Is it a coincidence I Lysoled the crap out of my desk last week?

It's official. I'm getting sick. NO FAIR.

The weird thing is that I've got the exact same cough that Edgar had last week and yet bronchitis isn't contagious so HOW AM I SICK? I think the universe owes me a big cupcake. Or a box of donuts. Or a quart of Thrifty Chocolate Malted Krunch. Or a pregnancy test because, damn, that was a whole lot of junk food.

So now I have this ridiculous cough that keeps kicking in whenever I speak, and since I spend a lot of time on the phone during the day at work that's not really convenient for me. So a whole lot of people are getting a lot of nasty lung hacking right in their ears.

But my favorite part, my absolute favorite part, is the part where I'll cough so hard that it will sound like my lungs and stomach are about to be ejected through my mouth. That part is awesome. Nearly as awesome as Edgar going "Tsk, tsk, you should really go to the doctor on your day off on Friday" in that know-it-all voice, AS IF I WASN'T SAYING THE EXACT SAME THING TO HIM ALL OF LAST WEEK WHILE HE IGNORED ME.

Sick doesn't really go well with my personality, either.

Wax on, wax off

I'm going to talk about earwax now. If you're not a fan of the almighty wax, you might want to take a step back.

I have had earwax problems for what I feel like is my entire life. The problem being that I have an obsession with sticking Q-Tips in my ears and digging for gold. If I go too long without Q-Tipping my ears, I become like an addict in need of a fix, and I switch from the coke to the crack just to keep myself from illin', and crack is my fingernails. So, yes, I'm that random person that you'll see in her car absolutely GOING TO TOWN on her ears, trying to dig her fingers down as deep as she can go. I'm sick, I know.

Obviously, this type of meticulousness isn't good for your ears. You can run into lots of dangers, like irritating them, scratching the insides raw, or, say, poking out your eardrum. Obviously, since I still do it, I've never poked out my eardrum and all of this practice has helped me learn exactly how far in I can go with my cotton-tipped friends. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but it's a habit and I can't help it. Restraint is no good, and sometimes it's even an absent minded thing and I don't realize I'm doing it until I'm doing it. It's bad.

This habit has landed me in the doctor's office a few times when I was younger. More times than I thought; I recently picked up a copy of my medical records since Edgar and I moved to Long Beach and were no longer near the only doctor that I ever went to in California, and I was going back and reading through all of the stuff dating back to when I was born. I went to the doctor at least four times for this. If I was my mom, I would have glued earmuffs to my head and been done with it. But I would end up back in the doctors office because sometimes, instead of scooping up the earwax on the Q-Tip, a little bit would get pushed farther in, farther in than I go because, like I said, I know how far I can go. Do this enough times and those little bits of earwax add up and can form a layer that covers your eardrum and then you are absolutely miserable. Because now your hearing is impaired in that ear and all the sounds are muffled, everything is quieter, and when you watch TV you have to watch it at the same level that your 82 year-old grandfather does. BECAUSE YOU CAN'T HEAR. Not being able to hear does yield a few advantages, like helping to dull the sound of the voices of really annoying people or lessening the deafening roar that is your cat when you come home, but for the most part: not that fun.

So when I was younger, I would end up at the doctor, and he would put these drops in my ear to dissolve the wax. After letting the drops do their thing, he would sit me up and use this high-powered, Super Soaker type thing to flush out my ear. Oh, sweet relief. I would be able to hear again and my ears would actually feel clean, and that would be the only thing that would keep me from having to attack them with Q-Tips. Eventually that squeaky clean feeling would go away, and then I'd go back to the Q-Tips, and then the cycle would start all over again.

Other times, the problem wouldn't be the earwax, it would be the ear canal itself. After getting swabbed by a Q-Tip two or three times a day the skin can get dried out and irritated. And when it's irritated it gets painful and swollen. In these cases, there's not really anything you can do but lay off the Q-Tips, AS MUCH AS YOU NEED THEM, and swab the area with peroxide day and night.

