New camera!

My Bubs bought me the most awesomest gift ever. A Canon EOS Rebel 15 megapixel digital SLR camera -- for those of you who aren't dropping your jaw -- it's just a fancy camera.. to me.. it's a wish fulfillment -- I've wanted one of these forever. Well, it didn't start there -- I remember drooling over the Canon EOS Rebel SLR pre-digital era -- and then the 3 megapixel, then the 5 and so on. When it became this cool (15), I just stopped dreaming about it knowing that we needed to spend our money on practical items. You know, paying the pool guy and um, pizza, oh and the gigantor mortgage. But my Bubs thought different now that his credit is good and he qualified for a no interest til July Best Buy card.

Anyhoo -- the pic here is an example of more to come. Huzzah! I love you Bubs!!

HPATHBP

No - the title of this is not part of a blood test. It refers to one of the series of books I so love about a little wizard with a lightening scar on his forehead who is destined to eliminate the most terrible dark wizard of all time. Yes - that's the one. Aaron and I went to see the new HP movie in the theater last week and were left feeling like the kid who only got socks for Christmas. As the lights came up, we seriously looked at each other and just shrugged.

So like all HP fans, I will list out my grievances in my blog and fully reveal my nerdiness about this series -- (may I say before I begin, I never once went to band camp, and my husband started a sentence today with "Back when I was in SCA.." -- so I think my nerdom is quite eclipsed by others)
1. No Dumbledore funeral. No emphasis on how if he's alive, everything will be fine. Nothing about how Dumbledore is the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. Oh yeah, the old guy, he's dead, let's all raise our lit wands and magically, the dark mark will disappear! Gimme a break.

2. Don't get me wrong, I love Hermione. I love Emma Watson who plays Hermione. But come on. The girl's acting skills are equivalent to a Dawson's Creek extra. Her performance reminded me of the sighing-looking-into-space-teen-angst of those oh so popular tween vampire movies with Cedric Diggory. Sorry Herms.

3. Um horcruxes? What's that? I'm not sure because they never effing go into it and the importance of them. The cup? The ring? The snake? Nothing?

4. Not that Fleur Delacoeur and Bill's romance is a big deal and is key to plot, but I'm really wondering why it wasn't even mentioned as it's at their wedding that things go nuts in the next book. Or about Bill getting deformed?

5. Where the eff was the battle for Hogwarts? Where was all of the desolation or doom? The near misses because of the Lucky potion? I knew it was bad when Harry drank all of it instead of sipping it the first time.

6. Ginny and Harry? I don't get it from these movies. He doesn't even break up with her. What are they, the dream team now?

7. Not enough information. I know at the end of the book Harry is completely bewildered, but still knows it's the horcruxes and knows that death is inevitable for him. Dumbledore is dead. I wanted to scream that at him at the end of the movie. Dumbledore is dead! And Snape killed him you dumbass!!

8. Hey! Guess what? Did you know that deatheaters burn down the Burrow? No? Me neither. Did you know that Hermione bitches out Lavender? Me neither.

9. How many times do we need to show Draco pulling off the cloth cover of the cabinet? Like 8 times maybe?

10. My real gripe is that it's not the book verbatim -- and that is all.

All I have to say to these scriptwriter is.. Expelliarmus! Yes. Nerd. I know.

Am I the only one...

...who wishes Mad Men was on all the time? Everyday, all day? I just luuuurve it. What does this say about my ideas of feminism, systematic oppression of minorities and chauvinism?

Absolutely nothing. It's an effing good show. And frankly, it's a testament to how much reality TV has made me hope and wish for something like this show. Seriously, I wonder whether it's actually not a good show at all, but with my options being limited to conjured "real" drama, my tastes have wildly decreased to just wanting to watch a show that doesn't remind me of how I hate people.

