The Bitch is Back

WHAT was I thinking????

Maybe I was thinking: "My new pants don't fit and I have to do SOMETHING about it."

Maybe I was thinking: "Gee, I'm not seeing my Beloved Lady Chiropractor enough these days--maybe I should try to trash my knee for the holidays."

Or, maybe I was thinking: "It's all MJagger's fault. Her injury is prohibiting me from working out." (Blame others--a tried and true method. Why I can't walk without her while she's on the injured reserve list is beyond me.)

Maybe it was a moment of weakness...or one too many Biggest Loser Episodes....or, a moment of perimenopausal hysteria.....

Whatever I was thinking, all I can tell you is the Bitch is BACK!

While shopping on line (supposedly for the holidays and birthdays), I came upon Jillian's two "new" workout DVDs. I could have easily navigated away from the page. I could have easily redirected myself back on my task of buying gifts on line. I could have run to the frig and stuffed a bag of Dove Dark Chocolate in my mouth. I could have clicked on the Book de la Face tab and began harvesting my crops.....

But, no. No, I clicked on the reviews and read them. Hmmmm, sounds like these are good work-outs......I noticed that the DVDs were on sale, complete with free shipping. I thought about how MJagger and I haven't been able to walk and how I'm a little bored with my favorite walker DVD Leslie (no offense to Leslie--just having a moment of weakness) and how I can't walk alone after work because it's dark and.....

....the next thing I knew, Jillian's work-out DVDs were in my cart and the order had been processed and I blacked out.

I was on my way to Jillian hell.

Those of you who are regular readers know this is a bad, bad thing (well, unless you are my chiropractor--then it's a great thing). It took me HOW many months to get my knee back in working order after doing Jillian's 30 day Shred???

It did WHAT to my buttocks? That 30 day shred blew those glutes right out of my pants.

It took me HOW LONG to break up with her, despite the pain and agony she brought me?

Well, she's back and you know I can't say no to her.

When I got home from work, I saw the box from Warrior.com (aka that website where you used to buy books but now buy everything) sitting on the stoop (complete with two dog treats rubber banded onto the box--our mail lady rocks). I was foolishly excited to see that my Jillian had arrived. Jillian squared, that is--two DVDs!

I opened the "Banish Fat" DVD first, thinking it'd be better to start with the one that didn't require using weights. (BTW, I HATE the packaging on CDs and DVD boxes. You have no idea how many finger nails I have broken trying to open those stupid things.) I skimmed the back of the box, seeing that the work-out should take about 45 minutes. No problem--MJagger and I have been walking 12 minute miles for three miles--that's kind of like doing a 45 minute workout. I looked at the front of the case: "Lose up to Five Pounds a Week!" Hmmm, doubt that, don't wanna do that, just want my pants to fit. (Well, and keep my healthy heart healthy. I suppose that would be on the top of my exercise-to-do list.) I ran upstairs, peed, put on my shorts, slapped on my sports bra (can't work out in my favorite Wally World Sponge Bobs bra) and ran downstairs to start the DVD.

I began the workout, all the while trying to keep my knee attached to my body. I was very careful and promised myself I wouldn't do any of the squatty things; rather, I would jog in place. I told myself to take it slow and easy. And, that was only during her introduction.

Suffice it to say, I made it through most of the workout. Okay, okay, so I skipped Circuit Six. Well, and part of Circuit Four--or, was it Five? But, otherwise, I did fine. Well, besides my knee hurting a bit when doing those moguls. I did at one point think about how I am not going to be able to walk tomorrow but I quickly forgot about that due to my inability to breathe while doing ab work. Not being able to breathe is a good distraction for anything.

I figure if I do a Jillian tape twice a week, walk twice a week outside and once a week inside (I won't forsake you, Leslie), I'll be good to go, my pants will fit, my heart will be strong AND I'll be able to continue my love affair with chocolate extreme blizzards......

I am already scheduled to see my Beloved Lady Chiropractor this week. It's my "once a month" check-up. I was going to give her a Christmas card while there because I won't see her again til after the holidays, but....

.....I think I'll hang on to the card, as I'm pretty certain I'll be needing additional chiropractic services before the holidays. After all, the Bitch is Back.....is that my knee making little whimpering noises?
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Nothin' Up My Sleeve

best wishes to Dee Zee for a speedy, uneventful recovery. May you never have to think about that dreaded gall bladder again.

Raise your hands--how many of you remember Rocky and Bullwinkle? And, how many of you remember the phrase, "Nothin Up my Sleeve" when Bullwinkle performs a bit of magic???

I thought so.

I have no time for babbling about national health care or about the legitimacy of recent town hall ridiculousness, I've got bigger things to worry about....like, how that street magician is hovering off the sidewalk and why the hell Jillian Michaels is hawking weight loss products.....

Here's something you might not have known: I am a huge fan of magic. No, not the basketball kind of magic; the kind where some guy pulls a rabbit out of a hat or cuts a scantily clad assistant in half. Most of you have no idea that I am even one bit interested in magic, but I am. Why, I even worked as a magician's assistant one summer (okay, so I was in one show with a guy who was a "magic clown"). I love a good card trick, I love to watch pro magicians to see if I can "see" the illusion, I love the thought of Seigfried and Roy wowing the Vegas crowd. So, it's no surprise I love learning secrets of all those illusions. That's where my newest favorite T.V. show comes in: it's all about revealing secrets of the world's biggest magicians, grand illusion style.

Who knew there was such a show? I found it by accident while the wife was on her last leg of her Annual Tour of the Cheddarlands. It's not a new show in any capacity--in fact, the first round of the show was filmed in the 1990's. It's new to me, as I just didn't know about it. Always the last to know. It's on MyNetworkTV, whatever that is. All I know is it's Channel 16 on our cable and that the show is on Monday and Wednesday nights. I was flipping channels and there he was, the Masked Magician. Sure beat watching another thirty minutes of the Weather Channel.

Those of you who know about magic know that it is really, really naughty to reveal trade secrets. It's against every code known to magicians. In fact, it is so naughty that I'm thinking this guy (I am assuming it's a guy) is going to disappear once and for all if his anonymity is compromised. The Masked Magician--blackballed to Magician hell!

So, I now know how to levitate....and, how to cut the wife in half, make the dogs disappear and then re-appear, stay underwater for 18 minutes, hold a seance, and stick a sword through Xena. I can throw a card through a solid window and make a motorcycle disappear......

......thing is, I haven't been able to figure out how to get out of a plane stuck on a tarmac for seven hours (those poor people!), pull health care reform out of a hat, magically remove the scratch I put on the wife's car, turn Freckles' yeasty, scabby, smelly, itchy skin allergies into apple-blossom, healthy skin, or how to magically remove my shoes from my feet when I enter the house.

I certainly haven't figured out how to levitate Ann Coulter off the planet.....

So, Jillian--can you help me magically keep my new (read: bigger) sized pants from not fitting? I'm having a little trouble in that department. I see you are selling weight loss products. (Yes, that's a copy of my computer screen and that's what I was looking at today.)

Jillian, Jillian, Jillian. First you ruin me knees, now you want me to take your products. You know I read your most recent book, liked what you said, agreed with a lot of your metabolism rantings, thought about getting the ol' goiter checked as I progress down the perimenopause trail.

Then, this link comes in my email....is that my Jillian hawking diet products???? Say it isn't so, Joe!

I am distraught about the whole Jillian-selling-weight-loss products thing--I'm not sure why, but I feel like you're selling out here. What happened to your insisting that working out, eating healthy foods, getting your thyroid checked was the only way to go? Isn't putting your name on this stuff the same as all those other lame diet tricks that you are so against?

I can't say I researched any of this, so don't take my word on anything--I'm going with my twenty second eye-balling of the ad illustrated above and the few morsels of information I read in the email I read from the Jillian Michaels' website.

Jillian, you're my girl--explain this to me! (I'll wait for your answer.)

You know, if you could whip up some magic and make my pants fit and magically make my peri-pooch stop expanding, I might forgive all this.

If not, I am so going to practice levitating you AND Ann Coulter off the planet at the same time....

