When you're trying to behave
and eat your Special K,
When you try to tie your sneakers
but your gut gets in the way.
When one bowl of cereal
turns miraculously into two,
When you only have three outfits
even close to fitting you.
When you're glad your mate is beefier,
let's face the truth, I know,
It makes you feel much smaller
when you're with him on the go.
When you buy the stalks of celery
and dip generously in the hummus,
But eat the double double (gorilla style)
'cause, by far, it seems the funnest.
When the sun, the yard, and the pool
start beckoning you to come near,
And you throw on a towel or a moo-moo
'cause all bathing suits you fear.
You have two choices that I'm aware,
or maybe four or three.
It's time to diet. it's time to give up.
or it's time to just be free.
Menopause I yield to you;
I cry uncle; I acquiesce.
I'll accept the crying, the hot flashes and bloat,
But I'll take no more... and I guess no less.
So one day it'll be egg whites
with fresh vegetables galore,
And the next day I'll have french fries,
and onion rings, and more!
As long as I am living,
as long as I can care,
I'll be in love with every food,
And I'm not very likely to share.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Changing My Name & Chewing My Cud
OK, so... I'm new to this blogging thing, and many thanks to a dear friend who turned me onto it. But the truth is, unless I have her sitting next to me every waking moment to teach me all the idiosyncrasies of this site, I shamelessly admit... I'm struggling. You have no idea how many things I clicked on just to get here today. Luckily for my friend, she has a life and can only meet me secretly in grocery stores. "Security, disturbance in the meat department off aisle 3. Bring your Taser."
Last night I was trying to get to my blog, but I couldn't remember where to find it. Now... to the typical person this would not be a problem, but it's me we're talking about. Turns out another friend of mine wanted to read it, and I had to find it. All the handwritten notes in the world couldn't help me. Lordie Lou, save me, I am slowly, but surely, becoming my mother. So since I'd already gone grocery shopping once this week, I did what any normal person would do when her friend with the answers is not close... I did what any intelligent and curious person would do when presented with a problem, question, or word they don't know... I went to ask "The Google".
When I went to The Google and searched my blog name "ramblings by roxie", I discovered that there were a whole lot of Roxies that rambled. I'm talking an inordinate amount of them. There was nothing unique about my blog name at all. And it got me wondering... Are all people named Roxanne naturally rambling? Do we ponder too much? And how much pondering and rambling is considered okay? And how much is actually too much? I also wondered if The Google could help me with these burning questions. Then I got to wondering why people I know never name their children after me... only their dogs and cats are named after me... and suddenly, it all made sense. But, alas, I digress... in a rambling fashion.
Thanks to my relatively consistent confusion, and The Google, I decided I needed to change my blog name. With the help of a writing partner... OK it was entirely her idea... I decided upon "ruminationsbyroxie". A quick visit to The Google verified that I wouldn't be confused with others of the same name. Sadly, it also supported my claim that people name their pets after me. Case in point lifted entirely off The Google...and I quote: "WILD RUMINATION: ROXIE rocks my life!!! ...On October 14th 2009 at 11:33pm , we warmly welcomed a new member into our family. She is an adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel..."
When my friend suggested "ruminations", I had to ask The Google what it meant. Now... you may think... in a Forrest Gump sort of way... that I am not a smart (wo)man... to have to look up that word... but I'd much rather ask lots of questions and check and recheck facts and definitions than have someone smart-assingly (new word, you won't find it in The Google) send me some snopes dot com link and rub my nose in my errors. Again with the dog reference...
So what does ruminations mean? I know there are some of you that probably know already... like my writing partner. But I also know... deep in my heart... and often cobwebbed brain... that there are also plenty of you that need me to share the definition I got off The Google. Actually, The Google was kind enough to offer me a variety of definitions from different sources and so I'll share one and include the others in parentheses. Ruminations: 1. to turn a matter over and over in the mind, (to reflect on over and over again), (the act of pondering). 2. to chew cud.
