Things I Know For Sure

I miss the Prophet Oprah, so in honor of her I give you my list.

Fatness is getting older. Is it mean that I look at pictures like the one below and start pondering my next kritten?



Jon Hamm is right around the corner. Will Don Draper actually marry the gappy Megan? I can't wait to hear him yell at his underlings and smirk at their ineptness.



The Voice is better than American Idol

Just because you start an exercise routine and manage to do it for 7 months doesn't mean you will see visible muscle tone.

I saw "This Means War" and thoroughly enjoyed it.



My last mammogram hurt worse than listening to family members telling one another why Newt Gingrich would make a great president.

This hair instills anger in me.



Out of the 14 symptoms of menopause, I have 13.



I'm still obsessed with this one.

What is Going on Here?

Is it just my imagination, or is that whale swaying to the music?

Things I Know For Sure

Oprah in her holy wisdom did a "Things I Know For Sure" list regularly. Her list and my list differ a bit:




I would like to slap this mug so hard his moles fly off.


My ratio of cellulite to muscle. 100:1




Emma Stone is one lucky B.




The Taiwanese are rock stars. Hello Kitty Terminal. I would pack a lunch and make it a day.


Menopause sucks.




Ryan Gosling is too school for cool. Who else can pull off the sockless loafer and bring a dog onto a talk show, a dog with a mohawk and wearing a sock for no apparent reason.


I'm not sure who is having more hot flashes right now, me or Phoenix.




I miss him. Damn you Matthew Weiner and your contract negotiations.




That Erica and Zach need to get a little more creative in their photography.

Tuesday Stuff

Today is a good day. My husband has returned to work after being home for 2 1/2 months due to shoulder surgery. I don't like husbands afoot, they disturb schedules. I get cranky when my schedules are interrupted or questioned.

I have happily returned to browsing websites for my corral of men, Channing T, Ryan G. and my new addition Chris Evans. I will watch Housewives without guilt or explanation. I can't wait to get back to roaming around TJ Maxx and Home Goods, I have missed them. It's just not the same when I have someone at my heels wondering how I can stare at a shelf of accessories for 23 minutes as I mentally go through each room in my house.

In honor of my restored freedom, I give you chubby kritten who is defending himself against a couple of formidable opponents. Make sure you have sound.

New Year Resolutions

For 2011 I will:

Completely focus on my prime time tv watching, no texting.

Cut back to 3 hours of iPad time a day.

I will give JLo and that other guy a chance.

Put away my down payment for a "lifestyle lift."

Consider one of those cell phones designed for the elderly with the huge numbers.

Find more Jon Hamm fan sites.

Accept the fact that my breasts are now looking like sad dinner plates.

Come to terms with the fact that exercising was created solely to make middle aged women feel guilty, just like most religions.

Continue to wear down Tim with my arguments about why I need another DVR.

Convince myself that greasy microwave popcorn is healthy because it's a whole grain.

Hope that John Travolta and Tim McGraw will stop thinking their wigs are fooling us.

Stop my unhealthy habit of pretending I live inside a MadMen episode.

So there it is bitches, a totally achievable list. I turn half a century this year and I am slowly coming to terms with it, which is why I refuse to think about my saggy knees or my aching elbow joints.

Happy New Year.

A Star is Not Reborn

This morning I was happily cruising through my favorite websites, thinking of my vacation that begins today and how I need to get my coffee brewing when I came across a picture that rattled every nerve in my body. What the hell is Jennifer-can't-act-Aniston doing pretending to be my beloved Barbra Streisand! This is like taking a dozen paper white roses and putting them in a vase of mud.



Barbra Streisand is the epitome of an iconic movie star, Jennifer Aniston is a pathetic no talent hack, that has done nothing but crappy romantic comedies. Oh wait she's good at making out with John Mayer and crying on Courtney Cox's shoulder over Brad Pitt leaving her shallow ass for the beautiful humanitarian Angie.

