Sunday, February 28, 2010

Heavy thoughts

You all know, by now,  that I'm trying to get healthy and, in turn, lose weight.  It's not that I feel awful or have major health issues, but there's no doubt that improvement can be made on my overall state of mind, energy level and physical appearance.  Only moments ago a thought jumped into my head as I went to the kitchen to get breakfast (a blend of Chocolate and Banana Nut Cheerios).  Do thin people -- those who've never battled the bulge or suffer from eating disorders -- do they think about food even when they aren't hungry? Obviously planning dinners etc are expected. Do they consciously choose something healthy even though they are craving a piece of pineapple upside down cake or a bacon & blue cheese-half pound burger? Or, do they just eat what they want but naturally stop before they are full?  Is eating what they want in moderation something innate or a conscious choice?

I'm convinced there is, in my case, some childhood psychosis attached to my inability to just have a nibble and leave some for later. Let me start by saying I do not blame my parents for my behaviors as an adult.  I'm 44 years old. Come on! Yet, there are triggers that stemmed from childhood.  "Clean your plate. Be glad you even have food!" or "Eat it or starve."  Sometimes we'd have special treats but a limited amount. In those situations, you had to get as much as you could or one of the other 7 siblings would devour it and you'd be left with none.  My Dad, who did most of the cooking in my recollection, had a tendency of making you feel unappreciative if you didn't eat whatever he cooked.  So, my sense of obligation toward food was ignited.

Now that I'm a big girl -- and bigger than I want to be -- I must deny those demons control and stand up for myself. Always an inner battle.  It is an exhaustive endeavor, at the very least. That's why I wondered if naturally svelte people have the same inner turmoil when it comes to food consumption.  The body is designed to only crave what it needs. Simplistically speaking, of course. But we have to factor in life experiences and a lot of psychological factors when dealing with such issues. 

Here's a question I ask of former heavy weights who've managed to kick flab to the curb and maintain a healthy lifestyle long term: Do you continue to have inner battles or does it become second nature? Have the old habits been replaced with healthy new ones and you no longer struggle? My journey has just begun and I'm trying to keep focused on what's ahead rather than what is so obviously behind me. I make small goals daily that. By week's end, those little achievements accumulate and they are collectively a huge accomplishment.  

Help a sister out. I welcome your insight and perspective if you've battled weight problems or not.

...and yes, the foods I mentioned are exactly what I've been craving, as of late. **sigh**

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Off with her flab!!

grody fat. 2 lbs gone, baby!

February 22nd was the start of getting healthy for not so little me.  With the assistance of EA Sports Active, I manage to burn calories without the embarrassment of people seeing me look like a complete oaf while attempting the moves.  The fortunate thing is that I live in a house rather than an apartment. If that was the case, my downstairs neighbors would most certainly think Illinois was experiencing another 3.8 on the Richter Scale earthquake.  I am not light on my feet.

Thus far it's not difficult.  The most challenging part (other than getting up and doing it) is holding the controllers properly so the movements register.  One of the activities is a run/walk/high step interval. If you know my body type, you're fully aware that running isn't an easily executed task. Yes, I need a solid sports bra to help me overcome the current pain I feel in my chesticular zone while running.  Anyway, the inspirational coach (a female in this case) will spew something ... well, inspiring.  In this particular moment Mancub who was engrossed in his Nintendo DS perked up and said, "Did she just say 'Nice Cans!!'?"  I broke my stride with laughter and informed my 15 year old son that she did not say CANS. She said, "Nice cadence. My stride."

The first two days were jam packed with lower body work outs. That area of my body burned. I was so happy for a program day off.  Even with the aches, I didn't feel the work out was intense enough. Selecting low impact/easy was best to start otherwise I might have been injured.  Nothing is more discouraging than having your enthusiasm toward a healthy lifestyle halted due to a foolish injury.  Now that I know it's really easy, medium is working -- I finish feeling cleansed of a smackerel of flubber.

Time for hydration. 

Thursday, February 25, 2010

My booty makes men high?

Finally! I can relax knowing that when men see my big, round tushy and ample bosom that it's equivalent to taking drugs. Good ones, too! Apparently, men are hard wired to love a woman's curves for a reason. The bootilicious zone is neurologically a reward center to the brain of a man. So, tell me again why models are essentially curveless? We've been force fed that super skinny is sexy. Yet, this report contradicts what seems to be accepted and depicted as sexy. Many men DO like curves? I've been told this over the years, but it's nice to have science to back up the assertion.

