Wednesday, February 23, 2011

You Can Get More Bees With F-Bombs

To refresh your memory, I recently bought a new car. When researching what kind of car I was going to buy, I narrowed it down to two choices...a midsized car and a small SUV.

After analyzing the pros and cons of what each vehicle had to offer, I finally settled on a Nissan Murano. As you will deduce from the following argument that my husband had with my car (YES. YOU READ CORRECTLY. HUBS HAD A FIGHT WITH MY CAR.), I definitely bought the RIGHT vehicle. It's soooooooo me. Hehehe.

THE SCENE: Hubby and I, in the car, using the talking navigation system to get directions. Hubby pushes the start button....

My Car: (INSERT COMPUTERIZED VOICE) Would you like to access phone, navigation, information or help? *BEEP*

Hubby: Navigation.

My Car: NAVIGATION. What state please? *BEEP*

Hubby: Massachusetts.

My Car: MASSACHUSETTS. Please say the city name. *BEEP*

Hubby: Boston.

My Car: BOSTON. Please say the street name. *BEEP*

Hubby: Main Street.

My Car: MAIN STREET. Please say the address number. *BEEP*

Hubby: Two.

My Car: Please say the address number.

Hubby: TWO!

My Car: Please say the address number.

Hubby: TWO!!!!!!!

My Car: Please say the address number.


My Car: Please say the address number.

Hubby: OH, WHAT THE F*CK?!

My Car: Please say the address number.

Hubby: F*CK YOUUUU!!!!!!!!

(Ooooh! He was so pissed!)


Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Did you hear that?! Hahahaha! You hurled an F-BOMB at her AND she SUDDENLY got the address right! Hahahaha! The Navigation B*tch is mocking you! Hahaha!

Hubby: Your car is an a**hole.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I'm Sorry, Colonel Sanders.

I've been thinking.

It's not very nice of me to learn so much from my trainer and not share that knowledge with you, my loyal bloggy peeps.

So, today? I'm going to change all that. I'm going to share her words of wisdom with you...FOR FREE.

I know. I'm awesome, right?

Anywho, here goes.

Last week, during one of our sessions, THE TRAINER was looking over our food journals, when she decided to share a wonderful weight loss tip with the whole class.

She said, "By working out hard---really pushing yourself---and perfecting your eating habits, you will lose weight." Then she added, "OH, AND THE NEXT TIME you get the urge to eat the crispy skin on a piece of chicken? IMAGINE that THAT CHICKEN HAD ECZEMA."

Bon appetite, y'all.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Nothing Says "Romance" Like Whole Grain Oats

Today, I thought I'd share with you this morning's romantic Facebook conversation between me and the Hubs.

Because on Valentine's Day?

My Hubby pulls out all the stops, y'all.

Curb your jealousy, Chickas.


Sally Araujo Costa: Happy Valentine's Day, Bud! XOXO.....In lieu of chocolate, I'll take cash :)

Paul Costa: Negatori. But, I'll make you breakfast!

Sally Araujo Costa: Yay! I'll have an egg white omelet with spinach, mushrooms, and a smidge of cheese, please!

Paul Costa: Cheerios it is!

Sally Araujo Costa: Thank you, Emeril.

THIS coming from the guy who dry heaves when I pull the skin off of chicken. I should've known better.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

A Vision In Orange Sweatpants

Last week, I went to the Rhode Island DMV to register my husband's new-ish truck. Luckily, on that day, it snowed like hell---which was great for me---because it kept MOST people indoors and gave me a ten minute wait at the DMV instead of a FOUR HOUR ONE. Yay me.

Being that---according to my darling husband---I am a magnet for whackjobs, I should have known that JUST BECAUSE there wasn't a line at the DMV, didn't mean that I would wander in and out of the building unscathed. No sirree, Bob.

As a matter of fact, on that day? I almost got my face busted by a toothless chick wearing orange sweatpants. Check it...

I pulled up to the DMV, parked Hubby's truck, and trekked my arse through the blowing snow, when I noticed the police "detaining" some dude who had just finished making peepee on the sidewalk. For reals, people.

Of course, I am nosey by nature, so I took my sweet freakin time walking into the building because I wanted to get the scoop on this interesting situation.

From what I could deduce, apparently, PeePee Dude was getting all cocky and shit with the cops.

Had he been nice and said something like, "I'm so sorry, you fine up keepers of the law! I just couldn't hold it for one more minute!" Maybe they'd a let him go with a nice, little slap on the wrist.

But, NOOOOO. PeePee dude was being rude. He was all like, "I had to take a piss! F*CK YOUUUUU!"

So, instead of a tiny slap on the wrist, they slapped the iron cuffs on him and dragged his beligerant, little ass away to the pokey. Dumbass.

Fast forward ten minutes later...

I am waiting in line to register Hubby's truck, when this woman runs into the room and YELLS, to no one in particular, "UM? EXCUSE ME? My boyfriend just called and told me to meet him here because he was arrested for indecent exposure! Where do I go for that?"