Since I've gotten older and started working and not had the luxury (or in the last year, the insurance) of being able to go to the doctor whenever I needed it, I've taken to self medicating in these situations. You can buy these little kits at the drugstore that are eardrops designed to break up the wax in your ear, and they come with his little bulb that you can rinse your ear out with once you're done. THESE DROPS SUCK. Not that they don't do the job, it's just that they do the job eventually. I go to them whenever I have that "oh, crap" moment when I pull the Q-Tip out and realize that my ear is clogged again. So I lay on my side, I put the drops in, and then I fidget for 10 minutes as the bubbles tickle the inside of my ear (this is actually the best part, because you can hear all the bubbles fizzing and popping right there inside your ear and it's kind of funky). But then the bad part happens, because you know that bulb I mentioned? Yeah, the directions say to use it to flush out the drops and wax with warm water. Tell you what: It doesn't work. You just end up with a water-logged ear, no matter how you contort your head for it to drain, so then you go around feeling like you have swimmers ear and everything sounds like it's underwater on that side. I eventually discovered that if you just stick the end of a wadded up tissue in there after 10 minutes and flip the side that you're laying on so that it can drain, and don't use the water, that you can knock it out after a few treatments and you don't have to feel all water-logged. They're not as good as the doctor treatment, because that's a one shot deal. These take days.

So right now, I'm in the midst of a double whammy, a clogged left ear that is also swollen. It began with the clogging. I was trying to avoid having to go to the drops, sometimes I can angle the Q-Tip just right so that I will be able to swipe up the offending wax, and, let me tell you, when I do that, it is JUST SO SATISFYING. I love nothing more than to pull a Q-Tip out of my ear and see the end covered in wax. Well, I might be exaggerating there, there are a few things that I love more than that, but this is right up there. It's like that guilty pleasure that you get when you pop a really big pimple. Anyways, it didn't work. And somewhere along the line, my ear started to swell. And now, AND NOW, my ear is clogged and my ear canal is super swollen and it hurts like a mo fo. It hurts reeeeeeeeaaaally bad. Like THIS MUCH bad. If I press on my cheek right in front of my ear, it hurts. If I press on the back of my ear, it hurts. If I press up on my ear, it hurts. It even hurts down into my jaw on that side when I eat. I've dealt with this before, and peroxide always wins in the end, but this discomfort is just so annoying. And what's more annoying is I know that I HAVE BROUGHT THIS UPON MYSELF. I know, I get it. And you know what's even more annoying than that? Is that I can't stick an effing Q-Tip in there to make it better! And it itches! I NEED MY Q-TIPS. The muffled hearing out of that ear is what is bugging me the most, though, and I'm hesitant to use the ear drops while my ear is swollen like that, because I'm worried that the drops will sting my raw and angry ear.

What's a girl to do? (Hint: the answer here is not to tell me that I should lay off the Q-Tips)

I will survive. I WILL survive. Earwax will NOT be the end of me.

Will we survive?

We staged our most aggressive attack today in waging The Battle of the Flea. Edgar and I walked over to our friendly Wal-Mart (here is where I totally take back my previous bashing of the Wal-Mart; I hadn't been in this one before and DAMN was it nice!) and picked up Adams Water-Based Flea & Tick Mist as well as Enforcer Flea Spray for Carpets and Furniture.

When we got home, Edgar sprayed the carpets and furniture while I kept the cat quarantined in the bathroom. The back of the spray can has all these warnings about not breathing the spray in, but they don't tell you why. WHAT COULD HAPPEN HERE? I've decided that we are going to have to put off trying to have a baby for an additional month in order to avoid growing one with extra limbs. Edgar covered his mouth and nose with his shirt while he was spraying, and I was in the bathroom with the cat, but I'm worried that some of it may have gotten in his system and his sperm are now toxic. I'd like to avoid the toxic sperm during the baby-making process. Not too much to ask, I assume? We kept the windows open during this whole process, so I'm hoping that at least provided enough air flow to keep it from hanging around too much.

The next step was misting the cat. He was not pleased, and Edgar and I have multiple scratches and lacerations to show for it. We tried to follow the directions on the back of the bottle, I promise. The first thing you are supposed to do is cover the cat's eyes and quickly and decisively spray his head and chest, then rub the product into his face. I think that I sprayed way too much when doing the chest spray, because while we were struggling with the rest of his body and trying to keep ourselves from bleeding out there were these thick ropes of bubbly drool coming out of his mouth. Like a rabid dog. Have you ever seen a cat drool? I DIDN'T THINK SO. Something was not right here.

