UPS Package Stalker

I am a stalker.  There I have admitted it.  I am not proud of it but I felt as my readers you should know that I have gone ape shit crazy when it comes to knowing where my packages are at any given moment.

It began innocently enough.  The past few holiday seasons I did a huge portion of my shopping online.  Whenever a certain package would ship Amazon would send me an email with a tracking number to track my packages.  At first I thought "Wow this is really cool" and I would keep track of the packages so I would know when they were being delivered.

Then came the release of the iPhone 5.  Of course Michael just had to have it and the best way was to pre-order and have it shipped to be delivered on the release day.  That is when I went from being a concerned customer to an all out UPS stalker.  I would wake up in the middle of the night and hit the tracking number on my phone and find out where the phone was. I could tell you where the package was at any given moment.  I knew when it was loaded on the truck, taken to the airport and which sorting station it was in.  I don't have that many details as to where Michael is at any given moment.

Since then whenever I purchase something online (like the super cute Nine West black boots that arrived today) I  become obsessed with tracking it.  If I had my way I would be able to call the UPS facility or the truck itself and talk to the driver.  I am sure he would just love "stalker lady" asking him exactly how long he was going to be at lunch or if he could possibly stop by my house early so I could wear my boots that night.

I have lost all control over my ability to wait patiently until the door bell rings and I hear the package thump on the porch.  I need to keep track of all my goodies.  Where are they? Are they being thrown around? Did they get delivered to the wrong house?  These are the questions that haunt me.

If only I could track Michael as easily as I can my packagesI could take my stalker level to DEFCON 5.

Fifty Shades of Fitness

I always thought that if I found myself breathing heavy, flushed and there were ropes involved I would be in some sort of Fifty Shades of Grey scenario.  Turns out that was not the case.  Instead I was in my Fitness Revolution class slinging two very long and very heavy ropes while doing a squat.  Not exactly the thing dreams are made of I can assure you.

Even though I wasn't living out some wild fantasy this fitness thing is really starting to grow on me.  I thought I would hate it.  I thought I would dread going but instead I find myself looking forward to it.  We had a new member on Thursday.  He's twenty five and his name is Scooter.  Nick worked him so much harder than us that it makes us feel badly for him.  Not so badly that we want to do what he does but we do sympathize. He's lost twenty two pounds in just two and a half months and he looks amazing.

For a wimp like me to be able to complete an hour of exercise is nothing short of a miracle which I suppose would make Nick a miracle worker.  He works you so hard and so fast that just when you are doing sit ups and think "This sucks!! I don't want to do this anymore!" he switches you to a different torture technique to distract you.  Smart move on his part because a couple more crunches and I would be plotting his demise.

He uses what you are passionate about to motivate you.  Like when I asked if we could all go out for margaritas after class he suggested that I pretend the weight I was lifting was a large glass of wine. Not quite what I was looking for but distracting none the less.

Remember it's not too late to join us for our non alcoholic fifty shades of fitness. Call Total Sports of Wixom at 248*669*9817 and ask for Nick.

Fitness Revolution

"I hope when I am gone, people will read my old blogs." That was the thought running through my head as I laid on the scratchy turf trying to "plank" for thirty seconds. Nick, my trainer at Total Sports in Wixom yelled encouragement and something like "back up" when I would fall to the floor. It was the longest thirty seconds of my life but just a small fraction of Nick's Fitness Revolution class.

The difference between the girl in this photo and me is that she can actually do it.  I couldn't even get up on my elbows for more than ten seconds. 

Early on in my first session I realized that I had some serious problems. First and foremost I needed a real sports bra.  The one I have is just one of those flimsy bras I wear around the house on the days I don't want to wear a real bra.  Great for lounging not so great for running.  

My next realization (along with the fact that I needed at least two liters of oxygen) was that silk undies and yoga pants don't mix.  I spent a great deal of time hiking up my pants.  This extra effort was using energy that I really needed to survive the hour.