Top 10 reasons Mad Men rules all:

10. The guy's name is Don Draper. Seriously, the best name since Clark Kent. Best part is that it's not his real name. He's playing the part of the guy with the cool name, which it makes it extra crazy cool.
9. Smoking is bad for you, but still cool. The warnings are more in line with not swimming 30 minutes after you eat than with "you're gonna die! you're gonna die!" (Although I like how the writers always have someone waking up and hacking up a lung, nice foreshadowing guys)
8. Bartenders know drinks. I know it's a show and it's not like they're going to write in "Phil" the new midwestern bartender who's still learning his Singapore Sling from his Hurricane. It's nice that the cocktail was just beginning to really catch on and none of the stupid frat-boy date rapist drinks were popular. Come on, when was the last time you ordered an "Old Fashioned" and the bartender didn't go thumbing through the "The Idiot's Guide to mixing drinks". Whereas you ask for a 'Buttery Nipple" and he asks "Hairy or Plucked?"
7. The show is about character development, not plot. Which is like a dream come true. What? Get to know the characters and not follow them through some predictable cliched storyline? Never. For those of us that love movies like Before Sunrise, this is a very very good thing.
6. I love how utterly hopeless and triumphant Betty is. She's crazy, but not I'm gonna drown my kids crazy, she just epitomizes and gives life to the bored housewife that really wants to be found interesting but has nothing to offer but her looks and 90-minute modeling career.
5. Duuuude. Peggy. She's either going to mow people down with a machine gun one of these days, spin her head a la Linda Blair Exorcist or get promoted over everyone. She's business. Monster trapped in the body of a girl scout cookie trapped in the mind of Lee Iococa with a side of Heather Chandler. Can't wait to find out what she's about.
4. Joan, AKA, Big Boobs McGee -- personification of what a woman's ideal used to be -- What? You can't see her ribs through her lycra spandex tank! What a fatty! I just love that a full figured woman is worshipped and not labeled "full figured". Take that Kate Moss!
3. Drinking, smoking and working all at the same time did not mean you were a stripper, prostitute, pimp, drug dealer or homeless window washer. Martinis? 10AM? Board Meeting at 10:15? Yes please, oh and here let me light that for you..
2. No one famous has made a cameo -- I like the anonymous appeal of the cast. There is no "On the next Mad Men, a very special episode with guest star George Clooney as you've never seen him before..."
1. It's not effing reality TV. There are real writers, real dialogue, real actors and no 15 minutes of fame. Yay AMC.

What to Expect..

So I bought and read the "What to Expect Before You're Expecting" and I've got an announcement I think everyone needs to hear who has not read this book. You should not smoke pot while you are pregnant, or even while you're trying to conceive. How is it possible that millions of women have gone through their pregnancies without ever reading this book?
Seriously. Dude. Duuuude.

What's really great is that the book doesn't ever say "Effing stop smoking pot, you crack whore!" -- It tries to passively convince the reader that smoking pot isn't at all healthy for you or your baby, but never quite drives the point home like I would have expected. I'm waiting for the you shouldn't throw yourself down a flight of stairs when you're pregnant chapter.

For my next blog: "Common sense and you - stop being a dillhole"

Hand building and wheel

On Saturday, I'm going to my first sculpting class since highschool. I'm super excited because I remember really enjoying it when I was a teenager, but not being able to afford it in college. I went to Armadillo Clay today and it's this nifty shop on East 4th that made me want to be a starving artist. I wouldn't let myself walk around because I knew I would end up with a bunch of stuff I wouldn't know how to use and end up killing my budget. But at some point I will go back just to wander through. I love bottles of color, I'm just not very good at making them look like something realistic. When I'm painting anyway. So hopefully the ceramicist inside me will take over, maybe this is what I'm supposed to be doing. You know, throwing pots and getting tired of all the "Ghost" references people throw at me. You never know, I might be the next... um... Michaelangelo? Rodin? I guess sculptors only get famous once they are really, really dead. I think painters get famous right after they die -- look at Jean Michele Basquiat right? He died and bam! Seriously, four years after his death, his work was displayed at the Whitney and he was suddenly renowned for his neo-expressionist graffitti art. Really? Yup. 10 years after his death one of his paintings sold for 3 million dollars. And then Metallica man Lars Ulrich beat it in 2002 by buying one for over 5 million. Hmm, I think to be true artist's artist you have to die of something accidentally, like an overdose, or a family member losing control or in some kind of transatlantic wreck. I think only one of those would apply to me. But be forewarned family! If I rule at pottery, I'm changing my will to have all my assets and future earnings as Sculptor Laureate bestowed to stem cell research IF I am killed by a family member. So don't get any ideas!

Okay, so I'm not.

Pregnant that is. And I'm fine with that. There was a 1-2% chance anyway and if you know me, you know I've never fallen into that percentage ever.

I just wish I had an easy explanation for why I've been so damn exhausted for the past week. It's exhausting being exhausted. And for hypochondriacs like me, the worst possible thing is not knowing why you're sick.

