You Know You’ve Gotten Too Fat When…

fat lady

Way back when I wrote this post, “You Know You’ve Gotten too Fat When…” It was very popular (go figure). Due to technical difficulties, among other things, the original post was lost. I try here to recreate it:

You know you’ve gotten too fat when:

1. Your closet is divided into fat clothes and skinny clothes and the skinny clothes are pretty dusty.
2. All your jeans have elastic in the waist and even those you can’t button.
3. The dishes rattle when you walk into the kitchen to get a snack.
4. Your room mate has put a padlock on the fridge and won’t give you the combination.
5. The lady at the airport check in counter gives you two boarding passes – one for you and one for your ass.
6. Your ass has its own zip code
7. When you attend dinner parties, the hostess always waits until you leave the table to offer seconds.
8. Your nickname is Godzilla
9. Cleveland won’t allow you entrance anymore because they are afraid you will eat it.
10. You’re ambidexterous – also known as a two-fisted eater.
11. Your ‘baby fat’ could supply enough fat for ten babies.
12. As soon as you get into your car it becomes an instant ‘low rider.’
13. At the last 5K run you registered 2.5 on the Richter Scale.
14. When you wear your yellow dress, people mistake you for a school bus.
15. The employees at Home Town Buffet cringe when you walk in the door because they know they don’t have enough food.
16. You’re on the McDonald’s ‘watch list.’

As usual, feel free to add to the list.

Writer Chick

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Doom and Gloom for 2009…

I have to admit that I haven’t really been keeping up with current affairs lately. I think I got such a sour taste in my mouth over the election and the snoozefest candidates that I just put on my blinders and haven’t really taken them off since.

However, recently I thought I would see what was going on in the world at large and how things were going. Yikes, not so good from what I gather. Apparently evil Israel is perpetrating bad deeds against the poor Palestinians again (hey a little war never hurt anyone, right?) and of course I didn’t need to read anything to notice that gas prices have come back into affordable range again – although I think I saw somewhere that oil was in the $30-$40 a barrel range now. Those poor day traders and futures speculators must be the ones that all the newspapers are worried about losing their jobs, huh?

And the bailouts, apparently, are still rolling out – I’m just waiting to see Writer Chick and friends on the list in my daily paper. No word yet, but I’m sure it’s coming – Zelda too is waiting with baited breath. We both sure could use our bailout money too – and it’s way less than the mortgage and auto industries are getting so you’d think the check would be cut sooner, wouldn’t you?

Our new soon-to-be Prez has been selecting his cabinet members and aside from Hillary becoming the Secretary of State (are you fricking kidding me? she’s the most diplomatic democrat around these days? yikes!) the usual suspects are all lining up and fighting over offices with a view in the West Wing. Does make one wonder though if maybe there were some ‘arrangements’ made before hand, you know? Like, ‘we get you in and then you bring us back in, right?’ know what I mean?

As to the doom and gloom, well I have to say that there are an amazing number of articles, columns and editorials discussing our not so eventual demise here in the U.S. Apparently we are to start the beginning of the end somewhere after the first month of the new administration’s takeover. A depression worse than the one that nearly destroyed the country in 1929, civil unrest and war, and to top it all off, the rest of the world will just be divying up America in digestible bits ( more on that one later) to any interloper with a b.b. gun and halloween mask. The unemployment rate will skyrocket to 25% and we’ll need a wheel barrow just to carry the worthless dollars it will take to buy a loaf of Wonder Bread. Bummer.

I guess business start ups will be at an all time low, don’t you think? I wonder though – if that happens, will there still be an internet with get rich quick schemes and free porn? How about reality shows? One called, Depression, perhaps. Although that could be confusing since people might think it was just about an unhappy fellow on psych drugs… How about Starbux? Will we go back to the nickel cup of joe and maybe the designer coffee will go for an outrageous 25 cents? Sam’s Club, Costco, Home Depot, Lowe’s? Or will most of us just be roaming the countryside in our hybrid converted SUV’s looking for work picking fruits and vegetables? Or fighting outside the gated landfills trying to get to the recyclables waiting there for any smart depression era entreprenuer to take advantage of? Seriously, what would a modern day depression look like folks, have you ever pondered it? Apparently, the newspaper folks are and many other concerned citizens, what about you? What do you think it would look like?

Zelda and the Money Pit

Many of you are familiar with my good friend Zelda, we have had many adventures in the past and continue have them, even as we approach our broken down middle aged years. Last year she and another friend of hers decided they didn’t want to work for the rest of their lives and thought it would be a really smart idea to invest in some real estate. They wanted to do the old flipping thing. You know, you buy a place, fix it up and then sell it? Easy as flapjacks, right?