What it all boils down to is survival of the fittest or the natural inclination to reproduce. A woman with a curvaceous figure is perceived as being able to carry babies. The phrase, "that girl has birthing hips" shouldn't be considered an insult after all.  You can read all about it in this article at Mail Online. And for you guys who can't seem to put down that Maxim, Playboy or Victoria's Secret catalog, relax but keep your trousers zipped. It may be your nature to ogle and drool. However, you're capable of logical thinking. So, remember that it's a gossamer thread that separates your manly nature and Pee Wee's perversion.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Countdown to thirty

As a gift to myself, I mentioned on February 15th that I bought the EA Sports Active program for the Wii. Prior to buying it I had been sick.  Even though I've managed to feel better, my lungs weren't up to the challenge. Or, at least that is the story I was feeding myself while indulging on crap-food.  The subconscious Marissa was fighting the pending launch back into a healthier lifestyle.  My subconscious alter-ego is ultra lazy and craves junk food.  While I do not crave or love sweets, that chubby nitwit devours them before the conscious me is aware. I'm sure she has chloroform in her arsenal in which to render the smart me into a delirious haze of submission.

With all the chips out of the house, Monday is a new week.  Today, I tore into the cellophane of the EA program like Charlie Bucket tears into that Wonka Bar.  Being excited, even if feigned, helps the endeavor along.  At least for me.  Naturally, I wouldn't be able to perform the required workout while wearing my yellow terry cloth robe, Disney t-shirt and granny panties.  It was obvious a bra would have to be worn along with supportive sneakers. At the top of my first workout program was the word RUN. Oy to the vey! Are they serious? Next time, I'm doubling up my bras. Do you have any idea how challenging it is to run when your left arm is braced against your boobs to keep from knocking yourself out? It is also abundantly clear why indoor tracks are not carpeted. It's difficult to put rubber to the fibers without stumbling even if it's jogging in place. Another thing that was painfully clear is when I tried to put on the leg strap (the nunchuk has to be in there for the movement to register). I have Eric Heiden sized speed skater thighs but without the pesky hassle of countless hours of painstaking training. Oreos and McDonald's French Fries were my chosen regimen.  ACK!.

Thank God I didn't over estimate my performance level. I played it safe by choosing low impact. Holy swoobies*, Batman! The next twenty-nine days are going to give the word challenge whole new meaning for this chunky but funky** girl.

Something I do know about myself is that my body responds well to physical exertion and activity. The results will be apparent by the end of this 30-Day Challenge with EA Sports Active. I hope you'll check in from time time as I track my progress.  As if I wouldn't write about it. Sheesh!

By the way, while writing this I have consumed two 20 ounce glasses of water with an Advil chaser.

*swoobies = sweaty boobs
**credit to Sean Daly of the St. Petersburg Times for this term.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Empty handed

Yesterday I lamented how it seems in the world of dating I am a poster child for Murphy's Law.  Thanks to the Internet, we're now (and have been) able to meet people around the globe.  No longer do we have to wait for happenstance to introduce us -- vacations, business trips, etc...Simply log on to a social network and the doors of hospitality open. It's a work in progress and who knows how it will all unfold. hmmm I wonder how I can incorporate a vacation with Mancub into the mix :) 

Now, for the stupidstitious thing that left me with a smackerel feeling of angst.  Mancub and I went out for some low key retail therapy.  It's unusual for me to indulge in this sort of activity. In typical fashion, I spent the majority on the boy.  Target had some cool, vintage looking t-shirts. He selected Captain America and Ghostbusters shirts. I got a hypoallergenic eyeliner (woo! big spender) and stocked up on allergy meds and the like.  I'm a maniac!  In addition, Mancub got a long awaited haircut. On a Saturday one really takes a risk of getting a timely walk in appointment.  Luck was on our side as they got him in right away.

While he was in the chair, I waited. I don't tell the stylist what to do. I haven't for many years. It's his head and I'm confident he won't make outlandish requests. Anyway, I could hear any dialogue taking place.  I must say that my child is quite comfortable starting conversations.  He's close to 16 and he managed to start up a conversation about the biggest current event: the 2010 Winter Olympics.  To the stylist, "So, have you watched any of the Olympics this year? We watched the opening ceremonies and it wasn't without problems, but it was really cool how they lit the torch .... " This exchange went on. The stylist shared her personal account for the Atlanta Summer Olympics where I was eventually brought into the chat.  I'm so proud of Mancub for not sitting in silence or babbling about something inane just for the sake of hearing his own voice. He was topical and, I must say, charming. Most 15 year olds I know are not engaging with adults, let alone, their own age range. Hell, most adults wait for someone else to start the banter.

