Just for fun

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I’ve been working out on the elliptical and am completely dependent on my iPod to get me through, especially Beyonce singing “Single Ladies”. Since then, many of y’all have emailed to ask what else is on my workout playlist. And by “many”, I mean like three or four of you.

Before I share this list with you, I need to confess that my musical taste hasn’t changed much since I was in fifth grade and “Kiss On My List” by Hall and Oates was my favorite song. My preferred genre of workout music falls somewhere between 1980’s Roller Skate Disc Jockey and Cheesy Pop Songs In General. I know it. I own it. I have no shame.

Well I have some shame, but not enough to change my playlist to something more current and trendy. I’ve got to go with whatever gets me through 30 minutes of cardio-activity.

So I’ll quit justifying my choices and share.

1. “Sexyback” by Justin Timberlake – I don’t think I need to explain this choice. If this doesn’t motivate you to work out then it’s time to hang up your Nikes.

2. “Single Ladies” by Beyonce – I’m pretty much a fan of anything Beyonce does, with the exception of the Destiny’s Child song “Pay My Bills” which just kind of irritated me but that’s a story for another time.

3. “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield – I know it’s the theme song to “The Hills” but I am a sucker for T.V. theme songs. Don’t even get me started on “The Jeffersons” theme song because it is a multi-layered lyrical masterpiece.

4. “Since U Been Gone” by Kelly Clarkson – I’m embarrassed, but I’m going for complete honesty.

5. “Walk this Way” by Run D.M.C. – Aerosmith plus rap equals perfection.

6. “PYT” by Michael Jackson – This may be my favorite song on the list. But I will caution you that if you get carried away during your workout and try to do the P Y T hand motions that you used to do at the roller rink, you might lose your balance and fall off the elliptical.

7. “It’s Tricky” by Run D.M.C. – See? I am not kidding around with the late 80’s rap music.

8. “Wanna be Startin’ Somethin'” by Michael Jackson – Oh Michael. Back when you still had your original face you were a musical genius. How else can you explain “Mama se Mama sa Mama ma cu sa”?

9. “Why Can’t This Be Love?” by Van Halen – I don’t even know what to say about this one. The heart wants what it wants.

10. “Don’t Stop Believin'” by Journey – Fifth grade. Magic Skate. Comb in my back pocket and lime green wheels on my roller skates with matching pom-poms. Enough said.

The issue at hand is that as awesome as this mix is with all the awesomeness, I’m getting a little tired of all these songs right now and need to shake it up a bit.

I’d love to get some suggestions from y’all.

What do I need on my workout play list? I am in need of a change and I believe it’s apparent that refined musical taste isn’t an issue.

Last week there was a meeting at Caroline’s school for parents who were interested in having their child tested for the Gifted Program. We’d received a notice about the meeting in Caroline’s school bag right before the holidays but I was way too busy to think about her academic future because SUGAR COOKIES! CANDY CANES! ELF ON A SHELF!

But as the night for the meeting approached, I knew I had to make a decision about whether or not to attend. I mean, obviously P and I think she’s gifted. We knew she was gifted when she could pass gas like a man at only six months old, not to mention the fact that she can spot a deer in the brush at 150 yards.

However, those qualities may not be exactly what Harvard is looking for, although they might be exactly what she needs to get her own hunting show on the Outdoor Channel.

I thought about emailing her teacher to see if she thought we should have her tested. I figured she sees her in the classroom on a daily basis and probably has a better idea of what they are looking for to determine if a child is gifted. The problem is that I really like Caroline’s teacher and didn’t want to send her this potentially awkward email.

Dear Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher,

You know that our precious baby girl Caroline is the light of our lives. We think she is the smartest, most well-adjusted child on the planet. She is able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and we have no doubt that she has a brilliant future as an Olympic athlete with a sideline career as the host of an incredibly successful reality television show or a nuclear physicist. In other words, she has the potential to live the American dream.

We’re sure you agree with us that there is no doubt she is gifted, but will you please let us know if you think she’s not.

Sincerely and Totally Unbiased,

P and Big Mama

I had all sorts of plans for what I was going to write about, including but not limited to the fact that I have now been freezing cold for the last three days. Like the kind of cold that has caused me to go take a hot shower just to get feeling back in my extremities. I’m not sure what the problem with Mamaw and my internal temperature is, but it’s causing my bursitis to flare up.

But instead of having the time to craft a riveting post about how I’ve been wrapped in a blanket for three days straight, I spent my evening entertaining some dear friends.

