Alright. No more whining. I promise. There are other things in life besides being big and fat and pregnant. Let’s talk about something else! Now I’m all emotional–Give me 5 minutes. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic: What sort of things do you not hate but not like about yourself? Discuss.
I’ll go first, and in list mode. You guys who know and love me will appreciate this:
- I know I’m not the only one out there that does this: You hear or read something hilarious somewhere, and you vow to yourself, that one day, at just the right time, you will make that phrase your bitch and get huge laughs. You put it in a deep dark pocket of your brain and forget about it for a while, a long while, and every so often you’ll remember it and wish you had said it a few days earlier. And then one night, after several drinks and in front of ten people, you’ll say it right out of the blue. Only it won’t be the most opportune time so it won’t pack quite the punch you thought it would. So you’ll say it again 5 minutes later. And again soon after that. During the course of the night you’ll say the phrase a million times and laugh hysterically to your drunk self. People will make fun of you for it the next day and you’ll never have the nerve to say it again, even when the conversation leads right to it. You will have made a waste of a perfectly funny phrase. I DO THIS.
- I guess I’ll just come right out and admit this: I hate working out. I hate weight-lifting. I hate the treadmill and the stair-stepper. I used to like running, but I can’t do it now to save my life. If someone was chasing me with a knife, than I’d just get stabbed. My saving grace is that I love the bike. But as far as exercise goes, I’m totally unmotivated to sweat on my own, which is horrible since my metabolism is insanely slow. Caleb is completely opposite–he has to make a sincere effort to just NOT lose weight. He’s like, 41 times hotter than me. It’s just really not fair. I think God ought to give heavy-prone people the will power and drive that the naturally skinny people have but just don’t need.
- I really do think I sing good. I sing real good–as long as it’s only one of two or three notes. I love to sing–and it took a while for me to realize my range is not quite what it used to be, if it ever was even that. After numerous complaints, I recorded myself on my cell phone–yeah, I did that–and I did indeed confirm that my singing is less than pleasurable to listen to. And I’m okay with that; my family is not. However; a wise Hannah Montana once said: "Just because you have a terrible voice–does that mean you shouldn’t sing?" To which Cheyenne promptly answered, "Yes."
- I REMEMBER USELESS THINGS. Ask me my kindergarten teacher’s assistant’s first and last name. Ask me what color my third pair of jellies were. Ask me what I was wearing the first time Caleb and I watched a Seinfeld rerun together. But did I remember to feed the dogs this morning? When was the last time Mia’s pool was cleaned? Did I drop off the trash bill this week, or is it still in the car’s glove compartment? I HAVE NO IDEA. I’m really smart, but I can’t seem to get a mental handle on day-to-day responsibilities. Geniuses can’t be bothered with common sense.
- I bite my nails like nobody’s business. They are all gone. They will never grow again. My hands look hideous. This disturbs me. This also disturbs Caleb, who undoubtedly can’t stand the thought of his geniusly sexy wife having man-mitts. I’ve tried everything–coating my nails with gross stuff does not deter me. The only time I’ve ever quit biting (If it sounds like an addiction that’s because it is.) was when my kids were born. Something about touching a sweet, tiny baby with nasty nails made it easy to stop…for a while. I’m back in the habit in less than 2 months. I may look into hypnosis if I get desperate enough. The upside to biting my nails? I’m probably immune to so many diseases it’s not even funny.