Once our shopping was complete, it was apparent our stomachs wanted attention.  I ran down a list of places we could eat and he chose (ugh) Panda Express.  It's not bad food, but it most certainly isn't what I would have picked.  But that's the risk you take when telling someone it's their call.  Let it be noted that he will often tell me we should just go home and make something there.  He's learning to be frugal. Plus, he prefers home cooked meals over take out -- unless it's pizza.  It was after our dining at Panda Express that my angst struck.  The cashier handed us two fortune cookies.  As always, I let Mancub pick his first.  In the car, we remove the cellophane wrap, split open the cookie ... nothing.  MY COOKIE HAD NOTHING IN IT! I looked around thinking it might have fluttered to the floor of the car. NOTHING! Mancub's was rather enticing and it's over my dead body his will come true anytime soon. Pleasures await you by the seashore. And with consideration to where my crush resides, I had to wonder if that wasn't really intended for me, but you take what you're given in life.  I was empty handed.  What's a girl to do in a situation like this? What else, turn to Facebook and Plurk. Throw out the question and come up with some interesting, if not welcomed responses.

I'm randomly posting the responses in order to protect the contributors who might otherwise not like being exposed for their sunny disposition:

Is it bad luck to have no fortune in a fortune cookie?

  • you are able to predict your own whatever you might wish...
  • you know exactly what you need without their stupid advice 
  • it means you get to eat another cookie 

  • you won't learn your Chinese word or get your lucky numbers!

  • they are cheap asses

  • It means quality control is not really a priority at the fortune cookie factory.
  • Mancub switched cookies on you when you weren't looking
  • mechanical error ... nothing wrong with The Riss
  • Actually, according to custom, it means you are very special and don't need a fortune at all!
  • Perhaps it's a statement about how ridiculous fortunes are. ;)
  • Nope! It just means the possibilities for your future are ENDLESS!

  • I think I'd view an empty fortune cookie as a blank check!
  • No, but it is bad luck to eat one. They taste f&%*kin horrible.
 So, in this case I will go with the general consensus and not worry about it. I get to make my own destiny. Sometimes it doesn't pan out in the same manner I imagine it, but at least I'm taking a step forward.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Single girl seeks cool as hell single man

This is difficult for me to articulate.  However, I will make a valiant attempt.

Being single sucks ass. How's that for eloquence?  Oh, sure I make it look like a walk in the park, but I am sick of taking that walk alone, do you dig?  Here's the rub: In my numerous years of singledom, I have become ridiculously particular.  Shame on me. And shame on the men who don't measure up to my expectations. It's not like ordering Chinese take-out.

Here's another thorn in my side.  Sometimes a person drops from the sky (no, not a skydiver) who just rocks your proverbial world, but they aren't exactly conveniently located.  DAMN IT! I suspect a sane person might shrug it off and move on to the next contestant on the Dating Game. But alas, you're discerning and can't stop thinking that there's a reason this awesome cat came from out of the blue and into your dominion. Plus, this guy is f'ing cool that you're willing to walk across broken glass while being doused with flames if it means getting a chance to hang out with him. Then, you get a spanking from reality because neither of you is in a position to hop on a plane willy-nilly.  Frustration takes on a whole new dimension.

That's where I'm at right now.  At this point all I can say is that I feel like a stoopid, giddy 15 year old with a crush.

Queen Bee (aka I'm A King Bee)...

Enjoy  the song.  Get up and shake your tail feather.  If you're like me, you'll imagine yourself doing a raunchy strip tease that will curl the toes of your crush :P It's my mind. Welcome to it.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

We Are The World at 25

Competitive Caterwauling with a purpose and a whole lot of Autotune.

With that being said, it is for a noble cause and the people of Haiti will benefit greatly. You donate your money in any way you choose. There's a link for another worthy cause in the right margin of this blog. Some people may love the song because their favorite artist has a solo.  Some might enjoy the video for the pure entertainment value. For me, it's simply something you can't UNhear. All the Q-tips in the world can't remove the memory of it from my ears.  That's not to say every performer is sub-par. No, actually some of them are quite talented singers on their own, but it seems it was forgotten that this was supposed to be a group effort. I know many of the parts were done separately. They had stand ins wear green so actors and singers could be later added for the video to fill those spots.  You have to love the frills and thrills of modern technology.