How dare Bazaar Magazine ruin their pages with this travesty. If you can stomach them, the rest of the photo shoot is here.

Sloth-ful

Another amazing header by one Ms. Allicat Hays. She could probably make these in her sleep she is so talented.

I probably should discuss Bill 1070 that was just signed into law by our Governor yesterday, but I don't feel like it.



I have been rather slothful of late. If I could I would wear my "house pants" all day long, watch HGTV, read horrible pop culture magazines, eat macaroni & cheese and write love emails to Jon Stewart. Wait, I already do 3 or more of those.

More often than not I find myself perusing TJ Maxx buying ridiculous things like another purse I don't need or pajamas teetering towards grandma wear. I haven't brushed Fatness in weeks or made my bed properly in a month. The other night I prepared onion dip for dinner.

I have really considered the need to begin exercising, but I just can't squeeze it in with all the pretend harvesting and pretend food serving I need to do in Farmville and Restaurant City. I even went so far as getting my old transcripts from BYU to see how many more hours I needed to graduate, not many as it turned out. But when I discovered I needed 16 hours of Spanish to graduate I said "eff that".

So I will continue my path of slothfulness. Making sure my Netflix list is updated, my DVR is set correctly, my US Magazine is read promptly and my addiction to Hot Tamales stays on course.

My only goals right now are to watch the new "Friday Night Lights" episodes and count off the days until "Mad Men" starts.

Anyone else being a sloth?

A Thursday Timeline

6:30AM Made some hot chocolate and harvested my crops and fed my employees because the real world exists on the Internet.

8:30AM Insisted Erica finish our online Scrabble game where I kicked her ass.

9:30AM Watched a Netflix movie "Coco Chanel."

12:30PM Made Tim take me to lunch and take me to Wal-Mart, I told him he had done homework long enough.

1:30PM Watched The Amazing Race on my DVR.

2:30PM Insisted Erica start a new online Scrabble game, where she kicked my ass and gloated for 2 hours about it.

5:00PM Fed my Restaurant City employees again and watched Maru videos.

The remainder of my evening will be spent watching the Olympics and pretending my day was filled with vastly important tasks.

Things That Confound Me Part II

Why can't Americans embrace kritten love like the brilliant Japanese do.



Why did I wear my older sister's hand-me-down bridesmaid dresses to every prom I ever attended, and considered myself in the height of fashion?



Why does Tim pretend to hate "The Bachelor" but is front and center every Monday night, soaking in every minute, and making comments like "I don't like Ella, she has a big zit on the side of her face."

Why do co-workers say things like "wow, you sure look tired today" and think it isn't really saying "wow you sure look like a shit-storm today."

At what point in my life did I decide wearing granny underwear with the high waist-bands look good.

Why does Erica get talent, brains and long legs too.



Why does "Jersey Shore" even exist.

Why did my Mother ever think this hair-do was a good idea.

State of the Union

Weather update:

It has been raining for 40 days and 40 nights, well 5 days, but in Phoenix it might as well be 40. It. has. been. wonderful. Here is my backyard after 48 hours of rain.

Fatness update:
Fatness hasn't had one of his seizures in almost 3 years, except for today, when he had a horrible one this afternoon. Remember him in your prayers please.



Weight update:
I'm on schedule to continue gaining weight at the rate of 3 lbs a month. Will continue my diet of Hot Tamales and Pop Tarts, followed with a vending machine chaser. Legs still look like Vienna Sausages.

TV update:
Still pining for Jon Hamm, but looking forward to "Lost." Annoyed with Ping Pong on "Project Runway." Embarrassed to admit watching way too much of "Housewives of Orange County."

Obama update:
Still love him. Still hate Palin, Beck and Fox News in general.

Religion update:

Still enjoying Sunday's off and just another day to catch up on my DVR recordings.

Sweener update:
Still holding title of "Cutest 3 year old on the planet."



Tim update:
Continues to kick ass and hunt down illegal Mexicans.

