A Prince in My Future....

I love the song "Some Day My Prince Will Come" from Cinderella. I believe in fairy tales and believe the words to that song. Even though I'm on the "old" side of my 40's, I'm sure there's a prince out there for me. He might be old and kinda frog-looking, but he's out there.

And today, I received an e-mail from my prince. Prince Bala Momoh from Liberia, to be exact.

He sounds like a very lovely person, despite his bad grammar and not quite perfect grasp of the English language. He's been through a lot - his father was executed and he and his mother (my future mother-in-law!) have been exiled from Liberia and his $40 million family fortune has been tied up in an account here in the US and he can't get to any of it.

And that's why he's written me. He's willing to share 20% of his $40 million with me if give him my full name, date of birth, address and my mother's maiden name. I guess maybe he wants to ask my mother's permission for my hand in marriage or something. Oh, he even gave me a phone number to call to give him all this information personally because, after all, sending that through e-mail is unsecure and anybody could steal my identity. Wow. He really cares!

I'm so thrilled that he picked me out of the millions of other eligible women with e-mail accounts in the world! What should I do? Should I call him and introduce myself? Should I e-mail him back with my picture and ask him for his? Maybe I should start registering and looking for wedding dresses.

I may be looking for a 'prince' but I'm not THAT stupid....

Until Next Time,

Kel

Will I Have Good Fortune?

Whenever I get Chinese food, Aero flips out when it comes time to eat the fortune cookies. He LOVES fortune cookies, probably more than he loves regular dog treats. You should see his reaction when I open the little plastic wrapper - one day he's going to have a heart attack waiting for his sweet treat.

I usually read the fortunes that are enclosed in the cookies and think "huh" for a second, then in the trash those little pieces of paper go. But, a while back, one caught my eye and I kept it. It said: Remeber three months from this date. Good things are in store for you. I don't know why that one grabbed me, but I wrote the date on it and brought it to the office and placed it on my computer. The date? 1/24.

So, today is 4/24 - three months from the date I found that fortune. It's still early in the day, but do you think I'll have good fortune today?

We'll see.

Until Next Time,

Kel

Time for a Soapbox...

If my knee didn't still hurt, I'd definitely jump up on a soapbox and just start shouting. Then again, if I did jump up on a soapbox, said soapbox would be squished. (insert appropriate sly grin here)

Okay, enough small talk. On to the giant rant of the week.

I've admitted this in several posts, and have admitted it out loud for several years now: I'm a big girl. I'm a fattie. I've got thunder thighs and a big ass. But you know what? I'm okay with it -- for the most part. It's my body and my life and just because you have a problem with it, why should I be the victim of your ridicule and judgment?

I saw Jeff Somebody-or-other yesterday at the ortho's office. After being rushed into the exam room because they like to keep on schedule (I was there at 1:15 for my 1:30 appointment - the receptionist didn't show up until 1:25!), Mr. "I think I'm so wonderful" walked in the room and before he even said a word, gave me the stink eye and a sneer that would have sent silver spikes through a vampire's heart. We exchanged the required pleasantries and I explained the fall and subsequent trip over the bag and how after a week, my knee was still incredibly painful and that's why I'm here to see you. With a continued look of disdain on his face, he promptly stated that 'this office doesn't do workman's comp claims.' Okay, I never said it was workman's comp - I tripped out of clumsiness and it could have happened to me anywhere. My employer has nothing to do with this.

Well, he did agree to take a quick look at my knee and asked me if I could lift my pants legs up above both knees so that he could see what they looked like. Well, because I had on my favorite stretchy pants, that wasn't a problem, until I saw the disgusted look on his face. I mean, come on, my knees are fat - but they don't look like trolls! He made me walk around the exam room, then get up on the table so he could squeeze, twist, bend and push on my knees. Then the "fun" started.

He did explain (after re-stating that they don't do workman's comp) that he didn't think that there was anything major wrong with my knee, but without an x-ray and/or an mri, he couldn't be certain if there was any tearing or something broken in there. Okay, fine by me - let's get started. Oh, no, you see, we don't do workman's comp and even if we did find some damage in there, we wouldn't know if it's new damage from this fall or old damage.

Old damage? Old damage? From what? I'm not a football player or other professional athlete who got pummeled over the years and I've never had knee problems in my life.

"Well, because of your weight..."

Oh, here we go. If I could have, I would have jumped off that damn table and used my kickboxing skills to smack him with a good roundhouse kick to the cajones. Sonofabitch is all I could think of as I half listened to his speech about how if I'd only lose 5-10 pounds it would ease the pain in my knee.