Well Zelda being Zelda, naturally chose the perfect moment to go into this business -about 6 weeks before the crash. Isn’t there a saying…timing is everything…. Before they even had the first wall knocked down the value of property had evaporated like 7-11 gasoline. Though the property they bought was a very cool place up in the canyons with a spectacular view and lots of potential – it had been owned and lived in by a couple of crack heads for years and the work to just make the place livable was overwhelming, much less make it a showcase.

Now before all of this, Zelda had a small, albeit, thriving consulting business which she was doing smashingly with and making very nice income from and was more than comfortable. In fact, she was the only really prosperous one in our group of friends and we often had barbecues, summer cookouts and parties over there and had a lot of fun. Zelda bought the food, we cooked it and everyone ate it – a nice arrangement we all thought. Then this new business idea came to her in a dream or something and within weeks she went from snazzy, savvy businesswoman to beat-up, down-trodden day worker. Each time I saw her she had some new nerve damage, gash, cut, abrasion or burn. I secretly wondered if she was training for an xTreme fighting club soon to debut in Madison Square Garden.

Over the last several months, she has continued to rennovate and do improvements on the place – and whenever asked how much longer to go, her response was, ‘just a couple more weeks’ and after a while none of us asked her because it was apparent that Zelda was going to continue doing improvements until the house was bought and sold and the family moved in and asked her to leave.

She has lost 20 pounds, of which she is quite proud, however, being unable to stand upright and walk without a limp does take away from the newfound svelte figure and really how sexy can you be in a pair of steel toed boots and your big brothers jeans and tees?

Oh yes, back to the money pit part. I cannot reveal how much they paid for the house nor how much they have spent, however I can say that of the 67 credit cards she has, she isn’t sure if any of them have enough left on them to buy dinner, her secret stash is gone, the line of credit they got with the house is gone, her personal lines of credit are gone – and well, they are pretty much going to have to sell the house for close to one million in order to make it worth their while. Yes, welcome to real estate investment in sunny California, folks. It just really isn’t like those cable tv shows where a coat of paint and some new curtains does the trick. To name just a few of the major projects for this house, they: built two decks, refurbished the fireplace, gutted and redid the kitchen, gutted and redid the master bath, built a laundry room, rewired, repiped, put on a new roof, painted inside and out, reguttered, rebuilt the corral and now are tending to the minor details, I wonder if it would have been cheaper to just knock down the old house and start from scratch. We’ll never know.

So anyway, please pray for Zelda, who now has the house listed and it really does look quite beautiful – but if she doesn’t sell it soon, she’ll be living in my backyard, existing on tomatoes, eggplant and mystery squash.

UPDATE:

Zelda just sent me a couple photos here:

Unfortuantely, they do don’t the place justice – the first of the living room and the second is the view from the master bedroom deck.

Also Zelda gave me the following message for you:
Please tell everyone I popped in, and thank them for their well wishes. The double vision is clearing up and I believe that the skull fracture is, in fact, healed. Brain damage was… OK I was going to say minimal, but that may not be entirely true, right?  Zelda

50K, Whaddaya Say?

Well, I got so involved with my gang story, I forgot to brag about hitting yet another blogger milestone. 50K hits. I can’t really believe it to be honest. When I started this blog last summer I thought it would probably last a couple of months and then I’d get bored or it would be so boring that petitions would be circulated to pull the plug. Well slap me silly and color me surprised.

I’ve had a lot of fun with this little piece of real estate in the blogosphere. I’ve met some amazing people and even more amazing writers. I’ve learned about many new things, have become somewhat less technologically challenged and even learned how to use my digital camera. All good things.

I’ve learned how to employ discipline to write regularly. In fact, I’ve never written more, which is a good, good thing. I’ve also become more curious as a person again, thoughts constantly going to what subject or topic I want to post on the blog. Read a lot more too.

But the very best thing about blogging for me is the interaction between myself and people from all over the world, across the country and probably even down the street. I’ve had some amazing debates, conversations and ideas tossed back and forth from all of you guys out there – and I want to say, Thank you. So very much.

I am honored and thankful to all of you for coming, reading, commenting, helping, giving me a laugh, a run for my money and introducing me to your worlds as well.

Much love,

Annie (aka Writer Chick)

An Answer For Everything…

 

When I was a kid, my mom used to say I always had an answer for everything, which was code for ‘you’re such a smart aleck’ but I enjoyed nonetheless.

Well, this isn’t really a post about that though.

