October 2011 archive

Read My Lips.….

No new tax­es…
I did not have sex­u­al rela­tions with that wom­an…
I promise no more home­work and only junk food in the cafe­te­ria…
I am 1000 per­cent sure that he my baby dad­dy…
Yes, I Colleen McK­er­nan Dorothy Dilthey Thomas will com­mit to exer­cise and a healthy lifestyle…
Fear not, I am head­ed to the salon on Thurs­day

Notic­ing a the­me here? Not only am I an untrust­wor­thy fool, I am lazy and indul­gent too. And guess what, I don’t give a damn! The fact of the mat­ter is, we all lie about some­thing at some point. Before get­ting on your holier than though bull­shit soap­box, take a look in the mir­ror. Is that they hair col­or God gave you? Oh, snap! 

I would much rather be sit­ting on my couch watch­ing reruns of Dr. Phil on OWN (Don’t you DARE judge me!) updat­ing my blog while snack­ing on the mini can­dy bars that I bought for Hal­loween at Sam’s because I was sure that they would sell out than be the Hoochie mama on Mau­ry test­ing the sev­en­th man cause she’s sure he’s the one. I mean, real­ly? You had sex with sev­en dudes with­in the 48 hour peri­od that you were fer­tile? WFT is wrong with you? I will take my lazy, chub­by life over that any day!
The chub just isn’t as cute on me.…

OK, that isn’t exact­ly true. I will con­tin­ue to bitch about being fat and not fit­ting into the clothes that I would prefer to be in, but I am not going to kill myself to get into them. Frankly, I don’t enjoy it. At all. Ever. Plus, my breasts are bio­log­i­cal­ly ginor­mous and no mat­ter what I do, they NEVER get any small­er. I am not get­ting them reduced, so I will just have to be con­tent to not wear but­ton downs and wish that I could. Big deal. I will, how­ev­er, con­tin­ue to wear turtle­necks regard­less of the fact that it looks like I could be smug­gling sport­ing goods, because in this par­tic­u­lar fash­ion instance, it cer­tain­ly draws atten­tion away from my mid­sec­tion that I despise!

The­se glass­es also direct your atten­tion up and make many won­der, “Why would you inten­tion­al­ly make your­self look like a fly??

I have also recent­ly fal­l­en in love with jeg­gings. No, I am not kid­ding, and I real­ly do look good in them. The­se suck­ers are tight enough that they give me the suck in effect that I am look­ing for while giv­ing the elas­tic free­dom that we all want. I don’t give one damn if you weigh 68 pounds; EVERYTHING feels bet­ter with a lit­tle span­dex. I will not, how­ev­er, wear Spanx. They leave rac­ing stripes down my body that make my stretch marks blush. I have become quite attached to the­se poor lit­tle div­ots, so I do not want to do any­thing to hurt their feel­ings. Plus, I start to have an anx­i­ety attack 20 min­utes before I have to tin­kle because I am afraid I won’t get them off in time. After hav­ing two chil­dren, this is a seri­ous con­cern. I am begin­ning to feel like a senior cit­i­zen.…..

A senior cit­i­zen who has a fab­u­lous hair­cut and is chan­nel­ing her inner Mar­tika.…

So where does this leave me, I don’t know. And, frankly, I don’t care. I am enjoy­ing the fall, eat­ing choco­late and watch­ing as much trash TV as I can after my chil­dren go to bed at night. What more could a girl want? Black spark­ly Uggs, of course. I made them my goal and I had every inten­tion of los­ing some weight and reward­ing myself. Well, that clear­ly didn’t hap­pen. I didn’t become a marathon run­ner, or even a weight loss guru. I didn’t real­ly do any­thing. I did, how­ev­er hit a mile­stone. Scott and I cel­e­brat­ed five years of mar­riage with a fab­u­lous week­end trip to KC. I came home with a lit­tle sou­venir from Halls. Life isn’t all bad. Plus, they are black, which is slim­ming and makes my legs look thin.

Pure fab­u­los­i­ty

*****BLOG BONUS*****
I haven’t been a total lazy bum the last few weeks. The boys and I have gone on a few walks around the neigh­bor­hood, but noth­ing that has real­ly got­ten my heart rate up. While not to exer­cise, I have got­ten out of the house from time to time includ­ing a recent trip with my moth­er to Wal-Mart. It was a unique out­ing because we did not have any chil­dren with us. I love those Irish lads with all that I am, but some­times it is nice not to have to grab a Lunch­able so that some­one doesn’t go into a meat detox dur­ing the one-hour trip.
We took our time strolling through the store leisure­ly grab­bing our wares. There were the typ­i­cal inci­dences that occur any­time my moth­er and I head out togeth­er. Casu­al con­ver­sa­tion, lots of laugh­ter, lis­ten­ing to com­plete strangers give my moth­er their life sto­ries as if she is a Catholic Priest in a con­fes­sion­al, you know, the usu­al. As we were fin­ish­ing at the check­out and hear­ing exact­ly how many years our check­er had been there, how many grand­chil­dren she has AND her hourly wage, we made our way toward the door.
This was right before he tried to bite me. I love Hal­loween
Mum­my, Ter­ror­ist or Burn Vic­tim?

Our car hap­pened to be parked out­side of the door near­est to the Hal­loween décor. As I got closer to the exit, I noticed a very large Star Wars dis­play. Being that I have a three-year-old child who is obsessed with the Force, I tend to notice such dis­plays. My moth­er had just about made her way out the door when I exclaimed very loud­ly and point­ed, “Look mom, a Darth!” My moth­er turned and had the most hor­ri­fied expres­sion on her face. I noticed her knees begin­ning to lock and her eyes scrunch­ing up. Hys­te­ria ensued. She bolt­ed out the door doing the tin­kle dance and laugh­ing hys­ter­i­cal­ly as she ran to the car. WTF was wrong with her? I didn’t think much of it and walked out the door. 

 “What is the mat­ter with you?” I asked as I final­ly caught up with her. 
“What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you?” She asked in between deep guf­faws.
 “Colleen did you not see the greeter?” 
Greeter, what greeter, I thought. I didn’t see any­one, just the over­whelm­ing large Hal­loween dis­play. “Nope.”
“Well she saw you. Colleen, that wom­an was a dwarf, not a darth.”