Raise Your Hand If You Need a Tan!

MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Somebody buy this chica some self-tanner. Madre?

I've been blinded by the light.

April Fool's Day

Most every year (when I'm thinking straight), I play a little April Fool's Day joke on my homies. This morning on our way home from the gym, I said to mi Amor, "Let's really fool them. Let's cook a frozen pizza, and when they wake-up we'll say they slept through the day and now it's time for dinner."

Mi Amor rolled his eyes and said, "L-A-M-E!"

"Instead," he suggested. "We'll fill their breakfast plates with broccoli!" (Remember my kids are allergic to anything healthy?) Then we'll say, "Breakfast is served!" Dunt Dunt Dah! (insert villainous music here).

I thought to myself, "I think I married Einstein because this idea is brilliant!"

One by one my homies wobbled out of their rooms and found their place at the breakfast table.

I said in a cheery voice, "Get it while you can! Fresh organic broccoli, hand selected especially for you, this very morning from Walmart's produce department!" My homies were not amused, and the littlest started crying, flinging his body to the ground in absolute horror. (5 solid years of breakfast with Toucan Sam will cause a child to react in such a way.)

I was ready to keep playing along, especially since the other two had begun taking petite bites of their broccoli. I delighted in watching them pucker, chew, and swallow in pure disgust. They are so trusting, really. Can you believe they believe I know what's best for them?

As I began telling my littlest homie to get-up to the table so he could grow some hair on his chest, I remembered that I had forgotten to wash the broccoli. A bit panicked (because who knows what kind of germs lurk on unwashed organic broccoli), I said, "Halt the veggie feast, ya'll!" Then, like a ray of April Fool's Day light, mi Amor came into the kitchen, tall and sweaty. There he stood, balancing a box of day-old donuts on his hand like a waiter delivering a feast to a table full of neglected and starving children.

He's a genius, I tell you. Because who looks like the Wicked Witch of the West now?

The End of Me

Why did I just inhale an entire family-sized bag of Reese's Pieces peanut butter eggs? Where's the self-control, chicas?

I'm blaming my growing gut-pooch on the Mia Maids, because on Sunday, one of my girls handed out eggs filled with these little bits-of-heaven. After emptying 4 eggs--I repeat, 4 eggs into my mouth, I said to myself, "On the morrow, when it's no longer the Sabbath day, I'm going to buy my own supply." I bought a ginormous bag at Walgreens on Monday, and 24 hours, 3 blackheads, and 2100 calories later, they're all g-o-n-e, and I ate every single one.

P.S. I just unbuttoned the top button on my button fly 501s (remember how cool those were)? I can now breathe. The church is still true.

P.P.S I ran out of Diet Dr. Pepper on the Sabbath and Basha's Fiesta cola vending machine was out-of-order. I went the whole day soda free, so maybe I can quit injecting myself with the junk. What do you think?

Rants and Swimsuits

I've been working out at the gym, faithfully, since December. I've gained 15 pounds in my rear and gut, and I don't think the weight gain is due to the newly-grown muscles in my triceps. My rear is bursting out of my old jeans (just say no to crack), and I look five months pregnant. Every time I pass the hallway mirror, I suck-in my gut. Then I wish I could remove my gut-pooch and stuff it into my bra.

My point is: It's warming up outside, and the yappy birds in our backyard trees are reminding me that, soon, I'll be sitting poolside in my itty-bitty, yellow-polka dot tankini. And that reminder made me wish that didn't have to wear a swimsuit with a padded top. Did you know stuffing with toilet paper doesn't work? The toilet paper sags then scatters into pieces once you've gotten into the pool. A total disaster. Trust me, I should have a PhD in this topic. (Hannah will die when she reads this. And you know what else? She and I have the same bra size, and I'm not kidding one bit.)

Last night I flexed my biceps for the Mia Maids, and they were totally impressed. I told the girls, "If you ever need me to kick someone's butt for you, I'll do it." That's what good Mia Maid leaders do: encourage Personal Progress and kick butts. (Such crass language from such a religious gal, I do say.)

Anyhoo, I want to tell you that I got an "A" in my writing class, two points shy of a perfect "A." Are you so proud of me? I just want to give a shout out to Professor Deakin for being such an AWESOME teacher--I adore her to her bones.

P.S. I can't take credit for that bodacious bicep. It belongs to my brother, Chris. My bicep is almost as big, though.

Globe Obsessed

Have you ever wanted something so badly
that it possessed your body & your soul
through the night & through the day?

That's how I'm feelin' about this here globe I spotted at Anthropologie today. I want it bad, and I've been thinking about it all day long. But it's 148 buckaroos and something that expensive needs approval from 'da boss, aka, mi amor.

So, at tonight's 9 o'clock showing of Diary of a Wimpy Kid (I heart Rowley), I popped the question. "Can I buy the globe I saw at Anthropologie for 148.00? It's on sale, half-off, a total bargain, and the only one of its kind!"

He took a bite of popcorn and a sip of soda and said, "N-O." Just like that, "no."

So that's why I'm blogging to you right now. I wanted to let you know that tonight I'll be dreaming about winning the Lotto. And when I win the jackpot, my first purchase will be...that globe. Pray for me.

P.S. Maybe I'll call mi madre and tell her about this globe situation.

P.P.S It's not against the law to take your kids to the movies on a school night, even when it's past their bedtime. Plus, when you take your kids to the movies at 9 o'clock on a school night you get the theater all to yourselves. Now that's what I call a memorable fhe. Or maybe that's what you call poor planning. It's a toss-up, really.

Back in Black

Have I been a flaky writer or what? I'm back, though, and stronger than ever.

So I'm three weeks into school now, and I'm loving every minute of it. On the first night of class, my writing professor gave us a series of writing prompts. Every time she'd give us a topic to write about, my mind would go, "You're too old for this, Grandma. Do you see all these sweet, young honeys around you, writing up bits of brilliance? Their minds are fresher, stronger than yours. Go home old goat; it's not too late to drop-out."

I walked out of that night's class thinking, "Katy, you're not letting your mind go there. Remember your step class at the gym? You used to be the worst, but now you're second to worst (sorry, Kevin). This time, you're not giving up. You're going to crank it up AC*DC style, and you ain't never looking back."

I'm Back in Black, Chicas!

Foxy Lady

Here I am, posing in a gas station, on our way home from Utah. I couldn't believe the amount of beef jerky that place stocked. I really wanted to buy the above pictured keychain, but I resisted and settled for a bag of Funyuns. Not so foxy.