....Presto!

That's Doctor Prom Date to you

Before I speak of my high school prom date, I thought I'd share a horrible phone photo of Lucy. How often can you get a photo of your dog sticking its tongue out at you? If the photo doesn't make you laugh (or, at least wonder what the hell is wrong with Lucy...or, with me), you need to take a nap and eat more chocolate.

Before I speak of my prom date, I confess that I have reached an all-time low in the "I'm so sporty" department: I hurt my knee while putting a Jillian Michael's DVD into the DVD player this evening. One minute, I was having thoughts of doing something stupid like doing a 20 minute cardio workout; the next, I was bent over in pain, wondering what the hell just happened. I think it was a sign from God: "STEP. AWAY. FROM. THAT. WORKOUT. TAPE!" I know better than to do a Jillian tape--history shows such behavior increased my butt size, trashed my knee and toyed with my brain. I admit my motivation wasn't that I thought I'd get a better work out than going for a walk....no, I was being lazy. Twenty minutes of Jillian is a lot faster than three miles of walking around the neighborhood. Bad idea, as evidenced by my aching knee. I don't know what happened, but I felt it and there is no denying I am in need of my beloved lady chiropractor. Something in my knee is out of whack and this upsets me.

Before I speak of my prom date, I also wanted to share this photo of Freckles Warrior Princess, as taken by Cheeseball Neighbor and ChiSky Grrrrl. This is Freckles enjoying a Cubs chair, quite to the dismay of the Milwaukee-Brewer-loving wife. Freckles is Cubby-Blue fan from whelp. When the grrrrrlz visit Brown Dog and the neighbors, they are treated to a royal Cubs fest. Yum! They report that Freckles didn't get out of this chair for two full hours. Unfortunately, Freckles is back to being a smelly, itchy, bloody, yeasty, eye-boogered canine, miserable with dog allergies. (She was allergy-free when seated in this chair, so no worries about that.) It's the rust in the grass-- that red fungus that shows up every August. It makes her miserable. It's not like she can avoid grass. We limit her grass time but we have to walk a little every day or she'll give new meaning to her nickname "Fatty Patty." Benadryl barely touches it. A visit to the cat doctor can't be far away.....

Finally! About that prom date. I am in the midst of searching for long lost classmates (for our upcoming high school reunion) and realized that I had not found my prom date. I'm not sure he wants to be found (especially by me), but I thought at least a Google search would be in order. So, I sat at my desk at the place of which I do not speak, trying to remember how to spell his last name....is there or isn't there a "z" in it? Is it a "K" or a "C?" So many lost brain cells, so little time....

Before I get to what I found, I'd like to share a little background about Dr. Prom Date.

There were 600 students in our graduating class. Dr. Prom Date was Number One. Valedictorian. A gentleman scholar who was in the band, I might add. If you are gonna get a prom date, why not go for the top dog? He was one smart cookie--put me to shame. Now, I was a not-so-shabby Number Four, a sporty nerd, also in the band--but, I had nothing on him. Nothing.

Suffice it to say it is about ten zillion miles between number one and number four.

How we came to be prom dates is beyond me, but I'm glad we went to the big show together because he really was a nice guy and I really had a good time, even though he had to be home by 1 A.M. Doctor Prom Date was the perfect guy, from bouquet to white tux to the day-after Great America trip. It was nerd heaven!

So, once I remember how to spell his last name, I find Dr. Prom Date on Google. I thought he might have found his calling as a priest or medical doctor, but he's found his way into the sciences and engineering--which doesn't surprise me, even though it would have been great fodder if he had indeed become a priest. Scrolling through the google results, I'm sure it's him after seeing his credentials...yup, correct college....yup, correct master's level program....yup, that's his home town. I start reading about what he's been up to and my eyes start to glaze over. The words don't even sound like English. I write blogs with poor grammar and tacky photos of my dogs; he publishes things about corrosion inhibition apparatus blah blah thermocouples in situ heating dirt blah blah blah.

I have no idea what any of this means except that he paid attention in Physics class and I didn't. (Don't even get me started about Physics class.)

Number one....to number four: the friggin' Grand Canyon, in this case. Now, I'm not saying I'm some dummy; I'm just saying that's quite a leap from where I'm standing. Good for you, Doctor Prom Date! I am psyched to say I was your date...and, have pictures to prove it.

I have many questions for him, the first of which will be, "what the hell is a implantable goniometer and does your mother know about this?" I will then ask him about his life, if he now wears jeans and what his adventures have included over the past thirty years. I'll ask the obligitory questions about family and such....after that, I'll convince him to attend our class reunion. Maybe he can wear a white tux for the event....I'll wear a dress if he wears a tux.......

....as long as he leaves his implantable goniometer at home.
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Do the Dew (claw)

I'm hoping Mountain Dew won't sue me for using their slogan to title this night's blog entry, but since I have a readership of like three people, I'm thinking they'll be okay with me.

BTW, the wife is in the other room watching that reality Wives of New York show and she is laughing out loud. She LOVES that crap! More power to her, I guess. All I hear is rich women yelling at each other. I'm gonna stick with "The Biggest Loser" and "Dancing with the Stars." How 'bout that 48 year old woman winning it all? You go, peri-menopausal grrrrl!

Today's topic: Using vacation monies to fix the car AND get the dog's dew claw removed. I've already whined about the car, so I'm onto the dew claw. You know what a dew claw is, right? It's that funky nail on the front paws of a dog that really seem to serve no purpose that I can think of except to cause havoc and to give groomers one more thing to trim. (Side note: if any of you know what the hell a dew claw is for, I'd love to know.)

Poor Freckles Warrior Princess. Some of you will remember her episode with the ripped off dew claw in December or so. You know, the trip to the emergency vet on a Sunday, little pink cast, pain meds, big bill. She's had dew claw issues since the day she was born. (She has a lot of issues. Even her little butt hole isn't in the middle of her butt. Really.) Her dew claw is very deformed and thus curls inward and ends up growing in to her skin. You have to see it to truly understand it. It's horrible to cut in general, it's impossible for me to trim, the old groomer always missed it and I'd have to take her back, yadda yadda. It's been eight years of dew claw hell.

You'd think since Freckles only has one dew claw, she'd have half the problems of other dogs, but this is not the case. (Why she only has one on her left paw and not her right, I do not know. I'm guessing that she is a mutant of some puppy mill sort.) That deformed dew claw is definitely making up for the lack of the other one. I was rather relieved when she had the dew claw accident last winter because I thought it was the end of the dew claw regime. Even the vet was pretty sure it wouldn't grow back. But, it's back, curlier than ever. Ugh!

I came home from work Wednesday and found Freckles limping and waving her paw in the air. Oh no!

She was doing the dew...claw. The paw in the air is never a good sign.

I thus took ol' Fatty Patty to the vet (Dr. Kitty Cat) so we could discuss the dew claw situation and to make sure this was indeed the problem. A physical identified no other issue, so dew claw it was deemed to be--which is good and bad news--it coulda been a lot worse, but I am so over this dew claw thing.

Why it has taken me nine years to ask the question, "how much would it be to have the dew claw surgically removed?" I do not know, but while at the vet, I inquired about the cost and the danger of doing such surgery. The vet thought it would be a fine idea and although Freckles is going on nine years old, she's probably got many a year left in her and thus surgery of this type would be worth it. Dr. Kitty Cat didn't seem too worried about any dangers for Freckles as related to surgery, so I asked for an estimate. The cost was much less than I thought it might be; in fact, the dew claw incident this winter cost more than the surgery will cost.

On a side note, the vet took a look at Fatty Patty's teeth, as it seemed like a good idea to kill two birds with one stone: remove dew claw, clean teeth. Unfortunately, Freckles has very few teeth. I'm serious. They never grew in. (I told you she's deformed.) The vet literally laughed. No need for teeth cleaning--you have to have teeth for that.