So I was freaking the hell out, totally losing my mind, absolutely sure that he was going to die. I still am. No matter how much I wiped away, when we would move on to the rest of his body, it would start again. He wasn't freaking out about it, though, which I find kind of weird. He was only freaking out whenever we would spray his body again, recoiling at the mist hitting his fur.

We were supposed to wait five minutes after we sprayed him to dry him off and brush him. I was waiting in the bathroom with him, wanting to keep an eye on him in case he started foaming at the mouth again and convulsing. However, the chemicals in the air started to make me feel dizzy, so I had to go wait outside the apartment door for a few minutes to regain my head. Which is probably another reason why we should wait for a new egg in my cycle before trying to have a baby. The one that's floundering out there right now is probably drunkenly stumbling around one of my fallopian tubes wondering where the party is at.

Once I was able to come back in, I immediately googled the Adams mist to see if it can cause any adverse reactions in pets. I didn't find any horror stories in the first 10 pages of my Google search, so I have to assume that he's not going to die from the amount that had clearly gotten in his mouth to cause all of that drooling. Since the directions say to wait five minutes before towel drying the animal, and animals, by nature, can't go 5 minutes without licking themselves, I can only think that it can't be toxic for that reason alone. The manufacturers would know that animals would lick their fur and therefore get the product in their mouths. Right? RIGHT?

Edgar started vacuuming the apartment not long ago to pick up the hopefully dead fleas that the carpet and furniture spray should have rendered helpless, and as soon as he heard the vacuum, Fiyero immediately ran into the kitchen and got up on top of the cabinets, which is totally his thing. So he's still acting normally. But I'm still really worried about him. We already had plans today to leave this afternoon and head up to Simi Valley to visit my aunt, uncle, and cousins that live there. We have a yearly tradition of visiting this restaurant in Ventura for Octoberfest, and the plans were made weeks ago. I'm scared to leave him; I'm picturing coming home tomorrow and finding him dead from toxic poisoning from this flea spray, and he'll be alone during the whole horrifying death experience for what? For me to drink Spaten Oktoberfest and eat bratwurst while watching a 65 year old man wearing shorts and liederhosen dance around playing the accordian while teaching us German drinking cheers?

I can only hope that when we come back tomorrow I will be greated with a pile of shit on the bathroom floor and a hairball in the living room, as is his usual punishment for us to be ever so insolent as to leave him alone overnight. Let's pray for shit and hairballs, people.

To kill or not to kill

So I'm facing my first ethical dilemma as a [cat] parent.

Excluding the antibiotics that he was given after being snip-snipped and declawed, Fiyero has never been exposed to anything chemical. I know, I know, we're all exposed to chemicals everyday, be it from the items that we clean our houses with or the water that we drink. I get it. But I've never intentionally used anything chemical on him. He's all organic, if you will. Slap him on a shelf at Trader Joe's.

Edgar did some research online today and found some products that we can pick up at Wal-Mart that are supposed to be a special flea killing shampoo and a special spray that we can use on the furniture and the carpet to kill fleas as well. (I wish in that previous sentence that I could have said "pick up at Target," but unfortunately there is no Target anywhere close to where we live, thus, I am stuck with Wal-Mart). Ok, buying regular pet shampoo is one thing, but buying him a shampoo where it has things in it that are especially designed to kill, maim, and torture (maybe not in that order)? That worries me. I don't know how he will react to it, so I'm hesitant to use it. I don't want to slop some shampoo on him that's going to burn his fur and top layer of skin off of him. But I also really don't want to continue this vacuuming, washing, brushing routine either.

Don't get me wrong, I want these fleas gone. Those evil, racist, possibly sexist fleas have got to go. They seem intent on biting me at an exponential rate compare to how they bite Edgar, leading me to believe they don't like men or Mexican food. I know that in waging The Battle of the Flea that there will be casualties, but I'm not prepared to let Fiyero be collateral damage.

What's a [cat] mommy to do?

