Ask me anything!

I’ve seen a few people do these Q&A posts and I think it looks like a jolly good time, so I’m gonna do one too!

This is your opportunity to ask me ANY question(s) you want, personal or otherwise. ¬†Just leave them in the comments, and I’ll answer them in one big post sometime this week! ūüėÄ

Where milk comes from

I never venture out on or any day around Black Friday. ¬†It’s not that I’m all ‘anti big business’ or whatever. ¬†I’m just anti crazy people, mostly. ¬†I have no desire to risk catching a manslaughter charge over a 75% off pair of ugly boots. ¬†Because that’s what would happen if I was into huge savings and ugly boots.

Instead, the kid and I stayed home, slept in late, and are currently partaking in an engrossing SpongeBob SquarePants marathon.

Also, we had the most interesting conversation over breakfast this morning that I really think I screwed up. ¬†Seven year olds are inherently curious creatures and sometimes they ask questions out of the clear blue that really put you on the spot. ¬†I fumbled over the right words and I’m afraid I sounded too much like a bumbling idiot with my answers for him to ever take me seriously now. Oh well? ¬†Permanent damage there, MOVING ON.

It all started with a glass of milk.

“Milk is made from cows, isn’t it mom?” he asked innocently enough.

“Well no, it’s not MADE from cows, this milk COMES from cows. ¬†As in, they produce it.”

“Oh…what does produce mean?”

“It means they make it. Mama cows. They make it.” ¬†I could already see where this was going.

“How do they make it?”

“Well, when mama cows have babies, they produce milk for the calves to drink.”

“…And then people take some of it for humans to drink too?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…do human moms make milk for their babies too?”

“Yes…”

“Where does it come from?”

“OH uh, well, it comes out of their…it comes from…their breasts…” I said with reasonable hesitation. Wow, I thought to myself, I chose the word ‘breasts’ because I wanted to give him an accurate, mature-ish answer they way I figured most parents would. ¬†But I knew he was going to ask…

“What are breasts?” ¬†I can tell you right now it sounds so weird to hear a 7 year old boy say the word ‘breasts’. So I had to use terms that I knew he was familiar with.

“Their boobs. ¬†It comes out of their boobs.”

“OH LOL BOOBIES. THAT’S FUNNY. LOLOLOLOL.”

Yeah. Boobs he understands, and now he knows a cool new term for the word boobies that he will undoubtedly tell my parents about later. The lesson I learned: When you’re 7, everything regarding boobs is funny and explaining their purpose with proper terms will not keep the conversation from derailing into a gigglefest.

Sigh.

At least I didn’t scare him away from drinking milk ever again. I win?

It’s Thanksgiving and stuff

‘Happy Thanksgiving’ posts are obligatory for us Americans, eh? ¬†I can taste my mom’s famous pumpkin pie as we speak. ¬†But it’s another 9 hours before we go there. ¬†Boo.

Food coma: she’s does it right.

My plans for the day include showering unreasonably early (like right after I get done with this) so that my hair will dry naturally and be in an acceptable condition for styling (it must be pampered before it decides to work with me). ¬†After that we’ll crash in on Josh’s grandmother’s tiny apartment for some yummy foodstuffs, an endless river of desserts, and socializing with his side of the family.

After we get home from there I’ll have to make a mad dash to the kitchen to make some homemade dinner rolls that I offered to make for dinner at MY parent’s house. ¬†The ‘plan-ahead’ part of me told me to make them yesterday so I wouldn’t be rushed and stressed out today. But then I decided that would be quite gross, as you just can’t have day-old bread on Thanksgiving. ¬†So rushed and stressed I shall be!

On an unrelated note: today is the 24th which means only 6 more days until NaBloPoMo is over. ¬†I almost can’t believe I’ve been able to keep up!

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.

 

Be safe if you’re travelling. ¬†Enjoy the time you get to spend with your loved ones today. ¬†It’s a privilege denied to so many.

 

Where I was a year ago

I used to have a pro Flickr account. ¬†I remembered it earlier for absolutely no reason except for the fact that December is coming up and it was last December when my account renewal came due and I didn’t want to pay it again. ¬†I’m cheap. ¬†And lazy.

The last time I uploaded photos to it was November 2010, when I crocheted a hat.

Since then, I’ve lost 50 pounds, give or take a few. ¬†I didn’t realize how noticeable it was until I started comparing pictures of then and now.

Like this one, taken around Halloween of this year.

Wow, holy close up shot, Batman.  You can practically see my hair follicles from here.