I'm pretty burnt out from work as you could probably tell from my last blog, but it has never made me physically ill before. I must be allergic to teleconferences. There goes my promotion..

I'm off for a 90 minute massage tonight. The peeps at Massage Envy called me and said "um, Mrs. Camp? You have 5 pre-paid hour massages, would you like to use one?"

I'm just not taking care of myself. You know I haven't had a real pedicure (ie, not me scraping my feet in my mini tub) since I got married? WTF? Apparently, after you get married your toes can get as gnarly and cuticley as ever without any consequences. It's not that I don't like pedicures, I do. But I really liked this chic up on Anderson Mill, her name was Lisa and she was awesome. So I don't wanna have to do my research to find a good pedicurist who doesn't talk shit about me in Vietnamese while she's shaving my callouses. Anyone got suggestions for South Austin manipedi?

I can't wait for my massage. I'm so tense that parts I never thought could get tense are tense. Like my chest..That's right. My boobs are tense. What? TMI? Okay, fine. Not really my boobs, whatever muscle is under my boobs and to the side of them which is not armpit fat is tense.

Oh! I'm gonna be late! Gotta go!

Burnout Baby

Dude. I am so done with everything. I need a vacay so bad I sometimes find myself longing to be cramped up in a smelly airplane. Seriously.

What's weird is I'm not even cooking or baking. And I always want to cook or bake. I'm not depressed or anything because when I'm depressed I don't wear makeup and I want to lay around all day. I'm not averse to doing something, I'm just not in the mood to be motivated to do something. Even write this blog.

As my colleagues in the UK say, I need a holiday.

Meat Extravaganza with Meaty Goodness included

On Saturday night, Aaron and I threw a party for our friend Walt's birthday. The theme was MEAT. That's right MEAT. We bbqed most of the day and fed people at around 6:30 -- we had brisket, pulled pork, pork country ribs, bbq chicken (which spend a little too much time on the grill and became blackened) and elk burgers. We had an awesome time prepping all the food and grilling.

The Brisket - it was good, but didn't get the smoke ring, we need to leave it on longer next time
The Pulled Pork - so good, and so cheap
The Country Ribs - okay these were the sleeper hit.. Aaron seared them in a dutch oven with a mess load of onions, then he added water and bbq sauce to cover for and let it come to a boil. It then simmered for an hour. We took it off the heat and threw them on the grill for awhile. Then we stuck them in the oven to keep warm once it had a nice bark on the outside. Oh. My. God. They were juicy and tender and made me never want to resounce eating pork.
The Chicken - it was a little heavy on the carbon -- we couldn't taste the spices I worked into the legs because they were so burned!
The Elk - yes Elk! I mixed ground elk with chopped roasted garlic (not the kind in a jar, the real stuff!), worchestire, salt and black/red pepper. These burgers grill up tender and juicy and have great non-gamey flavor -- plenty of meaty goodness and the garlic was fantastic

I also made some asparagus that the guys "accidentally" burned on the grill, whole sweet potatoes (one which I ate at 3AM before passing out) and some potato salad (with cumin, red onion, cilantro, sour cream, mayo and whole grain mustard).

What was also awesome was the bbq sauce I invented that evening. The not so awesome part is I have no idea how I made it. I started off making a vinegar sauce. I sauteed some grated onion and roasted garlic and then added 2 cups of vinegar. To that I added a few squirts of ketchup, brown sugar, worchestire, black pepper, salt, seasoned salt, indian ground red pepper, chipotle powder, and dry mustard. Well that ended up tasting pretty good and then I thought about the fact that most of the meat we were making would taste better with a tomato base. So added about a can of tomato sauce. That effed up my flavor, so I had to start over with the spicing. I'm pretty sure it was a combination of the spices and sugar above, but I didn't measure anything. After being satisfied with all the crap I added, I went and sat down and left the sauce on simmer. About an hour later I checked it and it turned into this amazingly delicious sauce. I then proceeded in trying to kick my own ass for not writing down what I put in it. I'm not sure I can replicate it ever again, but the attendees of the party will surely have tasted something special that night and it will live on in all our memories.

I also made my pay off pitch dessert, the chocolate almond souffle torte (if you're interested in the recipe, it's on epicurious). I made it the first time back in '97 out of a Bon Appetit magazine. Aaron requested I make a raspberry sauce to go with it along with the usual almond whipped cream. I must say it took the dessert from extraordinary to "holy crap! You're a god!"