The Itchy & Scratchy Show

So. I've been researching how to get rid of these fleas.

Wait, hold on. I need to bitch for a moment about the fact that there are fleas in the first place. My cat has NEVER had fleas. Ever. However, I think that the people who lived in this apartment before we did had a pet that had fleas. Edgar found a short white hair the other day when he was vacuuming. Fiyero has long black hair. So there was pet hair that was not our pet hair. And that damn pet had fleas. And now I itch.

So. Back to how to get rid of fleas.

1. Vacuum carpet and furniture. Daily.

2. Give the cat a bath. And before you do that plan your funeral because you will not survive it.

3. Lay towels down in places your pet likes to lounge so that you can collect any fleas or eggs that fall off and get rid of them.

4. Brush your cat daily. Again, get yer funeral plans ready.

5. THROW THE CAT OUT THE WINDOW.

I can't take days like this

You ever have one of those days where you wake up and every fiber of your dog-ass tired being screams "Oh, Shit!"?

Yep, it's one of those days.

Nothing particularly horrible or life-altering has happened. I didn't forget to pay a bill or feed the cat or wipe my ass or anything like that. But I just feel it. I feel like the other shoe is about to drop. AND I DON'T KNOW WHY.

Edgar is getting sick. Is that it? He's been kind of congested the last few days and slept very restlessly last night. I, in turn, slept restlessly as well. Is that it? He called me this morning and told me he was nauseous. Maybe he's pregnant. Is that it? I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure as soon as he told me that my throat started hurting. Maybe that's it. Could it be the fact that it's supposed to rain today? Rain in SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA? It happens. Rain that I'm totally not prepared for since my windshield wipers don't really work all that well, and by "don't really work all that well" I mean that they leave a wide swath of windshield RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE completely untouched. Could it be that? Could it be that I have flea bites all over my body because my cat all of a sudden decided that OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD FLEAS WOULD BE SO MUCH FUN EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER HAD THEM EVER BUT I LIKE THE WAY THEY MAKE ME FEEL?

COULD IT BE THAT MY CAPS LOCK BUTTON SEEMS TO BE MALFUNCTIONING?

I don't know. Dark cloud of foreboding (and rain) = Amanda trying really hard to not die.

I do not handle stress very well lately. Ever since the huge debacle last year of Edgar losing his job, then me finding out that I was going to get laid off, to the money troubles to the living with his parents to the what seemed increasingly fruitless job searches, whenever anything bad happens I just expect everything to snowball completely out of control. The only saving grace I have is that the Colts did not make me want to cry at any time last night during their shellacking of the Titans. Dear Peyton Manning and Cute Mormom Rookie, My health thanks you. Sincerely, Amanda (She Who Is Trying Really Hard To Not Die).

It's all part of my master plan

When I was a teenager, I was lucky in that I was never prone to huge breakouts of acne on my face. It would be pimple here, a pimple there, and often monstrous in size, but never in in the large surface area spattering to which a lot of kids that age were susceptible. Even so, I still wasn't pleased with the appearance and growth of a brand new Texas-sized pimple just as the last one would angrily fade back in to my skin.

Unfortunately, at the age of 25 I have still not grown out of my propensity for Pimples That Will Take Over The World. When I was younger I would sometimes get a few of these at the same time; one on the forehead, one on the chin, one on the side of the nose. My mother often felt the need to say things like "Do you know you have a huge pimple on your nose?" NO MOTHER, I DIDN'T, AND I NEVER WOULD HAVE KNOWN IF YOU HADN'T POINTED IT OUT TO ME IN FRONT OF SEVEN STRANGERS. It must be a mom thing. I can only hope that I will break that vicious cycle once I have children of my own. Over the last two years though, this occurrence has become more and more commonplace. I've often woken up, looked in the mirror, and muttered "Where the hell did you come from?" to a golf ball-sized* pimple on my chin.

*Size might be exaggerated due to traumatic stress.