It was all he could do so see me out the door after his little self-righteous sermon. This whole episode took less than 20 minutes. Oh, and he was so nice - he told the receptionist to not charge me or my insurance for the visit since he really couldn't help me.

Couldn't or DIDN'T WANT to help me? I think it was more that he didn't want to.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know that my weight has caused issues with my health and my life in general. I'm the first one to admit it and the first one to stand up and take responsibility for it. I don't blame anyone or anything for the shape I'm in, and those of you who know me, know that I'm not your stereotypical large person. I don't sit around eating fast food for every meal and stuffing myself with cakes, cookies and junk food while laying on the couch watching reruns of Jerry Springer all day long. I maintain a relatively healthy eating style (yeah, I'm human and enjoy some not-so-good-for-you stuff, too), stay active and keep on top of my health issues so that I can be as 'healthy' as possible.

But just who the hell did this guy think he was judging me by just looking at me and assuming that the pain in my knee was because of my weight? And that he needed to tell me the benefits of losing weight? DON'T YOU THINK I ALREADY KNOW ALL OF THAT YOU DING DONG?

This encounter really got my knickers in a knot because it's the second time in a few weeks that I've met a medical "professional" for the first time and they didn't really address the reason I was there, but felt it necessary to 'scold' me and lecture me about my size. I let the first one go (kinda), but this one has been bugging me for 24 hours now and I feel like I want to go back there and slap the hell out of that guy.

And today, my knee still hurts, but I don't have the courage to find another doctor to see about it. I just can't deal with another round of "you should lose weight because..." from a total stranger.

Yeah, today, it sucks to be me.

Until next time,

Kel

Can I Just See a Doctor PLEASE??????????

It has been a week since 'the floor show' and my knee has been a very painful reminder of what an uncoordinated ding-dong I really am.

Each morning, I think it's getting better, but by the time I get to work, I know that it's not. This morning I finally convinced myself to find an orthopedic doctor nearby and make an appointment because I'm afraid I'm doing more damage to the knee than healing. And I want to get back to the gym!!!

So, I went online to the insurance company's website and found a listing of over 100 orthos to choose from. Egad. I narrowed it down to those within 15 miles of the office. I thought that would be a good place to start, since I spend most of my day at work. I also wanted a doctor who was affiliated with the hospital near my house and not Stanford Medical Center, even though Stanford is a world-class facility. I'm trying to think practically in case this turns out more seriously than I'd like to believe it is.

Found it. A clinic in the next city over from the office and multiple ortho docs who are affiliated with my hospital. Goodie. Called and was put through to the appointment desk. Went through all of the 172 questions to get me 'registered' with this particular clinic. After I explained what had happened for the second time to the woman on the phone, she offered me an appointment tomorrow at 1:30 with Jeff Somebody-or-other, Dr. So-and-So's "Physican Assistant." Huh? Can't I see the doctor? Well, no, you see his PA for the first time and he'll determine what needs to be done and whether or not you need to see the doctor. HUH?

This is not the only time I've been given an appointment with the physician's assistant or even a nurse practitioner instead of a doctor. What's up with that? Is this some new medical protocol that I'm not aware of? I'm not saying that these talented folks are not worth seeing, but hey, I'd like to see an MD every once in a while, especially on a first visit!

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned and think that a doctor's appointment should be with a doctor. Hey, if my dentist can do my routine teeth cleaning ever six months instead of having a hygenist do it, then dang it, why can't a doctor see me and take a look at my knee?

Yeah, yeah, I know. I could call another office and see if I get better results. But that would mean another round of anxiety and fear. You see, down deep, I really despise going to the doctor's office and I will avoid it until I'm either on death's door or a friend is dragging my sorry butt in there on a gurney. It's that whole judgmental assessment of 'you have this problem because you're a fat cow and if you'd lose some weight you wouldn't be here' from medical professionals that sends waves of horror through my body. But that's a post for another day.

For now, I'll just be seeing Jeff Somebody-or-other, the Physician's Assistant, tomorrow about my very painful knee.

Until Next Time,

Kel

Is It a Sin....

Well, Sunday is Easter, so that means Lent is almost over.

I've eaten my last Friday tuna sandwich of the year (I HATE tuna so this has been a real pennance for me!) and only have about a day and a half left to stay away from Diet Coke, refined sugar and fast food.

This year it seems that I wasn't as crazy as I have been in the past by giving up these things. Occasionally, I'd have a craving for a Diet Coke (especially when eating those danged tuna sandwiches), but it would pass. And the fast food? Well, today it would have been nice to go through a drive-through since my knee is out of whack (see yesterday's post on being the floor show) and walking is painful, but for the most part, I've been able to ignore it. I think that now that I've gotten the refined sugar out of my system I'm not craving it, so I'm a little afraid to jump back into sweets too quickly even though those mini-Snickers bars on my desk are YELLING my name today...