ANYWAY

My weight loss is something I don’t really talk about with people IRL, because, well, you can’t really go around saying you’ve lost X amount of pounds without sounding like a pompous ass. ¬†Like you think you’re all special now or something. ¬†Which I certainly don’t think of myself that way, so I rarely mention it. ¬†But there’s never a shortage of people that want to bring it up to ME. ¬†There are a lot of things I’ve learned from the experience, one of which being that when you make changes in your life, like losing a lot of weight, people (family/friends/neighbors/coworkers) really start paying attention to you. ¬†Like really hard sometimes. ¬†They want to know about your routine, what you’re doing differently, what you eat or don’t eat, etc. ¬†Some ask because they genuinely want to know. ¬†Others do it because they like to scrutinize your choices and make you feel inferior for them. ¬†I wasn’t prepared for it at first, but over time I’ve come to expect it and have found myself in the same situations over and over. ¬†Here are a few examples.

The Skeptic

Person A: You’ve lost so much weight, how did you do it?

Me: I work out and watch what I eat.

Person A: *blink blink* *surprise face*

Me: …That’s it. ¬†Really.

Person A: *Skeptical face*

Me: *Annoyed face*

I’ve found that a lot of people don’t fully believe me when I answer them this way. ¬†I can tell what they REALLY wanted me to tell them is that I take some kind of pill or potion, or visited some witch doctor on the bad part of town who did some skinny hocus pocus on me. ¬†Any of those things would apparently make more sense. ¬†It’s annoying, but I’ve come to accept it. ¬†Some people will believe anything other than the fact that you achieved something on your own merits.

The Diet Analyzer

Person B:  You must really miss eating now, huh? HUH? *elbow jab, jab, JAB*

Me: No…actually I still eat quite normally…

Person B: LOL yeah ok, I know you really sit around gnawing on lettuce leaves just wishing you could eat what I eat! HAHA YOU MUST HATE UR LIFE NOW.

Me: …You’re absolutely right. ¬†I really do hate shopping for normal sized clothes again. ¬†And my knee pain? Gone. WHAT A DRAG.

The Been-There-Done-That-And-Failed Guy

Person C: Oh you’ve lost weight. Good for you. ¬†I lost a lot of weight too once but I gained it all back. ¬†You probably will too.

Me: Hmm I probably won’t, actually. ¬†See now I know what to do if I ever DO start gaining a lot of weight back and…

Person C: Nope, no you’re totally going to fail. ¬†It’s cute that you’re trying but I couldn’t do it, so I’m gonna say anything to make you think you can never do it either because I’m insecure and I want you to be in this failboat with me.

Me: *sigh*

So yeah, some people can be total A-holes about it and it can be hard to ignore all the negativity sometimes.  But the experience as a whole as been a positive one for me.

Oh, but there is ONE thing that I miss about being overweight.

Boobs.

That’s right, the ugly truth is that they’re usually the first things to go. ¬†Mine packed their shit and left a long time ago. ¬†OH WELL. ¬†I can’t be an anorexic lettuce cruncher AND have a nice rack, can I?

Remind me to ask the witch doctor about that the next time I go to get my spell reupped.

 

You girls and your nail polish photos

I’ve been seeing these everywhere lately, and I want to be cool too! ¬†Let’s see if I can do this right.

Hmm, okay. ¬†Clearly I have not quite mastered the ‘polish bottle clutch’ as I refer to it, where your nails are all neatly aligned along the bottle to make the photo more aesthetically pleasing. ¬†Apparently this part takes practice.

Also, I feel like my awkward polish bottle clutch makes my hand look less like an attempt to show the color of my nails and more like an attempt to show you how it would look if Davy Jones painted his crab claw in glittery black and then took a picture of it.

I also see where I painted outside the lines on a few nails…okay, all the nails. ¬†But hey, it was Saturday night and the kid was at a sleepover and Josh called me just as I was starting to do this and he was all, “I’m almost home. LET’S GET CRAZY AND GO GET SOME POPEYE’S CHICKEN.”

And I’m all, “I’m TRYING to paint my nails right now in the peace and quiet. ¬†You’re ruining it.”

And he’s all, “Yeah, HURRY THAT SHIT UP THEN.”

So I did, because fried chicken became a priority in that moment.

I’m not proud of this.

 

 

Cheese punch

Everything in our refrigerator has its rightful place.  For instance, I like to keep the cheese comfortably nestled on the right side.  Usually, it looks something like this when you open the door.

Nice and neat.  Zen fridge.  But the other day, I opened the door to find this.

Cheese slices everywhere!  Violently ripped from their cozy package and strewn about!  So what in the hell happened?

I think I have it figured out. ¬†I was in the middle of doing nothing one night, dozing off on the couch. ¬†Josh went to the kitchen for a snack. ¬†I heard rustling around in the fridge, noises, crinkling of paper, a loud noise, expletives declared. ¬†I thought nothing of it and went to sleep. ¬†I should have known he’d be destroying things. ¬†Since I wasn’t there to see it, here’s my explanation for how we got from point A to point B.

He opens the fridge door.

Result: cheese massacre.

It all makes perfect sense now.