Yes, I do tend to turn matters over and over, and reflect over and over, and ponder over and over again. It's the sole reason I chose to blog. I need to clear out my brain so I can make room to work on my screenplay which is far more structured work than my ramblings. But in the end... the reason I chose to include the word ruminations in my title was definition 2: to chew cud. It just seemed most apt for what is going on within the grey matter between my double pierced ears.
So remember... to find my writings... you will need to update your link to "cud chewings by roxie". No wait, that's not it... try this instead: ruminationsbyroxie.blogspot.com
Last night I was trying to get to my blog, but I couldn't remember where to find it. Now... to the typical person this would not be a problem, but it's me we're talking about. Turns out another friend of mine wanted to read it, and I had to find it. All the handwritten notes in the world couldn't help me. Lordie Lou, save me, I am slowly, but surely, becoming my mother. So since I'd already gone grocery shopping once this week, I did what any normal person would do when her friend with the answers is not close... I did what any intelligent and curious person would do when presented with a problem, question, or word they don't know... I went to ask "The Google".
When I went to The Google and searched my blog name "ramblings by roxie", I discovered that there were a whole lot of Roxies that rambled. I'm talking an inordinate amount of them. There was nothing unique about my blog name at all. And it got me wondering... Are all people named Roxanne naturally rambling? Do we ponder too much? And how much pondering and rambling is considered okay? And how much is actually too much? I also wondered if The Google could help me with these burning questions. Then I got to wondering why people I know never name their children after me... only their dogs and cats are named after me... and suddenly, it all made sense. But, alas, I digress... in a rambling fashion.
Thanks to my relatively consistent confusion, and The Google, I decided I needed to change my blog name. With the help of a writing partner... OK it was entirely her idea... I decided upon "ruminationsbyroxie". A quick visit to The Google verified that I wouldn't be confused with others of the same name. Sadly, it also supported my claim that people name their pets after me. Case in point lifted entirely off The Google...and I quote: "WILD RUMINATION: ROXIE rocks my life!!! ...On October 14th 2009 at 11:33pm , we warmly welcomed a new member into our family. She is an adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel..."
When my friend suggested "ruminations", I had to ask The Google what it meant. Now... you may think... in a Forrest Gump sort of way... that I am not a smart (wo)man... to have to look up that word... but I'd much rather ask lots of questions and check and recheck facts and definitions than have someone smart-assingly (new word, you won't find it in The Google) send me some snopes dot com link and rub my nose in my errors. Again with the dog reference...
So what does ruminations mean? I know there are some of you that probably know already... like my writing partner. But I also know... deep in my heart... and often cobwebbed brain... that there are also plenty of you that need me to share the definition I got off The Google. Actually, The Google was kind enough to offer me a variety of definitions from different sources and so I'll share one and include the others in parentheses. Ruminations: 1. to turn a matter over and over in the mind, (to reflect on over and over again), (the act of pondering). 2. to chew cud.
Yes, I do tend to turn matters over and over, and reflect over and over, and ponder over and over again. It's the sole reason I chose to blog. I need to clear out my brain so I can make room to work on my screenplay which is far more structured work than my ramblings. But in the end... the reason I chose to include the word ruminations in my title was definition 2: to chew cud. It just seemed most apt for what is going on within the grey matter between my double pierced ears.
So remember... to find my writings... you will need to update your link to "cud chewings by roxie". No wait, that's not it... try this instead: ruminationsbyroxie.blogspot.com
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Mountains of Rainbows
I've gotten a bit behind in my laundry chores. Oh, I've washed the clothes. And I've even folded some of them. But... alas, they still sit lazily in baskets around the perimeter of my bedroom. More proof that you CAN have too many clothes baskets.
You'd think things would have slowed down some in the laundry department. Firstly, my boys have had to do their own laundry for years... which is not to say I don't occasionally do the loving mother load once in a while... I do... and it makes me happy. It's just one of my oddities. I think I got it from my mother. She used to sneak into my apartment and clean and take my laundry and wash it. But I digress. And secondly, my boys are in college now. They're not even living here. How is it even possible to have mountains of laundry?
I spent an entire day sorting and hanging and folding and weeding through clothes. Here are my labeled piles:
1. "Clothes that are a little wrinkled but the heat from my body will straighten them out, so they can be hung up."
