Introducing . . . THEORY TUESDAYS

This blog needs a gimmick, so henceforth let Tuesdays be known as (drum roll please) . . . Theory Tuesdays. What pray tell do Theory Tuesdays consist of? Well, simply put, Tuesdays will be the day to detail a theory which I have come to believe in as the years pass. Who knows, perhaps Theory Tuesdays will take off and readers will submit their own unique theories, making millions flock to this webpage so that I can quit my job, get rich from ad space sales and begin living the life I was meant to lead - that of an eccentric drunk. We shall devote this first post to my theory of "The Gracefully Clumsy". If you know me well, you will know that at any given time I am covered with at least 3 different bruises. It is not a secret that I am clumsy. My trials of this weekend include the following:

1. On my right upper thigh there currently resides a bruise the size of a grapefruit. This bruise was the result of me walking into a fire hydrant. Now, I would like to state that (a) fire hydrants are stationary and (b) are often painted a bright red, yellow or white. I just walked into it. Enough said.

2. My left big toe is a bloody bruised mess with the top half of its nail missing. This injury was the result of me walking from my bedroom to the bathroom whereupon I slammed my foot into the vacuum, the same vacuum that I moved not 30 minutes earlier. I should have realized at the time that by moving this vacuum I was giving way to the clumsy demons that haunt me. It is as if they got together and said "Holy crap, that stupid bitch just moved the vacuum right outside her bedroom door. And she knows without her glasses she is blinder than blind. She is so in for it. It is almost too easy."

So as the years have progressed I do believe that my constant clumsiness has somehow created in me an absolute gracefulness. For example, the non-clumsy when slipping will often fall flat on their faces. For me, I recognize the first slippage in a nanosecond, contorting my body in such a way that often negates mishap, therefore proving the grace in my clumsy movements. I think anyone given years of abuse will somehow find a way to thwart the first inclinations towards destruction. So the completely and pitifully clumsy, like me, do in fact over time evolve a grace to avoid utter disaster. How do I know this? Well if not, I surely would have been dead 1,000 times over. And that concludes our first installment of "Theory Tuesdays". Please feel free to share your own unique theories. After all, there are only two avenues to becoming my very own Miss Havisham - this blog and the lottery.

Strikes Suck

You want to know something? I really like TV. I won't lie, I may be addicted. It is the crack to my Ho, the vodka to my alky, the entire pizza pie to my bulimic. I love it. So it should come to no surprise that the current writer's strike is causing me great pain. Of all the TV shows that I love, and there are quite a few, there is one that rises above with a form of addiction nearing hysteria, and that dear friends is Lost, Or as I like to say LLLOOOOOOSSSSSSSSTTTT (high pitched in a rambling up and down voice). Call me; I can give an impromptu version. When Lost decided to have its season run in order with no repeats, I was a happy camper. When realizing this meant Lost would not return until mid-January 2008, not so happy. But like many others in denial, it quickly was put of my mind. There were others to occupy my time, like AMC's Mad Men (which is awesome!), HBO's Tell Me You Love Me (which for some reason I like - must be the ass shots), and many more that I care not to list in fear that you will call an intervention on my TV watching arse. In all fairness, I would like to state that my TV watching is much less given the arrival of Owen - which totally and completely sucks balls. I kid, I kid. Actually the term "sucking balls" is pretty awesome, don't you think? I wonder who came up with it. I mean, in order to originate a term, you must have actually done it, right? I can see it now, a pair of guys standing there pushing a brick to the pyramid debating on how much the job just totally stinks, until one of them finally says "You know what Amenhotep? This job sucks balls, just take my word for it." And so I would like to ask whatever God is up there, to please end this writer's strike so that I can sit my bum in front of the TV and rot my brain. Thank you very much.

Back In The Saddle

In a little more than six weeks Owen will be having his first birthday. There are many thoughts racing around my mind but most pressing is the following - I have forty-seven days to lose the last of my pregnancy weight. I think 15 pounds will give me the leeway to gain five with no issue. I have to admit, that the past few weeks I have not been the poster child of weight watching. I have given into my desires of non-diet food specifically red meat and chocolate (a/k/a the Dynamic Delicious Duo). Thankfully, this has not resulted in weight gain, merely a steady maintaining. However, this Monday marks my return to yogurt, fruit, oatmeal as well as silent curses. Also, the return to the treadmill. Watch out San Francisco, another 5.6 is coming your way! (Does this joke every get old?) The month before I got pregnant I was an exercising fool. Even in the worse hangover, I walked my way to the gym to run like an interval training fool. It was awesome, I was awesome. But then I got knocked up. So, the last battle in this weight war is to be waged. Because if I don't lose this weight, it is said that it will remain with me for life as a girl has one year to lose the weight pregnancy begets or else.

As a side note, my stomach just made the strangest gurgling sound - it sounded like a banshee wailing while be strangled. Good lord that Clam Chowder I had for lunch better not turn into a bad idea. Oh sweet Jesus, guess my weight loss may have just gotten a swift kick to the arse. Help!

Holy Apples Batman!

I believe that I just had the most perfect apple ever created in this entire universe. It was like eating apple cider, but crunchier. I consider myself an apple connoisseur, pretty much eating one every day (thereby keeping the doctor away). As I stood in the fruit section of Safeway, there next to the Braeburns was the Honey Crisp. Intrigued, I bought one - impressed by its large size and pretty coloring. Holy crap this apple is good. It could possibly be the heroin of the apple world - you will be addicted with the first taste. After doing some research, I discovered the following:

Honey Crisp is the new sensation in the apple world, a large, sweet apple with crisp "to-die-for" texture! Believed to be an offspring of Macoun and Honey Gold, Honey Crisp was introduced in 1991 by the University of Minnesota breeders at Excelsior, MN. Both its parents were noted for having excellent flavor, moderate sized fruit, and "ok" texture. Honey Crisp's flavor is perhaps not as dramatic as Macoun at its peak, but is first rate. The Kicker in Honey Crisp is its crisp texture -- no other apple matches its crispness.

So true. So true.

My Pumpkin

This is the pumpkin that I carved for Halloween which I think is best summed up by the little girl who after getting her trick and treat goods said "Look Daddy, the pumpkin, its funny." That little girl, she totally got me.