• buy a trash can for goodness sakes
• plan clothes schedule for the week
• vaccum Heatwave’s nasty carpet
• cook dinner (lemon pepper chicken, seasoned rice, mystery rolls)
• update iPod for This American Life
• keep Mao from urinating on my bath mat
• wash bath mat (I know the last item will fail miserably)
• attempt early bedtime

… yeah right!

Hello old pants that have been hiding in my mother’s closet for seven years. You look good on me again. Nice to have you back. Too bad you smell like smoke though! To the washing machine with the other piles of clothes you go.

It is so odd walking into the trailer when we go to clean on the weekends. My brain knows it used to be home, but it’s pretty much an empty shell of whatever memory I have stored. The new house has yet to feel like home either, so I’m kind of in limbo. I come home from work and I’m restless. I can hardly sleep correctly, much like the sleep you get at a hotel. I almost feel homeless. Really hope the feeling fades soon. I’d like some rest before I collapse.

Time to give Heatwave a bath!

Say hello to my munchie killer.
You know, I’m not really a fan of “diet fad” ideas or products. In fact, when my doctor suggested I go on a low carb diet, I about fell out of my chair in disbelief. Mostly, these sort of things are gimmicks; proper diet and exercise is always the answer, unless there is something else medically in the background. It’s worked for the forty pounds I’ve lost; I’ll work for the rest of it as well.

I came across these little bars of goodness a couple weeks ago when I was looking for a snack backup, as someone keeps eating my fruit I usually save for work (wonder who that is!). It isn’t the best thing to be snacking on, nor does it have the amount of protein I was looking for, but it turned out to be a good sweet tooth soother. Most protein bars taste like cardboard, but this is almost passable as a candy bar. I keep one handy in my purse whenever my stomach gets the best of me.

Nom nom nom!

Poor Mao. Nuetering is not fun. Nor is being extra doped up because it took two assistants to hold you down for the procedure. Poor thing didn’t know who he was, I reckon. I had to hold the feller up so he could use the literbox without falling over.

Hopefully he’ll feel better in a few days.

I love how one of the local papers practically deadpans this while CNN fluffs it up like a pillow.

‘Tis sad that the man died, of course, but icon? Please. The man did nothing but ignore North Carolinians and further his own agenda. The only conservative thing about him was at election time, when he wanted our vote and our money. The same can be said of his colleagues and his successors. Wolves and sheep’s clothing in both parties as far back as I can remember, and the people just kept voting their corrupt rears back into office time after time.

I guess we’ll all reap what the hereditary voters have sown.

In honor of the 4th, a repost of my Goodreads recview:

America’s Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates, and Heroines by Gail Collins
Rating: 5 of 5 stars
How amusing that I finish this fabulous book on Independence Day.

As a woman trying to dig deeper into the great history of those who have labored before me, I had a hard time finding a concise and readable account in one location before this book. Collins has laid out the foundations of where women stand today in such an engaging manner that I could hardly stand to put the book down when I had to. I found the incredible amount of detail in referencing shocking; the last hundred or so pages are just notes and quotes alone. Seldom have I found a historical text to be so complete and enjoyable, and it was a joy to flip each page.

The history literally came alive for me. From Dare to Truth to Paul, and every woman in between, I felt pride swell in my heart with each story of struggle and triumph. Collins left little unexplored; even the question of menstrual issues for early colonial settlers popped up, and although I was disappointed to learn that no one knows for sure how women coped with their periods during cloth shortages, it was something I have, and I’m sure the rest of the Tampax/Kotex Generation have, never given much thought towards. How exactly does one fend off the red flood while fending off the native flood as well, child strapped to the back, alone on the frontier?

Another story that caught my attention was the plight of the WACs during the second World War. It was heart breaking to bring up theses brave female pilots to elderly family members, who didn’t know who they were, let alone the sacrifices they committed for their country during wartime. Having no place in the memory of the people they protected and served was almost as sad as the U.S. Military denying the pilots military burial rites. It’s one thing to be denied. It’s another thing to be forgotten.

There are so many tales of struggles told in this book that every woman needs to pass on to her daughters. These are the memories we need to hold onto and be thankful for every time we go to work, sit in class, or go to the polls.

I have read many books in my time, but rarely do I find one that has changed my life so.

• Asia wisely popped me an invite to Goodreads. The addiction should be forming, but most of my books are still packed and I can’t remember them all like a good data entry monkey should. Highly suggested to my fellow bookworms.
• If you haven’t read Obama or McCain’s matching pieces on patriotism, you need to. In fact, every American of voting age needs to. If I hadn’t already made up my mind, this article would have done it for me. The difference is plain as day.
• We discovered today that my reproductive system and I were happier before the metformin.
• I am really wanting a grill. A really big grill. But I should be realistic.
• Does no one manufacture tasteful, wall-mounting mail organizers anymore?
• Has anyone seen my Sting CDs? I have a hunkering for some odd reason.
• I love my dishwasher. Enough to delay sleeping to put up the dishes after they were done.

Project Retro Recipe was a semi-success tonight. Very bland, but what do you expect from Weight Watcher recipes from the 70s/80s? Diet food wasn’t supposed to taste good! Very happy to be cooking on my new range. Pictures of stainless steel sexiness, and the run down on the food to come another day.

Still not done with sticky note memories. They should pop up soonish.

After months of procrastination, I managed to wander into a doctor’s office at the end of May, between boxes and packing tape. A normal check up and some tests were in order, considering it has been almost a decade since I have stepped inside a medical facility for my own purposes, and my family medical history seems to get more interesting with each phone call made. I came in today for the results, which were exactly as I had imagined. I’m pefectly fine, except for a small dip in healthy cholesterol and having jelly rolls adorn my frame. Good liver, kidneys, blah blah. Better safe than sorry.

What was more interesting was my episode on the scale before hitting the patient room. After a couple months of a snails crawl when it came to putting a dent in my weight, I almost squealed with glee when I stared down those red numbers. Thirteen pounds down in a month. A little over three pounds a week. I don’t really want to attribute it to his suggestion to go on a “low carb diet” (which I think are boring and bogus, but did it to amuse him and myself to an extent), but rather to the sheer volume of boxes packed, carted down that muddy hill of filth, and moved. I still have a bit more moving to do, so hopefully we’ll keep it up until I can get the elliptical at the new house.

Now if I can only find a decent gynecologist, we’ll be in business, and maybe my body will half behave.

Oh, and I snub at the accepted agreement that tetanus shots hurt. Wusses, or my body’s freaky immune/nuero system? Who knows.