I started out strong and was very proud of myself until I figured out we were only doing the warm-ups.  If there was just a warm up class I could totally rock it.  I'm just saying.

By the thirty minute mark I was wheezing, sweating in places I can't speak of and Nick's cute trainer smile was beginning to scare me.  Wasn't he worried about me?  Didn't he want to take my pulse? I was a newcomer and I thought I should at least get a worried glance.  The only thing that kept me going was that I was absolutely not going to die with my bangs pulled back in a clip.  Even near death I have my standards.

There was no clock and I wasn't sure I could trust Nick to stop at one hour.  He really looked like he was having fun and loved his job.  Please Lord , don't let him decide to put in a little overtime.

More running, squats, more running, lunges, more running.  Are you getting the idea?  He was alternating pain and torture and doing it quite effectively.  The hour ended and I was still alive. Barely but I still had a pulse and my pants hadn't fallen down.  Not bad for me for my first time.

So I survived session one of twenty. It was not pretty and as I type I can feel my muscles locking up.  By Thursday I will probably need one of those mouth sticks to type my blog. 

But I will be back again on Thursday to whip this body into shape.  Join me, it's worth it just to watch me run.  Call Nick the smiling revolution leader at 248-669-9817.

Only Gains Since Last Loss ( Grief and Girdles)

It has been twenty pounds since anyone in our family has passed away.

I know this for sure because recently I lost my dear Aunt Mary.  She was my grandmother's sister and one of the people I admired most in the world.  I knew when I heard that I had to make the trip down for her funeral and began to prepare for my trip.

As any woman knows the first emotion following grief in this situation is fear.  "Well bless their heart" is barely out of your mouth when you think "Crap when is the last time I wore my black dress?"

Having just been on a cruise last year I thought I was in the clear.  As I squeezed my black shape wear slip over my head I begin to have some doubts about the success of this process.  I was having a little difficulty getting it over the shoulder and I still had the hips to go. Sweat was beginning to form on my upper lip as I shimmied and squirmed my way into this fashion necessity.  With lots of pulling and prayer it was finally pulled down over my hips and I estimated I had sucked in at least five pounds and a few inches.  Taking a deep breath or sobbing would be out of the question but I would just have to suck it in and hold myself together.

As my legs became one under the slip I found it difficult to walk toward the closet.  No need to panic.  This thigh friction could be solved with control top hose and some lotion. I pulled out a burgundy wrap dress and slid it over the Lyrca.  To say it fit would be an exaggeration. I looked like a cheap hooker.  Everywhere there wasn't shape wear there was extra "shape" sticking out.  Praying that it wasn't as bad as I thought I called my daughter Ashley in to give me a second opinion.  She walked in my room , looked me up and down and stated  "Oh good Lord NO!!"  I knew it was a stretch (pun intended) but didn't think it looked that bad.

After several more dresses I looked down to find my legs were a blue color.  I had either cut off all circulation or that tag that said to wash my dark jeans before I wore them wasn't a joke.  Either way I knew that if I was going to make it I had to unleash this over forty body of mine out of this Lycra prison.

I made it fine until I hit the shoulder area.  All the material had combined to form a Boa Constrictor like hold on my upper body.  I called out for help and Ashley came running.  We managed to free me and all the blood and fat cells rushed back to their home.

The look on Ashley's face was "Dear Lord, please don't tell me that's what my body will look like when I am forty seven."  I decided that I might need to put her on a suicide watch for the next twenty four hours.  After that kind of trauma you never know what someone will do.

A few days later as I dressed for the funeral I thought how silly I had been.  These people were my family and needing to get all dressed up wasn't what this was about.   After all I am sure my Grandmother would just be happy I was there.

When I came out of the bedroom to leave for the funeral my grandmother turned to me and said "I don't know what you did to your hair today but it looked really good yesterday".  Apparently my outfit was the least of my worries.  You have to love Grandmother for keeping it real.

