mental illness." Funny thing is, my brother works there, too. HAHAHAHA.

*While sitting on a bench in front of the pharmacy waiting for her name to be called, Momma was people watching. And my friends? You've been to Wal-Mart. You've seen some of THE PEOPLE that shop there, right? Well, on this day? Dudes! The greasy, toothless people were out in DROVES! And most of them were still wearing their pajamas even though it was two o'clock in the afternoon! Momma was not impressed...AT ALL. And I know this because at one point she looked at me and said, "Oh my God! Deez people look like dey no wash up foe-a lonnnnng time! Dey make me wanna throw up!"

*And finally, as we were leaving the store, we ran into one of our old neighbors. She used to live near my childhood home over thirty years ago. When she spotted us, she came over and gave my Mom and me a big hug. She was wearing a TIGHT pink jogging suit AND she is not a LITTLE woman. She also looked like she had just rolled out of bed with her hair wildly sticking up, no make-up on, and dry, scaly skin. UH-OH. I was nervous and I was thinking, "Please God. Please don't let the old lady embarrass me." And you know what? She didn't! She looked at the Old Neighbor Lady and said, "Oh! It's so nice to see you! You doing some shopping?" Old Neighbor Lady lifted one hand to show us her ratty fingernails and responded, "No! I'm here to have my nails done!"

Did you know that you can have your nails manicured at friggin Wal-Mart? No? Me neither!

Anywho, after she said her goodbyes to us, I thought to myself, "Man, does Old Neighbor Lady look like crap!" AND that's when my Mom turned to me and said, "She should forget fixing her nails and fix her face, instead." BAHAHAHAHA!

UH-OH.

We're starting to think alike.

Nothing good can possibly come from this.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Lose Weight Without Dieting...WHA, WHA, WHA, WHAT?

I want to tell you all about a book that I was asked to read and review. I've read it a few times in the last couple of weeks and I am really digging its concepts. The book is called WOMEN FOOD AND GOD by Geneen Roth:

Notice my addiction to Post-it thingies...

Anyway, don't let the title fool you. It is not a religious book. It's a spiritual book.

And it is not a book for only women. It's a book for anyone who has ever struggled with their weight (ME, ME, and ME!).

The premise of the book is way too complicated for me to summarize in a few words. But, I'm going to give it a whirl anyway. Basically, the book is based on Roth's philosophy that the way we eat reflects the way we live our lives. For example, when we eat an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream in one sitting (or box of chocolates, or package of Oreos), even though we are not REALLY HUNGRY (Just me, right?), we are acting on feelings such as stress, doubt, depression, anger, or fear (to name a few).

The book goes on to say that we need to be extremely inquisitive as to why and when we eat and not worry so much about WHAT we eat.

And? Are you ready for this one??

Roth also says that WE SHOULD NOT DIET ANYMORE (HOLY CRAP!) because we are only depriving ourselves.

The best way to adhere to her concepts, AND STILL LOSE WEIGHT, is to follow Roth's Health Eating Guidelines. Here's a rundown of the concepts...as they pertain to me. WARNING: IT'S CONFESSION TIME.


1. Eat when you are hungry.
This means that when I reach for something to eat, I should ask myself, "Am I really hungry? For real? In the pit of my stomach?" Because when I ate a bag of corn chips with a crapload of bean dip and salsa at 9:00pm at night JUST BECAUSE a friggin Taco Bell commercial came on the television? I was not hungry. I was bored. And I was being a pig. And that is completely unacceptable behavior, people.

2. Eat sitting down in a calm environment. This does not include the car.
Oh, please! Do I look like the type of person who has eaten an entire McDonald's value meal in my friggin car? Complete with an apple pie? You're damn skippy, I am. Guilty as charged. And I know some of you have, too. Call me. We'll start a support group.

3. Eat without distractions. Distractions include radio, television, newspapers, books, intense or anxiety-producing conversations or music.
Dudes, this totally makes sense. My friend Debbie and I used to have these marathon telephone conversations. We would literally talk on the phone for 2 hours at a time. And the whole time? I'd be all, "Hold on, Deb. I need a snack." And I would eat my way through things like chips and cheese AND THEN insist that I had to counter the effects of all of that salt with something sweet...like chocolate or cookies. And the whole time, I'd be blabbing my head off, completely unaware of how many calories I was ingesting. Oink, oink.

