Where was I When…

Where was I When…

I was on my way to work at GE in Arlington, TX. 

As I was leaving my daughter’s daycare, I heard the first report on the radio of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center.  At the time, reports were saying it appeared to be a small charter plane, and it was a horrible accident.  All I could think of was the people in the plane and building that were literally impacted immediately.  Why was it that while I shook my head and said a quick prayer, I didn’t feel affected.  

When I arrived to my 4th floor office, around 8:00am CST, everyone was huddled in the conference room watching the north tower burn on the television.  I remember saying to the lady standing next to me that the hole and damage appeared to look like a Boeing rather than a Cessna.  

  
When I arrived to my 4th floor office, around 8:00am CST, everyone was huddled in the conference room watching the north tower burn on the television.  

Three minutes later, from the right side of the screen we saw the second plane come in and slam into the south tower…  

  
It happened so fast.  In the second and a half from the time it appeared at the right of our TV to the time the fireball exploded to the left the following went through my mind:

“OMG WTF is that?”

“Oh, it’s a news chopper”

“that’s a huge fucking chopper”

“where did it go?” 

“AHHHHH WTF!?!?”

“Did another plane hit the south tower?”

“No way did that just happen ”

“what floor are our brokers, CF, on and in which tower?”

“Why is everyone screaming?”

“Holy shit!!! Another plane hit the other tower?”

“WTF is wrong with our air traffic controllers?”

“Is this deliberate?”

“OMG, is this an attack?”

Then silence.  Deafening silence.  No one breathed.  It almost seemed inappropriate to breathe.  But I was 4 months pregnant so I needed to fbreathe or two.  

My first breath after that horrific site came out as a sob.  I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying.  It’s amazing how your body sees and does things that your brain can’t even process.  

It was supposed to be a great day.  We had a baby shower planned for my good friend that was also pregnant.  

This couldn’t be happening to NYC.  This couldn’t be happening to America.  

But we had been hit.  And it had hurt.  

The day went on.  Pentagon was attacked. Then the 4th plane went down.  No one knew when it would end.  

On Monday, March 11, 2002 – six months after that unforgettable day, these two columns of light shot up into the sky over New York to commemorate the buildings and lives that were destroyed on September 11. The lights, which were manufactured by GE were arrayed to evoke the collapsed towers, and were lit every evening through April 13. I was very proud to be a GE employee at that time.  
  

Dear Nicole Arbour: My Response to the YouTube Video “Dear Fat People”

Dear Nicole Arbour: My Response to the YouTube Video “Dear Fat People”

  I’m going to go ahead and begin this post with stating that I watched the video and I’m not offended.  I don’t even think it’s that offensive.   I’m so sick of people being unable to call a spade a spade.

The overall message is for those that are “fat” because they make bad lifestyle choices.   She even specifies that it’s not aimed with people who have genetic or other diseases that caused them to gain weight.   

I’m fat.  By definition and my doctor I’m a fatty.  I am 5’1″ and currently weigh 170lbs.  I have no excuse.  Other than the profuse sweating I do by just tying my running shoes, I’m relatively healthy.  Actually, I’m anemic so by all standards I should be rail thin.  I was always rail thin until I hit 30. Then my husband made me fat.  

Fuck you, Jeff, for taking me out to restaurants and introducing me to Netflix!!  My life was thinner when I was a single mom and on the sleep deprivation, stress and starvation diet! 

Despite the weight I’ve gained, I still manage to keep my hour-glass figure (thank you, Spanx) so I only cry about my appearance 5 days a week.  

Carrying extra weight is hard.  I need to lose it.  It’s making my joints and back ache and my heart work harder.  It’s extremely unhealthy.  

So I try to make better choices about what and how much I eat.  Fuck dieting.  I’ve tried so many diets only to go “fat-kid on cake” every chance I got.  

I have an awesome group of ladies who push me to get to the gym on certain days by going with me.  One of them is my direct manager and one of the best gal pals I could ever ask for.  I’m very lucky to have her as a motivator.   One of my other best gal pal is yoga instructor who knew me when I was my usual size 5, and has watched me balloon up to a size 12.  

Nothing is wrong with being a size 12.  Gaining 40 lbs in under 4 years for no other reason than consuming too much fat and sugar and not exercising is wrong.   

But my husband and I did it together so at least I know he doesn’t judge me. 

Here is a picture from April 2011 when we first started dating.   I weighed 130lbs and he weighed 185lbs. 

 
And here’s a picture from our wedding exactly 3 years later in April 2014.  I was 160lbs and he was about 250lbs.  He still looks sexy as ever to me.     

My dress actually ripped when I tried to sit down for a photo; side zipper split wide open. I was mortified. I could have blamed the boutique that sold me the dress, or the designer. But nope. It ripped because I was too fat for it. Period.   

This is the actual picture he shot just before it went kerrrrrrrIP!!!!

  
Luckily our photographer knew how to pose me so it wouldn’t show the shoddy job he and my husband did to try and temporarily close it up.  They were both such darlings but I could only marry one.  