Debi of Ms Crankypants has posed three questions for me to answer -an off-shoot of the whole Alabaster Crippens meme – and I decided to answer them here.

So here goes:

1) What event from your childhood or teen years still has a lasting effect on you to this day?

This is a tough one because it is quite personal. But what the heck… When I was about 12, I was very excited because I had managed to save a good deal of money for Christmas gifts. I really wanted to buy something special for my mother. So, I really budgeted the money for the other gifts on my list so I’d have enough left over to buy her a real gold cross on a chain. She had mentioned many times how she had wanted one and I was thrilled that I was going to be able to give her one. I bought the cross, tiny though it was and on a very delicate chain, it was still 14k gold and I couldn’t wait for Christmas day to arrive.

After weeks of agonizing waiting Christmas day arrived and I gave her the gift. Beside myself with anticipation. When she opened it, she cried and I was elated that she was so touched. But then she said, ‘It’s so small. Is that all you think of me, to give me something so small?’ (or words to that effect). I was crushed of course and disappointed. And I think I tried to explain to her but honestly, it’s a bit of a blur what was said after that point.

At the time, I thought she was being mean. Or maybe that she just didn’t love me very much or less than my brothers and sister. And I vowed I would never buy her anything that would ever enter the area of ‘special’ again because I couldn’t bear that kind of reaction from her again.

But in retrospect, I don’t think she was being mean. I think that she had many insecurities and self doubts. And that for some reason that necklace reinforced those insecurities and doubts. That in her mind, it validated her fear that she didn’t matter. And to me, that is even sadder that my mother wouldn’t know how much I was trying to please her and make her happy.

It has always affected my relationship with her and I’ve always felt tenuous with her and worry whenever I have to buy her a gift or send her a card. I try to pretend that it doesn’t matter but it does. She has a birthday coming up and I spent days trying to find something to send her that I thought she would like. I settled on something but I have little hope she’ll like it. I know she’ll say she does but…

Anyway, that’s the answer to that one.

2) What is the purpose of imagination and where does it come from?

I believe the purpose of imagination is to bring about the future. Without imagination, we would not have any of our modern technology, music, art, literature – artists are the dreamers of our society and they through their art dream and bring into reality products of their imaginations.

3) What book would YOU want to have written, and why?

Without question I would have wanted to write Atlas Shrugged. There are several reasons why. I strongly identified with Dagny Taggert, a true individual who did not care what others thought of her and was guided by her own conscience and values, despite incredible influences to act otherwise. She would not compromise her beliefs or ideals. Also, I believe it is one of the most important books ever written because it makes the case that we are each responsible and accountable for our actions or inactions and that no one is owed a living, wherewithall, possessions, or status that is not earned. To me, a definitive text of the 20th century and modern society. And probably most importantly, because it was an elegant and flawlessly written story that continued until it was truly over. Rather than ending on a specified page count.

Well Debi, there you have it. That was interesting… 😉
WC

How Does It Dream To You Now?

 

When I was a little girl, a very little girl, I wanted to be a ballerina. I could envision the stage, the music and my perfect, graceful body flying through space. But how did a three-year-old know about such things? My family came from farmers, people of the earth, not artists. What weird reconfiguration of fate placed me there? What master plan was in play?

I always felt just a little outside the family. As though I wasn’t really there. I was in a physical sense of course. I was the one with the blonde curls and soulful eyes. I was the wise child who didn’t say much but seemed to know plenty. The one who always wondered if the stork had made a wrong turn because of a snow storm or earthquake. The others fit into each other like puzzle pieces. They made a picture that made sense. I was the piece that no one could find the niche into which I belonged.

The next dream was to be a fireman. Then a teacher. Then a doctor. A bon vivant who strolled the streets of Paris singing out ‘bonjour, bonjour!’ My mind couldn’t settle on just one, I wanted to be them all. Perhaps that is how I came to writing. There are no limits there, you can be whoever and whatever you want to be. Just put the pen to paper and voila you are there, you are it. Simple. Easy. Well, not quite.

My head was in the clouds or off on some distant planet. My heart was wrapped in the colors of my imagination – such vibrant, dimensional colors that I never longed to be back on Earth. Yet, time and again I would be pulled back to perform a mundane task; laundry, cooking, making my bed, homework, going to work. And each time the me inside of me would protest, pout a little and carry on like the martyr I was. ‘It’s not fair,’ I’d mutter to myself. ‘I don’t want to do this.’ At which point the practical me would surface and scold. I had to work hard, I had to carry my weight, fulfill my obligations – life was expecting it of me and I acquiesced. Damn it! Damn it all to hell!