4. Eat what your body wants.
In her book, Geneen Roth says that if you give your body permission to eat what it REALLY wants, you take away guilt and deprivation. It's sort of like reverse psychology. See, if you tell yourself, "Today I can have 6 hot fudge sundaes for lunch, if I really want them." The truth of the matter is, you've given yourself permission to have them. But, you won't really want them. You know what's funny? The other day, my husband and I were discussing what we wanted for dinner. The weather was warm-ish (60's) and I could feel that spring was in the air. I looked at my husband and said, "You know what I could go for? A really good salad." And my husband was all, "Where's my real wife? And what have you done with her?" Hahaha.

5. Eat until you are satisfied.
This means DO NOT eat until you are ready to explode or blow chunks.

6. Eat (with the intention of being) in full view of others.
This reminds me of a story about my sister, Natty. Once, when she was just dating her husband, she wanted to impress him by cooking a lovely pork chop dinner with all of the fixins. She also wanted him to think that she was this dainty, prissy little woman. So, while he was sitting at the table with her, she helped herself to ONE pork chop, a smidgen of potatoes, and a respectable helping of veggies. The minute he excused himself and went to make pee pee, she stabbed a second pork chop with her fork and ate it like a savage beast before he came back to the table. According to Geneen Roth, this behavior is a NO GO. Um...Natty? If you are reading this post, I would like to apologize for throwing you under the bus. However, I am happy to be able to prove that I am not the only glutton in the family.

And finally...

7. Eat with enjoyment, gusto and pleasure.
I would like to amend this guideline by adding "and good wine." Yum.

So, that's it my friends.

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. If you are interested in learning about changing your food related behaviors, I think you will, too.

Now, step away from that cake, dammit (or in my case, the CREME BRULEE)!

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Butthead

I got this email from Lou today (*see yesterday's post):

Sally & Paul,
This is you at the beach in 30 years. THIS IS YOUR FUTURE!


My response:

Dude! On Saturday night, I---along with several other innocent bystanders whose retinas are still burning---saw your bare ass cheeks pressed against a glass restroom door! Frig the future! THIS IS YOUR PRESENT!

Little bastard...

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Moon Over Massachusetts

I am still recuperating from Saturday night.

On Saturday night, Hubby and I went out for dinner with our friends, Lou and Linda. For those of you who already know about Lou, you won't be surprised by his antics. For those of you who don't know about Lou, AND WHAT HE IS CAPABLE OF, CLICK HERE....Oh, and my apologies in advance.

Okay. So, you get that Lou is a very, very bad influence, right? And he can be a friggin handful because he has no gah-damn shame.

Yeah, well Saturday night? That bald little bad ass was in rare freakin form.

The night started innocently enough. Me, Hubby, Lou, and Linda met at one of our favorite restaurants for dinner---Trio, in Fall River, MA.

Linda and Lou:


Me and Hubby (I wonder why this picture is so blurry? Could it be that the man taking it is already half in the bag?):


Now, before I go any further, I have to tell you that this restaurant not only has fabu food and great service, but their RED SANGRIA is the bestest sangria EVER. And when certain men---LOU---overindulge in said sangria, there is bound to be trouble, people.

Example??

In the dining room adjacent to the one we were eating in, my nephew's fiance---Steph, was attending a bachelorette party. I introduced Lou to Steph for the first time on Saturday night. I was all, "Lou, this is my nephew Brian's fiance. She, along with a bunch of other girls, is throwing a bachelorette party for her good friend, Debora."

And you know what he said???

He said, "Ooooh! Can I be the stripper? Huh? Huh? Can I? Can I?"

Frickin perv.

And much to my dismay? Steph said he could come over to the party and PRETEND to be a male stripper.

So he did.

And he shoved his man boobies in Debora's face. Good Lord!

Lou...Getting Ready To Flash The Moobs (man boobs):


Encouraging The Bride-To-Be (Hey, Debora! What up, girl?) To Fondle His Moobs:



And if that wasn't enough? He extended his man boobs to my nephew's fiance, Steph:

Remember...Lou had never met these girls before. Pervy little bastard.