Fitness Training for the Exercise Impaired

Somewhere at the Total Sports Complex there is a personal trainer named Nick.  I know this because he and I are supposed to meet tomorrow to begin my 10 week quest toward a new fit and fabulous Kim.

The sad thing is that he is just running along living his life in his workout gear with no idea of the challenge that lies ahead for him.

Tomorrow morning he will wake up and have some kind of muscle building shake and feel all energized and enthusiastic.  He will spend his day training like minded people who actually enjoy exercise.  Together they will squat and lunge and he will feel he is making a real difference in their lives.Then when he gets to me at five o'clock he will begin to doubt his career choice.

I am not a fan of exercise.  I don't know if it is the sweating or monotony but it just isn't as much fun as shopping.  Why people run just to end up back at home has always puzzled me.  Don't get me wrong I will run toward a clearance rake or away from a mouse but beyond that I am kind of a stationary person. I am a fan of reading a magazine or watching reality t.v..  The only exercise I get is lifting a large McDonald's diet coke from the cup holder to my mouth a couple of hundred times a day.  Sometimes that even feels exhausting.

Fitness requires a Lycra wardrobe and time management skills neither of which I have.  I am not a morning person so working out before work is not a realistic goal for me.  After work I don't want to go home and change just to get back out.  I could pack to go to the gym but now we are back to my lack of time management skills again.

Up until I hit my mid forties I could eat whatever I wanted and not get too fat.  Those days are over.  It's like all of a sudden my body has said "Okay lady that's enough Doritos!  Get off your a** and move."  I have found that after 40 your body is more of a adversary than a friend.

So I am going to spend the next 10 weeks seeing how the other half lives.  You know those people that think  Target heart rate is something other than how excited you get when the Target ad comes out.  I am going to see what the runners high is all about.  Is it true those those people that exercise have more energy? If so where did they get the energy to start exercising in the first place?  Should I buy a water bottle, energy bars and a selection of neon colored sports bras? What jewelry should I wear?  I will state for the record that I refuse to participate in any activity that doesn't involve at least earrings and a bracelet.

So y'all pray for Nick.  He is going to need all his muscle milkshake skills to transform this coach potato into an exerciser. If I can lift my arms I will update you Friday. If you don't hear from me please drop a bottle of ibuprofen on my porch and say a quick rosary.

Parallel Parking Is Stupid

When do you ever HAVE to do this?

I am so furious!  Looks like I am going to have to use my emergency Xanax to teach Michael how to parallel park.  Now you have been along for this crazy existence that I call my life and you know darn good and well that there are many other times when this emergency pill is going to be needed.  But because this antiquated maneuver is still required before you can even begin the road test I am going to have to go to some deserted parking lot and try to remain calm while trying to teach my son to do something that I don't even do well.  We would have a better chance of him teaching me how to shoot a three point shot.

There are very very few places that even offer parallel parking so it is difficult to find a place to practice. This past weekend Brad and I found ourselves standing out in the freezing drizzle pretending to be the cars in the front and back of a space.  The next time Michael utters "You just don't trust me" I am going to punch him in the throat! Nothing says trust like a large vehicle coming out you with a teenager behind the wheel.

I am not sure why we are still being tested on this.  Why don't we test them on something they really need to know like how to drive with your leg while you eat fries and drink a coke. I would say it is a much more likely scenario than having to parallel park.

The whole thing just makes me want to scream. We spend hundreds of dollars for driver's ed and fifty dollars to take a road test so they can get a license and torment us further by raising our insurance rates and making laws that our teens can't answer their phones while they are driving.  How will we ever know where they are?  One thing is for sure I know that Michael won't be somewhere trying to parallel park.

I am starting a grass roots movement right now to abolish the parallel parking requirement. It's too late for my child but I will feel my life has served a purpose if no other mom has to waste her emergency Xanax in such a senseless fashion.  Game on Governor Snyder!!!!!

