September 12, 2008
Oh dearie, dear...
You guys make me feel so loved. Thanks for that.

Things that don't make me feel loved so much include trying on all the shorts in my drawer (I wear the same two grungy pair (pairs?) all the time). I believe I heard the faint sound of laughter as I replaced all the shorts I bought last time we were in Hawaii and closed the drawer. It's bad when one's own clothes mock one. It's also bad when one sloshes tea on their shirt AND shorts in one fell swoop, as I just did. It's a banner day here in Slushville.

I gained 10 pounds last Christmas. Did I tell you that? I thought, no big deal, I'll have it off by shorts season. Um, yeah, not so much fatty pants. I still haven't gotten it off. In fact, I'm equally as fat today as I was on January 1st. How distressing and depressing. Oh, and all my jeans except for one pair are painfully tight too. Rock on.

So, when I get back from vacation, the trimming of Slush's rear begins in earnest. All those bikini clad bodies should fill me with enough self- loathing to get serious. I could start now, but come on, I'm going on vacation next week, which is the one time of the year I allow myself to indulge in the decadence of chocolate pop tarts for breakfast. Oh my, THAT is the breakfast of champions, I feel sure. Of course, last time we were in Hawaii, there was an island wide shortage of chocolate pop tarts. I kid you not, my friends. I went to about a hundred stores around the island, and every store had a big empty space on their shelves where the chocolate pop tarts should be. Apparently, Polynesians like their chocolaty breakfasts as much as they like canned ham products. If that happens this year, we shall assume that God has decided I need divine intervention to lose some weight. And wow, wouldn't that be depressing?

130 lbs by Christmas is the goal. If I don't make it, I'm going to have to do something drastic- like not have any Coke for a year. That ought to be enough to get me to lose some weight. I shudder at the thought. Ok, I'm not ready to commit to that yet. Bah ha ha. Anyway, I'll be thinking about it. Maybe I'll even get one of those little counters so you guys can come laugh at my lack of progress every day. I'm all about entertaining the masses, you know.

If I am organized enough later (read: it probably won't happen), I'll take some pictures of my packing process, which is sure to amaze and astound you all. Maybe not. I like to think of packing as an art form, and it is one of my favorite parts of going some place. Have you guys seen that Windsor Castle series on PBS? I nearly swooned when I saw the Queen's ladies packing her items by wrapping them in tissue so they wouldn't get wrinkled. I'm nearly swooning now just thinking about it. And you know, this is all assuming that Houston hasn't been blown to kingdom come by then (I called the airline, they tell me they are going to be open again on Sunday in Houston. We'll see.). As if I didn't have enough problems, I came across this yesterday. IF YOU ARE MY MOTHER, DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. I mean it.

I'm starting to wonder if we are meant to go on vacation this year...
Blogger Hillary said...
Slush. Paragraph three of this post is why I love you. (Well, one of the reasons, anyway!) It makes me laugh so much. A kind of sad, pathetic, knowing laugh, cause for me, that ten is TWENTY, and the jeans factor is ZERO. And cause I understand. Ooooooh, how I understand. You! Can! Do! It!