Now, peeps. You're super smart people, so I KNOW that you KNOW exactly who she was looking for, right?


This TOOTHLESS VISION IN ORANGE SWEATPANTS? She was Sir Pees-A-Lot's WOMAN and she was proudly coming to his rescue. *Cue the romantic music, y'all...*

Okay, so at this point, everybody in the room is snickering and shit because Sweatpants Susie is being so subtle and all. Then, the guy who was issuing drivers licenses, looked up and over at his colleagues and started laughing.


Sweatpants Susie was getting pissed off because she wanted to hurry up and save Sir Pees-A-Lot from becoming somebody's pokey b*tch, right? So she yelled, "WELLLLLL????!!!! Where the f*ck do I go?"

Classy! I know!

So, Driver's License Man looked at her and said, "MAM? First of all, we do not appreciate you using that kind of language. And SECOND, THIS IS THE DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR VEHICLES. The police station is next door."

Now, a normal know...the kind of person who would typically be embarrassed by having a significant other who randomly pees in the snow like a German Shepherd, would have uttered a simple thank you and slinked her way out of the room.

But, Sweatpants Susie?

There was nothing normal about her, my friends.

She simply put her hand on her hip and yelled, "WELL, WHAT THE F*CK? THERE WAS NOBODY IN THE F*CKIN HALLWAY TO HELP ME!"

Then, just as she was getting ready to storm off?

Dudes. I swear. I don't know what the frig came over me. I glanced up, read the two HUMONGOUS SIGNS that were hanging above my head that said DRIVERS LICENSES & REGISTRATIONS, and mumbled to myself, "Hmmm...Nobody in the hallway to help.....Maybe next time, you could try READING THE SIGNS."

And then? *GULP* I realized that my mumbling abilities really SUCK...because Sweatpants Susie HEARD ME!


The look I got from her clearly told me that she was not above beating the everlovin crap out of me and burying me alive behind her trailer. She was one scary be-otch.

Lucky for me, however, she didn't want to keep Sir-Pees-A-Lot waiting, which is a wonderful thing, because I really like my teeth exactly where they are.


When I got back to work, I told Hubby what had happened. He responded by telling me AGAIN that that shit only happens to me and I am a MAGNET for people who have three functioning brain cells.

I disagree.

Take Sweatpants Susie for example...

If I've learned anything from my little run in with that crazy be-otch, it's that I AM actually a MAGNET for toothless people who have three functioning brain cells.

My only consolation?

If I am ever reincarnated as toothpaste, I will never have to see her again. Halleluia.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Losing Weight & Blowing Chunks

Hello, Amigos!

So sorry that I have been MIA for over a week! But, I'm baaaaack!

So, I'd like to start this week by giving you an update on the ten week challenge that I'm doing with my trainer, Amy Jones.

It's week six. And it's getting more challenging, people. I'm not even shitting you.

Amy continues to push me (and everybody else in the class) to the brink of my limits AND just when I think that I'd better call my cardiologist and have her meet me at the E.R.---it's over. WHEW. That was close.

And last week, during one of my training sessions? I had an honest to goodness total Biggest Loser moment.

You ever see trainer--Jillian Michaels, on the Biggest Loser--push someone so hard that they barf all over their treadmill?

Yeah well, they've got nothing on me, peeps.

Because last week? About a half hour into one of my sessions, I felt super nauseous. And while lifting weights, I briefly glanced at the wall clock to decide if I could hold down my afternoon snack (almonds and water) until I got home.

AND the funniest thing was AMY CAUGHT ME LOOKING AT THE CLOCK and she smiled as if to say, "You can look at that clock all you want, SISTER. THIS PARTY AIN'T OVER TIL I SAY IT IS!"

So, I felt like I had to clarify my behavior. I said, "I'm trying to decide if I can hold down my puke until I go home."

Completely unfazed, she responded, "If you have to throw up, go ahead. But, leave the door open so I can hear you."


Apparently, she's met a few drama queens who will FAKE BARF to get a little exercise break.

At that point, my stomach made the decision for me. I calmly put my weights down, walked over to the bathroom, leaned the door in a little until it was only open about six inches.


I blew chunks in the sink. TWICE.

Who knew I could churn my own almond butter? Hehehe...

When I was done, I cleaned the sink, splashed cold water on my face, and went right back to the weights because I am not a wuss. I AM WOMAN. HEAR ME ROAR!

A couple of days later, people were still asking me if I was okay. And I was all like, "Of course I'm okay! Why wouldn't I be?" And they'd be all like, "Well, BECAUSE YOU PUKED!"

Dudes! Puh-leeze. I got my ass kicked. And I barfed. But you know what? I wasn't embarrassed at all...because I know that I must be doing something right.

And today? My trainer proved my theory by posting this as one of her Facebook statuses:

"If you haven't felt the nausea, you haven't tasted your boundaries!"---Amy Jones

Hmmmm....I guess BARFING, while working out, is the equivalent of earning a special badge of honor, y'all.

I feel like a Girl Scout (minus those fuggin cookies, of course).