I'm currently in the midst of waging war on THREE (count 'em, three) separate Pimples From Hell That Have Come To End The World. One on my jaw line, one on my chin, and one above my lip. And I fear that I am losing the battle to save humanity. The one on my jaw line seemed ripe for the popping yesterday; it had that little white head and all. And it looked like it was just one pore, ready to pop in that utterly satisfying and disgusting way. Unfortunately, it was not as ready as I thought it was. And after squeezing the hell out of it, nothing came out and I only succeeded in making the whole area red, more sore than it already was, and releasing a lot of blood on the inside so that it is now a half pimple/half scab monstrosity on my chin. The one on my chin has been an equal pain in my ass, starting out as a huge pimple that encompassed several different pores, so it had that huge green booger look. It semi-popped itself the other day, and now that the resultant red scabby part is healing, another brand new uber-pimple has come up RIGHT NEXT TO IT. That's awesome. The one above my lip was sent here from Satan. I hate pimples that come up right there. They hurt in a way totally different from a chin pimple or forehead pimple. This one started out kind of small on Sunday. When I woke up yesterday I begrudgingly noticed that it had gotten bigger. Thinking as I went to bed last night that it would be smaller this morning, I was rudely surprised when I got up today and found it larger and more painful than before. It's also one of those happy uber-pimples that looks like a big booger.

Edgar's solution to every pimple is the Just Pop It approach, but I can't buy into that. I only pop pimples that look like a sure thing, ones that you can tell will only require one simple pop to send them into oblivian. Otherwise, you end up with scars, and I don't want those on my face. I already have too many as it is; if you look closely at my chin you can see lots of faint bumps that are slightly darker than the rest of my skin. They're not super noticeable, and can be covered with makeup, but I still know that they're there. I'm not a fan of those, and I never would intentionally do something to give me more of those. But these pimples that I have right now, these pimples are a whole 'nuther animal. I swear, the one above my lip, when I glance down I can see it sticking out from my face. THAT'S WITHOUT A MIRROR, PEOPLE.

I feel like the whole situation is pretty unfair, because I take care of my skin. I wash my face every morning and night. I've tried all of the different cleansers. Cream cleansers, gel cleansers, microdermabrasion cleansers, Holy Water, everything. I lately have started a new skin care regimen, and I follow up the washing with a very good toner made specifically for people with oily skin, like me. I then attack the Pimples That Want To Kill You And Your Family with prescription strength Retin-A. This stuff doesn't really do anything for me though, except make the skin around the pimple really dry, while doing nothing to dry out said offending pimple. I also recently started using this new product by Lancome called Genifique, a "youth activiting serum" or some such nonesense. I don't know what exactly it's supposed to do, but it's made my skin really soft and smooth. It's even helped with the appearance of old scars on my chin. Except for the Evil Pimples. I know the products I'm using aren't causing these, because this was happening before I started using them. I rarely use foundation anymore because that's just like feeding fuel to Satan's fire, and I don't have a death wish.

I just want it to go away. I feel so sorry for my future children. Edgar, at the age of 33, will also occasionally get a pimple here or there, but never as large as the ones that I get. His are Wannabe Rulers Of The World. Mine are the Real Deal. Basically, our children are screwed and will have THE WORST SKIN OF ALL TIME. Future babies, I apologize profusely.

My face hurts.

The Heart is a Vengeful Burner

Oh, MOTHER, do I have some nasty heartburn right now! I'm racking my brain trying to come up with what part of my whole wheat bread, mozarella cheese, turkey, and spinach sandwich that I had for lunch could have possibly caused this aching in my chest, but I'm coming up empty and rather acidic.

It's that nasty kind of heartburn that makes you feel like you have a lump sitting on top of your stomach and jamming your esophagus. Deep breaths are impossible, and I have to keep running off to the bathroom to burp (I work in a small room with 3 other people, I don't want to be unpleasant). Every time I swallow I feel like I have a lump in my throat. Unpleasant.

I've had trouble with heartburn over the last few years. Heartburn that has been so debilitating that it's caused me to have to pull over and throw up out the side of my car, and I'm just hoping that it doesn't progress that far.