We all enjoyed ourselves very much, including smoking some apple mint tobacco out of the hookah my parents bought us (yes, my parents). I also made some blood orange margaritas which are very pink and festive -- thanks to Max for the recipe. I have not gotten tipsy in awhile, so it was really nice to be able to drink too much, hang out and talk to friends and then go pass out in my bed. It was also very nice to know that I had no obligations on Sunday and could vegetate in my hungover state.

Our house is a very very very fine house

Our offer got accepted on a house in Onion Creek that we both love! It's completely nuts and I'm sort of freaking out in all kinds of ways.

Here are the specs:

• Downstairs pretty much has floor to ceiling windows in any room you're in



• It has a mini-atrium out the dining room



• Saltillo tile downstairs, ceramic in kitchen, carpet in bedrooms



• 3 bedrooms, master on ground floor



• 2 1/2 baths



• 2600 sq. feet



• A friggin hot tub and inground pool!!!!!!



• A view to die for
  

Aaron and I were able to get a pre-approved loan through the VA with no downpayment with what will probably be a 5% interest rate or less. I'm totally buggin about the fact that we may be homeowners in less than a month. There's so much excitement I'm going to bust. The seller accepted our offer last week and I can't believe everything is moving so fast.

I'll tell you, just with signing paperwork for the loan I feel like a total grown up. Plus, I'm not used to my new signature which looks like SPCamp so I had to think about it each time I signed one of the 50 billion pieces of paper work.

The inspection went well, a few repairs needed prior to closing, but nothing disastrous, ie, no foundation, roofing or other structural damages. Yay. Now for appraisal and negotiations on what we need fixed (ie, who pays for what) -- oh and getting fully approved for the mortgage.

In Memoriam

Our sweet Babby is no more. We were really thankful that she came into her lives with all her squeekiness and cuteness. We miss her more than I can express here. In honor of her life with us, I thought I would list out all the possible names for Babby that we used in the 4 short years she was with us. I'll keep adding to the list as more come to mind.

1. Babby
2. Babby-loo
3. Loo
4. Loo-bot
5. Roo
6. Roo-googles
7. Googles
8. Goo
9. Babs
10. Looby
11. Looby-loo
12. Cha-chas
13. Goober
14. Boobers
15. Boo
16. Rupert McGuinness (I have no idea)
17. Mrs. Googlesworth

18. Lucy Loo

19. Babby Loo Hoo (for xmas time)

20. Lieutenant Babcock (reporting for doody)

25 Random things about me

So on Facebook, everyone is doing this Note thing where they write 25 random things about themselves. I for some reason can't figure out how to do it, so I'm blogging it instead.

1. I have 4 pairs of pajama pants with monkeys on them. No, I don't need anymore.
2. I will one day write a musical based on Pat Benatar's songbook
3. I will have dreams of starring in said musical but will sadly be beaten out by Natalie Portman
4. I still feel guilt about having to give away my first cat Linus
5. I'm a really bad liar, I think it's because a person is only allotted a certain number in their lifetime and I ran out when I was about 22.
6. I wish I were either 3 inches taller or 3 inches shorter
7. My legs are longer than the other half of my body by a lot. LD is 3 inches shorter than me and we're the same height sitting down
8. I should be working in publishing because I can edit in my sleep (not my own stuff though)
9. I used to get drunk and read people's palms accurately
10. I hate hype. So much so that I never saw the Matrix in the theatre
11. I can't have a dirty plate in front of me for more than 30 seconds without going nuts, pre-bussing will get you great tips from me
12. I still read Beverly Cleary and Judy Blume books and I have an English degree
13. I would like to name my first son Ulysses S. Camp
14. I used to have fantasies about being Boris Becker's wife and watching him win Wimbledon
15. I no longer have a thing for British accents
16. I listened to U2 everyday of my life for 10 years. I even had a U2 bathroom that had a poster of Larry Mullen Jr and Adam Clayton that stated "Mission Accomplished" as you were leaving.
17. On our first meeting I thought my husband was the most arrogant man I'd ever met. Now, he's just my arrogant man and I love him for it.
18. I got into SMU for my undergrad, but didn't go. My husband went to SMU for grad school and wrote a paper with a man named "Prabhu"
19. I will play Trivial Pursuit with anyone, anytime, anywhere
20. I started off at my job as a temp and now I'm a manager
21. Half of the Shakespeare I read was through Cliff's notes
22. When I was a kid, we had a bunch of movies back to back on several videotapes and I always watched them in sequence. Which is why I always relate Wizard of Oz and the Ten Commandments. And I can't watch Rocky IV without thinking of Goonies, Sleeping Beauty and SpaceCamp
23. I never got "INXS" until a few years ago
24. I never thought DVDs would catch on and didn't own a player for 3 years after it came out
25. I worry about everything all the time. It's to the point that if I don't have something to worry about, I don't feel like myself.