2010 Goals update:
Start exercising: Nope
Improve my listening skills --not just nodding my head up & down: Nope
Read something other than US Magazine: Nope
Spend less time on Farmville: Nope

Spend less time on Restaurantville: Nope

Be less bitchy at work: Nope

Address my addiction to buying candles: Nope

Consider yourself completely briefed on my life.

A Study in Contrasts

Tim's work area:
Papers, books and research regarding his current doctoral classes in Administrative Leadership. Serious papers with titles such as "Creative and Critical Thinking."




Michelle's work area:
Laptop web browser opened to Perezhilton.com, several periodicals themed around movie stars, gossip and fashion. 1 Diet Coke, 1 vampire novel.

Rated F for Fatness & other Thursday ramblings

Fatness is getting furry again and it's not appreciated. I told him he would be getting a second shearing very soon and he told me to stuff it.



I'm obsessed with the 3rd season of MadMen. Don has never been more sexy and surly. I had to "Madmen" myself. Here I am sharing a martini with Don, draped in pearls, gloves and casually smoking; making sure my foot is turned at just the right angle, saying, "come hither Don."



My latest list of people I would like to stuff in an old VW van and push over the Grand Canyon are:

1. Miley Cyrus
2. Jon Gosselin
3. Spencer Pratt

My idea of perfection is a Diet Coke with lemon wedge, a unopened bag of Funyuns, tv tuned to Martha Stewart who is arranging a basket of hydrangeas, sitting around in pajamas with an array of fashion/pop magazines to peruse. Wait, that's my morning.

Good-day.

Annoyed day 1

Old people annoy me.

I’m not talking about your sweet domesticated strain of granny that smells like sugar cookies and wears an apron and cans peaches. I’m talking about the evil untamed strain that hails from the nether regions of the Midwest and move in droves to Phoenix during the winter months. Where do I hate them the most, my favorite movie theatre.

They arrive in herds, talking loud and smelling like they dipped themselves in a vat of whatever Avon cologne smells like burning tire rubber. They believe hygiene is an option, and so what if the shirt I donned that morning has scrambled egg from last week on it. They never seem to know what movie they are watching and yell things at each other usually during crucial plot sequences.

“NOW WHO IS THAT?”
“WHY IS HE WITH HER?”
“WHAAT?"

Granted, I realize people don’t have an entire IMDB database stored in their heads like I do, but for GODSSAKE take a glance at your ticket stub and keep in mind you aren’t watching Fred Astaire dance but instead you are watching Nic Cage in yet another really bad hair piece and turn up your damn hearing aid.

I usually enter the theatre casting a wary eye, looking for the worst offenders. I look for a seat where there is at least a minimum of 3 empty seats in any given direction. Last week, I found the perfect seat and prayed one of them wouldn’t sit near me. Ahhh, but in comes granny with a head of unwashed hair, carrying what appeared to be her queen sized floral bedspread and plopped down right in front of me. I turned to Tim, who knows the drill, “we have to move NOW.”

Once I was forced to sit behind a man that smelled like a dirty leather shoe and hadn’t seen a comb in 2 months. I told Tim I didn’t know if I was going to make it, I asked him for his service revolver but he wouldn’t give it to me.

Listen, I’m not asking for much, except for you funkified old folks to just stay home, sitting in your worn down recliners watching QVC and eating egg salad sandwiches.

Ode To Joy

My sister says I'm supposed to post something that makes me happy for 8 days straight, and I must post at least one thing each day.

I'm happy that we hit 98 degrees today and not 100.

I'm happy that Fatness' fur is cut short because right now he is laying all the way across my shoulder with his head in front of my face while I try to type.

I'm happy that I have 6 shiny new periodicals laid out in front of me, waiting for my perusal.

I'm happy to have friends like Alli and her sister Kris who meticulously plan fun weekend getaways for Chris and I. They are currently planning our trip to Forks and La Push Beach. They even name our vacations: "Escape The Heat - Twilight Tour."