I comforted myself with the dream that one day I would have my dream. That one day I would finish all the chores and work and obligations and then I could really live my dream. Even though my dream was constantly shifting and changing shape and no matter how much I chased it, it could never be caught, I still dreamed of living my dream.

Is it an inherent quality of writers that they are never satisfied? Is it part of the spiritual and mental makeup of the scribe? Or is it that we can so easily assume the viewpoint of anyone and anything? That is a quality that has always annoyed many in my life. I can pick up an identity and be it – like that. I always have wondered if it’s a charm or a curse. I’m not sure I will ever be able to answer that question and maybe I prefer to have it lurking around in my psyche to tease and taunt me like a naughty lover who won’t commit. Meanwhile, half the time I feel like I should be committed.

So here I am, all grown up as they say and I’m still chasing the dream of the living the dream and I have to ask myself, ‘What is it?’ So many answers pop up, like impatient school children flailing arms in the air when they are sure they know the answer to the teacher’s question. But only answer that rings true is, writing. I want to write. I want to spend the rest of my life writing. And if I’m lucky I will die in front of my computer or at a desk with pen and pad in hand, in the middle of thought that was so pure and perfect that I had to get it down before I lost it. I may never amount to anything, be a someone, be sought after by fans or groupies or even get any of my books published BUT I will always write. And that makes me a writer because a writer writes. And so I am living my dream. So, it dreams to me now pretty damn fine.

Tell me your dreams.

WC

This One’s For You, Sanjaya!

Sorry for all the vids but I had to post this one for our favorite idol disaster. WC

Is Blogging Meant to be Therapy?

 

You know I haven’t been at this blogging stuff for very long – a few months – though it seems more like years. Or really it seems like something I’ve always done. Perhaps it is, in a way, as a writer I’ve always had these sort of running dialogues ripping through my mind and occasionally they ended up on paper or computer screen.

They are often seem endless. Non-stop, going at the speed of light thoughts that are questions, ponderings, annoyances, wonder, shock, stupor…you name it – it’s in there. Then suddenly…nothing. Yep, it all stops and I feel a kind of statis. As though my mind simply went on vacation and really I’ve said or thought every thing there is to say or think and well stick a fork in me cuz I’m done.

Still, even when I’m in that empty-headed state I still feel the urge to express thoughts, ideas, points of view. Is it arrogance on my part? That I believe that my thoughts are so important that I must commit them to paper and publish them on the Internet, or (so the dream goes) in books and magazines, newspapers? I mean, really, what is so special about me that I  have the irrepressible(sp) urge to force my views on others? Am I forcing or am I simply looking for a meeting of the minds across the great spatial divide of cyberspace? Am I looking for understanding, agreement or just a safe, warm place to rest my weary head? Could be all of the above or none of the above.

Are bloggers really just writers who have turned to technology to get their message out? Or are we all just a bunch of losers who need to air our problems, concerns, insecurities and little life tragedies just to feel okay about ourselves?

 I wonder, I really do wonder about this stuff. Particularly on days when I don’t feel especially funny or witty. See, in case you missed it that is my thing. Don’t know why but really I live to make people laugh. I would go through just about anything to put somebody in hysterics. Do you think that is a sterling quality or a character flaw? I don’t know. Do you?

During my short adventure as a blogger I have read and visited many blogs. Many more than I ever would have thought I could or would want to. Initially I think it was curiosity. Like, gee there are bagillions of blogs out there and there must be something to this stuff, you know? I mean jeez everybody seems to be doing it – maybe if I read enough of them, I’ll know why.

But despite my research and reading and following and discovering of the many blogs I’ve found and stumbled upon, I still am no closer to answering that curiosity than I was the day I started.

When it comes to blogging it seems there is something for everyone – knitters, political junkies, writers, poets, dancers, artists, musicians, geniuses and idiots alike. But in the greater scheme of things does it really contribute to the oneness of the allness of the human community? Or are we all just trying to vent enough to get through the day without committing murder and mayhem? Trying to get by the things in our lives that disappoint and baffle?

I know in my case sometimes the only thing I had to look forward to was blogging later in the day. Or at least responding to comments from readers. That little burst of joy I felt whenever I saw I had a comment on something I’d written. But why? Do I need that validation from readers? Is it important? Is it silly?

If I pulled the plug tomorrow on my blogs would it matter? I mean truly – would it change a thing other than for me? LOL – I’m just totally lost on this topic. Cuz I really don’t know.

And  honestly, I don’t have a big bang up ending for this entry – so I guess I’ll just leave you guys with the questions for now. Hopefully somebody has some insight or at least a couple of funny come-backs.

Later kids.

WC