If my little sister is old, what does that make me?

So here I am, feeling all good and stuff because I eat right, exercise, have a healthy, ahem, relationship with my husband, have a great kid/house/boat/job and along comes my younger sister complaining about being old, or some such bullshit.  Really?  If she's old, what the hell am I?

So, that started me thinking.  What the hell AM I?  The anal tendencies got the best of me and I began making a list, scratch that, two lists.  Things I like about myself, and things I'd like to change.  Now, since I was making these lists and not any of my friends, family or people who drive on the road with me, I am proud to say the *likes* list was longer.  Maybe my dopey little sister will step back off her ledge when she just comes clean with herself and admits that 35 is the new 20's.  Hell, I hear 40's is the new 20's so even I have something to look forward to.  Sorry Steph and Sheila, apparently your lives are over; nice knowin' ya though.


So, here are the top 10 things I like about myself:

10) articulate
9) organized
8) funny as hell
7) honest
6) hardworking
5) self-reflective
4) non-smoker
3) healthy
2) good mom
1) good wife

Lest any of you have any specific arguments regarding the validity of these 10 things, feel free to fling yourself from the Tapan Zee bridge.  See?  honest.

So, here are the 5 things I dislike the most about myself:

5) grudge holder
4) neurotic
3) easily aggravated
2) anxious
1) impulsive

So, there ya have it folks.  It took me 37 years, but I finally like myself enough to know that the good outweighs the bad in me.  So, Vik, now you know, getting older isn't so bad.  Plus, pretty soon, you'll forget to care about your age so it won't even bother you.  I told you getting older has its perks.

No Pain, No Gain

Or, so the theory goes right?  So, the other day, I finally fished out my netting to hang up in the basement, Ala Margaritaville decor.  I had my cohorts from the Buffett concert drunkenly collect me some memorabilia so I could throw it into my fish net after I hang it in the corner by the big flat screen t.v.  My spoils included some beads, leis, and various blow up characters like a parrot and a beach ball.

I stopped to think a bit and figure out exactly how I was going to tackle this hanging ordeal.  Unfortunately Larry was otherwise occupied (sleeping in the Adirondack chair out on the patio, watching said flat screen t.v.), so his sensibilities were of no help to me this time.  After much thought, which didn't include any real thought at all,  I excitedly stood atop the t.v. stand wrapping the netting into our drop ceiling tiles, being sure not to rain down white dust all over myself in the process.  I was precariously balancing one foot on my exercise ball when my luck ran out.  My foot slipped and I fell, crotching the t.v.stand.  I sat there stunned, with a Margaritaville plate betwixt my legs.  Thankfully the plate did not break, as my mother smuggled that thing out of JB's restaurant in Cancun;  I believe the bartering included some sort of illegal transaction, but I can't be sure.

When I dared stand up and assess the personal damage, I looked down to see my right leg flipping me the angriest, purplest bird I have ever seen.  Although friends and family have been harassing me to post a picture on facebook, I am patiently waiting on this bruise to really take hold.  Knowing my bruising history, it will end up getting really dark and nasty looking.  The bruise basically starts at my ankle and goes midway up my thigh.  There are some distracting scratches mixed up in there, but when I finally post a picture please be sure to stay focused people, the bruise is the star of this show!  It's been 5 days, and already some yellow is starting to come out, and  I am seriously considering writing to the President of Bruises to complain; doesn't he know that yellow comes after all the dark purples and blues?

oh, yeah, Larry...well, he awoke with a start after hearing all the commotion and crotching of t.v. stands.  Ever the valiant husband, he helpfully suggested I don't slip and fall like that again. Makes me giggle in a pay-back's-a-bitch, kinda way when I think of him losing his precious White Sox hat yesterday while on the boat- but that's a story for another time.

Waitress, I need two more boatdrinks

So, for those of you that don't know me well, I am a huge Parrot Head.  I know, I know, really?  I confess, it's mostly Larry, my husband's, fault- he started it, plus I am getting older and listening to Eminem must be relegated to the secrecy of my basement, and only if my sister Steph is within earshot.  I will post one of the many fabulous pictures later this week, but I digress, let me share the experience with all of you...