Last night, when I was talking to my Dad, we somehow got on the subject of Popeye's Fried Chicken and he mentioned that in New Orleans, they have a great fried shrimp deal right now. Something about 9 fried shrimp, fries or red beans and rice and a drink for like $7.99. Well, since I haven't done fast food in a while and the nearest Popeye's is about 10 miles from my house, I wouldn't know about that deal.

But, it got me to thinking: would it be a sin if today, Good Friday, I went to my local Popeye's and bought the fried shrimp deal and had it for dinner so that I wouldn't eat meat tonight? Does not eating meat cancel out the fact that I'm buying fried shrimp from a fast food place?

Being Catholic can be complicated.

Until Next Time,

Kel

The Floor Show

As if yesterday's little trip to the mall wasn't exciting enough, I had even more excitement at the end of the day in the office. I did my version of "The Floor Show."

Late in the afternoon, I went up to my storage area to put some stuff away. I walked into the training room (I can't remember why) and caught my toe on the carpet -- and down I went. I remember twisting to avoid hitting my head on the table that was nearby, and of course, I twisted my right knee on the way to the floor. When I hit the ground, I just laid there for a minute trying to decide if I was dead or injured. I also wondered if when I fell, was I like a tree in the forest: did people downstairs in the office hear me fall? All I could do was lay there and laugh at myself for a couple of minutes while assessing the damage to this aging body of mine. The one thing I kept thinking was "if I can't get up, they'll probably never find my body up here." That part of the office is a ghost town and I'm usually the only one that goes up in that area.

I started worrying about getting up - what if I can't? The phone is on the other end of the room.... But then, I kept hearing Denise in my head: you're building your upper body strength so that if you ever fall down, you can drag yourself across the room to get the phone and call 9-1-1. Yeah, I think I could have done that, but man, there would have been some nasty carpet burns.

So, I dusted myself off, got to my feet and continued laughing at myself. It was at that point that I knew I did something to my knee.

Of course, I'm too stubborn and HAD to go to Zumba. Well, that was a mistake. My knee was killing me. I kept getting cramps just below the back of my knee (which the trainer said was likely from the twist) and my back was hurting. But, I think keeping moving helped me to not be sore and in pain this morning. I stood under the hot shower for a while and then iced my knee last night; this morning, I took a longer than normal hot shower, too.

Do you think I was done with my uncoordinated moments? Of course not! This morning I went to help an attorney with her computer and when I stepped back away from it, I managed to trip over her brief case and yep, you guessed it - I twisted that right knee AGAIN. At least I didn't have an encore performance of my Floor Show routine....

What an uncoordinated ding-dong.

Until Next Time,

Kel

The Lunchtime Shopping Spree

I am missing the "shopping gene" that most women have. I HATE going to the mall. I would rather be beaten with a bat than to go to a mall. And on those times when it is necessary to make a trip there, it takes many hours of mental preparation on my part to survive it. Today was one of those necessary days.

Since Mervyn's closed its doors at the end of last year, I've been very careful about how I wear and care for my bras. They carried the exact size and brand I like and I could usually get them on sale whenever I needed a new one. And even though Mervyn's was in the mall closest to my house, it was an end-anchor store, so I could park right outside the door, jump out of the car, run into the door and up the escalator to the wall o' bras to get what I needed. Round trip, I could get the goods and be home within 20 minutes and never step foot inside the mall. It was a good system.

On Sunday, as I was moving things around in my workshop, I heard a very distinct snap, followed by a sharp pinch on the underside of my right, ahem, boob. Fear and panic set in as I knew it was the dreaded underwire snap, and this was my second-to-last Mervyn's purchased bra. Egad! Would I have to head into another store IN A MALL to try to find a new supply? Like Scarlett O'Hara, I put the thought away because I still had 1 more bra and tomorrow was another day....

I started hearing commercials for Macy's one day sale on Wednesday, and as luck would have it, bras were on sale: buy 2, get 2 free. Yippee - the price was right, but it meant a trip to the mall. The cold sweats started. Last night, there was a commercial on tv for the sale, and my interest was piqued by the $99 2-carat total weight diamond and sterling silver bracelet that you could only get until 1:00. Hmmm, I could go to the Macy's at the Stanford Shopping Center (an open-air mall filled with yuppie stay-at-home moms and rich, retired ladies) during lunch, purchase 4 bras and reward myself for surviving the trip with a diamond bracelet. Yeah, that worked for me. I woke up this morning with a new feeling of confidence. It's amazing what the thought of diamonds will do for a girl.

