Deuces

I was in concert. In my mind anyway. In my car, anyway. The world's longest work day brought me to a lot of fist-pumping in my car to Katy Perry Pandora. I sang so loud the Audi next to me seemed moved by my solo performance.  "You're welcome, Sir Audi Driver". And thank You, Ke$ha, for not ever washing your hair and singing silly songs that I can sing along to obnoxiously. Songs like "Blah, Blah, Blah".  And Ke$ha and those songs made me think of the 5 exercises I don't hate. 1. Jog.  I won't get all cray and say "run" because the reality is that I just strongly desire a nice long, steady jog where I can sing along to my favorite jams.  To "run" suggests that I have purpose and speed.  To "jog" means I have no purpose but to uncoil some deep-seated tightly wound desire to move. If it's under the moonlight: Even better.  If it is done alone, just my iPod and I: The best.  If I can fit in at l...

Be poignant. Be deliberate. Be calm. Be loved. Be pensive. Be provoked. Be a Voice. Be the One. Be revealed. Be kind. Be generous. Be a giver. Be the risk. Be the opportunity. Be forgiven. Be forgiving. Be the One.

If I could have a tight tushy and not spill out of my swimsuit without having to do the following, I would be the Happiest Mommy on the Block. 1. Lunges. I trucking hate lunges.  I am not ergonomically designed for them and it seems that every Monday at boot camp our instructor makes us do them. I wobble with each step.  I curse.  I look to see if the instructor is looking my way and if she isn't I cheat and don't let that knee touch that gross gravel. Sometimes I physically want to pass out.  Lunges.  I trucking hate you. 2.  Sprints.  Why? Why on Earth is there any reason to run as fast as you possibly could to a distance quite close?  Why?  What is the purpose?  What are we training for people?  The Apocalypse? 3.  Leap Frogs.  Quite honestly I can actually see the value of leap frogs since my bum is considerably rounder. Or is that the cheeseburger I had for lunch?  Anyway, they're silly and fatiguing and si...

It's exactly how she says it: "Hold You Me". How can I resist but to hold her you when she says that sweet, sweet 'hold you me'? My daughter is quite adorable and loves some risky business.  My mother says I have my hands full "she doesn't like to sleep... she's into everything... she's so curious... " and on the rare occasion when my mom watches Sayler for a few hours I am sure to find my mama looking nothing short of exhausted and defeated upon my return.  And Sayler and I will get to a place like MyGym where she can exhaust all her energies in an organized fashion.  But I often feel awkward at places like MyGym where the better mothers frequent and exchange tips and playdate sessions. My infrequent attendance in any mommy-and-me inspired class has me blush at "we haven't seen you for awhile..'.  But I'm a working girl and so it is what it is that we will get to MyGym when we can and I will blush and face m...

Here we go... I'm back to my "5's" lists... because they're so awesome. 1. A foot massage. If I were a secret agent I would give up all of our U.S. assets and allies for an aggressive rub-down on my arches... I like it rough. 2. Thai food.  If you haven't dined on some Phat Si Io with me you probably have no idea I hold a record for not needing to take a breath of air for an extended period of time.  It's THAT serious. 3.  Starbucks.  I hate being a cliche here, but I salivate just a little when I pass that weird green- lady-with-a-questionable-headdress-sign (that i s what it is, right? I have no other way to describe that weird mascoty-logo-symbol thing they use) 4. Thai massage.  Okay... is it cheating that number 1 and 2 are similar to 4?  But they're not the same because neither 1 nor 2 involve the sweet, sweet painful pounding of a tiny Thai woman jumping on my back and pulling my arms (almost) off.  The place off of Archibald and the 60...

My husband hashtags. And he didn't openly tell me he hashtagged but  I discovered it with my own two eyes as I took a gander at his Instagram posting. And I asked him "are you hastagging!?"  I was mortified on his behalf. Because I think he knows how uncomfortable I am with hashtags. And it isn't to say I am openly judging those of you who hash... or tag... or number sign... or whatever you call it in the underground social networking world. #IaintHatinIjustbeSayin It's just that I can't keep up with what's latest or new or trendy or popular and I am still waiting for the MySpace revival to commence so I can get back to choosing cute layouts. Wasn't it only yesterday the number sign became the "pound".  And now it's also a hashtag?  The person who designed the number sign is #turninginhisgrave I do finally understand the purpose of hashtags.  Yes, indeed.  But I can't gather why I want to share a hashtag keyword with str...