The first debilitating incident of heartburn happened one evening after my husband and I had gorged ourselves on food from the Hawaiian restaurant down the street. I got a little stomach ache, and then this pain spread through my entire back, screaming out of my nerve endings and lighting me up like a wildfire. I didn't realize it at the time that it was heartburn; I thought it was the Hawaiian food, and to my husband's dismay told him that I would never eat at that dammed restaurant again. Turns out it wasn't the food that was causing it, it was just me, and for his infinite happiness I did not boycott the restaurant. He loved that Hawaiian place and was very said when we moved away from it.

The second debilitating incident happened a few weeks after the first. It was football Sunday, and Edgar and I were having people over to the apartment that day to watch the Steelers game (yes, I married a Steelers fan). I had gone out to go to the grocery store to buy some beer. About a mile down the street, I got that stomach ache again. About a mile after that, the intense pain in my back started, so intense that I couldn't sit still. I was writhing all over the place in my seat, trying to keep the car on the road. I wasn't even able to turn around and go home. I pulled into the entrance to another apartment complex and threw up. I called Edgar to come get me. I love that man. The apartment complex was gated, so we couldn't leave the car there. He drove my car down the street to another parking lot then ran all the way back to drive me home. After the pain still hadn't gone away after a half hour, he insisted on taking me to the emergency room, even though it meant he would possibly miss the start of his football game. After waiting two hours at the emergency room, we learned that I had a weak spot in the lining along the back of my stomach, right next to the nerve that runs up your body and controls all the nerve endings in your back. Hence, when it gets irritated, inconceivable pain and discomfort.

The heartburn only happened a couple of times after that, but Edgar's mother gave me a handful of her Prilosec OTC, and popping those would take care of any heartburn.

Then came last July. The day was the day that I was flying to Indiana for a three-day trip for my bridal shower and to see my family. My flight didn't leave until later in the day, but about mid-morning the pain started again. I hadn't even eaten anything that day. The pain was so intense, unlike anything I had ever felt before. My back was on fire. I even got in the shower and ran cold water over myself, but nothing worked. There was also puke involved. I ended up becoming a crying, sobbing mess on the hall floor, begging my poor husband to make it stop, which he of course could not do. Of course, then I started thinking it was a sign that I shouldn't fly that day, so I was a complete basket case the entire flight. And on the flight back, especially when my return flight was delayed by mechanical problems for two and a half hours. I sat in the terminal whispering to myself "God didn't want me to fly out here, because now I'm going to die on the way back." Very traumatic. Apparentlly it wasn't that I was going to die on the way back, but rather that I was going to get stuck sitting next to two extremely drunk and chatty girls on the way back, one of whom spilled her vodka all over me and my library book. In the mouth, please, not on the book.

Which leads us to today. And this horrific feeling. Which has actually kind of subsided (kind of, but not all the way--i still hurt) during the time that it has taken me to write this post. So forget everything I just said.

I've Been a Bad, Bad Girl

Yesterday at the gym......not so good :(

I only ran 12 minutes at a 5.2. The plan was 18 minutes at a 5.2. But, alas, even the best laid plans go awry. I had full intentions of going the whole time that I wanted when I started, but my calves were killing me and it was all I could do to get to 12 minutes. My body just isn't conditioned for this running every day thing, but I thought I would be good to go on Monday since I took Sunday off. Apparently not so. Or apparently I need to stop wearing high heels the entire day before I run. Which would make me oh so sad, because I love my high heels. But I'm wearing a respectable pair of flats today, Calves, so chill the eff out.

I also had every intention of getting up early today to run before I got ready for work. Also a non-starter. I have a hard time getting up in the morning as it is. Shouldn't have had those four glasses of wine last night. That made it damn near impossible to get up in the first place, turning me into a big ball under crumpled covers mumbling "Please, babe, just 10 more minutes" as my husband tried to roll me out of bed; there was no way in hell that I would be getting up even earlier to make it down to the gym.

I just need to stop drinking. Altogther. I have a drinking problem. Not a drinking problem in an alcoholic way; I don't drink every day, I don't drink alone (often), and I don't need a drink to get through the day or anything. I just have bad judgement. The day after, it's always "Oh, shouldn't have had that last glass of wine" or "Oh, shouldn't have had that last Jack and Coke Zero" or "Oh, shouldn't have had those last seven margaritas." I know that having that last one (or seven) is a bad idea. I know that it will make me feel like crap the next day. But I just don't seem to care at the time. All logic goes out the window, AND I MUST HAVE THE ALCOHOL oh please, pretty please, just one more. And then I become a blathering idiot.

