To Black Work Pants, Pair No. 2

Dear Pants,

I hate to write this sort of thing in a letter, but sometimes emotional things are better said from a distance.  I know you're wondering why, when I got home after work today, I put my shirt in one laundry basket and you in another.  Pants, I know it's hard to accept, but we can no longer be together.

The final straw for me was today's Kindergarten classes.  As I performed The Chicken Dance, I could feel you slipping away.  When I had to stop Head Shoulders Knees and Toes to hike you up to my braline, I knew it was over.  Seriously, seriously over.

I'm embarking on a new era in my life, one in which you no longer belong.  I will always appreciate the good times: your color that never faded, your sturdy fabric that still looks new, and your forgiving stretch that made you the sole pair of pants in my closet that always fit no matter what.  Times have changed, unfortunately, and we all must accept this.

I choose not to think about your ridiculous front pockets which spilled their contents whenever I sat down. I hope you'll remember the good times as well.

So, Pants, as we part ways, I hope you will be on to better things than I.  Perhaps someone who will love and cherish you, and not turn you into a handbag, as I am tempted to do.  I do hope you will keep in touch.  You are irreplaceable, at least until I lose two more sizes.

Best Wishes,

Deb

Living the Rock 'N Roll Lifestyle

In a recent post (the last one, scroll down if you like), I mentioned that, once I am thin enough for it not to be ridiculous, I am going to start a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts cover band.

The resemblance is truly terrifying.  Once I begin to adopt the persona of Joan, I will be living the rock 'n' roll lifestyle I've always dreamed of.

1. The aforementioned black leather.  Leather cuffs, leather necklaces, leather pants, leather shirts, leather hair accessories, leather shoes...  Well, to be fair, I already wear leather shoes.  The point is, I'm going to look amazing.

2. The reckless lifestyle.  As anyone who has seen The Runaways knows, Joan Jett was a crazy, up-for-anything kind of girl who played a boys' game by her own rules and took no prisoners and lived life by her own rules and I'm tired.  I plan to adopt her policy by recklessly popping breath mints after I finish my protein shakes.  Rock on!  And you're welcome.

3. Joan Jett wrote songs that defied authority and convention, like "Bad Reputation" and "Cherry Bomb."  Though I intend to primarily focus on covering Joan's catalogue, I might try my hand at writing my own anti-establishment anthems, like "I Paid the Electric Bill Two Days Late" and "Going 42 in a 40 Zone."  I will truly be one bad, bad rock 'n roll mother.

4. Superstar meltdowns.  Trust me, I cannot wait to have one of those.  Flinging bottles and baseless accusations at those who love me most?  Awesome.

5. An unrepentant, dazzling middle age.   Joan Jett is just as awesome today, at 50+, as she was at 20.  Maybe even more so.  I plan to age defiantly, with jet-black hair and amazing cheekbones.  Maybe I'll get something pierced.

Just kidding, Mom.

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A note about last entry: when I fly to Utah, I expect to see all of my bloggy friends who live within 150 miles.  We will get tipsy on Diet Coke and ogle waiters, if that's all right with all of you.  Clothing optional.

When I am Thin

So we're 36 pounds down now (and by "we" I mean "I") and I'm starting to think about what I'm going to do with I am finally thin.

1. I'm going to fly to Utah to meet Kristina, my BIFFALAWGAIRL. (Best Internet Friend Forever As Long As We Get Along In Real Life.)  I'm longing to be judged in person.

2. I'm going to buy something from Dash, the exclusive clothing store owned by Kourtney and Klohe and Kimberly and Kris and KooKoo Kardashian.  I'll be able to look like a desperate wannabe celebrity in the comfort of my own home!

3. I'm going to start a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts tribute band, Dark Deb and the Destroyers.  I will play rhythm guitar and angst.  Hopefully my workplace will support my decision to wear black leather at all times.

4. I'm going to take a picture of myself standing in one leg of my old pants.  It just seems like the right thing to do.  Then I'm going to get offended when friends ask me how much weight I've lost.

5. I'm going to run through a dewy meadow at dawn.  Or run a marathon.  Or watch a marathon of Mad Men on DVD.  Or run mad through a crowd of men at Mardi Gras.  I'm not really sure where I'm going with this one.

Anyway, it's going well.  I'm feeling better every day.   And that's what matters, right?  That I'm healthier and better able to care for my kids and family.

And squeeze into those booty jeans.

Princess and Concerns About an Uncertain Future

Lately, Princess has been very bothered by the idea that she will have to leave us one day.

"But I never want to leave," she says tearfully, clutching a hot dog.  "I love it here."

"Honey, you don't have to worry about that for a long time," I say.

"But what will you do without me, Mommy?" she says.  "I don't want my own house.  I want to stay here with you and Daddy."

"You won't always feel that way," I say.  "Someday, you might want your own house."

"No," she says positively.

"What if you get married?" I ask.  "You and your husband and your children will want your own house."

"Married?" she asks.  "I could get married?"

"Not for a long, long time," I say.  "But someday, you might want to."

"I think Calvin will be my husband," she says.

"Who's Calvin?" I ask.

"Calvin and I can live in a house together, and you can visit us, Mommy," she says.  (Only she says "bisit" instead of "visit," because she's four.)

"Who is Calvin?" I repeat, a bit more forcefully.

"And when Calvin and I have our children, we'll come visit you," she continues.  "Don't get rid of my bed, okay, so I have a place to sleep when I come to visit."

"Okay," I say, my voice now shaking a little.  "I hope you'll come and visit all the time."

"Don't worry about it, Mommy," she says.  "Calvin and I won't let you be old and all alone."

"Thank you, sweetheart," I say tearfully.