After a bit of deliberation, I decided that potential risks associated with surgery would be so minute that it would be worth using my remaining vacation money to fund the removal of the claw. I scheduled the laser surgery--the big day is June 8th. It's the first day that Dr. Kitty Cat and I could get our schedules together. I wish it could be this week but we'll be on vacation (NOT on a beach in Mexico) and then the vet is on vacation and then I'm out of town on business.....thus, June 8th. (The wife wants nothing to do with this. She doesn't want to take the dog to the vet, pick the dog up, care for the dog upon arrival home. The wife doesn't do pain.)

Waiting til June 8th will give me time to fret about everything and it will give Freckles time to have one more episode of dew-claw-trauma. It will also give me time to spend the money and then save the money only to spend it again. By then, my car will be fixed, my non-vacation will be over, the weather will be warmer, Dancing with the Stars will be history and I'll be well on my way to addressing my goiter via Jillian's new book.

Goiter Grrrl doing the dew....claw. Sounds like an adventure to me.

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Secret of Life

After much deliberating and fighting, I've accepted the secret to life:

Bigger pants!

I blew out the crotch on a pair of pants the other day. That's never a good sign. Reality and a hole in your pants demand either weight loss or bigger sized pants.

As you Addiverse readers know, I have been beside myself about this whole thing. But, since wearing the bigger sized pants, I have noticed that the world has kept revolving, that I don't have that "squeezed sausage feeling," and....

....people think I've lost weight!

The trick to buy bigger pants is to buy them just a little too big. That way, they are a bit baggy, and after people have seen me in the tighter pants for many months, the baggy ones do indeed create an optical illusion of weight loss. Bonus!

Another way to camouflage the mid-life spread is to utilize the back-in-style leave-your-shirt-untucked look. I used to fight leaving my shirt untucked but now it's a godsend.....and, in style (or so my 50+/older friends tell me).

A final way I've acclimated to my new found pant size is to wave the white flag while shoving a Dove Dark Chocolate in my mouth. On second thought, maybe shoveling two Dove Dark Chocolates in at a time. Who has time to argue when enjoying the nectar of the gods?

I thought about doing a Jillian tape the other day but then remembered the pain she has caused me in the past. I quickly ran for a dark chocolate and promptly forgot about her. Speaking of Jillian, I saw my Beloved Lady Chiropractor last Friday and have been blissful ever since. Man, I love that lady. Crack, crack, crack. But, my pocketbook does not love her so my love fest is quite limited in nature. Besides, it's not like she can help me fit in to my old pants (which are safely tucked away, not given or thrown away like last time--I've learned, boys & girls), unless it's because I can't afford food because I'm throwing my grocery money at her.

Finally, if you need a flashback to April 1, 2008 or April 1, 2006, please indulge yourself by clicking on the links below. If not, Happy April Fool's Day from one of the world's biggest fools....and, I'm okay with that!

http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2008/04/love-in-elevator-this-blog-post-is.html

http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2006/04/two-fools-for-april-fools-day-here-are.html

This and That Thursday

Today's triumphant house-hold virginal experience: sweeping the garage floor. Now, I have to say I see no point in doing this in the dead of winter (or, ever at all, I suppose), but the wife asked and I complied. I have to say I did not enjoy this experience; in fact, I rate it right up there with washing the floor on my hands and knees. I don't know why I found it so unappealing as it really wasn't labor intensive or time consuming...it was just a pain in the patooty. I'm sure I did not do half as a good a job as the wife does but hey, I'm a rookie--cut me a break.

Today's non-virginal experience: Returning to my Beloved Lady Chiropractor to address the issue of knee pain. She was yipping and yapping away, obviously had a great holiday, lots of funny stories. Who cares about your knee when your beloved Lady Chiropractor is talking non-stop to you? When she asked about the knee (which she eventually did), I confessed that as long as I don't do Jillian Michael's 30 day shred, I'm all good. That made her laugh. (I didn't mention the washing the floor on my hands and knees, as the wife says I only did that once and that could NOT be the source of my knee pain.) I get to go back in three weeks unless the pain intensifies. I think that should qualify for non-washing-the floor duties (unless I WANT to go back sooner than three weeks).

JILLIAN AGAIN...NATURALLY I did Jillian's 30 day shred three days in a row, realized how much it made my knee hurt, thought about doing it one last time.....and, instead went to bed and called it a week. Let's face it: my insides do not match my outsides. Meaning? Looking out from my brain out my little eyeballs, I think I'm still 30 years old. Looking in the mirror and feeling the knee pain and noticing that everything has gone south reminds me I am actually 46. Brutal, brutal, brutal. I don't think Jillian was made for 46 year olds, although I am sure she would disagree.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of putting on one of my new business suits (yeah, one of the ones I purchased at the end of summer) didn't fit very well. Why? Because my hips and thighs have gone on strike and refuse to fit into those new pants. I squeezed myself in there and didn't bend down once as I knew I'd blow out the back of those trousers. The hell if I'm gonna let that suit go to waste....I am SO gonna go buy myself Spanx!

BOOK de la FACE FIFTY!!! Break out the champagne! I made my goal of fifty friends on Book de la Face. I had wanted to reach this goal by New Year's Day, so I am 7 days late, but I'm still so stoked I don't really care. Fifty friends! I would have had 51 but that Christian guy dumped me before I could dump him. I am proud to say that I know all of my friends and that I haven't slept with any of my Book de la Face friends.

Yet.

You remind me of.......... You know my job that must not be named? Well, my boss and I were chatting in his office chatting (not as much as me and my Beloved Lady Chiropractor were chatting this morning) and he says he FINALLY figured out who I remind him of: Ellen DeGeneres. This made me laugh out loud. He has no idea how right he is (no offense to Ellen). I have heard this comment repeatedly at this job that must not be named. (That's because all lesbians look alike, don't you know? And, none of us have last names, but that's a whole 'nother story.) He then quickly assured me this was a compliment (hello! I thought it was a great compliment.)

I did alert him that I am a better dancer than Ellen.

And, I am.

I end This and That Thursday adding only one last thing: the wife says I forgot to list "Wife Swap" and "The Real Housewives of Orange County" as reality shows she is digesting these days. How I forgot those two, I do not know............

The Year in Review

Indulge me in some self-centered reminiscing, won't you? It's rather impossible to be anything but sentimental & reflective on New Year's eve.

What a busy year it was, as I am sure it was for you, too. There was the retiring of Brett Favre and the subsequent un-retiring of Brett Favre, the favre-o-roids and the pants that no longer fit. A new job came to the addiverse (of which we do not speak) and a new face on the political horizon (of She Who Must Not be Named). The mold mobile kept rolling, Madonna kept on strutting, prestigious awards were bestowed upon the wife and our first cruise was enjoyed (unexpectedly freezingly cold). I learned to believe in the power of chiropractic treatment, joined Book de la Face and got my first cell phone. Addiction to text messaging followed. Dos Marias got married, niece number six arrived, Freckles Warrior Princess spent oodles of hours at the vet and I learned the merits of doing housework.

My gratitude for the wife factor multiplied by a million.

Lucy Bark of Poteidaia continued to hate all dogs in the neighborhood. The Brewers and the Cubs both choked, quite to the horror of our household. Master Reiki had a horrible accident and bravely faced the trials of healing. I fell in love with Jillian, broke up with Jillian, got back together with Jillian, despised Jillian, relapsed back to Jillian. My beloved lady chiropractor healed my knee (or was it the breakup with Jillian that led to the knee improvement?). Wild Mama became Cool Mama, Taco Juan lost two feet of his intestines and Sister Lady Di ruled the school board. Not enough time was spent with the Chicago Nieces. I fell three people short of my goal of 50 people by 12/31/08 on Book de la Face (well, I have a few more hours to make that goal). I re-pierced my ears in the bathroom (bad idea) while the wife made sure a new roof and a new wood floor came to our life. I lost money on the Madonna concert but in the end decided that going to the concert and keeping a friendship is always more important than money.

Did I mention my pants no longer fit?

As usual, the year went too quickly. How unfair is it that the older you get, the faster the years go by?

