Ever notice?

photo of actual sandwich from Harold’s.

Did you ever notice how much hungrier you are when you’re trying to eat healthier? It’s driving me crazy.

Why, just today, I had a pear for a snack when I wanted a donut stick.

Can you imagine?

The 2 trainers at my new gym are having a contest – The Biggest Loser. In this case, all the people are in good shape. Most have only a handful of pounds to lose. But we all could have better habits.

The way it works is a cumulated number of pounds lost. Each team has approximately 20 people. We all have code names.

I love that spy & intrigue stuff.

But anyway, the only way I can keep from eating a handful of chocolate chips or the last 2 cookies that Nancy made (OMG, her cookies are the best!) is to remember that there are 19 celery and carrot-eating people who are counting on me.

My disk is full.

We were driving down the road, listening to Jack Radio. It’s one of those stations that plays songs that span my whole life. And it seems I know the words to almost every song.

Isn’t it weird? If someone said to you, “do you know the words to Jim Stafford’s Spiders and Snakes?” you might say, sure I know the chorus. But if the song started playing, you could sing along like it was 1974. Well, I can, at least. And I did.

That was last night. And trust me, the boys do not appreciate my vocal artistry. Admittedly, no one could. It is just not something I can do. Sing, that is. I can’t sing. I wish I could. Really. But I suck.

I’m so bad, in fact, that my 9th grade music teacher asked me to please just lipsynch. Sad, but true.

Anyway, this morning, my uncanny ability to remember song lyrics on my mind, an obscure Elton John song came on. Of course, as you’d predict, I knew the words. No one was in the car with me; I’d just dropped one of the boys somewhere and was heading back to the fort. So I sang out loud. Very loudly. Very, very loudly.

It felt great.

And it brought back memories of one of my best friends in Junior High. She was a major Elton John fan. She had every album. I only had a few, but listened to hers all the time. We used to sit in her Pepto Bismol colored room and sing and dance for hours on end.

And we’d draw pictures of Elton. And we’d talk about him. And we’d sing and dance some more.

And then.

Her uncle (who was probably only 21 or 22) offered to take us to see Elton John at the Capital Center. A concert! A huge concert.

Please Mom? Can I go?

Believe it or not, she said yes. That must have been because she figured the uncle was a mature, responsible adult.

Well, sort of. But not so much.

We went in a van. Not like the mini-vans all around now. Like a van with cushions and carpet and lounge space. The uncle had some friends along, too. So here we were, two 13 year old girls with these hippie-types.

It was wacky.

The concert was amazing. There were so many people and they, like us, knew all the songs.

Which brings me back to the original point of this post.

I know thousands of songs. Hundreds of phone numbers. Facts and figures and trivia and movies and… well, you get the picture.

Lately, I’ve been having a hard time retrieving some of the stuff on the hard drive. Could it just be too full?

I wish I could just delete some of the files. I mean, seriously, do I need to know the words to I Think I Love You or Bubble Gum and Braces, Seattle, or He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother? I guess I want to remember some of the better music. But don’t you think I could retrieve data faster if there was more room available? It just makes sense, right?

Rainy days and Mondays really do get me down.

A funny thing happened on the way to the eye doctor.

Today, on the way to the eye doctor I waved to a woman in a blue Honda and she waved back just like I would have, whether I knew the waver or not. Turns out it was not my next door neighbor. In fact, I have no idea who it was. I guess it’s a good thing I had made that appointment.

In the news.

I’d think she’d be annoyed, too. (They’re divorcing, by the way.)

A Polish man got the shock of his life when he visited a brothel and spotted his wife among the establishment’s employees. Polish tabloid Super Express said the woman had been making some extra money on the side while telling her husband she worked at a store in a nearby town.

Recycled.

Andrew is out of town for the night. The boys are asleep and I’m taking the night off! (I posted this about this time last year. It still cracks me up.)

Spring has sprung.

Windows are open
It’s seventy degrees out
Flowers are store-bought

For the girl who has everything. And more.

Ellen is going to be 40 on Wednesday.

F.O.R.T.Y.

(I hope it wasn’t a secret. If so, oops.)

I wracked my brain for months about what to get her. Nothing inspired me.

And then I had an idea.

I’d make something cuddly and personalized. I’d take sweatshirts and repurpose them – I’d make a quilt. Oh and I’d iron on photos of her hub and kids. And back it with super soft fleece.

I finished it the other day and wrapped it today. I had to run over there and give it to her! I couldn’t stand it one more minute.

And she loved it.

Phew.

(click on photos to enlarge if you want to see detail!)

The dishwasher saga.

Last week I wrote wondering if my dishwasher was really fixed. That repairman, nice as he was, had been here three – count them – three times. He was very friendly. He tried to fix it. To explain it to me. To show me how to take it apart and clean the screen in the chopper. And yet, it wasn’t right. Oh and did I mention that he wreaked of cigarette smoke; and the smell lingered for hours?

Last night, it started making noise again. Bad noise. I may not be a mechanic or a plumber, but I know a bad noise when I hear it. And this was bad.

So this morning, Andrew and I took it apart. Just like the guy taught us. And nothing looked wrong.

Sigh.

By the way, did you know that it’s much harder to put it back together than it is to take it apart?

Uh. Yeah.

Much.

Anyway, it’s back together. And I am doing a test run.

So far, so good.

Wish me luck.

Sad day in Mudville.

Looks like the Redskins calendar is over.

I’m not a football fan. In fact, I barely understand the game.

We were invited to watch the game last night with friends. Andrew already had plans to watch elsewhere (Can you imagine? Men planning ahead like that? I was impressed!)

So the boys and I went.

I admit the game was exciting. The food was good and ‘sports bar’ like. The company was great.

I’m glad we went!

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a non-sports-loving house. But I have never really had any attachment to sports teams.

So it’s fun to see my friends decked out in their fan-wear and getting so excited (or disappointed) as the game plays out.

I’m sorry to all you Redskin fans. Maybe next year.