2. "Clothes that need to be ironed, but I hate ironing, so they shall be washed again (on light soil so as to minimize my carbon footprint...even a little) and I promise to set a timer and fold them this time around. Honest."
3. "Clothes that are not wrinkled but, despite being clean, have so much cat hair on them that I need to wash them again. Damn cats."
4. And let's not forget the "Dirty Clothes" pile. I don't care what any of you say. It doesn't matter how fastidious you are with their laundry chores... there is never NOT a dirty clothes pile. (rolling eyes while thinking... double negative means a positive... yes.. that's exactly what I meant to say.)
My children say that when they're on their own, they will never have pets until they get old and no longer care how they look... Yea... Go ahead... Take as much time as you need to think about what my kids just said to me... I can wait...
Okay, to give you some back story... I have two white cats, and a largely black wardrobe. What was I thinking? Actually, to be fair, I had the black wardrobe first. I traded a rabbit for the one cat (that's its own story), and my kids talked their father into the second cat because it came with a year's supply of free food. What a bargain, right? Meanwhile, truth is... with my luck... if I had an all white wardrobe, I'd have owned two black cats. That's just how I roll.
Also, you should know... I sort my closet by color, then type. It's so I can dress quickly. It goes whites, tans, oranges, reds, purples, blues, greens, browns, blacks. Then, within the colors, I sort by types. So, for instance... with shirts... it'd be no sleeves, short sleeves, then long sleeves. And with pants, it'd be capris, then long pants, then jeans. Yes, I have a rainbow of clothes. But don't worry, none of them fit me... It's all for show for when I lose those last 60 lbs.
You'd think with all the clothes that I have that DON'T fit me, that my laundry loads would be minimal. But noooo... I'm 50 years old and in full blown menopause. I change clothes a lot. Did you need to know that? No. Do I care? No. Deal with it. It's also how I roll.
So, fast forward... I've rewashed my black load of clothes. I even remembered to set the timer so I'd remember to hang the delicates so they wouldn't wrinkle. I don't know about you, but I'm extremely proud of myself here... but I guess I just impress easily. Now, I'm not new to this but, I am still amazed how much cat hair remains woven into the clothes. In hindsight, I should have just duct taped them in the first place... but at least with the hanging of the delicates, they don't need to be ironed (read: either rewashed or run through a warm dryer).
Although my motto is "No outfit is complete without pet hair", sometimes I must admit it looks like I'm wearing a cat fur coat. I'm worried that PETA is gonna throw red paint on me and then I'll have to increase my red section of cat covered clothes in my closet.
You'd think things would have slowed down some in the laundry department. Firstly, my boys have had to do their own laundry for years... which is not to say I don't occasionally do the loving mother load once in a while... I do... and it makes me happy. It's just one of my oddities. I think I got it from my mother. She used to sneak into my apartment and clean and take my laundry and wash it. But I digress. And secondly, my boys are in college now. They're not even living here. How is it even possible to have mountains of laundry?
I spent an entire day sorting and hanging and folding and weeding through clothes. Here are my labeled piles:
1. "Clothes that are a little wrinkled but the heat from my body will straighten them out, so they can be hung up."
2. "Clothes that need to be ironed, but I hate ironing, so they shall be washed again (on light soil so as to minimize my carbon footprint...even a little) and I promise to set a timer and fold them this time around. Honest."
3. "Clothes that are not wrinkled but, despite being clean, have so much cat hair on them that I need to wash them again. Damn cats."
4. And let's not forget the "Dirty Clothes" pile. I don't care what any of you say. It doesn't matter how fastidious you are with their laundry chores... there is never NOT a dirty clothes pile. (rolling eyes while thinking... double negative means a positive... yes.. that's exactly what I meant to say.)
My children say that when they're on their own, they will never have pets until they get old and no longer care how they look... Yea... Go ahead... Take as much time as you need to think about what my kids just said to me... I can wait...