I don't make resolutions because it just sets you up to fail. After all, why say you're going to do something because it's a certain day of the year? If I did make resolutions, I'd probably resolve to get back into my pants; never take for granted family, friends, life, work and all the things that truly matter; walk the dogs more often; work on the garden daily; eat less white sugary products; eat more vegetables; make more art; save money; go on a super-great vacation to some fabulous island; visit family more often; meditate; get my pap on time; get a white tattoo (so much for saving money); lower my cholesterol via diet to below 200; resolve my issues with Jillian; cut my addiction to the Internet and text messaging by half; not make fun of the Baby Jesus; curb my stalking of my Beloved Lady Chiropractor; and, get new license plates.

Shallow? Maybe. But, you already know that I can be a tacky, shallow person. Maybe I'll work on that, too. Less shallow, more content, more veggies, more gratitude. Integrity, serenity, humility. It doesn't get much better than that.

A new, blank slate. A new year. Same old me. And, in the big picture, that really is okay. Happy New Year to you!
--
and remember: "If you want it, you already got it; If you thought it, It better be what you want." (Madonna, "4 Minutes")

Relapse

I have to type fast, don't even have time for photos or color font. I won't tell you what I'm doing that makes speed of the essence but suffice it to say I've got to keep moving.

(Can I just say it sucks to be Brett Favre today?)

I have a confession to make.

I've relapsed.

No, no--not THAT kind of relapse.

I've had a Jillian relapse.

I am powerless, my life has become unmanageable.

Yesterday, while watching football on TV at home with the ever-recovering, uterus-less wife, I realized that my knee was really bothering me. This gave me pause as it's been awhile since I've had that complaint. I haven't seen my Beloved Lady Chiropractor over the past few weeks as she was weaning me off frequency of appointments. I wasn't able to say why it hurt as I've been a lazy non-exercising slug and haven't done anything very athletic--a few miles with Leslie Sansone here and there, but I've been too busy stuffing my face while waiting on the wife to be doing serious exercise. Heck, I haven't even been walking the dogs or even shoveling.

Sooooooo.....since my knee already hurt......and, since I can't get any of my pants on anymore (there was a significant moment of trauma over the weekend when I tried to put some black pants on for a funeral and I couldn't even button them)...........I figured it couldn't hurt.....

......it wouldn't be THAT bad.......

......it would be just this one time.........

I went to the basement.........

.....pulled out the.....GASP!........Jillian Michaels 30 day shred DVD......

.....put it in the DVD player......

.....and I relapsed.

I threw myself into that 20 minute workout like an alcoholic going on a beer bong bender.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself. It was like a little slice of fatty patty heaven.

Oh Jillian, you tart! Now I've done it!!! It doesn't matter whether or not my knee hurts. It only matters that I have come back to you. What does it matter? I can't get my pants on--so what if you make my butt bigger? What if I get thicker? This middle aged thing isn't doing anything for me, anyways. I'm already saving money for new pants--why not go out with a bang? You're like a bad penny, you bully--go ahead, keep coming back to me!

And, now it begins. Tonight, I did your work out AGAIN. See? I AM powerless. I am addicted. Twenty minutes of you beats 60 minutes of Leslie. (No offense, Leslie--it's about availability of time, not about the actual quality of your walks--I love you!) I've gone back to my evil ways, you and that angel tattoo. I'm giving you thirty days to shred away. I'll give you that time and my butt, but after that....

....after that, if I don't see ginormous results (and I'm not talking about butt here), I'm breaking up with you.

Again.

This time for good.

Maybe.

This and That

Happy Election Day! I shall not speak of the election but instead whine about my need to buy new underwear. 

Bigger underwear. I know, I know. The wife says I have body image problems. There's no news flash! Of course I have body image concerns. But(t), there is NOTHING that will feed those neuroses faster than needing new--read: bigger--underwear. God danged bigger underwear! (I wanted to say swear words but I am really trying not to swear, in honor of those I work with and in honor of the Baby Jesus, who continues to hound me.) 

I have realized for a week or two that the current undies just aren't making the grade. For instance, today while visiting my beloved lady chiropractor, I noticed my undies were basically in my butt crack. As they are not thong undies, they are certainly not supposed to be there in that ol' butt crack, but there they were. I tried to inconspicuously pull them out but those puppies were WEDGED in there. As I lay there, bones cracking in sheer delight as my beloved lady chiropractor is jumping on me, I'm thinking "dear god, I hope she can't see my underwear lines showing my undies are in my butt crack." Because I was so concerned about this underwear thing, I forget to monitor myself and instead of remaining calm and quiet, a big ol OOOOOOOHHHHHH! moan-sound fell out of my mouth as she cracked my hips/back. I apologized, meekly indicating it felt good. She didn't look too mortified but then again I can't see her because she takes away my glasses and for all I know, it might be Dr. Jesus jumping on me, so I am not totally sure she wasn't make grossed out faces. She gave me another appointment, so she must be used to stupid sounds coming out of her clients. 

So, I go to work (not that I ever talk about work) and I am pulling my undies out of my ass AGAIN because they have creeped back where they do not belong....and, then I realize I am standing in front of the building security cameras. Since they monitor the activities outside the building quite closely, I am pretty sure the receptionist is having a good laugh at my expense. 

When you are pulling your underwear out of your butt in front of security cameras, it is time to give in and admit bigger underwear is paramount to survival. I won't be going out tonight for undie shopping--I'll save that for the weekend. Tonight, I will do a Leslie Sansone walking tape and pull my undies out every half mile or so. I take Jillian's name in vain, I'll curse that third cookie I ate at lunch, I lament about projections from the media about who is winning the presidency. I'll tell the wife to turn off the TV so I don't have to listen to the political nonsense and I'll indeed whine about my butt and my too-small underwear..... 

In closing, I would like to say one election-related thing: If Obama loses, I will NEVER vote for a presidential candidate again. Loyal readers understand that I have a 0% winning rate with voting for presidential candidates. President Clinton should send me a thank you note for being out of town when he was running. Senator Obama, I am so sorry. I did indeed vote for you, so if you lose, I am to blame. With love and underwear lines, addi warrior princess, bleeding liberal.

Crack goes the Hip, Bring on the Whip
Okay, how can I NOT post all the "She Who Must Not Be Named" fodder that's going around the Internet right now? It's like she was BORN to be the politician of my dreams. Thanks to Harmony China Grrrl for the continued email forwards. I am loving every minute of it. (If you are S-W-M-N-B-N fan/supporter/fellow hunter, I am sorry....not for posting this stuff, but for you. I know that most politicians are pretty much the same, but this lady takes it to a whole 'nother level. At least she's cute. Maybe she'd be my friend despite my chosen sexuality....although, I don't S-W-M-N-B-N is exactly looking for a bleeding-liberal- vegetarian- lesbian-tree-hugger-who's never shot a child out of her womb and who can certainly NOT see Russia from the Addiverse on her friendship list. ) 

One: Monday is Madonna. Woo Woo! Let's see: If today is Thursday evening, that means I only have to wait through Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Whatever will I wear? Will my knee hold out through all that dancing? Will I be able to sneak up closer to the stage? Will I get my period? (TMI) I AM READY, MATERIAL GRRRL! 

Two: Dos Marias are getting married!!! I am very excited to alert Addiverse readers that our Californian friends Dos Marias will be getting married right before election day. Why then, you ask? Because on November 4th the great State of California may vote to get rid of that nasty gay marriage thing, so they "have" to get married before November 4, 2008. That doesn't give them much time to do anything but slap on a few nice close, jog to the courthouse and say "I do" but it's a huge, wonderful, amazing thing that they can actually legally get married. I hope there is time to clink some glasses and smooch along the way. Good luck and congrats, grrrls! Three: I had a delicious appointment with My Beloved Lady Chiropractor (MBLC) this morning. When I woke up today, I was indeed a wee, wee, wee bit sad because I had no knee pain but happy I had no knee pain. (No pain equals less visits equals less face-to-face time with MBLC but it does equate to more money in my checking & savings account). I did notice an incredibly ridiculous tightness in my hamstrings, so I figured that had to be good for something. I waddled my tight leg muscles to the office, Dr. Jesus nowhere in sight. (I have since learned he comes in later during the day, so if I play my cards right, I won't have many Dr. Jesus sightings over the next few weeks, although I do owe him because his business partner is fabulous. Praise the baby Jesus for that. I am all about the Baby Jesus.) 

