I think I need to add some more motivation to my diet.

So, I have put off laundry as long as I could. To quote Popeye, "I've had all I can stands, and I can't stands no more!"

By the grace of God, I woke up and had some bottled motivation, ie. caffeine; and finally started working on Mount Saint Laundry this morning. The laundry volcano isn't quite dormant yet, but I have managed to quell the lava flow.  In my defense, our electric company charges me a million yen to operate anything electric from the hours of noon to 7 pm; which is usually when I have the inkling to launder, so it has led to an inordinate amount of pile-up.  So, today, I have decided to bite the financial bullet and just get it done.  What's a million yen now anyway, right?  My major set-back now is that my dryer has decided to take twice as long to dry since we moved to the desert.  WTF?  So, now, I have to keep myself occupied and not sit down for too long, or everything will need to be rewashed or ironed from losing motivation and letting the clothes sit for an overextended amount of time.  Oh poo, I guess that means goodbye for now.  Maybe I'll go clean a toilet or two while I wait.  Ta-ta!

The mind is willing, but the body is opposed to EVERYTHING...

Ok, so here's the deal... I've been busily working in my kitchen at all things gourmet.  I managed to successfully create and cook a Beef Wellington last week.  I am so proud of myself for that one, as I spent 6 hours making it!  I also made chicken enchiladas from scratch, meaning I actually made and seasoned the chicken myself, which is something I've never done.  My next project is to make the perfect chocolate cake from scratch; no boxed mixes!!  Scary!  It may turn out to be a cake of chocolate cardboard.  I'll let you know.  The downside, is that I haven't been to the gym to work-out in over two weeks.  Therefore, I have yet to burn the calories I gained from eating said Beef Wellington and enchiladas.  My muscles have turned to flab, and succinctly turned to pure goo having no stable exercise in my life.

I think my body has declared a strike at my attempts to gourmet my life.  Someday I will be the ruler of Hell's Kitchen, but not today.  I may have to roll myself to the auditions, but someday...  Well, I will be the ruler of MY kitchen.  I'm not going quite so far as Julie and Julia, but I am planning on doing some more daring and difficult recipes.  But first, I have to wheelbarrow myself to the gym to burn off a few, maybe ten, thousand calories... Ah, such is life.  I'm beginning to have a love/hate relationship with myself.  I love the cooking I do, I hate what it's doing to my physical motivation.  I have had way too many food comas (hence the lack of posts) in the past few weeks, that I'm afraid to actually count them for fear I will have to attend Over-Eaters Anonymous meetings!

Needless to say, I have to get my body to cooperate or I'm going to have to declare war on my cellulite.  I'm running out of clean pants that are elastic waistband, so something must be done! 

Alas, as much as I need a good dose of reality, I don't think I want to take it... It kinda makes me gag.

I may but old, but you're... who am I kidding.. I'm old.

So, I have decided that I will not in fact remain 35 for the rest of my life as I threatened to do so in an earlier post. I have indeed decided that I will just repeatedly turn 25 for the rest of my life. So, to recap; I am fast approaching the tenth anniversary of my twenty-fifth year of life with vigor and complete and utter disregard for scientific fact.  I have since therefore concluded that, if in fact I do not come up with a ploy to make this next birthday exceptionally memorable; I will surreptitiously have an inordinate amount of 25th birthdays to come up with a grandiose way to make my mark on the world.  I shall not fret, as I will have until my last birthday celebration to make this happen.  Besides, I have serendipitously figured out, that the sooner I make it happen, the sooner I will turn 26.  As long as I have completely forgettable birthdays, I don't have to age!  

Let them eat cheese fries!

I'm not exactly sure WHY the country is going so screwy, but I have a theory. (You know this is gonna be a humdinger)  I believe it has something to do with the fact that you can't go into a diner and ask for cheese fries anymore.  Hear me out...  The American 'health kick' that everyone seems to be on, is not helping ANYONE.  Everyone I see is miserable looking, snotty, perturbed, or just downright mean.  Besides the fact they all look malnourished, it still took me awhile to figure out why.  I like my happy fat America.  Why does everyone hate on the cheese fry?  I'll tell you why.  They're STARVING!  All of these people on their little healthy diets with no carbs, no fat, no sugar, no taste, eating nothing but lettuces and raw vegatables cannot possibly claim they live happy existences.  What happened to enjoying life and living it to the fullest???  Why is it that ordering fried mushrooms in your favorite restaurant earns you a dirty look?  It's not like I'm committing murder here.  My entire diet does NOT consist of junk food.  But, hey, why can't I get it when I do want to cheat the healthy lifestyle?  These fascists are making it more difficult to satisfy my naughty cravings. 

I'm almost getting to the point that if they don't bring me my cheese fries, I may just buy myself a bucket of lard and eat it with an ice cream scoop just to spite them.  There will be melting, sticky grease dripping from my sweat glands.  They will have to place a roll of paper towels underneath me before I sit down, just to soak up the oily mess that I will emit from every pore on my body from consuming such large quantities of hydrogenated oils and trans fat.