And when the bachelorette party girls presented Debora---the bride---with a penis cake (Oh.Yes.They.Did.), Lou insisted that he was its "model." Yeah, right:


After the girls left the restaurant, I was hoping for a little respite from all of the CUH-RAZY! But, no dice. Instead, Lou and my Hubby (NO MORE SANGRIA, DAMMIT!) began talking INCESSANTLY to these two people, Steve and Tanya, who were sitting right next to us, trying to have a romantic dinner ALONE:

They were great sports, even though Lou and Hubby were blab, blab, blabbing with them the whole time they were there. My apologies, nice people!

And since I'm apologizing, I would like to say I'm sorry to our waitress, Jen (She's awesome! Ask for her when you go to Trio!):

She was such a good sport...putting up with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum the whole night. BTW, do you see that red aura around Lou's head?? I think it's the mark of the devil! Seriously!

And finally, to conclude this post, I would just like to say one more thing.

Lou? I don't care how much sangria/port wine/alcohol you had to drink. Pressing your bare ass cheeks against the FROSTED GLASS BATHROOM DOOR of a restaurant where lots of people are eating and drinking is UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR! OH.YES.HE.DID. Voila:


Good God. I'm exhausted just reliving this night!

I think I'm going to go and lie down now.

But before I go, I'd just like to say that I'm taking applications for some new friends.

My standards are low.

If you can keep your ass in your pants, you're in.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Do You Know Jack Sh*t?

Happy Monday, Peeps!

I'd like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to my friend, Jack Sh*t. He's a fantastic guy/blogger who's lost a CRAP LOAD (that's a technical term) of weight! And he uses his weight loss knowledge and experiences to motivate lots of people, like ME, who struggle daily with the constant pursuit of a smaller ass.

He wrote a blog today about funny weight loss stories and he INCLUDED ME in his post! OH.MY.GOD! I am so honored! And? I feel like...well...I feel like...um...I guess I feel like this:



I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of the skinny bitches, who I aspire to force feed Twinkies to---until they puke. I hate you all. But, I am motivated to be one of you....someday (trollops).

I'd also like to thank my treadmill, George Clooney, who I used to refer to as that piece of shit in the basement...until I saw what he could do for my butt cheeks. I love you, man.

And finally, a big, fat THANK YOU to my fellow blogger---my brother from another mother---Jack Sh*t. Dude! You rock SO HARD that I love you even more than my treadmill AND my scale!

Now, click here RIGHT NOW to get on over to Jack Sh*t, Gettin Fit'!

Trust me. You'll love him as much as I do!

And? You'll laugh your ass off...Seriously!

Friday, March 19, 2010

You Learn Something New Everyday!

Last night, at about 9:30---I was at home, sitting at my computer (upstairs), quietly typing an essay about a book that I was asked to review (more about that later). Hubby was downstairs watching reruns of his favorite show, TWO and a half MEN, and I could hear him laughing hysterically.

All of a sudden, Hubby was at the foot of the stairs yelling up at me:

Hubby: Hey, Sal?

Me: What?

Hubby: Can you do me a favor?

Me: Yeah. What?

Hubby: Can you Google "Swampass" for me?

Me: Google WHAT?

Hubby: SWAMPASS!

Me: Swampass? WHAT THE HELL??

Hubby: On TWO and a half MEN! Charlie Harper has a rash down there. Jake and Alan just asked him if the rash has anything to do with swampass. I never heard that before. Can you look it up for me?

Me: Okay. Hold on....

So, I typed swampass into Google and was directed to the Urban Dictionary, where I found this:

Swampass:
Is the condition when you sweat a lot in the ass/ball region and it releases a terrible smell. Other factors that add to the condition are not wiping properly and not showering daily.
e.g., I was standing behind Jordan and he smelled bad. I said wow! You have some bad swampass.

Me: Oh.My.Fugging.Hell!

Hubby: WHAT?

Me: That is disgusting! I'm up here trying to be all intellectual...and you're bothering me with this?

Hubby:
WHAT? What is it?