MBLC is all a-glow that I am still pain free. I feel like I've won an award or something-- maybe an Olympic gold medal--as she seems so pleased by my progress. I mutter about my hamstrings and so, after shooting my knees with the activator thingy, she takes a look (or, a feel I guess) at the hammies and agrees quite strongly that they are indeed very tight. She assures me she can fix this. I am sure she can. 

  I am proud to say that she stretched those puppies just about over my head and into the next county. She is leaning into it and proclaims, "this is incredible!" It is incredible, I decide. I am the new poster child for Chiropractic treatment. I am ready to testify. She assures me not many people are this flexible, adding that she is very flexible but many people aren't. 

I am smitten with my flexibility. Now, for the best part. You know, I like that little electrode thing that makes my knees buzz and I don't mind the whole activator part and I'm good with the stretching thing but there is nothing.......NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.... nothing better than a chiropractor CRACKING your parts. (Well, besides ice cream and chocolate. I mean nothing better in the medical world.) Orgasmic! I can't exactly recall the position MBLC had me strike for the move of the century but I do know it involved my hips being in one place and suddenly being SLAMMED into another place. As I don't have my glasses on during any of this (and as I am so damned blind I can't even see the table without them), it is difficult to comprehend what is totally going on. One minute, I'm in this weird contorted position, the next, every vertebrae in the nation CRACKS-SCREAMS-FIRES with gluttonous delight. CRACK CRACK CRACK! It sounds like a damn machine gun is being fired in the room. I'm not kidding--I'd bet ten things cracked during that one delightful maneuver. Heaven. Heaven. Heaven. (If this is what the Baby Jesus had in mind when he brought me to this office, I am all good with it. Put your hand on the TV screen and be SAVED!) I am impressed with the move not only because it worked and because it feels so good but because it requires the chiropractor to basically THROW themselves on top of you while adjusting the targeted area. Talk about coordination and brute strength and a strong knowledge of bio-mechanics. One wrong move and I'm peeing in a catheter. 

How does one follow up with such a fabulous move? Why, you do the OTHER side. Ready... set.....SLAM! CRACK CRACK CRACK. I want to weep! Why have I waited so long to do this??? This is followed by more stretching/cracking/activating of my legs/hips/knees/lower back. By the time I left that office, I could have won a triathlon. I could have raced She-Who-Must-Not-be-Named up the Washington Monument and back. I could have wrapped my leg around my head twice. I could have danced circles around Jillian Michael's abs. I could have danced all night at a Madonna concert..... .....hey, now THERE'S an idea! 

  Get ready, Madonna & Baby Jesus--I'm ready to get into the groove!

This and That

 It's Saturday and that means I have a little of this and a little of that left over from the week. 

  The Cedar Wax Wings have returned today (an entire flock flitting to and fro in the crab apple trees, so I thought I'd post a photo of one in honor of their return. Who doesn't love seeing a cedar wax wing first thing in the day?

A friendly word of advice from a professional counselor to Madonna who this week referred to her soon-to-be ex-husband as an "emotional retard" during a recent concert on her current "Sticky and Sweet Tour: SHUT UP! Are you stupid? You have a bazillion dollars and NO pre-nuptual contract. There's this stuff--it's call ammo and you are so giving it to him. Don't say I didn't warn you. You can mean or sassy or whatever things about someone else, just step away from the hubby, emotionally retarded or not. 

  Wondering out loud about "She Who Must Not Be Named:" I hear she is going to be on Saturday Night Live tonight. Think they'll have her play Tina Fey and have her do the SNL news??? We know she can read a script and I bet she'd be funny even though I don't want to put one ounce of positive energy toward that campaign. You know, Madonna HAS made fun of SWMNBN during the current concert tour...I hope she sticks with that instead of her hubby. Making fun of politicians is always politically correct in my book. (Well, unless you are the Dixie Chicks. That didn't work out too good for them.) 

  Bat Guano on my knee? I went and saw my belove lady chiropractor the other day. I'm sitting on this table (a normal examination table, not one of those weird contraption tables) and she's looking at my knee (of which may I just say I need to shave better before presenting it to the world--there were some mighty scary strays sticking up here and there) and says, "have I ever talked to you about using guano on your knee?" 

  I must have had a mighty weird look on my face...but, that would be understandable because I thought she had just asked if she could rub bat poop on my knee. (An internet search of "guano chirorprator" brought up nothing. I didn't think it would but it never hurts to take a peek.) I never did ask her to repeat what she just said because I was too busy looking at the small little brown squarish thing in her hand. It looked kind of like what you use to scrape off the crusties from a Pampered Chef cookie sheet. I'm not sure if was plastic or stone but it was round and smooth and brown. So, she squeezes a blob of goop onto my leg and starts using this "bat guana" thing on my hairy knee. It was rather amazing and not exactly what I was expecting anyone to do. Further internet searches on line suggest that she was using the Graston Technique, maybe using a GuaSha tool, which sure sounds like Guano....but the photos on line didn't look exactly like what was transpiring on my knee, so I remain confused but very intrigued. 

  What this "bat guano knee treatment" does is break up the scarred tissue in and the knee, of which I know there is much all around that poor joint. I've got scar tissue in there from 1976. Really. Things are crackling and popping and smooshing as she's rubbing this gooey stuff all around, turning the skin on the knee red. She assured me this is what her goal is: to bring blood to the area. I'm all for it because it feels really good in an "indian sunburn" kind of way. (Remember giving each other "Indian Sunburns" to each other as kids? Who the hell thinks up those kind of things?) Unfortunately, the technique does nothing for the stray knee hairs. 

  I have to say, my knee felt good for the rest of the day. I cannot say that this morning, but the ache is quite bearable and I am beginning to believe this chiropractor thing might actually work. (On a side note, I have yet to figure out how MBLC (my beloved Lady Chiropractor) ended up with Dr. Jesus, as she seems to have nothing in common with him. She came from a major metropolitan area, from a really fun, very progressive neighborhood. How the hell did she end up here? I can't imagine she'll be staying long. Sigh. The good ones never do.)

(Side side note: think I should be working on both knees at the same time? I don't have any problems with my other knee but whose to say that won't be a problem after my "bad" knee is better??? I think I might want to have bat guano on both knees at the same time...) 

And, finally: Feel my envy about the 2009 Xena Convention in Los Angeles: I am so envious about those who are going to be in attendance at the Xena Convention in LA late January 2009 as ALL of the stars I love will be there. Lucy Lawless, Renee O'Connor, Jaqueline Kim, Victoria Pratt....the list goes on and on. (I know you probably don't know who the hell I am babbling about but real Xena fans do and they, too understand my angst.) Now, I do not see attendance at this convention in my future but one can daydream about it. This time, I'd get my photo with Renee O'Connor, although she's much shorter than Lucy and thus there would be no Renee boob on my chest. I'd also stand in line to get Renee's autograph, as it is a very rare occurance for Lucy or Renee to sign photos while the guest is standing there. Who can blame them? All us weird Xena stalkers would want to talk for days and say weird things about how much the show changed their lives blah blah blah. I'd think therapy for Renee would be mandatory after all that fan love. 

  BTW, see that photo of Renee, aka Gabrielle Bard of Poteidaia, from "afterellen.com?" That's how I am going to look after finishing my bat guano knee treatments. Well, I'm hoping not to be running away from exploding fire bombs, but otherwise, I'm gonna be good to go, ready to run to Xena conventions everywhere. 

Who needs Jillian when you have bat guano knee and visions of Renee O'Connor?

Baby Jesus, I knee-d you!

Why DOES the Universe keep toying with me? Baby Jesus, why do you keep hovering around me? I'm used to the wife's family but it's getting to be a bit much, a bunch louder. Am I supposed to be going to church? Confession? Joel Osteen lectures? Salt Lake City? Israel? The Republican Convention?

Let me explain the meaning of my existential questioning by writing a letter to Jillian...