Immediately after viewing the video I rushed to Plurk and threw out what I imagined were the conversations taking place before the actual recording.  Allow me to indulge you in the lunacy that is my mind:

Lionel to Quincy: "Let's start with a real powerhouse voice ... Justin Bieber." Q: "who the hell is that?" Lionel:"Uh, not sure but he's popular with little girls." Q:"Whatever, we need to get this thing off the ground to meet the 25th anniversary deadline."

Li'l Wayne to Akon: "If there's no Autotune you can count me out. My peeps can't be knowin' I can't sing for shit."

Ann to Nancy Wilson: "I'll phone this in.They gave my solo to that slut Nicole Slutzinger of the Pussycat Whores"

Vince Vaughn: "Nicole Scherwhatever will be there? Can I sniff up on her?"

Josh Groban: "Uh, I'm a real singer. I don't need the Autotune. No, really. I'm good. NO! Stop shoving that mechanism in my face!"

Celine Dion: "I am de'greatest singer in all de' worl! Of course I could support all of 'Aiti! but I will zing for dem instead! hunhuh!"

Barbra Streisand:"What do you mean this is for free? I get $10,000 per seat at my shows. I'm calling the Clintons. They'll take care of this

Jennifer Hudson: "I have to duet with Nicole ? You do know I won an Oscar, right? ::I'll blow that bitch out of the studio::"

Tony Bennett: "I'm the coolest son of a bitch in this room. I've shat more talented turds than that pack of thugs in the corner."

Best part of the entire thing? Jamie Foxx impersonating Ray Charles. And Pink didn't stink at all. Well, maybe she did literally. I suspect she probably needs Secret, but I digress. The girl can really sing.

******* something was pointed out by my astute friend Doug W. that I cannot believe I missed (but then I was covering my ears). At the 2:35 minute mark when Babs sings, it is obvious that she deliberately annunciates "for JEW and me."  And she says it with a smirk. **********

Monday, February 15, 2010

There's got to be a Monday after ....

It's February 15th and I managed to survive the dread of Valentine's Day. Oh glory be! To celebrate with myself, I purchased a long needed and awaited programmable coffee maker. This time I ditched the conventional glass pot that sits on a warmer only to have its contents scorched. The Keurig and it's specialty pods were passed over, as well.  Instead, I bought a shiny, stainless carafe version that keeps my java hot (it really does) and has matching travel mugs. There is a setting so coffee can be dripped directly into the cups. Oooh fancy. I love it. I loved it even more that when I came downstairs this morning I smelled fresh coffee.  Oh sure, I would have loved an adoring man standing in the kitchen with a mug in hand, but I've learned to accept fate. Half of my fantasy came true thanks to my own doing. In addition to the coffee maker, I picked up a lovely bouquet of flowers to put on my dining table. No need to wait for a man to buy them for me. 

Once again it's time to face reality (not just the fact that a man isn't going to show up scantily clad with a cup o'joe in hand). I need to drop the extra weight I'm toting around on my carcass.  WGN Morning Show has Dr. Ian Smith as their health and fitness expert. I LOVE HIM! I've been hooked on Celebrity Fit Club on VH1 since it started. It's not just that the D-list celebs are fun to laugh at, but Dr. Ian gives sound advice that I've decided to start taking.  On WGN there is a 4-day Diet club and it's working. REAL people giving testimony to the success of the program. I'm a real person. What's ironic is shortly after today's segment, there was a report that film maker Kevin Smith was ejected from a flight on Southwest Airlines. While I'm not as rotund as Mr. Smith, I do fear being the butt of fat jokes when my back is turned or not being able to move about in the lavatory of an airplane due to the junk in my trunk. 

As part of my quest to be bodacious, another Valentine gift purchased was EA Sport Active for the Wii. I might as well get some use out of that game system, too. I'm anxious for warm weather to greet us so Mancub and I can get outside on our bikes.  That along with power walking that I find so cleansing and freeing.

I know in the past there've been other promises to lose weight; get healthy. each time I've seen minimal success and failed.  But just like every other aspect of life, I get up. Dust myself up and start all over again.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

That's All

Deep down inside the romantic girl dreams of a boy who'll twirl her around the dance floor while this song is sung -- and it will be forever.

Until then, I wish you all a beloved Valentine's Day that carries on and on and on ....