It all started on Sunday when P remembered that he had meat from a 650 pound elk aging in our outdoor refrigerator and it needed to be cleaned up, wrapped, and frozen in meal-size portions. He began carrying large plastic containers full of raw meat into the house to begin this process. And, oh, he was proud of his meat.

Occasionally he would hold up big slabs of meat for me to admire and then we had several discussions about how we needed to cut the meat and what sort of things I planned to cook. Elk kabobs, elk burgers, elk stroganoff, elk cheese macaroni helper, and chicken-fried elk.

We decided to invite our friends Stew and Hannah over for some chicken-fried elk. P actually set them up on a blind date over a year ago and they’re still dating. See why I love him? He’s an elk killer with a sensitive side.

While I was prepping the stuff for dinner, P asked me if I needed to shower. I informed him I’d already showered earlier in the day in a desperate attempt to ward off the chill. Then he asked, “Are you going to change clothes?”

I glanced down at my outfit. Hot pink velour sweats tucked into my Uggs with an oversize black fleece that I inherited from P a few years ago. Add in hair thrown back in half a bun and you’ve got the whole picture.

“No, I’m finally warm. Do I need to change?”

He laughed out loud. “No, you look fine.”

Long pause as he realized I wasn’t kidding.

“Do I look that bad? It’s just Stew and Hannah. They’ve seen me look bad.”

“Well, they haven’t seen you look like a bag lady.”

In light of that harsh judgement, I changed out of the one outfit that had finally brought me some warmth. However, in my defense, I don’t know too many bag ladies who wear Uggs.

After our friends arrived, I began to chicken-fry the elk steaks in our cast iron skillet. It was my first experience and I learned the hard way that elk meat is denser than beef. Those babies were golden, crispy brown on the outside and nearly raw on the inside.

Hello. Welcome to our home. I’m a bag lady and will be serving up some delicious elk tartare.

I put them back in the skillet for a little bit longer and cut them in the hope it might help them cook all the way through. Meanwhile I began to formulate Plan B, Tyson Dino Nuggets with homemade mashed potatoes and gravy.

Afraid I was going to fry them to a consistency resembling the texture of a nasty, old boot, I placed them on a cookie sheet and decided to throw them in the oven for a few minutes. As I turned around to open the oven with the cookie sheet in my hand, that’s exactly what I did. I THREW them.

Two of the four elk steaks went flying off the cookie sheet right onto the floor.

The guys were outside in the man cave looking at weaponry and, thankfully, didn’t see it happen. P would never forgive me for treating his elk that way.

After Hannah was able to stop laughing, she helped me pick up the mess and we decided that no one needed to know. Besides that, the heat from the oven would totally sterilize them.

The good news is dinner actually turned out delicious. Apparently you can cook the heck out of elk for over an hour using various methods and it won’t dry out. It’s a very resilient meat.

And, Stew and P, we totally gave you the pieces that fell on the floor.

Never trust a bag lady.

Oh and the good news is that after all that excitement in the kitchen, I actually broke a sweat.

Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of rain hitting the windows. Actually, that’s not true. I woke up to my cell phone alarm going off and then shortly thereafter heard the rain coming down outside.

Normally I love nothing better than a cold, rainy morning, but yesterday I was running carpool and I had to have our dog Bruiser at the vet by 8:15.

So I was all like “WHY? WHY IS IT RAINING TODAY OF ALL DAYS?” And, granted, we desperately need the rain because according to the weathermen we’re in the middle of a DROUGHT! THE DRIEST YEAR ON RECORD! THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF WHAT HAPPENED TO NOAH! IT WILL NEVER RAIN AGAIN AND THE SKY IS FALLING! ALSO, THE STOCK MARKET STINKS AND MY 401K IS DRYING UP FASTER THAN THE RIVERS THAT RUN THROUGH SOUTH TEXAS!

Oh media, I do love your frenzied, fear-inciting state of mind.

Anyway, I ended up dropping the girls off late because who knew that the carpool drop-off line is so long on rainy days? I guess if it ever rained, I would know that.

I drove home very sensibly and at a moderate pace to pick up Bruiser before we were to late for drop-off at the vet. At some point last week Bruiser incurred some type of injury to his toenail that began to look infected. Of course we couldn’t tell for sure because anytime we got anywhere near his paw, he would begin to growl at us to indicate we needed to back off. Kind of like me when I have PMS.