Ok, even that last thought made ME throw up a little in my mouth; but come on...  A little portion of unhealthy can go a long way and help a person have good mental health.  Sometimes those things we know are bad for us seem to make things better; like you've fought the law, and YOU won.   So, random rambling completed.  I'm off to go turn on the fryer and heat up the cheese sauce.

If you're happy and you know it, go to hell...

I would like to report a crime.  Someone has stolen my twenties, and I want them back.  As I precariously perch on the edge of my mid-thirties, I want a refund.  Seriously.  Where in the world did my twenties disappear to?  I have begun sprouting grey hairs, my eyes are developing crow's feet, and my laugh lines are exceptionally pronounced.  Who okayed this process?  I'm going to start a protest on Mother Nature.  Let's all march on the Fountain of Youth and demand our lost years back! 

I've had some fun in my life.  I can't possibly complain about that.  But who says that getting older means getting wiser?  I certainly don't feel any wiser than when I jumped out of an almost perfectly good airplane, or bungee jumped from a crane, or got drunk at Mardi Gras and kissed some random Marine on leave.  Ok, so I may have settled down some, but wiser?  I think not.  I still act a fool on a regular basis, and I still think I'm hip to the latest trends.  So, why do I feel so passe? 

Maybe it's because I'm not crushing on the latest "IT" guy in the tabloids.  Maybe it's because I'd rather stay home and watch a movie than go out and close the bars.  Or, maybe it's because I've become an old fuddy-duddy.  Man, my mom has a more exciting lifestyle than me!  (No offense, Mom. I'm actually jealous of your vitality!)  The train to Funkytown has left, and I'm still at the station. 

Well, bollocks to that I say.  My thirty-fifth birthday will be something I plan to remember; unlike the last fifteen birthdays that have gotten lost somewhere in my archaic memory.  I refuse to have another forgettable day.  I need to do something that will put all of my other less-than-memorable birthdays to shame.  Maybe I'll do something reminiscent of my short lived college days like a toga party or mud-volleyball.  Maybe I could combine them and have a mud-toga party!  Then again, maybe not.  So what do I do? Where do I go?  (insert your comments/suggestions here) 

I have five days to come up with something spectacular and memorable.  I'll let you know what I decide.  Whatever it is, I refuse to be mundane and have it as just another day.  Although I DO realize, that technically, I'll only be one day older than I was the day before.  I officially call it quits on aging.  I will remain 35 forever, hereafter.  You can't make me grow up.

Santa Claus is coming to town... And he's bringing ice cream.

Yes, you read it correctly.  Ice cream.  I have officially entered the twilight zone.  I mean, it IS August right?  So, maybe someone can explain to me why our ice cream truck is playing christmas carols instead of "Pop Goes the Weasel".  It started out playing Rudolph, and I thought maybe I was just losing my mind or something.  But sure enough, the August tribute to all things Santa continued.  Maybe it's to remind us of cooler weather, and ice cream is cold, so.... I don't know.  It sounds like they're reaching just a bit.  Don't you think?

Yep, that's really all I had to say.  Just had to write it down now, because no one would believe me later!

Day 107, The dishes are calling, but nobody's home...

So, I've been on kind of a cooking kick lately.  We've been trying to cut back on needless expenditures to put more money in the bank.  Being a self proclaimed foodie, I have taken to this quite well, having meals planned out for the upcoming week, and rarely deviating from them.  I have found, however, one fatal flaw to this master plan; that would be the growing pile of dishes.  My mother will be laughing at this statement, since we all know that payback's a bitch.  But, come on people!  Is it really too much to ask that you RINSE a single dish?  Of course, I do realize that's asking a lot, since most of the dishes don't even find their way to the sink without my assistance.

I must plan my attack on this carefully, for fear the natives will  run away, screaming back to their little holes, never to be seen again.  I could indeed threaten to starve the little buggers out of their nests, but  there must be a keener approach to the dilemma at hand.  Assigned after-dinner chores might work, but I fear that might cause more problems, as one child may drag out the first part, making the second one have to stay up late to finish the rest.  And, if I just made one of them take care of everything per night, I'd still end up with one kid not getting to bed until 2 am on a school night.  Hmm, maybe I passed my procrastination onto them?  I didn't realize this was genetic. 

I could theoretically make them fend for themselves, but who would actually win there?  Oscar Mayer, that's who.  They would end up eating nothing but hot dogs, sandwiches, and frozen pizza every night.  I'd ultimately have to roll their bulbous bodies to the bus stop each morning.  Doesn't sound too appealing to me.

So, I suppose it's going to take some effort to get them into some sort of semblance of a daily routine with the dishes.  I WILL be victorious in the end, albeit bruised and battered along the way.