Me: It's the smell that radiates from dudes who don't wash their wieners and asses!

Hubby: Ewwww...Nasty. (LONG PAUSE) Oh, well. I guess you learn something new everyday!

Me: Oh, jeez.


That's my husband...always looking on the positive side of things.

Personally, I think that sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Seriously.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Dumber And Dumbest

"There's no race, no religion, no class system, nothing....no sexual orientation, that makes us better than anyone else. We are all deserving of love."---Sandra Bullock, The 82ND Annual Academy Awards (2010)

Happy St. Patrick's Day to ya, my friends!

I'm so sorry for my absence. Lots of things going on around here and I've been super, crazy busy. But, don't worry because all of the crazy shit that's happened to me? I've been writing it down and you're not going to miss a beat!

You poor, poor things...

And let me warn you. I've got some s-t-o-r-i-e-s! I've even got one about nipples! But, you'll have to wait for that another day :(

For today, I must tell you about my run in with the King of Dumbasses.

Okay, so there is this guy that I deal with on a professional level at work. Now, let me just interrupt this story for a sec to tell you one thing. I am a talker. I KNOW! THE SHOCK! Right?

So, I typically know everyone's life story because I'm a blabber and when people find out that I'm a blabber, they respond to my blabbiness. Because let's face it, people LOVE to talk about themselves, right? So, I talk to lots of people that I come into contact with daily and I learn personal shit about them.

Take one of my UPS delivery dudes, for example. He is Russian and hasn't been in this great country for very long. I call him Ivan Bitchicockoff (Sound it out...you can do it!) because I have a sick sense of humor...but I DON'T CALL HIM THAT TO HIS FACE! I swear! It's more like me and the Hubby going back and forth like, Has Ivan B. been here, yet? Nope, not yet! That kind of thing...

Anyway, I love to ask Ivan B. questions about his country and about his culture because it's fascinating to me. In the process, I've learned all about his wife and kids and life in general. And, believe it or not, he says that my business is his favorite stop of the day because he thinks me and the Hubby are nice...just because we talk to him and acknowledge him and offer him some water when he comes in after a long, hard day of delivering packages. Can you imagine? I mean, we're just being ourselves!

Anywho, back to my King of Dumbasses story!

So, this dude that I deal with often (not Ivan), comes into my work and starts telling me about how he's dating some new chick. Then he tells me that before dating him, said chick was dating a man that was of a different race than hers (FYI...Both the Dumbass and his woman are white)?

Then, he suddenly stopped talking, looked at me and asked...ARE YOU READY FOR THIS? BECAUSE I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS, PEOPLE!

He looked at me and asked, "So. What are YOU?" Confused, I asked, "Excuse me?" Again he asked, "WHAT ARE YOU?"

"What the hell do you mean, WHAT AM I?" I asked. He started shaking his head and twitching his neck back and forth and crap like HELLO? Dumb woman! My question is sooo obvious. Right?

So then I asked, "Do you mean what's my ethnicity?"

He said, "Duh. Yeah!"

Dudes, I was all like I'll give you DUH YEAH, you stupid f*ck (He's soooo lucky my letter opener wasn't withing reach...STAB, STAB, STAB)! So, I said to him---because I wanted to confuse his stupid ass (which doesn't take much)--- "I'm Portuguese."

So then he said---GET THIS, "Oh....(LONG PAUSE) I've never dated any Portuguese women before. I've never dated anyone outside of my race."

OH.MY.FRIGGIN.WORD.

Dudes, I lost it. I yelled, "DUH! HELLO?!!!! My nationality is Portuguese! My race is WHITE...you know...CAUCASION...just like you!"

He was confused because, well, he is as soft as a friggin grape.

So, I tried to clarify, "You know Portugal, right? In Europe? Near Spain? And France? And Italy?"

He just shrugged.

And I was losing patience...when all of a sudden, he responded, "Yeah. Well...whatever...I never dated ONE of you."

OH.YES.HE.DID.

So, I responded, "Yeah, well. I never dated anyone who was as dumb as a stump, either. So, I guess we're even."

He nodded in agreement, apparently too "thick in the head" to be insulted.

