Tossing Christmas Cookies

I know, I know. You've just spent the last two days elbow-deep in fudge, cookie dough, and pie filling. Your fingers are sticky and your tongue is raw. Your Christmas Card display is full and you cringe at the stragglers being delivered this close to go-day. You count and recount the cards you didn't send out this year, and lie to yourself about using them next year. I know. Me too. Last night, I had to drink a bottle of peppermint extract to offset the negative digestion happening after a second fudge square and fifteenth Double-Chocolate-Chip-and-Walnut cookie somehow made it's way to my stomach. I've made arts and crafts with last year's Christmas cards, barely making a dent, and I am currently on my treadmill looking for ways to offload some more of this sugary holiday cheer.

But let's not be hasty. Between the sugar frenzy and the explosion of paper, it's easy to get caught up and forget what's really important. Let's just take a deep breath, down a gallon of water, and try not to do anything too stupid this year, like puke in Santa's boots(it's okay Uncle Henry, they washed out).

For instance...

There is an event going around Facebook right now encouraging people to take cookies and cards to their local police department for the holidays.

I live in St. Louis(well... just outside).

To me, this is like the NRA setting up a rally in a town recently hit with a mass murder.

Why aren't we being urged to take our cookies and cards to the local Fire Departments and Emergency Rooms? They protect and save lives too(even when you are rushed there for stupidly trying to have a little hot cocoa with your cup of marshmallows, or trying to roast chestnuts on an open fire).

Maybe it's because the FD and EMTs weren't recently in the news for shooting an unarmed man.

Quite frankly, this ill-timed outpour of support for the PD makes me want to puke(and it has nothing to do with that chocolate covered double stuff I had for breakfast!!). I think we should be just a little more mindful of what our support says to society as a whole and not just throw it around loosely.

There are HUNDREDS of people who have made careers of giving up holidays to help/save/protect people. Why not bring them some holiday cheer? And like parents with a child, what's wrong with showing support for positive behavior and refusing to reward negative outcomes?

(Or ignoring the little bastards and hoping they go away...)

I'm going to do what I do every year, and that is to guzzle some Southern Comfort and give cookies to the mail person and trash collectors(maybe not in that order), because with out them, my Christmas just wouldn't happen, or it would, but afterward I'd be forced to eat a pile of wrapping paper. Talk about negative digestion.

So, please, this holiday season, be careful where you toss your cookies,
And have a Happy Holiday!

Private Schooling on a Budget

I have begun the unthinkable. I am officially home-schooling my children. Actually, I'm not so much homeschooling as I am Private-schooling on a budget. No, I am not insane. Well, maybe a little, but my mother has always wanted me to teach and the only children I can really stand to be around day-after-day are my own. I'm college educated and I can't find a job that is both fulfilling and lucrative. So, while I don't make any money homeschooling, I do consider the $20,000 a year we are saving in private education to be a major benefit.

We are following E.D. Hirsch's "Core Knowledge" books and visiting the library for supplemental material. We are also using the foreign language link on the Library's website to learn Spanish for free and hope to add German and French in the future. My children are building relationships with the librarians as we see them weekly to turn-in, check-out, and place holds on books. My son is the shy one and he is now reading a book that he looked up on the computer, wrote down on a piece of paper, and requested it be put on hold with the librarian.

The kids are also enrolled part time in the local elementary school. Did you know that you could do that?? You can! You pay taxes—I hope—so the school is there for you to use. My children spend an hour every Monday participating in grade level art with their friends. FO FREE!

Anyway... I'm telling you this because once again my writing may be sporadic and school centered. I apologize. I may just be insane.

Casting Ballots

It always astonishes me that we can do something so unnecessary to voters, we can put fences on over-passes, we can keep people from sky-diving alone without earning a license first, we can make EVERY mattress manufacturer install a firewall--making mattresses un-flippable, and we can deny women the right to insurance coverage, but so much as suggest that we increase the regulation on assault rifles (because tens-of-thousands of people including children die every year) and suddenly people start screaming about constitutional rights. smh  We need more voters!!

Garden Update

Our garden is in full bloom! We even harvested some onions and red potatoes!

Now. My life has changed.

We didn't plant the butterfly, but isn't it PRETTY?!  #NoChemies

XO

Salad Spinners

I have a ranch problem.

