Blah Day

There is all manner of severe weather going down in my neck of the woods. Tornado watches and warnings and OH SHITS are running rampant through Facebook. Every other status quotes something about "tornadic" activity (I am still trying to figure out if that is a real word). Hell, my kids are getting out of school an hour early today because of it.

I know this is bad, but I'm not much for weather-y shenanigans. When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me that the mountains were around us to protect us and that was the good thing about living where I did/do. (She didn't mention that was the ONLY good thing.) So when I see this stuff, I'm kinda like, "OK, whatever." THIS IS ALL BAD. I KNOW THAT. My family all hates me for it. In a way, I am a stunning daredevil of weather related phenomena. I have a very self-destructive sense running through me, and I think this is part of it. Some people abuse drugs, some develop eating disorders, and some are just general "Fuck it!"'s about questions of personal safety. That's where I come in.

I also eat food off the floor. There. I'm not afraid to say it.

Anyway, I'm not feeling super awesome today anyway, and I'll tell you why (and no, it doesn't have anything to do with eating something gnarley):

Fucking ab exercises.

Yesterday we started our March challenge as a family (run/walk a mile and read for 26 minutes each day). I happily loaded my group into the car after work (some more grudgingly than others) and we took our walk. I didn't have high hopes for Sam, who said he had already walked a mile that day. That little nerd, though....HOLY CRAP. That kid ran his mile. It was amazing. Especially given that he is pretty short with little strides. He would run for a while, notice that he was a good deal in front of us (especially at the beginning before Alice allowed us to put her in her stroller), stop and play with sticks, and then run again. I was so, so happy. How he learned to do that, I'll never know. Maybe Batman: Arkham City taught him? In that case, thanks, BATMAN!!!

Like I said, after the first 1/4 of a mile when Alice insisted on walking and picking.up.every.single.stick., I was able to go pretty fast myself. Allie can definitely walk the mile, but I think she enjoyed being put in the stroller and pushed while some heaving mad woman pushed her and made stupid references to silent Russian films about the revolution. I was proud of myself. It was my first time out in a while, and it felt good.

I got home and I WAS INSPIRED. I made dinner and did my family reading, and then it was ON LIKE DONKEY KONG. I went through some old Fitness magazines that I was using to hold up boot shafts (roll 'em up, girls, and stick em in to store yo' boots!), and found this ab workout thing by that Jackie person who used to be on Bravo. Is she still on Bravo? I have no idea. Up until about three months ago, I my cable provider didn't offer Bravo or MSNBC because those stations are for THE GAYS and we should all be watching Pat Robertson anyway, you know. Anyway, I tore out the page and found my 5 lb. dumbbell which was hiding, interestingly, next to this stupid religious book about debt that my MIL gave to my husband and a dustbunny the size of my youngest child.

(Ok, the weather is really getting hairy now. I feel like one of those guys they send to the Outer Banks in a blue anorak to talk about hurricanes. I hope I don't die while I'm typing this. At least you'll be able to say, "She died as she lived: being stupid on the internet.")

I started doing the exercises while watching a tivoed episode of Snapped. Alice was sitting on the couch watching Angelina Ballerina on her iPod. She kept saying "What you doing, Mommy?" and I kept saying, "Exercising." I got to the fourth exercise of the five (first rep of all of them), and all of a sudden, I felt like I was going to puke. The urge was so strong, I sat down, put the dumbbell down and stared at the TV in disgust. How was I that out of shape? Alice then goes, "Why you stop exercising, Mommy?" and I had to say, "Don't rub it in, kid."

This morning I got up, and I just felt weird. Like really "off." I have kind of a sick headache, and I've been really lightheaded a couple of times. And I just don't feel like myself. I am wearing black leggings from Target, a spring dress, a scarf, my denim jacket, and a pair of Frye Harness boots. That means nothing to you, but really, if I'm wearing leggings and a dress, what I'm basically saying is, "Stay away from me. I'm a little bit bitchy today and the world hates me." It is my version of pj pants and crocs.

So I called my mom. My mom is an exercise and diet fiend, more out of necessity than anything else. She's one of these people who has insanely high cholesterol that is not easily controlled, so it is either take a medicine that makes her feel bad or be a little unhinged. She chooses being crazy. She confirmed that the ab exercises in P90X do that to her. She also thought I was coming down a bit from having a lot of sugar last weekend when we celebrated her birthday by getting pukey drunk on BabyCakes cupcakes. My 12 y.o. daughter had the wherewithall to step away from the sugar when she had had enough. We did not. Because we're dumb.

This is a really long way of saying two things 1) I am bored today, and I don't feel good, and 2) Ab exercises are the devil. I hate them forever. I am thinking of letting my belly get really big and floppy and walking around Wal-Mart in a pair of cotton pants JUST TO SPITE THEM. Pass the Ben & Jerry's, bitches. It's about to get fluffy up in here.

This is just another reason for me to hate Fergie.

*I should note that this is the second Friday in a row that I haven't done Fashion Friday. Last week was because of crazy work stuff--I have a half written post featuring a dress I bought that Wardrobe Oxygen also bought which is yes, awesome--and this week is because I am Oscar the Grouch in a scarf. Next week! When the sun will shine and my abs will be much happier with me.

Morgan and the Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

I realize how horrible it is that I come back from an extended hiatus, where the last post was a typical sadsack type affair in which I quoted a Ryan Adams song and became very dramatic and angsty, and I return with a title like the one I just typed. But here's the thing. When today is over, as it will be in just 10 glorious hours, I will laugh about all this. Because from the outside, all of this is comical in a wonderful, belly laughing way. Perhaps for you it will be comical right now. And from what I've read on blogs and via Facebook status message, today just sucks for everyone, all around. Today, Tuesday, September 6, is just a giant douche. It should die in a fire.