ANYWAY……

There is no perfect shape for a human body. All human shapes are perfect as long as they are taking care of them.      

I hate the term “Get in shape”.   I am in shape.  Round is a shape.   Cylinder is a shape.  Trapezoid is a shape.   

  
Get healthy.   Period. 

Nicole points out in the video that we only have one body.   One.  One body and one life.  

Yes it’s your body, but if I have to pay higher deductibles because you want to stuff it full of unhealthy foods and resolve to roll around in a scooter paid for by my tax dollars, and stay home and collect disability because you only want to eat Big Macs like Tic Tacs.  

And for my friends that are fellow “fatties”, I love you and you are beautiful!  

I want you to live long lives and I want to live a long life too!

Flux Capacitor 

Flux Capacitor 

My husband is super hot.  Seriously, the day I laid eyes on him…I wanted to lay a lot more than just eyes on him.   Not only is he hot, he’s the smartest man I’ve ever known.  Seriously, he’s a genius.   Not only is he hot and smart, he’s a hard worker…the man can never sit still.   Not only is he hot and smart and a hard worker, he’s great at balancing our budget.  

Not only is he hot and smart and a hard worker and a good budget balancer… he can fix anything.  

Cinderella and Snow White and Sleeping Beauty can all kiss my ass.   All their princes ever did was look nice.  I’ve won the best husband award.   

But I think his hobby is to either make me feel stupid or just confuse the hell out of me.  

“Flux Capacitor”.  That’s the word I’ve leaned on to explain how shit works.   It’s all I need.  Why? Because I’ve decided I’m never going to live without Jeff.   So as long as I can always remember the term flux capacitor, my shit will always work.   

My husband will explain detail by detail how the channel changer clicker works, or how a software program he’s developed for our multi-billion dollar global bank where we are both employed works.  Or how he increased my RAM to make more room to fit pictures of my dogs and musical soundtracks (yeah baby!).   Or installed a thingy in a whatsit for the pool, or gas line, or the box with the flashy lights that allows me to get on the interwebs.  

What I hear, as he explains in his incredibly deep and sexy bass voice is: “You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, flux capacitor it, bake it, saute it. Dey’s uh, flux capacitor, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo, flux capacitor, pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There’s flux capacitor, pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, flux capacitor shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, flux capacitor burger, shrimp sandwich… Flux capacitor.”

He’s even idiot-proofed our wifi names so I don’t keep getting frustrated why my signal is so bad. This made us have to explain a lot to my neighbors!

  
I’ve perfected the “Mm-hm” and “Cool, baby”, and “Wow” and most importantly when he tells me how he’s solved a problem using his super smart and sexy brain, the hug and kiss and “Great job, baby!”
I love and appreciate and am extremely turned on by him.  He’s my favorite person in the world that I didn’t birth.  

And every time he gives me the deep sigh and eye roll when I’ve asked a question he has probably answered one or two (dozen) times before …“Why isn’t the TV working?”… I know he is secretly thrilled that I need him so much and probably literally wouldn’t be able to live without him.

Why? Because I’m crazy, that’s why.

Why? Because I’m crazy, that’s why.

“Why do you want to start a blog, babe?” My wonderful and seriously handsome husband asks me when I ask his help in creating a blog page for me.

“Because I’m crazy, that’s why!” I shoot back at him.

I see that face.  I love that face.   And I hate that face.   It’s a face that says “you’ve obviously misunderstood why I asked and now I’m the asshole for even asking”.     Oh this man says so much with his face.   I love it.  And I hate it.

Why do I want to blog? Because working 60 hours a week and coming home to feed the family and clean up and work in the yard and do all my Amazon shopping aren’t enough.   Because after I’ve had a battle of wits with my 16 year old daughter over my dead body will she wear that outfit and dye her hair that color to which I lose on the hair color, I still have so much energy to do another hobby.  Because spending 45 minutes cleaning my hair out of the Roomba for the umpteenth time this week just doesn’t keep me busy long enough.   Neither does cutting up maxi pads to put in my Yorkie’s belly bands so he’ll quit passing all over my hardwood floors, that I just finished mopping this month, or massaging food morsels out of the side of my rat-cha’s mouth so he can chew with his front teeth because those are the only teeth he has left…poor old bastard.  I want to also blog because I’m left with so much time after answering so many Googleable questions by my 11 year old son and feel like an idiot.  “I don’t know why the sky is blue, son! GTS!”.  I want to blog because I have so much spare time and energy after repeating myself over and over to my ADHD 13 year old son because his extended release tablet has worn off just in time for him to sit and do his homework.   Also, because it gives me something to do after I’m done editing my HOA newsletter.

I don’t know of I’ll ever even publish these posts. I may start getting into the habit of starting each entry with Dear Diary.    Either way, my life is a circus.   It’s a beautiful, busy, crazy circus.   And I love it and all the freaks and clowns in it.