I LOVE ranch dressing. I love homemade ranch, restaurant ranch, hidden valley ranch, etc. If it is dressing and it is ranch, I'm in love.

It's not that I haven't tried other dressings. I have. I have liked other dressings, bought other dressings and finished entire bottles of other dressings. I have a special place in my heart for a certain strawberry poppyseed dressing over a dried-cranberry, feta cheese, and spinach salad, but when I'm not trying to broaden my horizons or break the monotony, it's ranch every time.

So what's the problem?

The one thing I have always disliked about most dressings, especially ranch, was their inability to spread evenly over a salad. You really need to maintain a nice dressing to veggie ratio in every bite, or else why not just have a granola bar? Ya' know? Even the most yummy of vinaigrettes can go from "does not compute" to "sensory overload" with one tip of the bottle. It's a disaster waiting to happen.

The only solution I've found is water. Even though I now eat all organic veggies, I still rinse my lettuce. I don't know why. Part of me assumes that this has been done for me, but the other part of me assumes that some sort of chrysanthemum extract may be used to deter insect consumption and I don't imagine that chrysanthemum juice mixes well with tomatoes and cucumbers.

But whenever I have a salad with fellow enthusiasts, it's always, "Gosh-golly-gee-wiz! No salad spinner?!" I shamefully and rigorously shake my lettuce off, and assuming they do not like the watered down version of their dressing, I apologize profusely.

Well not anymore! I "don't need no stinkin'" salad spinners!

I'm not protesting anything here. I just wanted you to know that it's okay to eat a salad without a salad spinner. Watered down ranch is really good and good for you!

There is probably some life lesson I could infuse this with, but I'm not the crispiest crouton this week.

<insert inspiration>
Eat your veggies!
XO

An Obvious Lack of Introspection

When I was growing up, I could be extremely abrasive at times. When hit, I hit back harder; it's the way I was taught. But I didn't always have the best results. I simply attacked with out even the smallest amount of preparation. Shakespeare, who once said that "revenge is...best served cold,' would have hung me up by my hot-pants. My older brother, on the other hand, was not like this.  Like the Empire, he took his time building up the strength to strike back, but it was quick, painful, and always left a mark.

One day in high school my brother found himself in a situation that would be referred to now-a-days as "religious bullying," but in the 90's it was just annoying banter. This girl had been following him after class everyday arguing with him and berating him about any myriad of religious topics. Apparently it had come up in a classroom discussion that he was agnostic, or atheist, or whatever it was that year, and she decided she would take it upon herself to convert him by being pushy and insulting. Mikey tried to engage in some semblance of a philosophical discussion, but when it became clear that all Mary wanted to do was convince him of his eternal damnation, he simply began ignoring her.

Mary, the poor dear, had pimples, frizzy dirty-blonde hair, a swollen face, and croutons for teeth. I'm sure she's lovely now, but back then she was one of the many people that made me wonder if they owned a mirror—or a toothbrush. But this isn't just about outward appearances or being hatefully Christian. There is a woman at my kids' school who constantly over-books herself, inevitably flakes out on something important, and then blames everyone and everything outside of herself. This is not an attractive quality for a 46 year old and although I'm not sure a mirror could help at this point, it couldn't hurt.

My point is that I have an adverse reaction to people who lack the tiniest bit of introspection. I no longer bite the heads off bats, like when I was in high school, but I don't take Mike's approach either—which was to wait until Mary asked him for the third Monday in a row, "Did you even go to church yesterday?" and respond with "Did you even brush your teeth today?" Like I said, she is probably lovely these days and over that awkward stage of bullying people into believing in God. But who can't see that the way we approach a situation is often the thing that is causing the situation to be what it is? hmmm... was that too far down the rabbit hole?

What I mean is that a modicum of introspection can nail down a person's most frequent bad decisions, in the same way that a mirror can reveal a person's need for heightened hygiene.

As far as people around me who lack introspection? I haven't figured out a good protest yet. All I've accomplished, so far, is the ability to stare without pointing. And mentioning every time someone is in direct conflict with themselves can be tedious and mean(and Karma wouldn't like it). So, for now, I'm protesting this obvious lack of introspection by looking at my SELF in the "mirror"(I actually don't need a mirror for this). It can be scary, I know. What if I find out that I really don't like myself? Well, I have good news about that. Thanks to Timothy Leary's book Change Your Brain, and the movie "What the Bleep do We Know?" I no longer have to be afraid of what I might discover when I look at myself. Sometimes I find Mary and sometimes I find Mike, but as long as I'm introspecting, I inevitably find myself and this Life thing is getting a whole lot easier.