I set out around 12:30 today, wanting to make sure I could get a bracelet before 1:00. It took all of 10 minutes to get to the shopping center and park. I thought I should buy the bracelet first. I opened the door to Macy's and it hit me: the sickeningly sweet blend of perfumes from the corners of the world. My head started spinning as I tried to adjust to the smell and clear my eyes of the onslaught of tears from the irritation. That's one of the reasons I hate going to the mall.

I made my way through the cosmetics section, weaving and dodging the sales women standing outside their counters ready to pounce on anyone who looked like they needed a makeover. I must have looked pretty good (or had my 'don't talk to me face' on) because not a single one stopped me. I can't decided if I'm glad or insulted.

I found the diamond bracelet and tried it on. It wasn't quite what I was expecting and after some deliberation, I put it back in it's lovely velvet box and decided that I'd rather spend that money on more scrapping supplies. It was off to the third floor and the lingere department!

So, being a big girl, I can tell you that I don't spend a lot of time in the department store. And the lingere department? I can't tell you when was the last time I even stepped foot in one because at Mervyn's, I could make a bee-line to the product I needed and never even look at anything else that resembled lingere. So, here I was with my utilitarian over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder and granny panties at the edge of the "intimate apparel" department at Macy's. Oh.my.gosh!!!! I never knew bras and "seat covers" could come in so many styles, colors, shapes and sizes... My head was once again spinning.

I gathered up my courage, stepped into the colorful department and tried to find the name brands that I like; once at that rack, it was a task to find a band size over 40 to hold my rack. Department stores just don't cater to women who are larger than a pencil and finding what you need becomes a treasure hunt. Well, I managed to find one white and one beige in the style I like in my size; I settled for another white and beige in another style by the same manufacturer. I figured what the heck - they were free, right?

Mission accomplished, and now to stand in line to pay for these 4 treasures. That's when I got an eyeful of today's lingere fashions. The line for the checkout counter was snaked through the itsy-bitsy pieces of fluff that some people can get away with wearing. Yikes. A band-aid is much cheaper and probably covers more real estate than some of those getups. The most fascinating piece was the bra and 'thong' set on the mannequin that was staring me in the face while I waited my turn. It was a cotton number with cherries on it and lots of lace. Lots of lace is an exaggeration - it would have been lots of lace if it were in my size. I can say the the bra was cute and for a moment, I thought it was something that if I could find it in my size, I'd wear it. But it was the sight was of the thongy-thingy that fascinated me. The elastic for the waistline (or hip line - it was a low-rider) was covered in the cherry-motif material, and it held up a piece of lace that surrounded the hip. Strategically placed at the bottom of the lace was a triangle of said cherry-motif cotton that couldn't have been more than 3 inches at its widest point. And the bottom of the triangle was attached to the back this contraption by what looked like a shoelace with cherries on it. I.KID.YOU.NOT. A shoelace!!!!!!!

What da.... I just stood there trying to figure this little number out: you'd have to have a really good Brazilian 'cause that triangle ain't covering anything up.... what's the point of the shoelace.... isn't the shoelace uncomfortable.... if you're wearing a skirt with that underneath, how do you sit down and not get germs in strategic locations? The one thought that kept popping into my mind: if I wore that with my butt, that shoelace would never be seen again.

Thank goodness I didn't have to wait too long because I'm sure my brain would have imploded trying to figure out the whys and whats about that outfit. As I left the department with my four industrial strength bras, I was kinda glad I'm a big girl and don't have to deal with fashion dilemmas like shoelace thongs.

I wandered over to the housewares department where things looked very familiar and I felt comfortable and bought a set of frying pans to calm my nerves.

I might have cherry-motifed nightmares tonight.

Until Next Time,

Kel

The Weekend is Over....

Here it is, Monday morning and I'm back at work again. Seems like the weekends get shorter and shorter, even when I'm not super busy.

I am kinda excited for a Monday. You see, I finally had a scale victory this morning. It's been a long time coming, but I got there. I feel like I'll jinx myself if I actually say the number out loud, so let me put it to you this way: Aero weighs all of 3 pounds. According to my scale, I've lost 7 Aeros!

Now don't you say the number out loud either! That will jinx me for sure and some of those pounds will find their way back to my hips. Just think of 7 little Yorkies jumping off my hips and running away...

I got back to my personal training sessions with Denise on Friday night and while she was torturing me with some new exercises, I told her that the scale was finally moving in the right direction and what my progress had been to date. I admitted to her that I had finally taken her advice and stopped focusing (and obsessing!) on the scale and just focused on my workouts and watching what I'm eating. Too bad I didn't listen to her sooner (as she reminded me!)!!