There’s nothing as pleasant as loading a wet, muddy dog into your Volvo unless it’s digging a large hole in your backyard for no reason at all. I dropped him off at the vet where I basically told them, “Something is wrong with his right front paw but he won’t let us look at it. He’s very sweet unless he decides to bite! Good luck and God speed!”

Then I went to Starbucks to reward myself for dealing with whiny, cold kids, rainy weather and a muddy, ill-tempered dog all before 8:30 a.m.

Around noon they called to let me know that Bruiser was ready to go. His toenail is split, he needs antibiotics and he weighs 64 pounds. That will be $100.00.

Fare thee well plans to stock up on a surplus of Gap flannel pajama bottoms at the bargain price of $9.97 a pair. The important thing is that my dog has a healthy toenail.

After I paid the bill, they handed me a brochure and a bottle of pills. They brought Bruiser out and he and his 64 pounds of solid muscle practically pulled me off my feet as we went barreling out of the vet’s office.

Once we were safely in the car, I put the pills in my purse and glanced at the brochure to see if it was something I needed to keep. I am understandably thrilled to learn that our vet clinic is now offering acupuncture and water treadmill therapy sessions.

Meanwhile, I can’t even get my doctor’s office to return my calls.

Maybe I’ll see if I can get in with my vet. Water therapy sounds delightful.

One of the nice things about having a blog is that I really don’t need to use my memory to remember anything that’s happened in the last two and a half years. So about a week ago, when P and I were trying to remember how we spent last New Year’s Eve, I just pulled up December 31, 2007 from the archives to read all about it.

As it turns out, P had the flu and I was about to get it. I brought in the New Year passed out in our bed after heavy doses of Nyquil. All the scene needed was a giant Swatch watch hanging on the wall and it would have been just like my freshman year of college.

Clearly it was going to be hard to top last year’s festivities.

Over the last several months, P has become involved with a group at our church called The Sportsmen’s Group. This is basically a group of guys who like to hunt and fish. They all get together about once a month, grill stuff they’ve killed, and wear matching t-shirts that say “Meat is Murder. Tasty, Tasty Murder. In Jesus’ Name.”

Not really about the t-shirts, but I like to picture it that way in my imagination because it entertains me.

Anyway, one of the men that P has gotten to know called him on Monday and invited him to go hunting at the King Ranch. If you’re not from Texas that may mean nothing to you, but if you learned about it in 7th grade Texas History then it’s pretty cool. The only problem was that he’d be gone on New Year’s Eve.

I told him I didn’t mind at all if he wanted to go, but he needed to keep in mind that I’d planned an exciting evening involving me wearing my sexiest flannel pajama bottoms paired with an alluring 1993 SWC Champs Aggie sweatshirt and dining on a frozen Tombstone pepperoni pizza. Did he really want to miss all that?

So he packed up his guns and left for South Texas.

Caroline and I went to eat Thai food with Mimi and Bops and then she decided she wanted to spend the night with them. So I was all by myself to ring in the New Year and, honestly, it was just fine with me.

I put on my softest robe, pulled my hair back and gave myself a little mini-facial complete with an overhaul of my eyebrows. Once I settled in on the couch I gave myself a complete manicure, then sat back with the computer to enjoy five or six hundred rounds of Pathwords while I waited for the ball to drop in Times Square.

It was delightful.

But at some point, I couldn’t leave well enough alone and decided I needed to take advantage of this alone time and perform a little more beauty maintenance. I like to keep a little mystery alive in my marriage, so I try to refrain from upper lip hair removal while P is on the premises.

Yes, I said hair on my upper lip. I have olive skin and brown hair. It’s part of the Italian heritage package. And, ladies, if you are of a certain age and/or have dark hair and think you don’t have an upper lip issue, then it might be time to invest in a good magnifying mirror.

Anyway, I went in the bathroom and slathered my upper lip with Surgi-Cream hair removal, like I’ve done a million times before, but this time I immediately felt a burning sensation. I didn’t worry about it until it became apparent that the Surgi-Cream was having some sort of chemical reaction with something I’d already put on my face, so I wiped it all off as fast as I could.

Yet the burning continued.

Y’all, it was so bad that I had to apply ice for the next hour.

So, to recap, I spent my New Year’s Eve giving myself a chemical burn on my lip and repeatedly looking in the mirror to see if blisters were beginning to form before finally taking two Tylenol P.M.’s for the pain and going to bed.

My lip appears to be recovering nicely from the trauma, but here’s hoping next year I just have the flu.