....because I am going to be sending my chiropractor bill to her.

Dear Jillian, Goddess of my New Butt, destroyer of my old knee,

I've been gimping around with a bum knee for the past month or so. I've muttered under my breath about it here and there, but saved most of my whining for when walking with MJagger. (Humblest apologies to MJagger for having to provide free therapy and for having to survive my "walk-whining." You friendship and ability to not slap me are indubitably appreciated.) Instead of doing something about the initial pain, I decided to ignore it. I wanted to keep my quest for physical specimen superiority in action. I didn't cut down on my walking, I didn't cut down on your videos, I didn't cut back on anything. I just kept plugging along, worrying more about how my pants don't fit due to my newly-developed butt. Who has time to worry about anything as trivial as a knee?

Jillian, you hottie wench you, you knew it wasn't acute pain--it was more of a dull ache--so, you said not to worry. I heard you. What's a little soreness at my age? I focused on the upcoming Madonna concert and on how the people at the place I work (but I do not speak of my place of work but if I DID talk about it I would say this) are very religious and are always blessing me and praising god and expressing their fundamentalist beliefs and touching me while praising the baby Jesus. Big Jill, this religious work thing is part of the Universe's toying with me. It's no mistake the Universe brought me to this place of Baby-Jesus-overload-while-in-mortal-pain thing. I focused on ignoring "She Who Must Not be Named" as much as I ignored the slight messages from my leg.

Well Jillian, this week I noticed the pain was getting a bit more chronic. I noticed my gimpiness was growing. I whined louder, I limped along a bit slower, I cardio-kickboxed a bit weaker, I stopped wearing those dress shoes (which seemed to make things worse). I loved those new dress shoes. I paid a lot of money for those dress shoes. I wanted to wear those dress shoes.

MJagger told me over and over about her chiropractor. I tucked the info in the back of my head but took no action. I didn't think there was reason to take such action but knew I could take that route if needed. I didn't write down the guy's name but I knew if I saw it in the phone book, I'd recognize it. I didn't think I would need to access this information. It was nice to know and nice to have....

Jillian, I waited too long. I was miserable last night. I couldn't get comfortable in bed. I couldn't walk without looking like there was a potato chip in my butt. I couldn't wear anything but gym shoes. I couldn't sit at my desk without shifting and griping. So, I decided to call that chiropractor. I couldn't wait anymore. I didn't want to go to my medical doctor because I figured he'd either say (a) Don't do any exercise for the next seven years of your life; or (b) you need surgery--let's rip that puppy open; or (c) here's some pills--take three, they're small. Don't do anything for three weeks but take these pills. It was 7 am and I was at my desk and I could NOT for the life of me recall that guy's name. I sooooo wanted to remember it. I went on line. I dug around. I couldn't find it. My knee ached. My head hurt. I. Wanted. To. Hurt. Someone.

I had to take action, Michaels. I went to my insurance web site and started scrolling though the "approved" list of local chiropractors. (Not on company time, of course. I hadn't started work yet. Really.) I read the little doctor blurbs, I considered their specialties, I looked at their office addresses. I decided on some guy on the street down the block, picking him for his location (so I could scoot to/from the office as needed), for insurance coverage, for his expertise in sports injury and because his website didn't look too weird. I called and set up the intake appointment, giddy with delight he could get me in this very morning.


The Universe was giggling in the background but I didn't listen.In the meantime, MJagger emailed me the name of her chiropractor and I'm like, "Duh! I knew that!" but I didn't change my appointment with my insurance-covered guy. I figured why change it now. That did not amuse her but it's me and she's used to me so she wasn't surprised.

Jillian, you should make sure she loses 10 pounds via your program just for putting up with me.

Well, I went to my new doctor, whom I shall call Dr. Jesus. Why? Because as I'm pulling into the parking lot, I'm looking at one of those fish symbols on the sign and I'm thinking, "uh oh--fish sign. Praise the Baby Jesus.") Sure enough, I am swallowed up by the Baby Jesus. His first words are about God bless, God Bless you, God bless this, God bless that. Oh God. I'm sitting there thinking,

"I'm tithing my deductible to the church."

"God love you" signs on the walls.
God this-and-that posters.
"Guideposts" magazines in the racks.
I am surrounded by the God of the Christian Right.
Not Buddah god.
 Not Mother Earth Goddesss.
Not Higher Power 12 step God.

God God. You know, kneel and genuflect God.
 Brimstone and Fire God.
She Who Must Not be Name's God.
You're going to hell God.

It absolutely figures that I mistakenly, blindly, unknowingly picked the most religious chiropractor on the planet from a list of like 100 names.

Jillian, do you hear the Universe belly laughing? The Universe is trying to tell me something. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to go to the convent or if I'm support to convert to something or if I'm suppose to call the Pope or if I'm supposed to try to be the first lesbian priest in the Church, but I know there is some message here. My employees (well, if I had employees but since I don't talk about my job I don't have employees but if I had them) are always thanking Jesus for bringing me to them, my place of employment (if I did indeed work there) is faith based and now I am seeing Dr. Jesus.

Jillian, why? Why does the religious-right theme continue daily through my life? Sweet baby jesus, eight pound six ounce baby jesus, please tell me! Is the ghost of Billy Graham living in my house?
Am I destined to be on the 700 Club with my newfound lust for the Christian Right? Why? I am all good with God. I like God. I like you, baby Jesus.
But, this!
This is too much.

By the way, the problem has been diagnosed as a popliteus this or that. I don't know what it is but I do know it hurt like a bitch when he pressed on my leg a certain way. Too much Cardio kickboxing, wrong shoes, wrong gait, wrong blah blah blah, need rest, need treatment, you know the song and dance.

Although I'm glad it is something not so serious sounding, I'm sending you the bill. First the butt, now the knee. AND I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!

I should have stayed broken up with you. I'm sending you the bill for all those new shoes, too.

Tomorrow, I go back to Dr. Jesus and get to see my x-rays and learn all about my mode of treatment. If it involves going to church, I am so calling you so I can scream at you and call you naughty names. LOUDLY. I can't whine to MJagger. She deserves a break from me. If she's smart, she'll be too busy telling me, "I told you so" if I say anything about not going to her doctor and I'll deserve every minute of it. No, you pay my bill and explain the Universe to me.

Jill.EEEE.Ennnnnn. I don't love you anymore.

DO YOU HEAR ME, MICHAELS: I DON'T LOVE YOU ANY MORE!

You best get praying this knee is better by the time the Madonna concert rolls around.

Sincerely,

Addi Warrior Princess

Countdown to Madonna

Big-ass disclaimer: This photo is from madonna.com, from the "icon " fan club department. I do not want to go to jail for posting it, so I make no claim to the picture except that it is from the madonna site. I really like the photo and it's only a few measly days til MJagger and I will be with Madge at her concert, so why not share this beautiful photo with you, my beloved readers?

Who needs to worry about the global economy or the crashing stock market or the presidential race or even the pain in my left knee when there is Madonna to be had?

Those of you who have followed the 2008 Madonna Saga know that this is one big event in the Addiverse. In fact, Madonna concerts are right up there with Xena conventions, and you KNOW that is big. (Side note: it is literally my one year anniversary of having my photo taken with Lucy Lawless at the Chicago Xena convention. I am all a-glow just thinking about that. I live a charmed life!) Some of you are way over the whole addiverse-madonna thing, but I am going to ignore you (just as I am ignoring the pain in my knee) and I am going to enjoy this gluttonous ride.

Interestingly (or not), the October 27th concert is NOT sold out. Most of her Madge-esty's other concerts are sold out, so I'm not quite sure what's up with this particular date. Are Chicagoans adverse to going to concerts on a Monday night? Is there a Monday night Chicago Bears football game? (We KNOW there aren't any CUBS games.) To me, it's good that it's not sold out, as it will give me and MJagger increased odds of getting closer to the stage. Of course, it may sell out by show time and then all my plotting will be for naught. No matter. I feel a sneak to the front in my future!