That little scale victory makes me WANT to go to the gym tonight.

Until Next Time,

Kel

Special Women #7

Nothing like waiting until the last minute to finish the challenge....

Is there a woman...

Who you wish was still here with you?

I think I waited to do this one last because I knew I'd get all emotional and sappy. I wish that GRANNY was still here with me.

I'm so lucky that my maternal grandmother, better known as Granny, was in my life until I was well into my forties. Bless her heart, she lived to the ripe old age of 94! All I can say is that I hope in the great gene pool of life, I inherited those long-life genes from her!

She was a simple woman, never wanted much but to be happy and have her family be happy. She raised three daughters on her own, sending them to private school while she worked as the head seamstress in a local boys' orphanage. Her house was a small, 3-room shotgun (in New Orleans, shotgun houses are long and narrow, with one room behind the other - you can shoot a shotgun in the front door and the bullet will go right out of the back door, so the story goes) but it was a home, filled with love, happiness and lots of good cooking.

Oh, yes, being of French Cajun descent, Granny was a helluva cook. Gumbo. Jambalaya. Biscuits. Seafood. Red Beans. You name it, she could probably cook it. And she always cooked for an army, even when it was just a couple of us going over to her house to eat with her.

Our family was small compared to some. When we were all younger, there were always 12 of us gathered in her tiny kitchen for Thanksgiving and Christmas: Granny, Aunt Loretta; Mom, Dad, me and Jamie; Aunt Janet and Uncle Jerry, Lonnie and Susie; and always present, Auntie and Uncle Jr. (Granny's sister Bernice and her husband, Junius). Good thing there were no more grandkids - I don't think they would have fit!

She lived in her little house until 1989, when she moved into an apartment in a Senior-Retirement community. It was a small, studio apartment on the 9th floor, where she lived on her own just about until the day she departed this Earth. She continued to cook and play bingo and would hop in anybody's car that was heading to a casino. She could sit for hours upon hours playing video poker. And she was good at it!

The older I got, the closer I got to Granny. When I decided to move to California, I was afraid to tell her, but when I did, she didn't give me grief. All she said to me was "Cher, go and live your life and have a good time. And call me every once in a while." That call became a once-a-week event that we both looked forward to. At first, I'd call her on Thursday nights, because she said there wasn't anything on tv to watch. Then, as she got older and went to bed earlier, I switched to Sunday evenings after she returned from the local bingo game. We'd stay on the phone sometimes for over an hour, even though she'd tell me how much she hated to talk on the phone. We would laugh and giggle like a couple of twelve year olds and she'd make jokes about the "old people" that lived in her apartment complex. One day, I pointed out to her that she was probably one of the oldest living there and she just said "yeah, and I'm probably the ugliest. So what?" Her quick-witted humor was very unique.

Granny always kept a spotless, clean, very neat home. That was something I always admired, and it's something that I didn't inherit from her (or my Mom!). She'd always tell me "Kel, find your courage and do your work." Hmph. I'm still looking for my courage after all these years.

I miss Granny so much, but feel so lucky that this special woman was a part of my life for so long. I think of her every day and sometimes get a chuckle when something she said crosses my mind, especially if it relates to something someone else says or does in my presence.

Gran, if I had a glass of Anisette, I'd raise it to you right now!

Until Next Time,

Kel

Special Women #6

Is there a woman...

...Who taught you a skill that you use often?

That's an easy one: MY MOM, CAROLYN.

My Mom is a very strong woman. She's a role model that every young girl should have: tough when needed, always gentle, smart as a whip and generous and kind to those in need.

She taught me many skills, but first and foremost, she taught me to be strong and independent. I've learned negotiating skills from her - what's the old saying? "She can sell ice to an eskimo" or something like that. Yep. I'm a really good negotiator, thanks to her. I've learned to stand up for myself (or my family) in any situation. I learned a lot of my creativity from her. For more than 20 years, she sewed costumes for me and my sister Jamie's dance revues every spring. Her creativity and talent in that arena were unbelievable; she also spent time making and sometimes selling her crafts (burlap butterfly magnets in the 80's and denim purses with wooden bottoms before that).

I wouldn't be where I am today if my Mom had been a typical, demure, southern belle wife.

Until Next Time,

Kel

Special Women #5

Is there a woman...

...Who you've been greatly encouraged by?

This answer came to me quickly and easily: my personal trainer, DENISE.

When I first met Denise, I was most impressed by her friendly, welcoming attitude. I was attending a workshop she was conducting on proper use of fitness balls. As usual, I was the biggest person in the room and very intimidated by this fit, gorgeous instructor, thinking that I had made a huge mistake coming to the class. My experience was quite the opposite.