Friday, February 12, 2010

My ego needed augmentation

It's difficult to feel bodacious when, in the course of 3 days, you've worn nothing but pajamas and your head is so filled with snot that sneezing gives way to panic that your head will explode. Flat hair and a red nose does not describe hotness. Even the most confident woman might be left feeling less than sexually intoxicating under these conditions. I am not that confident woman. That is unless you're asking me if I'm certain that I currently feel like hell warmed over.

Alas, I have taken to task to answer the BODACIOUS question of the week posed by Jane at Confessions of a Middle-Aged Suburban Diva.  She asks:

What is your personal theme song ... why did you choose it?

Oof! With consideration to the theme of 'being bodacious', I had to dig deep under my current health conditions.  I grew up as the youngest child in a household of eight children.  For as long as I can remember I made choices based on what I thought everyone wanted me to do.  I gave up on myself and dreams if any of those family members showed the slightest bit of doubt in me.  If my hopes were questioned, my desire died. Surely they knew what was best for me, right? Uh, no, but some lessons are learned late. Once I became an adult and got out in the real world, I started to spread my wings.  My mistakes were mine. Plenty were executed with flair.  But I own them and wear them like a badge of courage and honor.  The upside of screwing up with dignity is that I also own each and every triumph.  My stamp is all over it and it gives me a great sense of pride to look back and know that I DID THAT! Sure, I've had a helping hand along the way. I'd never be such an egomaniac to not give credit where credit is due.  But I'm no longer afraid of breaking my arm when I give myself a pat on the back nor do I blush when I give Marissa an atta-girl!

The most difficult task in this journey was to take a leap and trust my instincts.  Sure, there is always the possibility that I'll land flat on my ass, but I have enough faith that I'll defy the gravitational pull of the negative forces ... I'm the master of my own destiny.  With that, I give you my theme song:

Now, if I could just get my breasts and ass to play along :) That'd be totally bodacious.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Isn't she lovely?

I know that my head hasn't increased in size nor has anyone filled it with helium; yet, it feels like one of those big Spongebob party balloons complete with springy tissue paper legs. My body is sitting here while my noggin' is be-boppin' on the other side of the room. All I want to do is sleep. My system is rather sensitive to cold medicines. That includes the non-drowsy variety. The result is the zombification of Miss Riss.

Thankfully, one of my co-workers is covering my shift for me tonight. Truly, I couldn't see getting up the energy to work. Quite literally, my face aches. With itchy, burning eyes and an adorable hack when I cough, I'm sure they're grateful that I'm remaining at home to wither and moan. The other day I left work early. My nose was so red and raw that I looked as pathetic as I felt.  Neo-sporin has helped heal my shnoz and upper lip. Puffs infused with soothing aloe lotion have been a saving grace in all of this. The downside is that one slight brush of the tissue on my glasses and it's smear city. For a moment, I was certain my eye sight was going as a result of sinus contents pushing into my ocular cavity. Whoa!  A pretty sight I am not!

With that, I shall return to my slumber dwelling.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

My universe needs balance

Yeah, yeah. I know. Yesterday I was all Little Miss Cynical. Today, I give it counterbalance by providing you with this lovely little tune. I'm not 100% cold hearted and shut off from the concept of love. I just don't like the ├╝ber importance placed on one single holiday.  It's too much pressure.

Ladies and gentlemen, from her album Medusa: Annie Lennox

Something So Right

You've got the cool water
When the fever runs high
And you've got the look of love right in your eyes
And I was in a crazy motion
'Till you calmed me down

It took a little time
But you calmed me down

Some people never say the words "I love you"
It's not their style to be so bold
Some people never say the words "I love you"
But like a child they're longing to be told

They've got a wall in China
It's a thousand miles long
To keep out the foreigners
They made it strong
And I've got a wall around me
That you can't even see

It took a little time
To get next to me

If something goes worng, I'm the first to admit it
The first to admit it - but the last one to know
If something goes right, well, it's likely to lose me
It's apt to confuse me
Because it's such an unusual sight, oh
I can't get used to something so right
Something so right

Some people never say the words "I love you"
It's not their style to be so bold
Some people never say the words "I love you"
But like a child I'm longing to be told

They've got a wall in China...
And I've got a wall around me...