MJagger and I have yet to decide on our wardrobe for the evening. My Jillian-enhanced glute-o-rama makes me not want to wear jeans but I don't exactly want to wear sweat pants or dress pants, so I'm leaning toward shorts, no matter what the weather. With all that dancing, I'll be a sweaty mess and shorts will come in handy. MJagger may also opt for this, although she might go with some capri-length Victory Secret sweat pants (and those don't really qualify as sweat pants in my department). No matter what, I'll be wearing gym shoes. If I've learned nothing else over the past 98 days, I've learned that dress shoes are really, really hard on my "bad" knee; thus, no fancy shoes will be strutted by me at the concert. I love Madonna but I don't love her enough to cause physical pain to myself. (Um, let me really think about that. Maybe I do love her enough to struggle through a bit of physical pain.....no. No pain for Madonna. Lucy Lawless, yes. Madonna, not so much.)

I was going to design us some t-shirts but missed the deadline for the contest (I looked at the rules on October 6th and learned the contest ended October 6th) and besides, MJagger said I couldn't use any glitter in the process and I love glitter. I thought about ordering us some t-shirts from the fan club (yes, we are members--stop laughing) as this would be much cheaper than buying shirts at the contest, but I'm not sure they'd get here in time and that would be a real bummer if they didn't. Besides, I don't know what color MJagger's sweats are so how can I order her a shirt? You can't clash your t-shirt with your sweats.

Now that I know Madonna is finally in the United States, I have been listening to Madonna non-stop. This week is the "Confessions" CD. After that, it's "Hard Candy" until the cows come home. I've also been wearing my "Drowned World Tour" T-shirt and my "Iconers do it better" t-shirt to bed and/or around the house. (I'd wear these items to work but it wouldn't be appropriate and wouldn't match my dress shoes but I can't say any more about that as I've told you: I do not speak of my work.)

MJagger and I haven't really had time to share excitement about the concert, as she is dealing with stressful things (seriously--I'm not being a smart ass here) and Madonna is not on the top of her priority list just quite yet. Oh, it'll move up the list but for right now, Esther is going to have to wait a bit. I can wait. Besides, it'll give me more time to figure out what I am going to wear. If Madonna can live through eight costume changes a night, I can figure out one appropriate outfit for concert going.

I've read a couple of reviews--most say that Madge is not the best singer but she is by far the best entertainer--and I'm all good with that. She is a goddess and I don't care about perfect pitch. You don't go to a Madonna concert for the singing. You go to be transported/transformed by the event. It's performance art. The lady is 50 years old and has been performing for 25 years and she blows me right out of the water. I could weep at her concerts! The only thing I haven't figured out is why Madonna included that spanish island song AGAIN. We KNEW she would do it. That damn song is in every concert and neither MJagger or I are even remotely fond of it. There must be some huge significance to her since it is literally in every show she's designed. No lo se!

So, get ready for lots of shallow babbling from this Madonna whore. It's not quite a Xena convention but it's something. I'm ready to get into the groove....and, (how can I resist?) to get sticky and sweet.



(Hey! I didn't name the tour! She did!)

House of Blues, House of Pain

I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate the Cubs. 

(You Cub fans know why that goat is there.) 

Hear that sound? It's my heart breaking. BREAKING! 

I knew, knew, knew better. 

I knew better to let them in just a wee little bit. 

I knew better to peek through one eye and think that this might be the year. 

It's like an alcoholic thinking, "it's only one beer. What can it hurt?" Stinkin' thinkin, that's what that is. Next thing you know, you're drunk on the floor wondering what just happened. 

Cubs are that way. "Maybe I'll watch this game and get a little excited about the playoffs. What can it hurt?" And now? They can't even win a game at home in the first round. See? They are right on schedule. And, I was foolish enough to think ever so slightly that maybe....I could have that can of beer. Hello? Cubs? There's this thing called hitting. You are supposed to HIT the little white ball. The wife and I live in the House of Blues right now, as "her" Brewers have also dropped two games. The pain, oh the pain! Now, I know it's best three of five, but I can't go on. I'm breaking up with you, Cubbies. I am going to give up Baseball for Lent. I am putting you on the shelf with Jillian, that gain-weight rat bastard. I'm giving you up and I'm going to focus on how crazy Al Davis is. I'm more likely to sleep with Sarah Palin than I am to watch another Cubs game. I'm going to go find some hot pokers and poke my eyes out. But, I won't start cheering for the White Sox. That would be over the line. I may hate you, but I won't become traitorous because of you. No, I'm going to work and I'm going to pretend you don't exist. I am taking my "W" sign down off my door. I'm going to hope the Brewers win one game so the wife can have a moment of glory. Folding like a lawn chair in the House of Blues, House of Pain. I gotta go find She Who Must Not be Named and see if she wants to go out for dinner.....

A House Divided 

Before I get to "A House Divided," I thought I'd quickly clarify--for the newbies-- some things about the Addiverse. Hint: The inability to understand the Addiverse may be a sign of your good mental health. Most people incorrectly surmise that anything goes in the Addiverse but this is not the case. I've heard the wife lament many a time, "Is NOTHING sacred?" In fact, there are several topics/people that are totally off limits in the Addiverse. Topics totally off limit: Current job (I am going to pretend I am unemployed-- that's how far away I want to stay away from that subject); Real Names of real contacts and real friends (only aliases shall be utilized); Activities of the carnal nature; Specific personal incidents that I actually recognize are not appropriate for publication (I really do have a filter, albeit a teeny, weeny one); subjects that will get me arrested/incarcerated/jailed. Everything else is fair game. 

On to the playoffs. As I am a life-long Cubs fan and as the wife is a life-long Milwaukee Brewers fan, we are a house divided. This makes for very interesting baseball play-off cheering/hoping/ talking/praying. Each of us recognizes that the other has the right to cheering for the team of their liking/choosing/birthright. Yet, each of us wants the other's team to lose. The wife will SAY she doesn't mind if the Cubs win, but I know she is either lying or placating me. I don't say much because I want the Cubs to win but I am too busy worrying about getting my hopes up that I don't spend much time saying anything aloud and I don't spend a lot of time thinking about the Brewers or any other team because I am too busy being consumed by the Cubs and not thinking about them. 

It was much easier when the Brewers were in the American League as that meant less direct competition. The Cubs and Brewers were not in the same division. They wouldn't have met until the World Series and until now, the chances of that happening were slim to none..... 

Now? Now they will end up playing each other if the winning streaks continue. That is something I am not looking forward to..... 

Thankfully, I am surrounded by Cub Fans. Cheeseball Neighbor & ChiSky Grrrl, Across-the- street neighbors, MJagger.....all Cubbies. I will be on my own once we cross the Cheddar border this weekend, tho--the wife's family (substantially bigger than mine) will crush me like a bug with their Brewer banter. 

I like to watch football on TV a lot more than I like to watch baseball on TV, but at times like these, I find myself drawn to the boob tube for baseball. I don't want to watch but I catch myself peeking at the screen. Tonight, the Cubs are on and I am going to distract myself with some Leslie Sansone walking.....I'll catch up with the Cubs in three miles or so. (Beauty of baseball is that it is slow--you can catch up as needed.) 

People are already buying tickets for the World Series. The wife's brother purchased tickets for when the Brewers are in the World Series. Tickets for the Cubs in the World Series are selling for $1600 each......this for tickets that DO NOT EXIST. 

I thought I was crazy paying oodles of money for Madonna tickets. 

But, at least those tickets really exist and the concert exists and the seat I purchased is mine to have and the concert will take place as indicated on the ticket. The World Series? Not so much. You buy a ticket and hope for the best. 

The Brewers lost today. The Cubs are playing right now. Me? I'm going to find Leslie Sansone. If that doesn't work, I'm going to find Jillian Michaels. And, if that doesn't work, I am going to dig out some Xena episodes. And, if that doesn't work, I'll go on Mugbook and look up Cloris Leachman. We live in a house divided. Pray for us. Pray for our teams. Batter up!