OMG. I wonder if his new woman knows that her boyfriend is so dumb, he'd have to stay up all night to study for a blood test. Seriously.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Fishing For Trouble

Hubby's ticked. I did a little "experiment." It didn't go well.

You see...My husband HATES seafood. And I'm talking ALL SEAFOOD. He despises all fish and shellfish including lobster, crab, scallops, shrimp, and fillet of anything that used to swim in the waters.

He hates the way it tastes and he especially hates the way it SMELLS. For this reason, I am not allowed to cook fish in our home, lest he have a friggin meltdown.

When we first got married, we used to live in my mother's apartment house. She lived upstairs. We lived downstairs. On the days when my mother made some sort of seafood for dinner, we could smell it in the building's hallway. Hubby would freak to high heaven. He'd be all, "Son-of-a-b*tch! Your mother made fish again! The hallway STINKS! Yuck! Blech! *wretch, dry heave, scream, yell, cry* And I'd be all, "Oh, calm the hell down! Control yourself! It's fish, NOT ANTHRAX!"

Now, before I tell you what I did, let me just reiterate that Hubs does not like seafood, but HE IS NOT ALLERGIC TO IT. So, it's not like I was trying to kill him or anything. Are you listening, Life Insurance People??

OK. Here's the drill. There's this Thai restaurant that we order takeout from. Hubs and I always order the same dish except his has NO SHRIMP and mine does. Well, one day, I decided that I wasn't going to pay for two takeout dishes that were exactly THE SAME (except for the shrimp thing) because we always have way too much food left over and we always end up throwing it away...and that is just being ridiculously wasteful.

So, the last time I ordered Thai takeout, I only ordered one dish...WITH SHRIMP IN IT.

When I got it home, I quickly picked all of the shrimp out of the container and put in on my plate. Then, I made a plate for Hubs from the same takeout container with just noodles/veggies/chicken. I honestly thought he would never know because, honestly? He's a little OVER DRAMATIC when it comes to his olfactory senses (That smells! This smells! WTF is that smell?!). But with all of the curry in our food, I thought he would NEVER be able to taste that there had been shrimp rubbing up against his noodles (Sounds pervy, no?).

Guess what?

I was fugging WRONG.

The little bastard BLEW A CORK with the very first bite he took.

He started to chew, opened his eyed WIDE, and yelled, "OH MY GOD! THIS TASTES LIKE FISH! IS THERE FISH IN HERE? *SPIT, SPIT, CHEWED UP FOOD IN A NAPKIN, SPIT, SPIT, DRINK, DRINK, DRY HEAVE, YELL, POUT!*

Dudes, I am not even kidding! I'm talking DRAMA KING to the max, people. You would've thought I was trying to force feed him arsenic and crushed glass!

So, now, he was looking at me all wild and shit, right? And because I didn't want him to drive back to the restaurant and beat the bodiddlies out of the cute little Thai takeout lady, I had to fess up.

So, I bowed my head (I had to pretend like I was sorry...NOT) and said, "Yes. There was shrimp in that food. I thought your crazy aversion to shrimp...you know...how you get all dramatic and shit...I thought it was all in your head! I thought I'd try an experiment to see. I did it in the name of science!"

He looked at me and said, "I can't believe it! I can not believe you! Are you happy now?" I responded nonchalantly, "Yep. Wow...I guess you really don't like seafood, huh?"

He stomped off...to the kitchen...where he made himself dinner....Cheerios and milk, in case you're interested.

Oh, well.

I guess all's well that ends well (WHAT? He didn't choke or anything!).....except for the fact that Hubs keeps looking at me like I'm trying to "off" him or something.

Paranoid little Un-American fish hater....

(I guess he won't be interested in this deal.)

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Team George VS. Team Edward

Morning, y'all!

Remember my jerkhole treadmill, George Clooney---whose ass I beat down this morning with my running shoes? Take that, pretty boy!





Yeah, well...he's got some competition in the "piece of shit I want to destroy" department at Casa Costa.

Allow me to introduce you to my scale, Edward Cullen (named after the vampire in Twilight, who BITES and SUCKS, just like that piece of crap scale that mocks me in the bathroom):



Oh, and FYI...