Let me first start out by saying that it has rained here FOREVER. It started over the weekend, continued into yesterday and is still sort of sprinkling right now. Rain in VA at this time of year is usually of the variety that only sticks around for a bit, an hour tops, and then dissipates . This, however, has been unrelenting. Now, I know this is small potatoes for those of you affected by hurricanes and tornadoes and all of the jazz, but let me be clear: this blows. Unless you are at home, under your covers with a good book, there is absolutely nothing good that can come of this. Again, with emphasis: BLOW-Y.

The rain yesterday was so heavy that it caused a leak in my house. I, in all my years of living on my own, have never had a leak. This is important because it explains why I was running through the house when I discovered it, yelling insane things about buckets and towels and rain boots. Where does the leak spring up? Well, of all places that it could have happened, of all easily discoverable places, it happens behind my closed closet door. So I don't notice it or hear it until well after it got started. So all of my clothes got wet. Puddles formed inside of my pumps. I don't have to tell you that that BLOWS. I took things out of the closet, but I didn't get everything in time, of course.

So with that in mind, and just for ease, and well, because you guys seemed to like it last time I did it, I will give you a brief, truthful run-down of my day:
--Get up. Wonder if I am being tortured for sins committed in a past life. Getting up after a three day weekend is like that.
--Take a shower. Everything is still going ok here. I am surprised.
--Wander into kitchen. Realize that I have neglected to buy anything for breakfast the day before. Eat a cookie and drink some orange juice. NUTRITION! (I should point out that the cookies are ok, nutrition wise, made from this recipe.)
--Wander back into bathroom to blow dry hair. Find that the water and leak has tripped up the wiring, so now none of the outlets in the bathroom have power. Fiddle around with it, thinking I can fix it if I just click it on ONE MORE TIME until I have very little time to get ready.
--End up putting hair in very unfortunate ponytail.
--Realize that nearly all clothes are wet with rain.
--Find favorite chambray shirt clean and pressed. SCORE. Decide to wear it. Realize then that all of my bras and shapewear are wet from being washed on gentle the night before and totally forgotten in the washing machine. Shirt cannot be worn with out a cami underneath as it comes unbuttoned easily. DRATS.
--Find a sweater and cami from fall of last year and put them on. Try not to notice that the arms of the sweater are a tinge tighter this year. (If you had seen what I ate over the weekend, you wouldn't be a bit surprised.) Also try not to notice that horrible bra straps from horrible bra (only one not being washed) can easily sneak out from behind sweater neckline.
--Get the kids up. Gabby is abnormally grouchy. Sam has a meltdown when I tell him that we don't have cereal. Offer toast, eggs, any imaginable breakfast food. He refuses to eat any of them, and falls in a sleepy heap on the couch, rising only to eat a small cup of yogurt when begged, pleaded with, and cajoled.
--Put on make-up and a lot of jewelry, hoping that this masks the fact that rest of me looks like crap.
--Get kids out the door. Gabby lets slip that she has received a text message from an old acquaintance telling her that the school she attends is closing. Tell her this is a rumor and not to worry about it. Quietly wonder if it is true.
--Get to work. Check bank account. Realize a deposit that I thought had been made had not because of the holiday. Quietly freak out.
--Find huge stack of files and collection of passive aggressive notes left by boss who worked on Labor Day. Plot her demise. Smile graciously when she arrives to work.
--Call vice principal of school re: rumor and the independant study class that Gabby is taking (and I am supervising). Try to ignore her tone of voice regarding the class (more on this later). Have her tell me school will "probably not" close.
--Fire off slightly stressed sounding email to superintendent of schools. (It is best just to get out of my way on days like this.)
--Call insurance company to ask a question about vision benefits. Get so angry about phone answering system (and the fact that I don't have our policy number handy) that I hang up phone in disgust. Vision benefits can suck it! I'll buy my own damn glasses! Pay for my own appointments!
--Think better of this.
--Spend all day in quiet war with neverending stack of files on my desk.

Seeing it all typed out here, it sounds rather benign. It has not felt that way. But perhaps having typed it all out is a way of coping, a way of seeing it and saying, "Well, ok, that's not so bad! Chin up ole chap!"

I have to admit that I typed this out for another reason too. This past weekend, I went over to a friend's house to drop off some clothes she had purchased from me. We were chatting as she went through the items and we started talking about being a mom and and a wife in this time of Facebook and blogging and all of the other stuff that the demise of our world will probably be blamed on. We both ended up sort of lamenting the lack of "real-ness" out there, how that we both felt that we were floundering sometimes in the face of all of the "perfection" put out there by others.

And that's the thing about the internet--everyone is perfect here. Or at least that's what they would have you believe. No one admits that they have bad days or that somedays, they come to work with their bra straps hanging out but they just don't give a damn. No one lets it slip that they sometimes have cash flow issues, that best laid plans are derailed by having to get their damn breaks fixed on their damn car, that it is becoming more and more rare that they make it out for a run, that some days their house is a veritible sea of toys that they are lucky to wade through to the front door.

I'm here to tell you that I am not perfect. That my life today is a grand scale of fuck-uppery. That I've had a bad day, and it is mostly my fault--I forgot to take out the bras, I didn't buy the cereal, I didn't pay close enough attention to my bank account.

But oh well. Live and learn. And hopefully, September 6 will go peacefully and die in the corner like the horrible, mangy dog that it is.