Dinner and Dancing?

I was on the website for the Rainbow Room the other day after watching Sleepless in Seattle. You know the scene where Meg Ryan and Bill Pullman are having dinner and you can see the Empire State Building in the background? It's the Rainbow Room. A restaurant in the sky that apparently has both dinner and dancing on Friday/Saturday nights. They have a big band on those nights and play things that grown ups can dance to, and look classy at the same time. If there's dipping involved, it's classy right?

So for some reason I had this idea that our holiday party on Saturday would be the same thing. It was casino night and we were to be served hors d'ouerves with a open beer/wine bar. Aaron and I were both excited about it and thought we were going to be treated to a night of class (albeit the class that involves faux gambling).

We arrived at 7:45 at the Hyatt Regency after spending 20 minutes in line to pay for parking. Incidentally, the parking was $7 and not $5 (listed on the invitation) which was causing some ruckus from our cheaper colleagues. I'm sure there will be complaints to the social committee on Monday.

The ballroom was half filled with gambling tables and the other half had seating and a dancefloor. We were both looking rather hot. I had help with some spanx and Aaron always looks good in a suit. After a glass of cab and a bite of a unidentifiabley stuffed quesadilla, we decided to hit the tables.

Apparently gambling is not fun when you're not winning or losing real money. We tried roulette and then tried to go for broke 20 times at the blackjack table in the hopes of losing our plastic coins. The dealer was so bored, she kept pretending she busted to get us to stay.

All the while, I was waiting for the grown up dancing to begin, but I guess these days office parties are not complete without having to watch directors shake their junk-in-the-trunk to Beyonce. Seriously? When the second song they played was "Wild Thang" (not the version from Major League), I knew my dreams of a once classy night had been obliterated. We talked to some co-workers and Aaron's boss and then decided we just needed to go. They didn't even have a photographer to take our prom picture, which was also very disappointing.

So, back to the whole "dancing" thing.. Is the Rainbox Room in NYC the only place where I can feel like I'm in a Billy Wilder movie now? Is it that old fashioned to want my partner to hold me gracefully, or is grinding up against your partner's leg now the standard? A few years back, I would have been okay with some 80s dancing, you know, some Molly Ringwald white girl moves from Breakfast Club.. but now, I don't know. I would have liked some old Otis Redding, maybe a little Sinatra.. I mean, we were there for an hour, and they didn't play any slow songs. I would have dragged Aaron on the floor for some Bryan Adams, just so I could pretend I was in 8th grade again and had someone to dance with. But it didn't happen.

Aaron, being the sweet guy that I know (and most of you have yet to see), decided to live with the excrutiating pain of wearing stuffy shoes with his recently removed toenails to treat us to a grown up dinner. I suggested Sullivan's which I had been to one other time in my life, but was too trashed to remember any of it. We ordered a half bottle of wine (it was an actual little bottle!), some escargots and french onion soup. The escargot even had the little shells like in Pretty Woman, I kept thinking "It happens all the time, Miss" in my head. Vivien was right though, they are slippery suckers, I kept shooting them across the plate! Aaron had the filet and I had lobster. And guess what? We had the grown up night I had been craving, valet parking to boot! The only thing missing was the dancing. It turns out that Sullivans usually has a big band or some jazzy thing at their bar next door, but won't start up again until May.

So if any of you out there are interested in a night of dinner and some actual cheek to cheek (the non-butt kind), let me know and we can all make a night of it in May, maybe for Aaron's birthday.