Edward's just as big a douchenugget as George.

I don't play favorites.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Talkin Sh*T

My life is off kilter, mainly because I am stretching myself too thin.

My husband and I own our own business and we have been working a ridiculous amount of hours (Yesterday? 9AM to 1AM! Holy crap!) to try to keep up with our customers' demands. Because in this economy, if we don't keep them happy, then someone else will.

We are also in the middle of renovating a building to which we will move our business in a few months. Talk about stress, people. AHHHHHH! I wont bore you with the details, but let me just say that contractors suck big ones.

Anywho, the point of this post (and I do have one) is this. Lately, I feel like I don't have enough hours in my day to plan my meals or exercise the way I should. That means I have been eating lots of shit---on the go. I haven't seen a change in my weight, YET. But, I definitely see a change in the way I feel.

I'm not going to get into TMI details here, but...OH FRIG IT. Yes, I am.

Here's the bottom line. When I eat too many processed foods and not enough high fiber healthy foods, I can't poop. Actually, I can poop. But, during those times when I'm trying to do my bin-ness, the term "shitting a brick" becomes my reality. There. I said it. And I KNOW you know what I'm taking about because Dr. Oz had a whole "pooping show" on Oprah and lots of women were in the audience lamenting about how they crap marbles, so there.

Hold on a few seconds. The business phone's wringing....

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

WTF? This telemarketer dude just called here (I AM SERIOUS!) to try to sell me flashlights with my company name on them! When I thanked him and said I wasn't interested, he asked me if he could tell me a joke! I said, "Fine. Make it snappy. Because I'm really busy telling my bloggy peeps about how I'm having trouble making poo because I've been eating too many chocolate chip muffins." Oh.Yes.I.Did. He laughed and said, "OK, then! Why did the spider cross the road?" "I DON'T KNOW. WHY?" I asked. He responded, "To get to his website! HAHAHAHAHA." Click. I hung up on his ass.

OK. Now what the hell was I saying before Flashlight Man called? Oh, yeah...poop. I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel yucky. I've been neglecting myself. I need to do better. I need to learn how to say NO more. And I really need to try harder to keep it together and make myself a priority.

Oh, and while I'm spilling my guts, I might as well confess one more thing.

Yesterday, while sitting in my office at work, I had a chocolate chip muffin for breakfast. AGAIN. And while I was eating it, the phone rang. I turned to answer it---and I dropped a bite sized chunk of my muffin on the carpet. I looked down at it, analyzed the situation, and said to myself, "Self. That piece of muffin has like THREE chocolate chips in it. Chocolate is like GOLD. It must not go to waste." So, I picked it up, looked around to make sure nobody was watching me, and I ate it.

I'm so freakin refined, I could just shit bricks.

Oh, wait. I already do.

*sigh*

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Gag Me With A Soup Spoon (No Pun Intended)

In case you didn't already know this, I am a foodie.

I know, I know. Shocking, right?

And sometimes, I buy new food products just because I like their creative packaging. Technically, I guess that means that I'm easily swayed by the marketing dudes.

That being said, I'd like you to know that EVEN I---who have a love/hate relationship with food (too much love, not enough hate), have standards, PEOPLE.

That means if you're trying to sell me a food product, you'd better make it LOOK and SOUND awfully appealing. Not like these guys (had to be men)...who've got it ALL FLIPPING WRONG:


Cuz, in the grand scheme of things? There is no freakin way in Hell that I am buying this product because at first glance, it reminds me of men's' pee pees. And that is NOT the picture that my mind wants to conjure up when I'm trying to eat. Just saying....

And if you don't believe that this product is for real, I did the research for you because I am your friend and that's how I roll. So, go! And buy it here.

Place your order now! You'll have it in time for Mother's Day! Because nothing says I Love You, Mom more than a case of Ding Dong Soup (Seriously, marketing people?).

Mmmmm...yummy.

Monday, March 8, 2010

The Blame Game

My sister, Natty, told me a funny story about my Mother (the very stylish, seventy-eight year old, Portuguese Sophia Petrillo---with NO mouth filter).

Before telling you the story, here's a little background about my Mama.

First, she is always perfectly coiffed---not a hair out of place---EVER.