TGIF

Ah, that is indeed Nancy, queen of cartoons. She has nothing to do with anything except that she is part of my drawing on the plastic tablecloth (as described in previous blog). Who didn't love Nancy? (That sounds like a funny question coming from the likes of me.) When the wife saw the drawing, she smiled and exclaimed, "I loved Nancy!" So, why not Nancy on a Friday afternoon? 

I am having real issues without using all the S.P. fodder in the world. That would be Sarah....Sarah......NO! I MUST refrain! In true Harry Potter fashion, perhaps I should refer to her as "She who must not be named." It's painfully impossible NOT to talk about her, as she is on the news and all over the Internet, especially in all those emails that come my way. I even had She who must not be named "thrown" at me on Facebook this week (which I loved, thank you very much; now if I could only figure out this whole Facebook thing so I can bitchslap Merry Marketing). 

Of no significant or redeeming value, a recap of the Addiverse Antics this week:

• the grrrrlz got groomed today. We were worried because the "not so talented doesn't cut the pee pee hair" groomer was there today. Thankfully, the dogs looked okay and the pee pee problem seemed a bit less concerning--I suppose the more you practice, the better you get (like in almost everything else, except for me when bowling). Do you know that a clean dog pee pee is very important in the Addiverse? Well, if you didn't, you now know. (Don't you go looking at my dogs' pee pees now. I know you want to. Look at my pow-pow Jillian butt instead.) It costs $80 to get those dogs looking good--they best have clean pee pees for that much money. That is more than I pay for a haircut and that is wrong in so many ways.
• Master Reiki got her stitches out today. I hear it didn't go very swimmingly, but I am glad to report she is safely back at home. Now comes the hard part--the therapy... not the physical kind but the emotional kind. As a counselor, I realize this will be very, very hard. Keep the faith, Master Reiki!
• MJagger's bat infestation seems to have ended and the rabies vaccinations are going along without incident (except for the screaming from the children but that is to be expected). I didn't see her all week but her text messages suggest she and the family are hanging in there.
• The tablecloth artwork for the work shindig is progressing nicely and I still have a few brain cells left (of which I cherish, as there aren't many left after all that college-ing). I've been trying to find patriotic things to portray in the drawing (hence the Nancy, although I'm not sure she qualifies as patriotic) and a few days back found a photo of the three firemen hoisting the flag in the rubble at the 9/11 site (see the photo included here--it's a wonderful photo of a patriotic act from a very horrific event). I saved the photo in case I thought it would come in handy. So, yesterday, I'm out in the garage ready to draw and totally without thinking, print out this photo and draw the fireman on the right. As I am coloring him in, I realize with a shudder that I am drawing this on the actual day of 9/11. Gave me pause. The tablecloth drawing doesn't do justice to the actual photo or the event but I'm good with it and what it represents. It IS a tablecloth, after all. As 9/11 was then on my mind, I talked to some of our clients today about the actual events of 9/11. I think the thing that stands out the most for me was after the event--at night. We were walking the dogs and it was absolutely, completely silent. Not only the neighborhood--the sky was completely still and silent. I looked up to the sky--as I always do when walking the dogs (which can be a very dangerous thing as it is easy to walk into things such as parked cars) and noticed that there was not one plane to be seen. Not one. Most people who live in our town would never notice this, but I did. I grew up in the landing pattern of O'Hare for pete's sake, so I am used to seeing and hearing planes. I like seeing and hearing planes. But, there was nothing. I knew at that exact moment in the walk that I would never, ever forget that night's specific memory (not that any one of us could forget that day or what we were doing when we heard the news and saw the television images).
• The wife lived through Brett Favre playing for the Jets on Sunday, but I don't think it's getting much easier yet.
• And finally, the 80's party. If I used my best judgement (or any judgment), I wouldn't publish this photo, but it's too funny not to do. This mess is brought to you by the Bruce Springsteen-Van wearing-Olivia Netwon John bandana styling-Boone's Farm consuming- bleached jeans-cross earring-Flock of Seagull hair wearing fashions of the 1980's. It's hard work to look this ugly and this is not a photo I am particularly proud of, but it does indeed show my enthusiasm for theme parties and for my passion regarding the 1980's. Man, I can still smell the bleach from the pants--I think I burned some nose hairs out while bleaching those puppies. (Why DID we do that in the 80's, anyways?) That is a genuine Bruce Springsteen T-shirt from his 1980 tour--went to that one with Roller Skating Robert (who is probably living in Wisconsin bagging groceries). The Boone's Farm is real AND it costs the same as it did in 1983!!! (Probably the last time I drank Boone's Farm was indeed in 1983.) I want you to know I was giggling out loud when I made that purchase. I think the Liquor Lady thought I was seriously warped when buying this and she did not seem in the least bit interested to hear about my reasoning for buying such an awful product. The wife seemed very excited about the purchased and experienced many a flashback to Boone Farm Days, which should scare us more than the photo above scares us. Thankfully, we left the party before they started passing the bottle around, as I am not sure the wife could have passed up the opportunity to once again relive the Boone Farm glory days. I am sad to say that my Flock of Seagulls hair was basically a flop during the party, but once I got home, my hair was rockin' the wave and looked much more like the real thing. Sigh.

Well, TGIF blog readers! And may She who must not be named be with you.

Last words on Sarah, On to Tablecloth Art

Okay, so this photo isn't real but it sure made me laugh. The caption?

"What do you call a Republican woman who believes in abstinence-only sex education for her teenagers?

Grandma."

Ha ha.

It is now time for the Addiverse to say good bye to Sarah as I refuse to give her one more shred of attention. For pete's sake, the lady is plastered across the media universe--she doesn't need to be plastered across the Addiverse. Buh-bye, Anti-Addi.

On to me, me, me.

Before I get started, I admit that I am addicted to Jillian, that rat bastard. I've tried to stop but my butt cries out in agony, begging me to continue with my 30 day shred efforts. "Step away from the DVD!" I cry but to no avail. I find myself in front of the TV doing the work-out despite my best effort to remain on the couch. Do you think there is a 12-step meeting for Jillian-addicted middle aged women???

I've been busy drawing on giant plastic table clothes. Really. Well, not on ones on peoples' tables--ones I purchased for a special art project. I am making backdrops for a work-related shin-dig. I thought this sounded like a very easy project, but I am here to tell you, it has turned out to be a much bigger undertaking than I thought.....

First, there is the smell--of the plastic table cloths, of the markers and of the table cloth plus marker funky combination. I have killed about five zillion brain cells snorting all those fumes. It's not the good, fun kind of fumes, either--it's the kind that gives you a killer sinus headache. I think the dogs are in the ozone at this point. (Unexpected bonus, tho: I can't smell the Yeasty Beasty Freckles Warrior Princess with all this plastic and marker stench.)

Second, the markers are not cooperating on the shiny surface. I have to redraw the lines of the lines I have just redrawn. This means it takes three times longer than I had anticipated, which means more dead brain cells. (It would be worth it if I were gleaning some type of high from all these fumes but trust me all I'm gleaning is the said headache.)

Third, it's hard to find room in the Addiverse to stretch out a giant tablecloth without ruining something in the process. Picture me in the kitchen, sprawling out across the counter top, trying desperately to not get marker on the WHITE counter top. It might have gone a bit better had Lucy not run across the tablecloth when it was on the floor (bad idea) and put tiny holes in the plastic.....this meant little leaks of ink onto the white counter top. I suppose this is better than ink on the rug or the new furniture or on the living room table but black spots on a white counter top are rather noticeable. I thought this might lead to major problems on the home front, but surprisingly the wife was rather excited about my black spots--seems she wants a reason to get new counter tops and I am helping her cause.

Finally, drawing on table clothes takes away from my time to blog and fret about the football pools. People, I need time to make pitiful pool picks and time is something I do not have. It also takes away my time with Jillian and you know that is not a good thing. I'm trying to draw and my glutes of steel are pulling me toward the TV. So, please do not take offense if I miss a few days of blogging due to this table task. I'll be finished by the end of the weekend and then all will be back to normal.....

.....well, as normal as anything ever is in the Addiverse.....

........and that's never very normal.



.......................had anyone seen any of my brain cells float by? I miss them................