I feel good about my parenting.  I'm going to bed.

How To Make Your Husband Care About Lady GaGa

Deb: So the VMA's were last night.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: Lady Gaga really had a good night.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: She won eight awards.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: You remember the Bad Romance video?

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: It won video of the year.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: She was nominated for thirteen.  Isn't that incredible?

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: She wore a dress made out of meat.

Sven: Hmm.  [pause]  What kind of meat?

Fin.

Short Take: Princess

Place: The Folksy bedroom

Time: This morning, around 3:00

Characters: Sven, Deb, and Princess (not yet five years old)

Princess: {enters room quietly} Excuse me, Father?  Father?

Sven: {mumbling} Yeah.

Princess: Father, may I please use the restroom?

Sven: Sure.

{A few minutes later}

Princess: Father?  Father?

Sven: Yeah.

Princess: I'm done.

Sven: Good.

Princess: Father, I'm going back to my bed now.

Sven: Good.

Princess: Good night, Father.

Sven: Good night, sweetie.

Princess: I love you.

Sven: I love you, too.

{Princess exits quietly.}

Deb: {after a few seconds} Who was that?

Sven: I'm not sure.

Fin.

Post-Surgery Musin's

Last Wednesday, I entered Houston's Methodist Hospital for some routine laparoscopic surgery.  "It will be such a quick recovery!" I heard.  "Just a few small incisions!" I heard.

You know what I didn't hear?  "You will have gas pains in your chest, shoulder, and rib cage that won't go away until you fart the gas volume equivalent of a mature African elephant."  That's what I didn't hear.

Yes, friends, the worst part of my mostly easy recovery has been the strange gas pains that have settled in my shoulders.  I'm told there is a sound scientific reason for this, but part of me thinks the flamboyantly fabulous OR nurse (Kevin) just did it as a prank.

Not really.  Everyone at Methodist, from my wonderful surgeon to the anesthesia team, to the floor nurse and techs, to the food services and transportation people, were delightful, more than competent, and genuinely interested in my well-being.  I had a private room that rivaled those of a nice hotel.  My in-room TV had TBS, TNT, Comedy Central, Bravo, and E!.  It couldn't have been nicer.

That being said, a story...

My overnight technical aide (takes vitals, etc.) was a sweet Russian lady, who kept going on about my beautiful eyes.  It really gave me a nice little boost.  As I was leaving, she said, "Okay, pretty lady, when you go in to get your hair colored, ask for a lighter color to set off your eyes."  I said, "Oh, I don't have my hair colored."  She smiled and said, "You should."  Bless her heart.

It is now 6 days after surgery and I am doing great.  I'm still in some discomfort (come on, shoulder farts!) but nothing awful.  I'm sleeping well at night and walked over a mile today.  Very soon I should be a healthy, normal 30-something mom, able to keep up with my kids, teach school, cook dinner, perform my church calling, and play three different games on Facebook.

Life is good.

I Love the Sixties

As a huge fan of the "I Love" series on VH-1 (I Love the Eighties, I Love the Nineties, I Love Toys, I Love Obscure Elvis Covers of Gospel Standards) it has always pained me that there has not been an installment addressing that most marvelous and controversial of decades, the Sixties.

The 1960's of course.  The 1860's were dreadful.  Nothing but civil war in America and Victorian England.  I can't imagine hipster comedians riffing on the strained relationship between Prince Albert and his oldest son, Edward.  ("Yeah, Albert and Edward were like the Biggie and Tupac of the 1860's, except, instead of getting shot, one got consumption and the other got syphilis.")

So, to fill the gap until VH-1 comes to its senses and creates "I Love the Sixties" (and brings back "The Best Day Ever With Paul F. Tompkins") here are some of the reasons I love the sixties, a decade which, technically, ended years before I was born:

1. Disney Feature Films.  The sixties were prime time for the Disney feature.  For animation, not so much; only three animated films were released in this decade (101 Dalmatians, The Sword in the Stone, and The Jungle Book) but a vast array of true classics starring actual people (and Hayley Mills) were produced in this decade:

• Pollyanna (1960)
• Swiss Family Robinson (1960)
• The Parent Trap (1961)
• Babes in Toyland (1961)
• Mary Poppins (1964)
• The Three Lives of Thomasina (1964)
• That Darn Cat! (1965)
• The Love Bug (1968)
• The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (1969

(I have only listed my personal favorites, obviously.)  Each of these films is an indelible classic, taking us to times and places that really only existed in our imagination, but seemed real.  More importantly, these films set the stage for the all-important films of the 1970's, in which Jodie Foster wreaked havoc on the English countryside and Sandy Duncan was believable as an astrophysicist.

2. The Monkees.

That's really all I have.  Truthfully, I intensely dislike the sixties.  I will admit there were some good things: The Beatles, Camelot, Julie Andrews, etc.  Unfortunately, for me and many people my age, the sixties were ruined by the "sixties revival" of the eighties.  Suddenly, around 1987, all anyone could talk about was how nothing was good anymore, and how everything in the sixties was better.   Sixties TV was on all the time in reruns, music and music videos were going retro, even hippie fashion came back.  I was so sick of it all that I embraced the hair metal trend and slid right down into sort-of-goth, as evidenced by high school photos you will never see.

I suppose VH-1 knows what they are doing, keeping "I Love the Sixties" out of their "I Love" series.  After all, these are the geniuses who brought us Celebrity Fit Club, Celebrity Rehab, Flavor of Love, I Love New York, New York Goes to Hollywood, Rock of Love, Daisy of Love, I Love Money, For the Love of Ray J, Fantasia For Real, The Surreal Life, and The T.O Show.

They obviously know what they're doing.