It took a little time
To get next to me

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Give them a day and they want a week

Valentine's Day. Blech!
A DAY. One unit comprised of 24 hours. That's enough. But now I see ads for Valentine's Week. Valentine's Weekend.  When will it stop? Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not opposed to love or romance. Quite frankly, I'm open to both.  And another thing, please don't tell me I have the greatest love of all.  My son is a treasure. That I'm fully aware. Cupid's arrow had absolutely nothing to do with that unquestionable affection, either. Please don't be condescending by reminding me that I'm loved by so many people. You know exactly what the modern Valentine's Day represents.  Yes, I'm a tad pissy that I am without. So sue me! I'm not angry at love.  I'm aggravated about Valentine's Day.

Something else that irks me about this holiday are the people (read women) who seem to gloat that they aren't spending it snarfing down chocolates they bought for themselves. Great! Hooray. Her foolish hawt man bought her some romantic shit so this demanding gal won't bitch and moan and cause him a migraine.  Ten to one says she picked it out and insisted if he didn't buy that pricey gift then he'd get none of which he desires: The poonalalatingtang. Well, at least she thinks he's that simple.  Maybe he is. Clearly don't know how to unlock the mystery of the hirsute sex.  For what it's worth, I'm not suggesting everybody who celebrates this holiday with their significant other, spouse or life partner is faking it for the bling or sexual favors.  Some of you actually pay homage to your relationships every day of the year and don't do it for show. No, the chick I'd like to smack in the mouth with Cupid's dirty diaper keeps a running tab in her head about what her boyfriend has bought for her. Chances are the bitch can't afford to keep a roof over her own head let alone buy this guy a decent gift.

I digress.  I'd blame this blasted cold, but I rather enjoy venting. It's much like a cleansing sneeze or the comfort of the aloe treated tissue on your nose when it is red and raw. Ahhhhh

So, I ask you, who decided that Valentine's Day should be one day shy of Hanukkah? Hallmark? The Society of American Florists? Kay Jewelers? Fannie May Candies?  Is this day of loooooooooove now intended to give the economy a post Christmas shove?

I'm babbling. Perhaps my bitterness has taken a toll. I pray not. I'd like to think my book isn't complete. I just need that special boy to help me put down more chapters.

Everyday I Write the Book

Monday, February 8, 2010

I feel sketchy

Yesterday morning I woke myself by coughing. Not a little baby cough. It was one of those that starts at the toes and hurtles your body into a convulsion robbing you of all the oxygen in your lungs ... zoinks. What the hell and where did it come from?  Needless to say, I went back to bed.  Rinse and repeat today.  I feel OK until the urge to cough comes along. Then, I know that relative OK-ness will be sent packing and I hack and gag like the filterless Lucky Strike chain smoking lady with the hole in her throat. Mmmm is that a hunk of lung I see? Oof!

In totally unrelated news, here are two of my favorite sketches from shows no longer in production.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Who dat? Who, huh?

Sundays weren't about football in our household when I was growing up. I have no recollection of ever seeing my dad camped out in front of the television with a beer in one hand and his other hand in a bowl of snacks. Never were there neighborhood gatherings involving championship games.  My dad spent Sundays holed up at his barbershop writing, most likely, letters to the Kankakee Daily Journal's Voice of the People column. He'd labor for days over expressing his opinion. Usually it was over local or state politics. In fact, when people see my last name they recall my outspoken father.  "I may not have always agreed with him, but I had respect for his thoughtful letters."  If he wasn't in the barbershop writing, he was in the kitchen making bread, pasta or some other concoction that would ultimately become our Sunday feast.

When I lived in Georgia and found myself single after nine years of marriage, I was informed by a man that that I'd stand a better chance of getting my claws in one penis equipped gender if I learned to embrace the second religion of the South: Football.  Baptist being the first and it's questioned whether it isn't really running in second place.  He added that developing a tolerance for NASCAR could also help my odds of getting a man. But I'd tossed a NASCAR fan to the curb and had nothing but loathing and contempt for the sport.

So, you'll have to excuse me for not salivating over today's nationwide celebration. I haven't a clue why people are having complete conversations only using variations on "who dat?"  I'm guessing it has nothing to do with THE WHO performing at half-time. If I watch the game it will be for that and one other reason. There's no doubt I have no clue about point spread, but I'm bold enough to throw out my prediction for the songs Roger, Pete and the rest will perform. According to this blog, I'm two for four. I was hoping "Free" and "Behind Blue Eyes" would be tossed in the mix. I guess we'll have to wait and listen for the results.