Idol Chatter

I remember when I was 12, I had this friend named Jennifer Harrington. She was in the 6th grade with me and she had entered this pageant. She was thin and pretty, with a goofy smile and glasses. I remember going with her when she was looking for pageanty dresses and she asked me why I didn't enter too. Then we could both get pretty dresses and wear makeup and be stars.
She and her mom gave me the paperwork to enter and I brought it home to my mom. I'm sure my mom has no recollection of this and if she sees this blog, she'll probably call me up and tell me it never happened. Even if it didn't, it's a good story, so save the minutes Ma.
I came home with my paperwork and pitched the idea to my mom with my sister listening as well. They exchanged glances, but not the kind I was hoping for. In my head, I was imagining their reaction: both were dumbfounded at the fact that they hadn't thought of it before. They were chatting it up talking about what my dresses would look like and my beautiful three tier updo. They would look at me and say "you missy, will be the next Miss pre-teen Dutchess county".
My daydream was popped open by my sister who was furiously reading through the pamphlet, she looked up and said "It says here you have to be poised".
My mom: "She's not poised"
My sister: "We have to make you take showers still!"

True. I was not poised and I was still in my "every third day is still not that bad" showering schedule of my life. And all of what they were saying had truth to it, they went on about reasons I can't remember.

I was not pageant material, I was pushing 115 and hadn't hit puberty, my sister who is 7 years older than me was my same size, maybe a bit smaller. I had greasy hair and bangs that matted my chubby cheeks and swollen eyes. Sometimes I was a bit smelly. And sometimes a bit more smelly.

And yet, I never even imagined my family would point out my inherent flaws to me. What I've realized now is that did a great deal of service. Although the brief shattering of my hopes probably caused me to whine and cry, lock myself in my room, all the while thinking I was too ugly to live, I'm really thankful that they did this.

If they had pampered the idea and spent the money to make me into this pageant queen wannabe, you know where I would have ended up 12 years later?

Auditions for American Idol.

Watching those horrible people this week actually believe that they are stars makes me guffaw and simultaneously want to smack them. Hard. I blame the parents. If you're child is not good at something, TELL THEM. Of course you can encourage them to try harder, get better. But dear god, if they still suck, STOP THEM. It is your duty as a parent to make sure your child understands and accepts their own limitations. You don't have to be mean about it. Be honest with them and shatter the dream slowly and delicately. Like after 2 years of being struck out at every at bat and still not hitting the cutoff man from right field, you should say, "Hey kid, why don't we blow off the little league game and go to a movie?" At this point, they've already learned about being a team player, the rest of the team hates them and they've started to develop a keen sense of humor to compensate for their lack of production.

I'm not saying that you can't let your child make their own decisions. Sure they can. When they're 18 and you don't have to pay for it anymore.

And of course I'm going to get hate mail from you parents reading this. Yes, I am not a parent. But guess what? I'm also not a douchebag parent that lets their child get their 90 seconds of fame by way of humiliation and a Simon smackdown.

I'm not going to talk about work

This title says it all, huh? You know from that title the only thing I want to do is vent about work, but I'm not gonna do it.
No.

Instead let's talk about weight loss. I now weigh about 50 lbs more than I did in highschool. I know, effing gross. I'm not sure how I got here, no I do know.. Cheeseburgers. And pasta. And large portions of biryani and chicken tikka masala. Gorging at Sushi Sake. But it all comes down to one thing. And it's not carbs.

I'm happy, and when I'm happy I love eating. I don't understand people that eat when they're depressed or lonely or hurting in some way. When I'm going through something bad, I don't ever think about food. So I guess I am an emotional eater, but I eat when I'm not depressed or lonely or hurting.

Dear God someone give me some bad news so I can drop some pounds!
That was thoughtless and selfish, forgive me. Or be mad at me and say something mean in response so I can ruminate on it instead of heating up some leftover sausage.

All joking aside, Aaron and I are making a go of this healthy eating/working out thing. And although it's only been 10 days or so, I'm pretty confident that we'll be a much hotter version of ourselves in the months to come.

We've been eating between 1500-2000 calories a day and exercising. Although the exercise will be taking a brief hiatus for me (see 2 blogs ago) and Aaron has bandaged big toes that are not allowed to get squished into sneakers for at least a week.

We're saving a lot of money eating at home and buying weight watchers lunches for work (I'll miss you Wendy's). The master plan is to be hot for Mar's wedding in July because it's on a Cruiseship and this means there will be bathing suits involved and of course pictures. I'm also trying to strengthen my core b/c of my back and at some point this year I'd like to consider the possibility of gaining weight for a little Camp-er. I'm not sure how long it will take for it to happen but I'd like to be able to gain weight during that period. I would not only like to be able to carry a child in my womb, but I would also like to be able to pick it up when the little person is born! I can't keep throwing my back out.