... Speaking of Mike and Mary, Timothy Leary also wrote a book called Your Brain is God, which could probably clear some things up and make this bullying thing seem almost heartfelt. Now, don't we all feel better?

XO

Look at that pretty pretty brain god!

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

I do not have a green thumb. On a particularly active summer, my thumb might turn a golden bronze and develop a new wrinkle, but that's the best I can do. I did however study nature and science in school and vaguely remember that plants need four things(don't ask me to recite them because I will inevitably botch the name of the gas that we apparently breath out--is it CO or CO2?). The point is that one of those amazing four things does NOT exist inside my house because no matter how well a plant is doing outside, if I bring it in, it dies. Perhaps my family is not as full of hot air as I think we are, or perhaps I am an over-zealous waterer(the latter is the more likely). Either way, flourish they don't, and die they do.

If I ever had to prove I was ready for a relationship by first keeping a plant, then a pet(then a relationship); I would have a LOT of stuffed animals and healthy supply of sex toys.

For this reason, it is a source of great stress and anxiety every spring when I consider growing a garden. I hate to waste money. My family subsists on a modest income and I always worry that I will fail to get a wealth of sustenance from even the most meager investment. What if simply living near the vegetables drains them of one of those four crucial ingredients? I can almost hear them wilt and plead, and I question my relationship and my pets.

But this year, I bit the bullet! I took twenty dollars with me to a farm supply store and purchased seeds: many, many lovely seeds: packets and baggies and envelopes of things I don't regularly buy at the grocery store now but am convinced that if it grows outside my door, I might possibly eat it. I bought little jello-shot cups and that ultra-fine dirt with the little white puffy stuff in it. You can get that stuff at the dollar store, you know. My kids and I labeled the cups, planted the seeds, and drizzled the dirt with water (and breathed on them heavily). We found that they grew best just inside the garage with no wind and very little direct sunlight. So, we parked the car outside and put a door across two saw horses for a makeshift table and boy did they grow! We noticed progress daily! In fact, they grew a little too fast. They were getting to big for their cups, so we set aside a weekend and we tilled a hefty portion of the yard. We raked. We hoed rows.

and then...

The storm came.

******

Nearly four years ago I was asked to transcribe some audio files for a company making promotional videos. They do interviews with non-actors, send me the audio, and I create a timed transcript of every "uh" and "er" uttered, for the purpose of using only necessary commentary to make the editing process a touch less grueling. It just so happens that the company employing me was making promotional videos for Monsanto. Irony of ironies; weren't they getting super criticized for their overuse of chemicals?—Apparently, when the whole world is rising up against a major corporation, that major corporation spends big money promoting themselves, because they know the general public is stupid.— Anyway, I am in possession of some extremely disturbing audio files in which farmers list all the chemicals used by both Monsanto and the farmer--with Monsanto's help--to treat their crops. It's in the seeds, on the soil, on the plant, and in the air. They are pesticides and herbicides (farmers do not like plants in general. They only want to see plants in their fields that they PLANT in their fields and they spend A LOT of money keeping those pesky weeds and worms away.) They actually lament too much rain right after a treatment because it literally washes away the pesticides and herbicides(INTO OUR CREEKS AND RIVERS)! Now, I know what your thinking. “If it's an audio file, let's hear it!" and although I never signed anything stating that I would not share this audio with the general public, the careers and reputations of those who trusted me with the files are at steak, and my integrity is one of my finer qualities, second only to my massively deserving ego. ~Not Sorry~ If for some reason this lack of evidence causes one to distrust me, I have a rather large jar of pickled eggs in the fridge, and I might suggest that any nay-sayers have one to suck, if I thought it mattered. It turns out, it doesn't. The real evidence is all around us.

*****

So, the day had come to plant our little jello shots when a rumbling was heard in the distance. I figured it was my stomach because working with food even before it is edible gives me an appetite, but this was accompanied by some very dark clouds to the southwest. My little family sprung into action. We placed the veggie-shots in the rows where we intended to plant them. The air turned cold and a breeze picked up. We squeezed the roots gently from their containers and placed them in the dirt. Drops began to fall. "It will be perfect," I told everyone, "We won't have to use the hose for the first watering." The Universe was rewarding my efforts, my investment, my stewardship! We brushed the little dirt piles around the little plants and packed it down. The wind started blowing hard. Empty cups and plastic bags were blowing away. The kids scrambled to achieve their NON-litterbug patches as Yin and I emptied the last of the cups into the awaiting earth. Thunder! Lightening!