It is abundantly clear, by now, that I am not one of those ultra cool chicks who manages to quote football stats of her favorite team while getting mani/pedi at the salon.  Everybody knows one or five of these women. They are the female equivalent of a metrosexual man.  Their picks aren't based on which team has the best 'costumes.' Hell to the naw! These awesome women aren't the babes who gather in the kitchen for gossip while putting together pork products wrapped in more pork products and await the call of "'nother beer here!" No, they are gathered around the flat screen with the boys hootin' and hollerin'; cussing at the refs for throwing a flag on their team.

In addition to THE WHO performing, I am anticipating the other thing the Super Bowl has become famous for. The commercials. E*Trade has a new baby. I knew the day would come, but I'll miss that little guy who made the word shankapotomus part of my vocabulary. Carrie Underpants is scheduled to sing the Star Spangled Banner. Blech. I don't like her and I hope she digs down to her roots and doesn't butcher our beloved National Anthem with the hiccupping spasms of vocal gymnastics.

Most of you are making preparations for the kick off. Me? I'm writing this blog post. Like father; like daughter. Sort of.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

That's what she said!

Once again, it's time for What's Inside Marissa's Head? In the inaugural post on this subject matter I suggested Rambling thoughts for a babbling babe. I prefer the new title. Let's move on, shall we?

Luckily for people around me, most of these thoughts are filtered.  OK, no lies. I do blurt them out depending on who is around me. Some of the funniest things ever said are said at work between my favorite lab buddy. Unfortunately, the humor in those anecdotes would be lost in translation.
From Wildhair
  • Dear Fantasia: Please don't speak. Your voice is like ... ack. Just stop. ps. I don't like your singing, either.
  • Lip liner should never match the soles of your shoes.
  • Wow! Who'd fuck Heidi Fleiss now? Tom Sizemore, that's who. Yeeeech!
  • Do boogers build up on nose rings?
  • Facial piercings look like zits and ginormous skin tags.
  • Sour cherry balls I am your bitch. yum. yum.
  • Hummus? More like yumm-us!
  • Why are librarians depicted as hair up, horn rimmed glasses wearing hoo'ers? I know librarians. They aren't like that.
  • *snort-laugh* He just said "move forward with willy." *gigglesnort* (yeah, I'm 12)
  • Jersey Shore is proof that Idiocracy coming to fruition.
  • Vampire Diaries = Charmed with fangs.
  • Luna Carpet "Free Flooring Guy" you suck.
  • If I sneeze one more time I'm going to end up in traction
  • I'm going to walk around town squishing people's heads ... well, maybe when the weather warms.
  • DIET COKE! DIET COKE! DIET COKE! I'd flash the garden gnome if he'd go get me one. Now, that's desperate. 
  • Jingle writers need to stop Juno-fying everything. 

So, there you have it. Another Thursday installment of What's Inside Marissa's Head?

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

One word from a gabby girl

I just received this in an email from my sister.  Rather than follow directions (yeah, right!) I am posting it to my blog. You're welcome to copy and paste; change answers in the comments section or let me know you're posting it on your blog. Or just ignore it and go about your day.

Where is your cell phone? Table

Significant other? Nada

Your hair? Colored

Your mother? Deceased

Your father?Dead

Your favorite thing? Laughter

Your dream last night? Prison

Your Favorite Drink? Soda

What room are you in? Dining

Your hobby? Surfing

Your fear? Loss

Where do you want to be in 6 years? Alive

Where were you last night? Here

Something that you aren't? Thin

Muffins? Chubby

Wish list item? Disney

Last thing you did? Bagel

What are you wearing? Smile

TV? On

Your pets?Meow

Friends? Loved

Your life? Contentment

Your mood? Surly

Missing someone?Always

Drinking? Java

Your car? Saturn

Something you're not wearing? Bra

Your favorite store? ACK!

Your favorite color? Pink

When is the last time you cried? Earlier

Who will resend this? You

Where do you go to over and over? Work

Five people who email me regularly? Huh?

My favorite place to eat? Thinking

Favorite place I'd like to be at right now? Warmer

Here's what you are supposed to do...and please don't spoil the fun...Copy and paste, delete my answers, type in your answers and send it to a bunch of people, including me.

Wild Horses: Another cover

On their 1971 release, Sticky Fingers, The Rolling Stones included the song Wild Horses. It has been widely covered -- more times than I dare to count. I confess I have not heard each and every artist who attempted to top or equal the original. Thanks to a little movie, Fear, starring Reese Witherspoon and Mark Wahlberg we were exposed to The Sundays' take on the haunting melody. That is what I was most familiar with outside of Mick's vocals on the track.  That is until this morning.  Always a day late and a dollar short, am I!