Larry and I began our adventure on Saturday with the weather in full cooperation-mode, even if the traffic was not.  Sadly, we could not fit all of our accessories or tailgating paraphernalia into the convertible, so instead we were forced to take the hearse; plenty of room in the back of that! After a brief check in at the hotel, we embarked on the 2 block drive to Margaritaville.

We were joined, once again, by our friends from Larry's work, and their 3 kids and their assorted dates/hook ups/screw ups/whateveryacallits.  The day began with the traditional donning of leis for the ladies, coozies for the beers, and smiles for everyone.  We took the tour of the parking lot, partaking in the slip and slide, spinning the wheel, doing shots off of surf boards, and picking up stray, random cute guys.  Did I mention there were 5 hot 20-something blond young chicks with us?

Being a well-versed tailgater, aka drinker, I made sure to drink plenty of water before, during, and after the festivities and I made sure to devour as much taco dip and chips I could manage before the growing 20-somethings tackled me and wrestled it away from me. 

Alas, Mother Nature was not having it.  It was hotter than balls outside all day, and not a breeze to be had.  Half way through the concert I started feeling tired, so I sat down.  Larry kept asking if everything was alright, and I was crabby and told him I was just tired.  I felt *off*.  I drank 4 beers, in 5 hours of tailgating, and then when I entered the stadium, I only drank water. 

Needless to say, when I stood up to dance to "Cheeseburger in Paradise" I was shocked that I felt faint.  There are few feelings in the world I hate more than this.  I grabbed my husbands' arm on the way down and he broke my fall; thankfully.  After getting the shakes, hot and cold chills, and such, my EMT trained husband notified me I was suffering from heat exhaustion. I had a tough time making it up the stairs, but once I did, I laid down on the cool concrete while security got me water and a cold pack for the back of my neck.  As soon as I got in the breeze, drank a bottle of water and had the cold pack, I sprang back to life.  Sadly, Larry and I missed a portion of the concert, but I did not have to be taken away, via stretcher, like some other poor fools that night.

Is it wrong that as I was walking up the stairs, head down, hand on the railing to keep from falling, I spotted a rolled up dollar bill and took a moment to think about bending over to pick it up?  The fact that I didn't should tell you how dire my situation was, however I continue to chastise myself about it even now.  Who knows, maybe there was a $100 bill rolled up in there!

So, I am off to spend the rest of the day on the water, with my husband, son and nephew.  Thankfully I can stay cool atop my floaty; no fear of heat exhaustion today.

Impulsivity is a pain in the arse

So, the Blackhawks tickets went on sale yesterday, and as my fingers flinched, poised over the keyboard, the time changed to 10 am CST and I took my place in *your wait time is approximately 6 minutes*-land.

Since I am not a professional scalper, obviously the only thing Ticketmaster offered me was Standing Room Only seats, and in my haste, I purchased them.  For 7 different games.  Needless to say, the husband was none too pleased, and upon further thought, neither was I.  Why exactly did I just invest over $600 on seats, that weren't even seats?  My impulsivity had gotten the best of me, again, but luckily Ticketmaster gave me no grief when I came to my senses today and called them to cancel the orders. 

I think I need to take some time to think things through a little bit more, especially when it comes to spending money.  The husband and I have worked so hard to stay on track with our *get out of debt* plan, and here I went and spent $600+ on crappy tickets?  Since it didn't cost me anything, I am chalking this up to a lesson learned, and I will keep it in mind next time that "I have to have it" feeling comes over me.

Blackhawks crappy no seats= $106.96
Impulsivity in check= Priceless

And the cheese stands alone...

Welcome to my space; head space that is.  I feel like I should put out a disclaimer of some sort before we get too far into this.  I like to ramble.  What I say makes perfect sense to me, but may leave you lost and confused, and maybe even frightened at times.  I refuse to be held responsible for any brain strain, so read on at your own risk.  I haven't yet decided how I will organize this blog, or my entries, but if you know me, then you know I cannot just wing it, as this will give me an ulcer.  I plan on focusing my blog entries on a few key priorities in my life; namely, my quest for financial success, my journey toward a healthy and active lifestyle, and my ever-developing love of all things food-sweet and savory.

So, now that you're here, you may as well read on.  I put it all out there, so judge away, if it was me, I surely would.  That's it for today.