Second, she NEVER leaves the house unless she looks perfect. That means she's wearing high heels, make-up, and a perfectly coordinated outfit complete with matching necklace, bracelet, earrings, shoes, and pocketbook.

Third, she has more shoes and more clothes than any member of any royal family. We don't call her the "Queen Bee" for nothing.

Fourth, she has had NINE children, is barely five feet tall, and weighs in the 120's.

And finally, she is waaaaaay too concerned with my appearance (and that of my entire family). That means that she WILL NOT hesitate to tell me AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT that I look like poo, my butt looks big, or my hair needs "a new style."

Anywho, on Thursday, my sister--Natty, took my mom shopping. When they were in the store, my mom bought a blouse that she thought was pretty. Unfortunately, said blouse looked like it was a little narrow. So, my Mom had to buy a size LARGE (OH THE HORROR!) instead of her usual size medium. She was ticked off. But, she bought it anyway.

Upon arriving back at the car with my sister, Momma, feeling like she had to defend her SIZE LARGE BLOUSE when she ALWAYS wears a MEDIUM, turned to my sister and said, "You know why I have to buy a LARGE blous-a (blouse)?"

I would have said, "Yes, because your coo (ass) is getting too big?"---like she does to me.

But, my sister, who is nicer than I am (she really is) just looked at her and waited for her response. So, my Mom said (insert Portuguese accent here), "Because dey make dat shirt in Tai-Wanda (Taiwan?)!" My sister looked at her and said, "Huh?" Because she didn't understand what the hell she was saying. So, my Mother repeated louder, "Dey make dat shirt in TAI-WANDA! All da clothes made in TAI-WANDA is too small! Because the people from dey-a are soooo skinny!"

Yeah. That's her friggin excuse. She blamed her tight fitting shirt on the poor slave labor in Tai-friggin-WANDA...wherever the hell that is.

I asked my sister, "What did you say to that?" My sister responded, "I couldn't say anything. I was laughing too hard."

That got me thinking about how resourceful my seventy-eight year old mother really is. Seriously.

Think about it.

When I need to buy a bigger size, it's my own damn fault. I've probably been overindulging in shit I shouldn't be eating and I've been lax about my exercise regimen.

When SHE has to buy a bigger size, it's not her fault! She gets to blame it on the too skinny slave labor of an imaginary country called Tai-Wanda.

Being accountable is overrated.

I need to be more like my Mother.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Tell It Like It Is

The best and worst comments my blog has received this week:

BEST COMMENT:

After reading my new haircut post, my nephew left me this comment:

Hey Tia Sally:
Your hair looks great! It's young, crisp, and refreshing. You look more like my cousin now, rather than my aunt. It shaved ten years off. LOL... Enjoyed dinner the other night with you and Paul. Have a great day.
-Brian


He thinks I look ten years younger. I think I'm going to leave him a shitload of money when I croak. I'm shallow. Flattery will get you everywhere.


WORST COMMENT:

This one came from blog reader, Kyle G. It was his response to yesterday's post about my husband and how his reckless chocolate cake abandon led him to gain five measly pounds (big.freakin.deal):

Kyle G: Did I mention my 4.6 pound loss this past week for a total of 52 pounds? Neener, neener, neener! Of course, I'd only be this snarky on Sally's blog cuz she'd appreciate it. Yes...it sucks...guys suck. However, I can't really get away with as many indiscretions as you might think and I am working my literal butt off to do what I'm doing anyway. It is all relative. Over time, we all lose based on the same calories in/out formula. Commence hating me...

Kyle? When I say that you left me the "worst" comment, I mean that with the utmost respect. You see...I'm on your side. I'm happy about your weight loss. Or, at least I WAS...until the whole neener, neener, neener thing (Ladies---He's mocking us!). Now you're just being a showoff. But, to show you that I'm a good sport, I've decided to buy you something. You know...to commemorate your 50+ pound weight loss. Yes, my friend...I'm buying you a membership to the "Flavored Butter of the Month Club."

Bon freakin appetit.

Oh, and tell your wife that I'll forward my address so she can send me my 25% of the life insurance money. Thanks!