We secured the last of the trash in the receptacle, dodged the buckets of water falling from the sky and huddled under the porch to watch our veggie plants get pelted with humungous water droplets. They looked so sad and pitiful. Even the tallest and strongest was laying flat against the earth flinching with every direct hit. The smallest ones were camouflaged by dirt spackle and nearly invisible. Everything was soaked. Our trust, now, was in Mother Nature to deliver a return on our investment.

***

Last week, I read an article by Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl in the March issue of Experience Life  magazine. The article was called "The Birds and the Bees" and it was about pesticides killing our bees. Oh wait. I meant to say it like this, "PESTICIDES ARE KILLING OUR BEES!!!" In case you weren't aware, bees are needed to help plants grow. NEEDED. CRUCIAL. REQUIRED. ESSENTIAL. NECESSARY. There isn't a fruit or vegetable to spray with chemicals until the bees carry the pollen from the "male" to the "female." So, while I was already hesitant to buy non-organic produce, now I'm down right against it! And you should be too!

***

The entire first night that our fruits and vegetables were in the ground a storm raged. In the morning, the sun came out and to my surprise, our plants lifted their heads triumphantly. They still looked week, but they looked refreshed. They had survived and we have barely had to water our garden since. If the kids want to play in the hose, I may point it at the veggies and let the kids run through it. They love it, and the kids seem to enjoy themselves too. Hardy har har! Our only concern is for the melon rows which were planted on a slight slope and have noticeably bigger plants at the bottom than at the top. 

We do have weeds. My kids go out every morning and sing three songs while they pull weeds. Once the songs are over, they come back in. It isn’t quite enough and our garden is getting a little overgrown, but the soil is happy and our plants are strong, and when the time comes to harvest, we will have organic food for MONTHS all because I spent $20 and took Nike’s slogan to heart. 

***

In the commentary that I transcribed for video, farmers were lamenting the fact that weeds generate tolerances to their herbicides. They evolve at, what I believe one farmer called, "an alarming rate," making herbicides less effective year after year. These same farmers praised Monsanto for coming up with all sorts of chemical solutions to this dilemma including: seeds that are engineered to repel weeds and pests, sprays for the soil before the plant begins to sprout, and sprays for the plant itself, because the spray for the soil would "burn" the crop! Delicious, no? It's amazing that Monsanto can afford to promote itself, but can't afford to come up with organic solutions to weeds and bugs.

Gosh! Imagine those poor beef cows being fed from the crops that have been sprayed half to death, watered by lakes and streams that contain run-off chemicals and shot full of antibiotics, vitamins and hormones. Now, I understand that there is nothing common about common sense, but even the most dim-witted person should be able to understand why we grow less immune to the flu every year.  This isn't rocket science, people. It's all about trying to do away with something that is good for the environment, weeds, bugs, and bacteria. Yep. I said it.  The insult "Eat shit and die," would be more accurate as, "Eat shit and live forever!" as long as the "shit" being referred to is bacteria, not chemicals.

***

We are now halfway through the growing process, and the weeds in our garden are getting a bit out of control, so I will mix up a natural weed killer today. This will be made with Eco-friendly dish soap, salt, and vinegar and will ONLY be sprayed between the rows(and against the house and on the gravel driveway). I will still need to pull the weeds that are growing right next to the vegetables, but how hard can that be? Perhaps I will sing two songs and call it a day. 

I don't feel like my life has changed measurably--I'm still completely lousy with plants inside my home--but now I can go to the grocery store and shop in the ORGANIC produce section without that nagging feeling that I'm negatively effecting our bottom line because most of what I used to buy, I have growing in the front yard. AND I feel great knowing that I am sending a message to farmers that Monsanto can promote themselves until those cows come home, but if the grass is treated with chemicals, those cows are going to keep on walking!

It feels freer here in this conviction. Free of chemicals, wasted money and guilt... oh the guilt. Now if you think that organic food is just for hippy freaks, the chickens can help you find a nice egg to suck on. Or you could always eat shit, and live forever. Now, doesn't that sound nice?!