I've lost 3 pounds so far and it's probably all water weight, but I'm hoping I can report back with some more results each month.

I hope not

In my last year at UT, I had to take a capstone English course where I had to write a journal everyday for the entire semester. The entries had to be in the morning preferably before you had spoken to anyone. It had to do with this little book called the Artist's Way. I'm sure if you've ever taken a Creative Writing class you've heard of it. It's got a lot of froo-froo arty stuff, but the best part is that it's a 12 step program for artist's block.

Isn't that great? So, if I'm a writer (stop laughing), and I somehow am blocked, this book equates my lack of writing to an addiction. I did wish that one of the steps was to apologize to all the people you have sent bad stories/ideas/poetry to.

Anyway, my point was that when I had to keep this journal, I only lasted about 6 weeks. I remember accosting my professor after class one day. I was having a bad, bad week. I told her that my journal became these "to-do" lists and it was driving me crazy. At first, it was a daily recap of events from the day before. Then I started working in all the studying I was doing. And then I began to work through my demons (one being my 9th grade English teacher). And then it was just these lists. Long ass lists about what I was going to do that day. What I wanted to accomplish. Well, it was all going okay and then I started to melt down that 6th week.

After my confession to my professor I had realized that the reason I was getting so depressed and couldn't write in my journal is that I wasn't getting my to-do lists done -- ever. I was used to being disappointed in other people (tiny violin), and disappointing myself (just not every day). Sure I had failed tests, hell even a class. I had pissed off many people. I had almost not gotten into UT. But all of that stuff passed, because although it was on my mind for sometime, it was never staring me in the face every morning before I even wiped my eye-bogeys.

I mean I wrote these lists down, all I needed to do was do it. It's not like the list had "Meet the man of my dreams" or "Get into law school" or "Be white". They were things like "Read book about semen transactions in Sambia", "don't blow off studying for Met game", "Only have 2 beers". So when I woke up with no clue about cultural relativism in remote African locations, and my head was banging just like Mike Piazza's homerun the night before, I knew I was failing me. Repeatedly.

Those are the things I was failing at -- regular stuff. Things I had to make simple choices about. So each morning, I was faced with the inevitable failure of my doings from the day before.

And I was beginning to hate myself, but still didn't have the real desire to change anything, but it's funny how this story ends.

After my teary diatribe about how this exercise was showing me what a real loser I was and that I was addicted to my own laziness and apathy, my professor spoke up.

She said "Same thing happens to me. It's not for posterity you know. Just stop. It's clearly affecting you negatively."

Her PhD is in English remember, not Psych. We English majors stick together.

Where does this leave me? I'm picking up where I left off almost 10 years ago, and although there have been so many changes in my life, two things remain - the laziness and of course, the Mets.

In an effort to save you from boredom and to save me from stabbing myself in the eye for my utter failures, I vow to never post to-do lists. And if I inevitably forget this rule, please do three things -- 1)Stop reading the blog 2) Tell me I'm pretty 3) Call my husband and tell him to make me an appointment with a licensed therapist

Or maybe just take me out for a couple beers, watch a Met game and don't talk about semen with me.

My first blog day

So I hurt my back over the weekend (shocker). I think it was from vacuuming the stairs, but who knows. To add insult to injury when I got to the top of the stairs, I realized that the belt had broken on the vacuum and it was probably only sucking up 1/4 of what I thought it was.

Next big buy -- Dyson!

I worked from home today so I could nurse my back and get some sympathy from my pets. The Chairman especially knows when something like this is going on and will frequently sit and stare at me waiting for the bottom to drop out.

He has a sense for these things, I think it's his long evil whiskers.

I started feeling better about 3:30 and decided I would go to the gym to maybe have a swim and sit in the glorious hottub. When I got in the pool, I felt really good and thought I would swim some laps. It was working out, although I have to remind myself to keep kicking my legs (long story). I was just about to start my eighth lap when I almost swallowed a mouthful of water. I was able to spit most of it out but some of it ended up going down the wrong pipe. Needless to say I started hacking..

And I threw my back out again. Even the glorious hottub could not save me.