I didn't used to be like this. I used to be able to hold my liquor, and hold it well. I could drink guys under the table, without the hangover or the waking up going "How did I get into bed last night? I don't remember going to sleep. Or anything for about an hour before that......" Now, my thing is to get into "serious" conversations when I've had one too many, and promptly forget everything we talked about by the time I wake up. I'll ask Edgar a questions and he'll say "Don't you remember? We talked about this last night?" And I won't and then I'll be sad and embarassed. I feel bad for my husband, my poor husband that has to put up with this. He always has to be the responsible one. But hey, he's eight years older than me, so he gets to be the grown up. When he was going through this phase I was 17 and had barely even started to drink at that point.

I've been getting better though. When we're out with other people, I pace myself, I drink more water, I keep my cool. But when you're at home in the comfort of your own pajamas and on your own couch, tossing back one more doesn't seem like a big deal. Especially if you're not actually tossing them back, but rather sipping them. Like with the wine. We were having a nice evening, what was another glass?

But I digress. This was not the point of this post. The point of this post was to tell you what a failure I am with this working out thing. I use the term failure loosely, since it's not like I've quit working out or even trying. I'm just sad that my body yesterday was not having any part of trying to reach my daily goal. But I am disappointed in myself for not going to the gym this morning, since I won't be able to go this evening. We have to go to the grocery store, and by grocery store I mean three different grocery stores (we're sale shoppers). So by the time we get home it will be almost eight o'clock, and seeing as we'll still need to actually eat dinner and go to bed at a respectable hour, there is no gym time this evening. Thus the wanting to get up early. And being a failure.

Two Things

Two totally awesome things happened today:

1) My surrogate big brother Patrick's third son was born today. I call him my surrogate older brother because he lived two houses down from my family for several years in our youth, and he and my brother were best friends. As cliched as it was, Patrick always knew when we would be having dinner and would show up about five minutes before hand, so it became the joke that he was my parent's second son. Therefore my surrogate older brother. Congratulations on your new baby boy!!

2) I ran for 15 whole minutes at a 5.2 mph pace. YAY ME. I totally rock at running. Even though I'm miserable the whole time. Tomorrow I plan to do 18 minutes at 5.0. Small steps, small steps.

Ooh, extra bonus awesome thing that I just remembered:

When I stopped by the leasing office for our apartment today to drop off our move-in inspection (yes, I know, we moved in last Saturday, but I'm a little behind on the times), I found out during a conversation with one of the leasing consultants that the TV show Dexter sometimes does location shooting right down the street from our building, and might even be shooting this weekend. At least, some TV show is shooting, but it might also be CSI: Miami, 'cuz apparently they like to rock it Long Beach style as well. But I hope it's Dexter. I LOVE DEXTER!

It's Just Melting Off

I have to say that I'm very proud of me. I actually ran a mile yesterday. One day after nearly dying after a 5 minute trot I was able to suck it up and do it. I feel lighter already.

It wasn't easy. When I get to 6 minutes I felt like stopping, so I had to play mind games with myself. "Ok, Amanda, you made it to six. Just do one more minute." And when that minute had passed, "Ok, Amanda, you've got seven down, just do one more." Eventually until I got through 12 minutes and my mile.

According to my husband Edgar, this is supposed to actually be a good thing. I consider a 12 minute mile to be particularly slow, but he used to be an athlete when he was younger and he is a (former) runner, so I'll take his word for it.

I'm going to see today if I can get myself to a mile and a quarter. No guarantees though.

*Wheeze*

WOW I am out of shape!

Yesterday marked my first day of going to the gym in....well....a while. Let's just say a while. I have to be honest and admit that I've kind of let myself go over the last few months. Finding the motiviation has been very hard.