I'm not going to bother listing all the covers of this song that I didn't like. Nope. No need to waste your time or mine. Rather, let us focus on what I do like.  Please keep in mind that I absolutely love Mick and the boys first take on their composition.  Let's keep that absolutely clear.  However, not until this morning did the lyrics resonate to so deeply that tears ran down my face.  I felt a tugging at my chest as chills ran up my spine. Hairs stood on the back of my necks.

Susan Boyle, Wild Horses from her debut album "I Dreamed a Dream"

I won't babble on any further. My words don't do justice to the beauty. But feel free to discuss. I listened once more and now I need to find another box of tissues.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I wanna talk about meme

A meme is:
  •  An idea that, like a gene, can replicate and evolve.
  •  A unit of cultural information that represents a basic idea that can be transferred from one individual to another, and subjected to mutation, crossover and adaptation.
  •  A cultural unit (an idea or value or pattern of behavior) that is passed from one generation to another by nongenetic means (as by imitation); “memes are the cultural counterpart of genes”.
  • Or in regards to the Internet:A meme spread online could be just about anything that is voluntarily shared, including phrases, images, rumors and audio or video files. An Internet meme might originate and stay online. However, frequently memes cross over and may spread from the offline world to online or vice-versa. 
Generally, memes are useful when a blogger is stuck and requiring mental stimulation -- inspiration to release the creative block. Once in awhile I will participate in such a thing if I'm at a loss for words. Typically, those times are due to feeling a sense of obligation to write for those people who tune in for regular programming here at Wildhair (thank you, by the way, for being faithful readers.)

Today, Jane at Confessions of a Middle-Aged Suburban Diva posted a meme unlike others than I've put on this blog.  In her 'year of living bodaciously' she throws out the challenge for women to be more supportive of themselves and each other. Gender power.  I've often lamented over how women are their own worst critics. Not just personally, but of one another. We, myself included, are quick to point out our physical flaws. Skinny friends are bitches because they are thin. Big breasted women are too often assumed as bimbos or self-devaluing if they push the girls out there proudly.

This week Jane asks her women readers to finish this phrase: Finish the phrase: “One thing I love about my body is…”

Now, some of you might jump to conclusions that I'll say my breasticular units.  Yes, I talk about them and they are a part of my identity. I joke that they enter a room 10 minutes before I do. My quest for finding a proper harnessing device is often the subject of what I write.  But that isn't what I love about my body.

I love that I am proportionate. Regardless of what the size tag or scale reads, my body is curvy. I maintain a waistline. There is no denying that my body is bigger than it ought to be. Standing at 5'10" the curvy plantation gets away with more than a woman of a lesser height.  Sure, my hourglass figure holds twenty-four hours rather than one, but I adore that about me ... and you should, too!

Monday, February 1, 2010

Grammy Awards, censorship and me

The only reason I turned on the Red Carpet pre-Grammy show and then the awards program was to lay down my own brand of snark during a live chat on a website that shall remain anonymous because I don't want to get some accusations of libel slapped on my big, fat fanny.

That being said, declaring myself a fashionista is very far fetched. Likewise, I don't fancy myself a musicologist. Simply put, I know what I like and Lady Gaga ain't it! Nor is Bon Jovi. Gack!  The highlight for me was the Les Paul tribute by Imelda May performing with Jeff Beck. I could have handled ten more minutes of that.

So, let me track back. Bitching was going to be put on the back burner. In fact, I was going to take the high road and just let water flow under the bridge. But then I decided I needed to get this off my ample bosom.  I was chatting along wonderfully last night. We were dogging the heinous couture of the celebs on the red carpet. A good time was being had by all.  The catch to this 'chat' is that all comments have to be approved by whomever is at the helm of the hosting site.  My comments were flying on the screen until the control of approval was handed over to someone who has inexplicable, deep seated contempt for me.  (Seriously, get over it dewd.) My comments were halted.  It wasn't from a lack of trying. As you all know, I have a lot to say without fear of expressing my opinions. I was behaving, mind you. There weren't any expletives being thrown out there. Non-moderated status was given to nearly everyone else on the panel except for me.  Why? I have no idea other than some foolish man's pettiness.  I have no doubt that he-who-abuses-minute power will attempt to blame the quirks of technology.  That lame excuse worked once. By the way, I only accepted that cock and bull story to keep the peace.

I know I'm stooping to a level I am fully aware that I am above, but this is just asinine.  So, in this regard and instance ... YOU, sir, are an ASS-CLOWN!!