Men...They may lose weight faster and easier. But, women are WAY more resourceful.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Five Pounds = A Package of Ground Chuck

My husband's all discombobulated. He woke me up this morning, lamenting about his recent five pound weight gain.

Five pounds. Big whoop.

Now, let me just say that if I had indulged in all of the goodies that he's been ingesting over the time period that he's been ingesting them in?

Dudes! I'd be as big as a freakin house. I'd a gained five pounds on each ass cheek, thigh, and belly roll by now. I'd be looking like the Michelin Man with big jugs. Seriously.



Anyway, while he was moaning, pissing, and groaning, about his barely expanding belly, I tried to appear compassionate about those FIVE measly pounds. But, the truth of the matter is? I don't really give a crap---because I know that if he puts his mind to it, he will lose that weight in one week. Then, he'll be back to the weight that he was when we got married---almost eighteen years ago. Your heart just bleeds for him, doesn't it?

Anywho, since I love him, I figured that I should try to be a tad bit more supportive of my Hubby's plight. You know...because to some people, five pounds is a lot of weight to have to lose (want.to.stab.those.people). And, since I consider myself a diet expert, I thought I would dedicate this blog to my Hubs, while using this post to give him the ultimate weight loss advice.

And here it is...

Hey, Buddy? If you want to shed the five piddly pounds that are making your pants tighter, STOP DOING THIS SHIT:



Glad I could help.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The Pretender

I'll take a weight loss anyway I can get it.

This week's gimmick?

I got my big Portuguese hair cut.

Seriously, people.

I have been blessed with some big ass hair.

Awhile back, my friend-Heather, and I, used to have BIG HAIR CONTESTS at work. We would flip our heads upside down and fluff our hair up, then flip our heads back.

I always won...hands down...because I looked like this:


I am not kidding.

Anywho, I know you're all dying to witness my new hairdo (It's what you live for, right?), so here it is, peeps...

This is my before picture, where I was rocking the "Portuguese Carol Brady" look:That's me on the left...with my big brother, Paul, and my sister, Natty---She's ten years older than me. That makes her FIFTY! HOLY CRAP!

And here I am now, after cutting five inches of my hair off, having it straightened, and letting my bangs grow out:



As you can see, I'm looking more and more like my real Mother everyday:


Oh, alright. She's not my real Mother. But, I like to pretend that she is when the OTHER ONE acts up.

Hey, whatever gets you through...right?

Monday, March 1, 2010

Sally, The Swinger?

Yesterday, my pals, Lou and Linda decided that they wanted to give me a special "gift" for taking on the role of "emcee" at Linda's book signing--which will take place on Sunday, March 7Th.

When they told me this, I was all, "No, no, no! I don't want anything! I'm emceeing because I want to help Linda. I want to support her! No compensation is necessary. Puh-leeze!"

But, they insisted.

So, last night, right before we went out for dinner, they presented me with this:



Yes, my friends. I am now the proud owner of a six week pole and exotic dancing fitness class. Help.Me.Jesus.

Now, something you may not know about me?

Yeah. I'm kind of a prude.

Don't get me wrong. I don't give a rat's hairy butthole what other people do in the privacy of their own homes (or with whom). As long as you're not swinging from it in front of me, knock yourself out.

However, when it comes to myself?

Dudes! I am not cool with sharing my bin-ness with the world! That means that there is NO FREAKIN WAY IN HELL that I will be gyrating and rubbing my girlie stuff on ANY POLE...ANYWHERE. No way, Jose.

Besides, I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life at the moment.

And the last frickin thing I need is to have to explain to my MY MOTHER just how I broke my ass and sprained my ta-tas while swinging around a stripper pole.

I know my limitations and I think I'll leave that shit up to the professionals...Thank.you.very.much.

So, anyway....I suppose I have to be gracious and thank Mr. and Mrs. Pervis for their...um...unique gift.

Thanks, Linda and Lou.

BUT YOU REALLY SHOULDN'T HAVE. Seriously!

Oh, and one more thing, peeps...

Does anybody else out there find it interesting that an ex-nun gave me pole dancing lessons (even if it was her pain in the ass husband's idea---she's still an accomplice)?