Getting what's...

I have been arguing with the word "deserve" lately.
How do you know what you deserve? How do you give people what they deserve?
Love, money, fame, recognition, payback, hope, kindness, justice.

UP the Downside

oN tHe HiGh SiDe first, so I can soon swoop down in this week's emotional pendulum, Kyle put this Freightliner truck up for auction this morning and is planning a celebratory camping trip with the boys. Next week will be his last week of work and I bought a "Life is Good" shirt to give him on Friday.

Here is a pic of one my sunshine rays entitled (for the last time), "An Oil Man's Son". (Yes, my La-La's that is Daddy's oilfield hardhat.)

So I am finishing up my deadlines as the "countdown till corporate" crosses t - 10. I just capped off an artisan's column about a local jewelry maker, thinking that it was my last except for the guilt-laden plea of my favorite editor to take 'just one more'. (Guilt laden because I love her too much to leave in the lurch and because I majorly screwed up an article by turning in the rough draft and not the final and it got published--I felt so bad I cried. If you haven't noticed I expect perfection out of no one but me.) Ugh--not how I wanted to spend my last week. To think I was going to get away scott-free, yeah right.

And of course, I have work to do on the design book, but that doesn't count, right?

It was funny, because one of my friends--a little dyanamo--called with 2 amazing story ideas. They are definitely news-worthy, but I am having a hard time passing them up, because--well, it kills me that someone else is going to write them.

So while I can beat myself up that I didn't turn writing into a financially successful venture, it still hurts that I won't be doing it for a while.

Yes, yes, this may open up an opportunity for "writing for fun" and "finishing the novel", but today I am PMSing people and I just don't feel like Peppy Bo Peep. Got It?!

And so in appropriately melodramatic, Aunt Flow style, I say to my writing career, "When will I see you again?" ("Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo...ahhaah, aaahhaaa" from my background singers for any of you familiar with the 70's group The Three Degrees...And fade out.)

Twinkie, Twinkie Little Star

"Give me the twinkie. Give it to me know!" [Sounds of a struggle and then small feet running away.] "Come here you little__, give me that twinkie NOW!" That is the daydream I had right before picking the kids up for school: ripping a sweet treat out of my children's clutches to shove in my face and loving every minute of it. Never mind that I don't like twinkies, nor do I keep them in my house, and probably have not even tasted one since the 4th grade. Oh and I guess I'm not really for stealing from little kids, but...
I am hungry, dammit!
OK, fair warning that this is going to be a bit of a rant. I am cranky and hungry and Aunt Flo just stopped by for a visit(oops too much info, ho well) But here goes
I...HATE...EATING...HEALTHY. Anyone with me? And I swear it only gets harder not easier.
This started out as one of my New Year's Resolutions because 4 lbs had creaped to 8 lbs and, one very sad morning, the scale told me I had reached double digit status. It was time to reverse and Jan 1 is as good a time as any.
This is not one of those fishing for compliments bullshit. I know that some of my friends--especially my good ones like April who will lie to my face to make me smile--insist I am full of shit and not fat, BUT, when only ONE pair of my denim, that I paid a pretty penny for (or tens of thousands of pretty pennies, but who's counting) fits, there is a problem. I also know that the muffin top is not of my imagination--especially when dearest husband likes to pinch it and laugh. (Yes, I know I am sadistic for being married to him, but he does have his moments. It's just that that was not one of them...) Not to mention that I went through alot of moolah and alot of pain to discover that the tummy tuck is truly one of the most incredible medical advances of our day-genome project?whatever. (Kudos here to Kyle-dearest for paying for said miraculous tuck even though he was STRONGLY against it.)
So anyways, with the support of my sis who is also on a healthy kick(but that's a-whole-nother story) I am "eating clean". I am following the Eat Clean book by Tosca Reno which advocates eating every 2-3 hours(check), protein and complex carbs at each meal(...uhm, check?) and sugar in any form--white bread, pasta, rice, chocolate, ALCOHOL--is poison and should be completely avoided (.... .... .... Bueller? Bueller?).
Why do I hate myself so much as to do this? This feels not like 'my body is my temple', but more like 'my body is my torture chamber'. The books says that I will feel so good that I wouldn't dream of going back to my toxic ways. Let's just say that's a bit of an overstatement.

Yes, I feel better, but is it better than how I feel while I am indulging in Cherry Garcia in July, or cracking open a Bud Lite on a Bad Day, or savoring every cheese inspired bite of pizza JUST BECAUSE i LIKE PIZZA?!
So it has been 34 days (I actually started on the 2nd), no fast food, only 1 tiny trip to BWW and alcohol only when I really needed it(none of your business how often that really is) and I have lost a whopping 1.6 lbs. What?! Ever?!
[Moment of pissed off silence please...]

So because I can't afford to buy a new jean wardrobe and because of serendipity--more on that in a moment--I am now writing ev-er-ee-thing-guh down. It turned out that my super healthy muesli b-fast was actually costing me 720 cals a day because I didn't notice the serving size was only a 1/4 cup ( I wish you could have seen my face when I had that epiphany )and that I desperately needed a plan for 3:30 PM when the kids are flaunting their cheetos in my face.
So with renewed vigor in month 2, onward and downward--in size--hopefully.
So the serendipitious moments I was referring to: Did anyone see the Oprah (sans bonbons) about where our food comes from and what it actually does to our bodies? Here's a stat, U.S. humas take 3 Mill lbs of antibiotics per year. U.S. food animals take 28 Mill lbs of those puppies, hence so do we. And here I thought the trend toward antibiotic resistance and the inevitable superbugs were all because of too many Z-pacs. I would go on, but really the rest is too depressing--think hormones, toxins, steroids and preservatives which basically make us fat, sick, ugly and old. NICE. Oh and the comment on there when they said that the 'low-fat' food trend that ramped up in the 80's is one of the leading causes of the obesity and diabetes crisis, because afterall if you lower fat, you have to substitute it with sugar to make up for the taste. Double NICE.
I also was just assigned an onslaught of medical profiles in which I listened to doctor after doctor say sugar and convenience foods are the devil. Even a vascular surgeon who depends on us clogging our arteries or stroking out to stay in business, is fed up(sorry bad pun).
So the bottom line is I ain't goin' out like that. Nuh-uh. I'd rather be cranky now than infirm later. To my boys: "Sorry. I know mommy is cranky now someday you'll thank me for towing the line." Unless of course I refuse to take my hormone meds and am making your adult lives miserable and then of course maybe you'll wish you would have shared your twinkie.

The Launch

So I've done it. Ever since figuring out that I love to write AND I love giving people unsolicited advice--you're welcome Nikki!--I have wanted to be Dear Dacia and here we are.
It's a little of an anti-climax. Four in the afternoon, five boys "ugh, boom, slam, OOOOOWWWW" playing wii in the other room and my dog Alley as my only audience...and she just left the room.
But I'll take the small victory in the name of blazing my own trail, because I am insanely cranky today since it is January 5th. That inevitably means that I am on some insane new menu which includes alot of vegetable, no chocolate and little to no alcohol. (Eat Clean this year if you must know.) It is so hard!
So since I am not feeling particularly clever, I will end this early and start anew tomorrow.
Adieu! (Is that how you spell that?)