XO

All this GD DH BS!

There is a highly over-looked, gender specific, social norm that I protest with a gusto, even though to call it minuscule is an understatement (you have to start somewhere).

It's all this gosh-dang, "Darling Husband" bullshit. When women refer to their husbands in blogs, posts, or anywhere else as "The DH" I quit reading. I don't care if I am reading a highly coveted article about how to build Frosty the Snowman so that he actually dances around the yard entertaining my children for hours before ushering them through a dangerous intersection and breaking their hearts when the weather turns warm,—making them sun-hating recluses for the rest of their lives—if during the tutorial the writer refers to a "DH"—I BOUNCE (and contemplate running through a busy intersection myself).

When I said "DH" to my husband he thought it stood for "designated hitter" and I almost fell off the porch swing, laughing.

The problem is that, although the "D" stands for "darling,"—and therefore attempts to be a positive attribute—"DH" has the same dehumanizing qualities as the other commonly used, impersonal, spousal spewings, like "The Old Lady," and "Ball and Chain." Thus, making "DH" nauseatingly passive aggressive. The "darling" makes it sugary sweet and innocently ignorant to the fact that it is utterly degrading. Hack. Vomit. Spew.

Also--and this really ought to be pointed out--this DH BS is deathly prosaic. Grow just one creative bone in those bodies ladies! Give your LH (the alternate and equally disturbing, "Loving Husband") a nickname all his own. Who cares if one year down the road strangers are only beginning to read your blog and aren't yet privy to the background information. It won't take them long to figure out who "ButterBalls," "PapaBear," or "StripSteak" is. Trust me.

Not to mention(though I am mentioning it now), you won't even have to give up your imaginary girl power points. You can still make yourself look just as stupid with sexist generalizations like, "you know men," and "boys will be boys," contributing to the already ridiculous idea that behavior is predetermined by genitals, without completely eliminating the spunk and creativity of a genuine crest of affection. Now, doesn't that sound nice?

Okay. So, I'll go first. From now on, I will refer to CopperPot with a nickname all his own. In fact, I may change it in every blog that I talk about ole' CopperPot, just to prove that it is completely possible. If you get confused, I'm not sorry. Remember, you are only one in a very few that I don't give two shits about. ;) And I do hope you have a blissfully lovely day!

XO!

It's My Freak Flag and I'll Fly if I Want To!

Well, I'm back!

Sort of.

It recently occurred to me that the only thing I do with any consistency is reject social norms. If an opinion has been generalized and agreed upon by the mass ignorant majority, I shoot myself out of a cannon aimed for the opposing side. For instance, why do people always expect mothers to be good with children, or completely satisfied with being mothers? The pure act of having one's own children negates the ability to see any other children through the same perfection goggles that we wear for our own, and let's be honest, kids are annoying. Just because I have two perfect angels of my own, doesn't mean I give a rat's ass about that guy's honor student. Nor do I worship the ground my angels float above when they are acting as defiant towards me as I do towards the rest of society (there's a theme here).

But, for all intents and purposes, I've figured something out about myself. I love to protest. I protest so much that I'm practically a protestant, but organized religion is also something I (quietly) despute. And I protest much more than religious persecution. I just don't always have the time to make a sign and paint flowers on my VW camper van for a trip to DC. The fact that I sold the thing a few years before having kids means nothing. I must defy! So I do it in life.  I change the aspects in my life that contribute to the societal foibles that I dislike the most.  Sometimes it takes years, like hanging laundry to save energy (getting the necessary equipment and such), and sometimes it happens in a day, like shaving my head to protest gender norms. But changes are made and protests are lived.

Now, of course, I have a family. So, all of the ways that I bring my protests to life, must be done in a way that does not reduce my children's quality of life. It's tricky, no lie. Deep down there's a 50's mom bursting to make a Alien-like appearance wearing a pretty little apron and dancing delightedly with a roasting pan. But, while my husband would follow me on a crusade to the end of the world as long as he could bring his work laptop, we have always agreed that our children's health and security come first. So, my protests, be them radical to some, must be family friendly. No throwing water filled condoms at abortion clinic protesters for us! (Not yet, at least.)

We live dangerously outside of societies preconceived notions, but we keep ourselves cleverly disguised. You wouldn't know us from the Jesus-freaks next door, unless you read this blog where I will apparently be waving our unique form of freak flag.