Okay, to give you some back story... I have two white cats, and a largely black wardrobe. What was I thinking? Actually, to be fair, I had the black wardrobe first. I traded a rabbit for the one cat (that's its own story), and my kids talked their father into the second cat because it came with a year's supply of free food. What a bargain, right? Meanwhile, truth is... with my luck... if I had an all white wardrobe, I'd have owned two black cats. That's just how I roll.
Also, you should know... I sort my closet by color, then type. It's so I can dress quickly. It goes whites, tans, oranges, reds, purples, blues, greens, browns, blacks. Then, within the colors, I sort by types. So, for instance... with shirts... it'd be no sleeves, short sleeves, then long sleeves. And with pants, it'd be capris, then long pants, then jeans. Yes, I have a rainbow of clothes. But don't worry, none of them fit me... It's all for show for when I lose those last 60 lbs.
You'd think with all the clothes that I have that DON'T fit me, that my laundry loads would be minimal. But noooo... I'm 50 years old and in full blown menopause. I change clothes a lot. Did you need to know that? No. Do I care? No. Deal with it. It's also how I roll.
So, fast forward... I've rewashed my black load of clothes. I even remembered to set the timer so I'd remember to hang the delicates so they wouldn't wrinkle. I don't know about you, but I'm extremely proud of myself here... but I guess I just impress easily. Now, I'm not new to this but, I am still amazed how much cat hair remains woven into the clothes. In hindsight, I should have just duct taped them in the first place... but at least with the hanging of the delicates, they don't need to be ironed (read: either rewashed or run through a warm dryer).
Although my motto is "No outfit is complete without pet hair", sometimes I must admit it looks like I'm wearing a cat fur coat. I'm worried that PETA is gonna throw red paint on me and then I'll have to increase my red section of cat covered clothes in my closet.
Can I Keep It Up? Can I? Please? Huh? Can I?
I don't want to take my Christmas tree down. I love my Christmas tree. It is a most beautiful 12' tall and thin tree with many pre-lit beautiful white lights, and many beautiful and handmade ornaments with memories and lovely sentiments attached. But the ribbons... oh, how I love the ribbons! They cascade from the golden tree top angel's gown in loose spirals and land on different branches at varying lengths. The ribbons are sheer blue with golden edges. I love them as much as anyone can love a ribbon. In the past, I've had gold and burgundy lace ribbons cascading down, and I thought I adored them. Ah, what a fickle ribbon lover I've turned out to be. I am now shamelessly enamored with my blue and gold ribbon. Haters don't be hating.
No, I don't want to take my Christmas tree down. That's how much I love the big ol' lug. One might think I'm just being lazy. Hey... I won't lie! It is definitely a heckuva lotta work putting the Christmas season together in my house, and even worse taking it all down. But the truth is... I'll admit... I can do without the snowman bathroom (think: all my friends are flakes). And I can do without the poinsettia mantle and door toppers. And I can even do without the nutcracker doormen. And while I'd be devastated to remove my handmade felted floral banister decor, it simply does not compare to the love affair I have with my tree.
I just want to leave my beautiful tree up, as proud as a post-Thanksgiving day tree, and as proud as a Christmas morning tree. Every night, even now, I turn that tree on and a huge smile spreads across my face. I'll admit, I'm glad that no one is watching me... I'm pretty sure it must seem slightly creepy.
Friends suggest that I could leave the tree up and adorn it with all the different holiday decorations. They simply aren't listening to me... or if they are, they're not hearing me. I love my CHRISTMAS tree... the Christmas lights... the Christmas ornaments...and especially the Christmas ribbons. I am not interested in a Valentine tree, or an Easter tree. Although I could see myself enjoying a St. Patty's tree... but then again green beer will do that to a person.
No. I just want to leave my Christmas tree up... as is... in all it's glory. No need to call the funny farm. It's not all that funny... or crazy. At least not to me. Don't judge me though. I know...maybe... when you come over,... maybe I can get you to smile along with me as I turn on that beautiful majestic tree, and our creepy smiles will erupt into joy and laughter... you know the kind... HA HA HO HO HEE HEE HA HA WHERE LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL ALL THE TIME... Gigglesnort. (Thank you Dr. Dementia's Delights 1975). Seriously though... if you saw my blue ribbons... I know you'd feel the same way! <3
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)