My Favorite Things

Oprah has been on my nerves a lot lately, I can't put my finger on it exactly, except that she seems to think she should yell all the time and announce her guests with said yelling and long long syllable pauses. Don't even get me started with her putting her big mug on every damn cover of her magazine.

But I do enjoy her favorite things lists, and since I can't sensibly afford $200 African sheep wool and leather of Yak slippers, I will share with you my favorite things, or "Favorite Things From Someone Who Isn't a Billionaire."



This is an ammmmmmazing (use Oprah voice here) carpet cleaner. It heats its own water and deep cleans, almost like a commercial one. It's pretty and purple too. I abhor dirty carpet.




My "I love cats" blanket. It's soft and not too big, Morgan made it and Griffin picked out the material. I don't like when anyone uses it but me.




These 3 products are marvelous. If I were completely honest with myself, I would need to admit that a lot of their appeal is the packaging. Yes, Chanel No 5 is a classic cologne, but people look at the bottle design! and this mascara makes me feel like I have Liza Minnelli lashes.




The Illuminations candle store. I get weak in the knees when I enter, the last time I was there I lost my way near the back of the store and started turning around in circles mumbling about "there is too much in here I want, too much" Tim bought me these shell pillars that hold stands of tea lights and gently led me out.



This little floor heater is my best friend. He keeps my tile warm for me after I step out of the shower, he is also inexpensive and doesn't ask anything of me. He gently keeps my feet warm as I apply my make up, he listens as I explain to him how excited I still am about Obama winning and how much I still hate Palin and wish one of her snow machines would run her over. No judging from sweet heater, just love.



My monthly issue of Vanity Fair. When I see its shiny cover, covered in plastic wrap sitting inside my mailbox, a small shiver goes down my spine. It's in my opinion, the perfect magazine. A combination of Hollywood and politics and all kinds of other stuff, not the least of which is fabulous photography.


What are your favorite things?

A Case of the Mondays

I woke up today not really wanting to go to work. I knew the day wasn't going to go well. My new haircut was too short. My carpool buddy was sick so I had to make the commute alone. Had to make my coffee with the brand I hate. Got to work and saw my stock had dropped over $7.00 and today marked the worst bankruptcy in history. Merrill Lynch was being bought by BofA and I had a dry Pop tart for breakfast. My Internet radio program kept losing its signal and one of my coworkers needed a good face punch. Erica is training and always busy actually working. Got home and found a golf ball knot of hair on Fatness neck and drank a stale Diet Coke. Started surfing my favorite website haunts and found this picture:




Decided, life wasn't so bad, at least I don't look like a summer sausage in harvest gold spandex.




Tuesday will be better.

Worst Job Ever

I had a job at the Holbrook Hospital the end of my senior high school year and through the summer. I still don't know 1. why I kept the job and 2. how I survived working with an old grumpy senile woman named Gladys who was my boss.

The job essentially was me standing at a rickety copy machine, copying hundreds, nay, thousands of bills that were not being paid every month. This was 1979 and there were no computers and apparently no brain cells working at this hospital. Every morning I woke up like I was going to my death sentence, no actually death I would have welcomed, it was worse than having bamboo shoots shoved under my fingernails. Imagine an old crotchety windbag watching everything you do and never telling you it is done right. She had white hair, a nose with pores the size of a walnut with springy black hairs sprouting out of each one. She wore thick eye glasses and squinted up at me all day long as she questioned my work. I wanted her dead.

I would gather the million files, drag them to the copy machine, copy the bill that would never get paid, fold them into little envelopes and mail them out. An effing monkey could have done the work, but according to Gladys you would think I was handling delicate top-secret monumentally important documents. They were barely legible copies to begin with and mostly 10 years old, belonging to Indians on the reservation that probably used the bill for fire kindling. They never got paid.

The only thing I looked forward to was my boyfriend picking me up for lunch. I would watch every single minute tick by and then run out front to wait for him, I would almost cry when my hour was over. He called her Glad-bag and thought my torture was terribly funny.

What was your worst job?