I'm not sure how you should feel about this, but I need to do the dishes now, so you're on your own.

Time to Redefine

• If I don't want to talk to you, I'm a bitch.
• If I don't want to except your drink at a bar or proposal for a date, I'm a bitch.
• If I don't appear flattered that you honked, whistled, or otherwise reduced me to a visual object, I'm a bitch.
• If I don't want to give you my name, my number, or my bra size... I'm a bitch?
• If I'm not a virgin, but don't find you "sponge-worthy," I'm a WHAT?!

Actually, I think, "Bitch," is the nicest thing I've been called.

Deliverance

This guy is an asshole. A major asshole. But I sort of went on a toddler's tirade on my Facebook page when I read this, and that wasn't right either. (I simply implied that a man who condones rape should try being raped sometime.)

AND

as much as I would love to look away and NOT dignify this turd(chocolate starfish, really) with a response or even acknowledgement, this man is a STATE Representative. I feel that it is my duty to make sure people understand why this type of man needs to get the boot (up his ass).

Rape is okay because it doesn't cause death?
1) I suppose it's okay with you if we discuss this over a bong hit after I steal your car then?
2) If the rape results in an abortion, it DOES cause a death.
3) If you use this reasoning, you could say that if a would-be rapist's mother would have had an abortion, then that abortion could have prevented a rape. (i.e. If Lockman's mom would have had an abortion, I would feel safer as a woman.)
4) As you walk this earth in support of men's "superior strength," it would serve you to remember that there are men stronger than you, Lawrence (and you kinda look like the squealing kind).
AND
5) Men are not superior to women. You, for instance, aren't worth the shit-stains on my underwear.

You know, I hope it doesn't come to this, but the oppressed always find a way to rise up and terrorize their oppressor. Although the thought of a women's militia sounds scary (even to me), you, Lawrence Lockman, would be a pretty target(with a pretty mouth, OKAY OKAY, I'LL STOP).

But you have to admit, NOBODY enjoyed "Deliverance," which brings home the point that this man is PURE SICK!

Eating Oreos for Breakfast

I am so tired of people having a problem with the picture on the left, and it is always because of that person's insecurities that they do. The woman on the left is not asking this question to the woman on the right, who clearly has no weight problem. The woman on the left isn't even necessarily talking to moms or women!

She's talking to Mr. and Mrs. Fatty-McFatterson! Yep, I said it! That grotesque couple who feeds their children McDonald's at 10pm just before putting them to bed and wakes them up at 8am with Oreos. Yes, I have seen this. This question is for those lazy fucks out there who scoff at fresh produce then make Sugar Encrusted Sugar Topped with Sugar for the office potluck. You know who they are. They are OBESE and have OBESE children who they are teaching to have the same despicable eating habits and worse, they are teaching them that those eating habits are OKAY because people should like you for who you are. Well, I agree, but let's look at the evidence, shall we? If you can't read a food pyramid, find a simple self-help book in a bookstore, or put NUTRITIONAL FACTS to good use, you are a numb-nut, lazy, asshole who should be denied health coverage until you can pass a health examination and THAT is why people don't like you. It just so happens that the bi-products of your dumb-ass laziness is obesity and low self-esteem. That's on you, but don't try to make me feel bad because you suck at life.

This group of people does not include people who are just fat. I mean, those healthy, happy people who just don't give a rats ass that some government standard has labeled them fat. They eat well, work hard and don't believe they have to be a stick-figure to feel good. I solute those people. They have rejected pop-cultures ideas of beauty and I wish I was that strong. I, truthfully, would like to be a bit thinner because I do feel good when I lose weight. I am working on being a lean, mean, marathon running machine, and I know it will be hard work, but I'm glad that it's not for everyone, because I hate following the crowd.

BUT this question goes out to those people, with or without children, who try diet after diet and whine about life, fairness and low metabolism. Seriously, "What IS your excuse?!"

BELIEVE me. Diet and exercise really does work. Don't strive for thin, try for HEALTHY and you will know when you have reached it, because you won't give a crap what some skinny bitch who spends two hours a day doing crunches has to say about having three children, AND instead of being offended by her, you might just see a little of yourself in her.

BUT for heaven's sake, stop whining!

AND stop getting so bent out of shape over someone making a simple statement about putting forth effort. You make yourself look like a jack-ass, world. I'm done.