Denise led the class and never once made me feel like I didn't belong in it. When I had trouble doing a certain move, instead of pointing me out, she would just make a general statement to the group like "if this isn't working for you, try this instead."

Last June, she offered the first of many Boot Camp sessions: 3 mornings a week at 6:00 a.m. for 3 weeks of intense workouts. I gingerly signed up and once again was quite relieved that she made me feel welcome and 'one of the girls' even though the skinny girls stared at me and sneered quite a bit. Denise never for a minute treated me any differently than she did the skinny girls.

Since then, I've completed 3 more sessions of boot camp, a couple of sessions of cardio kick boxing and lots of personal training with Denise. Each time I think about trying something new in the gym, I always ask her "do you think I can do this? Her answer most often is "well, I think you can, but the question is do you think you can?"

She has encouraged me to work on being healthy and not obsess about numbers on the scale. Through her confidence in me and my abilities, I have built my own confidence and self-esteem in addition to strentghening and toning my body. I have become more at peace with my own body and the shape that it's in because she has taught me that it's ok to be a big girl. She pushes me beyond what I think are my limits and makes my try things that I would never even dream about trying on my own.

And, of course, she kicks my ass every time I go to the gym.

Until next time,

Kel

A Scrapping Weekend Ahead!

You always hear warnings about the freaks, weirdos and axe murderers that will stalk you if you make friends on the internet. About how dangerous the internet and the people who are "on it" can be...

Well, I'm leaving first thing in the morning for a scrapbooking retreat with 20 of my freaky, weird, axe murdering internet friends AND I CAN'T WAIT!!!!

Yep, we're from a online community of internet friends that share at least one common interest: scrapbooking. Through our online friendships, we know about children, husbands, mothers-in-law, sisters, brothers, work, school and lots of really really personal stuff that I don't even know about my closest in-real-life friends....

Cathy is the hostess with the mostest, and does a wonderful job of wrangling all of us and organizing a fun-filled weekend. And let me tell you, wrangling 21 women wielding sharp cutting tools and sticky adhesives is no small feat!

I can't wait to get there and rekindle friendships with people I've met irl before, and make new found friendships with some retreat newbies.

Oh, and I might even get a few pages done!

Until next time,

Kel

Special Women #4

Today is a special day for the challenge... please read on!

Is there a woman . . . Who you laugh so hard you cry with?

The answer is: my friend ANGELA.

We met about 7 years ago when I transferred from my law firm's San Francisco office to the Palo Alto location. I wasn't happy about the move at the time and was determined to not make any friends because I didn't want to be there.

My first morning in my new office, in bounces the most annoyingly perky person I had ever met in my life. It was Angela. She was the office's admin assistant and just wanted to say hi and introduce herself and see if there was anything I needed. I thought ok, she seems nice enough even though she's way too perky for me, I think I could like her.

That first encounter proved to be a life chaning moment for me as day by day, I Angela and I became friends, pals and confidantes. Just a couple of months after we met, I told her I was heading home to New Orleans for my cousin Ryan's wedding and she promptly chirped "Hey, that sounds like fun. Can I come along?" And she did. We had the best time that week.

I owe her a lot of thanks because she has helped me to change my life for the better over the years. She's pushed me to make exercise a part of my life - it's because of her support that I'm now just crazy enough to try things like Boot Camp and Zumba AND stick with it. She introduced me to big scary tomatoes and all sorts of other fresh fruits and veggies (remember, I'm from the South, where corn is the most prominent vegetable). And, best of all, she's taught me to laugh not only at myself but at the world around me when I'm down.

Yeah, we laugh A LOT. Sometimes when we're together we just crack up at each other without saying a word. And if one of us does say something, it isn't long before we've lost our breath or have tears rolling down our faces. There are times when we're together that things happen around us that no one else would find the humor in, but we just have to exchange a glance and know that the other one is cracking up inside.

They say laughter is good for your health. If that's true, then I can say that my health has improved 2000% since Angela has become a part of my life.


Of course, there's always the Wendy-Connie story...

Today, Angela's life is about to change in the biggest, most exciting way. As I'm writing this, she's at the hospital giving birth to her first child! I'm so happy for her (and Reg!) and can't wait to spoil this new little person when (s)he arrives (no, I won't know the sex until Reg calls). She's going to be an awesome mom.

Wendy, here's to ya!

Until next time,

Connie



*****UPDATE******

Angela and Reg welcomed little Maxwell Charles at 8:15 this morning! He's 7 pounds 9 ounces and Mom, Max, Dad and big brother Sean are all doing well! Yippee!!!!

Thank You. Have a Day!