New Cellphone Law Has Me Laughing

http://
bit.ly/10m2SKD Read about the new bill here!

Governor Snyder recently signed a law making it illegal for teens to talk on their cellphones while driving.  While I'm all about teens paying attention to the road and not their phones I thought the "talking" part was funny.

I haven't seen a teenager actually put a phone to their ear since the phones had cords and they were attached to the wall.  Teens don't talk on the phone.  They text, tweet, Instagram, snapchat and Facebook but the one thing they don't do is talk.

Example:  Homecoming with all their friends and they are on their phones.

There was a time when cell phone minutes shared among a family would be the cause of a end of the month shouting match about who used all the minutes. Now as long as they have unlimited text and a large data package they could call less if their phones have the capability to make calls.

 If by chance I do call my son, first I get silence as if he isn't sure if he is supposed to say hello first or if I am.  Then I get the worlds shortest conversation.  He seems annoyed that his "mini computer" is ringing. If I really want to communicate with him I text.  We can text all night but talking to me on the phone is out of the question.

He is turning sixteen next week which means he will be living in his car.  I would never text him while he is driving and now apparently I can't call him while he is driving.  I am really going to miss him.

Laundry Jenga

Every week we have the same laundry ritual at my house.  Michael dumps his dirty laundry in the living room floor.  Usually it is around 9 p.m when I have no chance of getting it done before bedtime.

I survey the pile and begin the task of meticulously sorting. Socks that were tucked inside each other are separated, clothes that are inside out are reversed and the dog usually spends a few minutes rolling around in Michael's basketball "scented" items.
 
After each load is washed and dried I sort them in to piles according to the item.  All t-shirts are Gap folded (you know how they fold them at the Gap so you can see the logo), socks mated, jeans folded and his hoodies are hung up to dry so they won't shrink.

Now comes the fun part.  Instead of taking them down to his room he comes up every morning , drops his towel and retrieves his daily ensemble from the couch of clothes.  This goes on for several day until I throw a hissy fit and make him take them down stairs.  Until the hissy fit actually occurs he begins his day with a fun game I like to call laundry Jenga.

Laundry Jenga is when he tries to pull the item he needs out of the folded stack of clothes.  If he is very careful he can get the middle shirt without disrupting the entire pile.  If he isn't successful then the pile falls over and all my work is for nothing.

The problem with this game is that he is the one playing and I am the one that is losing.  Laundry Jenga is the reason my right eye twitches and I have to have my hair colored every four weeks.  For the life of me I can not understand why he can't just take them downstairs.  In the privacy of his man cave he could play laundry Jenga all he wanted.  

So each week we play this game.  Each week my hair turns a little whiter and he looks at me during my hissy fit like I have lost my mind.  So if one day you arrive at my home and I am sitting in the corner clutching a box of Gain and staring off into the distance you will know I finally cracked.  One too many rounds of laundry Jenga will do that to a person.

Teens and Toilet Paper Rolls

I am searching for a scientific mind to perform a clinical study. I would like to know how much energy is required to change a toilet paper roll.

This information is urgently needed so that I can decide what type of vitamins or food supplements my children need. As a mother I need to address the fact that they seem to be lacking that extra bit of energy required to change the toilet paper roll.

They are close, so close.  They can lean over and get a new roll out of the cabinet but that is where they apparently run out of energy and are forced to take a break.  In their apparent exhaustion they are forced to sit the toilet paper on top of the old roll and lie down.

I am assuming this is what is happening because these two smart kids can't just be so lazy that they can't change the roll.  As their mother, I am going with the lack of energy/exhaustion theory.  Call it denial but there has to be a logical scientific explanation for TPRS "toilet paper roll syndrome".

Speaking with other parents I have found TPRS is running rampant in our country.  How can it be that this is not being investigated or studied?  As mothers we need and demand answers.  How many gummi vitamins does it take to capture enough energy to conquer TPRS?

The time to fight is now.  Join me in finding a cure and "wiping" out TPRS!