When Edgar and I were living with his parents, eating healthy and exercising just wasn't in the cards. First, I never cooked there. Edgar's mother cooked every night, and typically cooked whatever it was that his father wanted to eat. Which meant a lot of meat. Meat in everything. No chicken, very little fish, but a lot of meat. Beans? Put chorizo in them. Pasta? It needs ground beef. Eggs? Needs sausage. And if there's no sausage, hot dogs. All the time. I hated the kitchen in that apartment. It was small, it was cramped, and every shelf was overflowing with dishes. There was no room to cook, and it was a waste of money to prepare two different meals every night. So nutrition wise, I was stuck in a hole.

The gym at the apartment was abysmal. Two treadmills, one of which was missing a side rail. Two bikes, neither of which had a working computer interface on it so there was no way to add any resistance. One stairmaster. A few random weight machines, two of which were broken, and for the remaining machines there were only two weight pins that had to be shared among them all. Also, the room didn't have working air conditioning or even windows that opened. It's hard to exercise in the absence of fresh air.

I'm currently about 25 pounds heavier than I was at this time last year. Of course, at this time last year I was less than two weeks away from my wedding and I had been losing weight purposefully leading up to it and Edgar and I lived in our own place where we could cook healthy meals and we had a much better gym.

I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm just laying out how I got here in the first place. My own laziness is as much to blame as anything else. And my love of all things Taco Bell. Mmmmm #9 combo, plus a burrito supreme and a Meximelt make my day. Seriously, I can put away massive amounts of Taco Bell. It's unreal. The same amount of food anywhere else would be two meals for me, but with Taco Bell......it's insane.

And I'm the sort of person that's all "Oh, well, I could spend a few minutes cutting up some veggies to snack on. Or I could just eat chips." Bad decision.

So, bottom line: I need to lose weight. Edgar and I want to start trying to have a baby later this year, and I absolutely must lose weight before that happens. All of these studies are out now that say if a mother is overweight while she's pregnant that her child will have a higher risk of being overweight as well. My family and Edgar's family have enough health problems as it is--I'm not going to give our children added disadvantages. I usually do well when I have a specific reason to lose weight, like with the wedding last year. I can't think of any better reason than the health of my children.

I just have to avoid the pitfalls. Football season is coming up, which means BEER. Edgar and I are huge football lovers, and that means that there's at least one case of beer in the refrigerator each Sunday. As much as I hate it, I'll have to limit my intake, or at least try to switch us to lower-calorie options. I tend to hate the "Light" beers as a whole group. For most of them, you might as well be buying water. Except Sam Adams Light and Heineken Light. Those are good.

It also means not wimping out on going to the gym. Even after a long day at work or bad traffic. That used to be a common stumbling block for me. "Oh, I'm tired, it was a long day, I'll go tomorrow." I've definitely got to stop that. Same goes for cooking dinner. Some evenings Edgar and I get home and don't feel like cooking, so we'll just go out and grab fast food. That's got to stop as well.

I was already about 25 pounds overweight at that time last year, so I've got an uphill battle ahead of me (damn you hills!). And I know that. It's my own doing that I'm here.

Anyways, OUT OF SHAPE. I started running on the treadmill at 5 mph last night, and I only could make it about 5 minutes. Pathetic! I've never really been a runner, even when I've been healthy and a normal weight. I don't really like it at all, but running is a great workout; it burns lots of calories and gives you a major cardio workout. I used to be able to run a mile at 6 mph, so my goal is to get myself back to that in a couple of weeks.

I really like the gym at our new apartment. All of the cardio equipment is brand new. They even have TV monitors on them! Yay! The weight machines are all functioning as well, so that's a definite plus. So, problematic gym issue is no longer standing in my way.

As far as food goes, Edgar and I went grocery shopping on Sunday and stocked up for the week. I have the goods to make myself healthy lunches and snacks for the entire week. Dinners are a little bit tougher. Neither of us are big vegetable eaters, so it's hard to come up with really healthy side dishes that we'll actually eat and enjoy and not waste. Luckily, there's a grocery store near us that has pretty inexpensive produce.

So this is my mission: lose 50 pounds by the end of the year. That's 113 days. Roughly 3 pounds a week. I dont' know if it's doable. I'm pretty sure that it's not. Especially if it's one of those "Hmph, I can't seem to lose the last ten pounds!" situations that you always hear about. I actually don't know how I'll even track it since we don't even have a scale right now. And therein lies the challenge!