There's a Subway sandwich shop about 3 blocks from my house and lately, I've been hooked on their sandwiches. The people who work there are generally nice and do a really good job of following directions when making my sandwich.

Today, I had to run home on my lunch hour and let the little 4-legged fur child out because I'll be working late tonight - don't want to come home to "presents" on the floor. I figured one of the quickest ways to fit in grabbing some lunch to bring back to the office was to stop at this particular Subway because it's never really busy. When I pulled in the parking lot, I was pleased that my assumption was right - no waiting!

The young man who made my sandwich was very cordial and very careful about getting the ingredients just right, which I totally appreciated. I could tell that English wasn't his first language, and I did have to ask him to repeat himself a couple of times, but it was more that he spoke softly than his accent.

When I finished paying for my lunch and he handed me the bag, he smiled brightly and said "Thank you, Miss. Have a day!"

(Me, shaking head quickly, like I wasn't paying attention) "Pardon me?"

"Thank you, Miss. Have a day!"

I smiled politely and said "You too!" Of course I was thinking HUH???????

Have a day. Not a nice day. Or a crappy day. Or a sunny day. Just a day.

I've been pondering that statement all the way back to the office and while I'm munching on my delicious sandwich. Have a day. Does he maybe mean 'have a _______ day' where the customer is left to fill in the blank with whatever kind of day they're having? That might work. Or, what if secretly, in his mind, he's wishing you a crappy day and just doesn't have the nerve to say it?

I don't know. It's just one of those things that make you go hmmmmm.

So, have a day!!!

Until next time,

Kel

Queen of the Procrastinators

I'm attending a wonderful scrapbooking retreat this coming weekend, hosted by my wonderful friend Cathy. I look forward to this event each time she holds it, and am praying that the danged phone system in the office gets fixed before the weekend (I missed last year because of a server malfunction 3 days before the retreat!) so I can go.

There are 21 of us scheduled to attend, all having met through an online community we all belong to. I've probably met at least 15 of these axe-wielding murders at retreats and other scrapbooking events in the past, so I'm quite comfortable spending the weekend with them and look forward to meeting some new friends in real life.

My problem? We all contribute an item to the retreat goody bag. AND MY GOODIES ARE NOT DONE!!!! Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh. Here it is, Tuesday afternoon. One part of the project is in the living room, one part is in the kitchen, another couple of parts are out in my workshop. Why can't I just sit down and do it?

It's not like what I'm planning will be difficult to do. And it's not like I haven't known that the retreat was scheduled for March 28 since, like, a couple of months ago.

Why oh why do I wait so long to get things done?

Maybe I shouldn't go to the gym tonight. After all, I have to make goody bag treats. Yeah, that's it. Can't work out because I need to take care of this project. Uh-huh. No elliptical, only paper and glue for me tonight. Woo-hoo!

And if you're a betting person, you should take the odds that tomorrow I'll report that not only did I not go to the gym tonight, but the goody bag treats still aren't done.... You'll be rich.

I'm the Queen of the Procrastinators. Wanna join my club?

Until Next Time,

Kel

Holy Scrap!

I love all things scrapbook related, so when I found Two Chicks Designs recently, it was an easy decision to buy several scrap-related t-shirts. My favorite is the bright red one with "HOLY SCRAP" in bold, white letters on the front (no, I don't have a picture of me in the shirt so don't ask!). I wear it to the gym and always get asked about it and have to explain that 'holy scrap' is a scrapbook-related term.

So yesterday, I met with 5 of my closest scrapping buddies at the day-long Scrapbook Expo and decided that it would be the most appropriate place to wear the shirt. I got lots of compliments on it and lots of questions about where to buy one. There were even a couple of people who asked if they could take my picture in it (no, I didn't ask them to e-mail me a copy). I went through the whole day without seeing another shirt like mine.

Then, about 11:00 p.m. during the crop, I spotted someone else wearing a Holy Scrap insignia. Unfortunately for her, she shouldn't have been wearing it: she had on a pair of sweat pants with the words emblazoned across her butt.

What's wrong with that, you might be asking yourself? Well, words across the butt on flat-assed teens are one thing (and I'm not crazy about those, either). But this woman was clearly well into her forties and had a big butt. So big that the "S" in "Scrap" was swallowed by her crack. Yes, folks, she proudly wore "HOLY CRAP" on her ass. It was kinda funny in a way (holy crap on your butt - get it?), but then it kinda wansn't. For a brief moment, I just stood there staring in disbelief as she bent over the Cricut happily cutting shapes and shaking her groove thing to the disco music that was playing in the background. I mean, you couldn't help but notice her!

So here's my PSA: if you're old enough to drink and your butt is bigger than a postage stamp, please don't wear words on your rear end.

Holy Crap - errr, Scrap.

Until Next Time,

Kel

Special Women #3

Today, I'm using 2 questions from the list for one person, just because both of these questions made me think of her!

Is there a woman... Who you could invite over to your messiest house? and Who inspires you?

There's only one person in my life who perfectly answers both of these questions: my "little" sister JAMIE.

The messy house? Yeah, that's both of us. Somehow, we missed the gene that makes you want to have a perfectly clean, neat house. Our Mom has it - that's why her nickname is "Patty Pickup." But me and Jamie? Naaaah. Granny used to always say to us "find your courage and do your work." I know my courage is lost somewhere in the mess and Jamie tells me all the time that she's still looking for hers....

Jamie has become a source of inspiration for me. Growing up, we were typical sisters: screaming arguments, hair pulling, scratching, not speaking, being friends, playing together. I think for a long time I just took her for granted and never really expected much from our relationship. It took a move to another state for me to realize what a wonderful person she truly is.

She's been married for almost 17 years now and is raising 2 great sons with Clif. The boys are both thriving teenagers in private high schools and are the loves of her life, even if they do give her (and Clif!) a run for their money. I'm in awe at what a wonderful Mom she is.

In her work life, Jamie completed her R.N. while her kids were young and in school and has worked her way up through the hospital since she was a Candy Striper in high school. Today, she is the clinical manager of a psychiatric emergency room at the hospital and is well respected throughout the place. She's smart as a whip when it comes to her job and has the patience (patients? ha!) of an angel when dealing with people in distress and their families. She truly shines in her field.

At home, when she's not shuffling the boys to some activity, you can usually find her in her scrapbook room being creative. Not only does she turn out wonderful pages documenting the life and times of her family, but she uses her amazing crafty talent for other projects and decorating her house. She's been having a lot of fun lately altering items and I bow to her creativity.

Jamie can be tough as nails when the situation calls for it. Don't mess with her or anyone in her family. But, then to the contrary, she has the kindest heart of anyone I know. She'd give you the Cat's Eye Chalks out of her craft stash if you needed them.

And finally, she's got a wicked sense of humor. She can make a joke about anything or anyone at any given time. When we're together we could get into some serious trouble; sometimes when we're talking on the phone, she makes me laugh so hard that I can't breathe.

Yes, Jamie is truly an inspiration to me. I wish that we could spend more time together. If we did, I'm sure we would probably just get into lots of trouble wherever we went. Especially at scrapbook stores, Michael's and Hobby Lobby.

And we wouldnt' fight along the way - except about who pays for lunch!

Until Next Time,

Kel

Wearing O' the Green

Well, HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

Are you wearing green today? With a name like mine, I'd better be or my half-Irish Grandmother will return from the grave to smack me on the head! St. Patrick's day was one of her favorite holidays, after Christmas and Mardi Gras. She always decked herself out in as much green and white as she could find. She'd even paint her fingernails a lovely shade of Kelly green for the day.

I remember the little shamrock pin she'd wear and as a child, I secretly wished she would give it to me. Well, one year, that's exactly what she did, and when she pinned it on my shirt, she told me "Dawlin', wear this every year on St. Patty's day and it'll bring you luck for the rest of the year." Here it is, nearly 40 years later, and I still wear that pin every March 17th. And when I take it out of it's little cardboard box and pin it on my shirt, I say "Grandmaw, dawlin', let's go celebrate together!"

I hope that today Grandmaw is doing her best Irish jig in Heaven!

Until next time,

Kel

Special Women #2

"Is there a woman...Who you could trust to point out the lettuce stuck in you teeth from lunch?"

Ha - my 'partner in crime' JOYCE fills the bill.

Joyce and I have been friends for a very long time. I'm not going to mention how many years because it makes me feel old, and she and I had a conversation about growing old yesterday. Not gonna go there again.

We tell each other just about everything, and she's always willing to hop in the car and go on adventures with me. We're kinda like Thelma and Louise, especially when we go to a scrapbook store.

I count on Joyce to tell me when I've got something stuck in my teeth. And when my hair looks funky (like the time it turned purple when I dyed it!). And when I'm wearing something that I shouldn't. And when an outfit makes my already larger-than-life butt look bigger.

And luckily, she does!

Until next time,

Kel

Wicked Was.... Well, Wicked!!!

If you haven't seen it, GO AS SOON AS IT COMES TO A CITY NEAR YOU!!!!!

All I can say is that was the best 2 hours and 45 minutes I've spent in a long time. The cast was fabulous. The story is wonderful. The music was perky and fun.

I'm ready to go see it again. And again. And again. Too bad I'm not rich...

Until Next Time,

Kel