The Mel Brooks Confusion

There are certain things you see or experience when you're very young that you don't understand until later in life.  A tampon commercial, for example - "Now, where does THAT go?"  Or a word you'd heard on TV and you use it like it's no biggie - "Mom, are you and Dad french kissing?" (that for real happened when I was like 4 or something).  Or maybe you saw something in a movie that you THOUGHT you knew what it meant, but learned later on that you were not only WAY off, but are thankful that you didn't know about it at the time.  This brings me to my next blopic (I tried to mix blog and topic right there....I think I just created something wonderful)......OK...here it is for real.....

The History of the World Part 1.

First of all, if you haven't seen this movie, please do yourself a favor, get high (if you're into that sort of thing) and watch this movie.  It's a Mel Brooks genius of a movie and it's very silly.  My sister and I stumbled across this movie in the 80s after my Uncle had shown my Dad how to stick a paperclip under the cable box to get the pay channels for free.......which is a whole other topic....blopic.....  We found History of the World Part 1 on HBO one night and fell in love instantly with all that is Mel Brooks.  Unfortunately, I may have been a bit too young to fully grasp some of the jokes and what I THOUGHT I got, I totally didn't.  Here are the highlights, in no particular order:

 

Apes Dying?

This was the very opening scene and I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen.  It was this group of what I thought were apes, banging on their chests and making grunting sounds.  Funny to any adolescent.  So, the apes were standing in a row with a beautiful sunset behind them (I'm trying to set the scene here...)  They first started banging on their chests, as previously mentioned, but then they start banging a little lower, on their tummy areas.  Then then pounded a little lower and a little lower until they died.  The End.  That was what I THOUGHT happened the first time I saw it.  I truly thought that Mel Brooks was opening this movie with dying gorillas and I thought it was fucking genius.  What an innocent little soul. 

So, this is what it REALLY was....

They were Neanderthals (Word is capitalizing this, so it must be right) that first started banging on their chests while a narrator is talking about the dawn of man.  Then they slowly move down their bodies and start masturbating.  They masturbate so hard then come simultaneously and pass out.  You guys, the movie OPENS with masturbating Neanderthals.  You don't need any more reason to watch it then that.

 Happy Smoke?

 

The next one can only be described to you by the little-kid-that-is-watching-this-for-the-first-time version of me.......

"OK, so there's this group of people running from the Roman Army in a chariot and the mean Romans are gaining on them when the black-ish guy sees this plant in a field and stops the group and picks some of these plants and makes a tube rocket that he lights and all this smoke or fog or something fills the field and the Romans run through the fog and then they get really happy and sleepy and dance with each other!  It was SOOOO funny!!!" 

 

OK, so obviously Nancy Reagan was doing a good job at the time because I had NO idea what weed was or ANY drug for that matter.  Obviously, the plant was marijuana and the "paper rocket" was a giant joint (seen here to our left).  I don't want to give too much away here, but things get very funny, very quickly.  Won't you Netflix this movie, please?    

 

Magic Feather?

 

Now, to the REAL genesis of my greatest Mel Brooks confusion.  The rising, magic feather.  OK, so Gregory Hines played this runaway slave who hiding in the emperors palace.  He's pretending to be a eunuch guard and has this white feathery fan covering his privates.  Now, here's the first thing that went over my head.  I had no idea what a eunuch was (actually, I didn't REALLY know until I just Googled it a few minutes ago and even now I'm a little confused).  ANY ways, they think he's an imposter so they run a little test......  This hot, barely clothed lady starts dancing seductively in front of each one.  None of them react, until she gets to Gregory Hines (I want to call him Greg SO bad).  When she's finished gyrating and basically humping the air in front of him, the middle feather of his fan rises up in the air.  Like magic.  Then they knew he wasn't a eunuch.

 

OK, so a eunuch is castrated.  No wiener, for those of you who don't watch Game of Thrones.  Greg gets a boner, thus proving he has a wiener.  Very funny, but absolutely NO child would have understood that.  My sister and I agree that it was the most frustrating part of watching that movie.  NO ONE would tell us why the feather went up!  My sister brought up a good point that if someone DID tell us why it went up, they would then have to explain the WHOLE THING.  Like, what happens AFTER a wiener goes up, why the lady MADE it go up, where babies come from...the whole nine.  I didn't know what it meant for a LONG time.  But, now I do, so don't worry.

 

 

In conclusion, watch History of the World Part 1.  But, not if you're 6 years old.  Unless you're a masturbating, pot smoking, boner knowing 6 year old.  In which case.....give the phone to your mother.  I should probably talk to her.

 

 

 

 

XOXOXO - Robyn

90's Movies Memories

We've all had our share of memorable movie-going experiences.  Some are memorable because they move you, some because they make you laugh or some because of their cultural significance.  The following four 90's movies were memorable for ME for other reasons and I’d like to share those stories with you now – in order in which they were experienced……

 

 

1.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2 – The Secret of the Ooze (1991)

 

 

 

This movie was HUGE with 90’s kids.  In this film, we learn the genesis of the Turtles mutation, are introduced to some sort of Mega-Villain that I can’t totally remember, and, OH yeah, the hunk of hip hop - Vanilla.  Ice.  (Yep Yep).   Aside from all that, this was a milestone in my adolescence because this was…..my very first date. 

 

It was with this boy that I thought was REAL cool with his tiny, feathery mullet and some sort of Bart Simpson t-shirt.  The only catch to this 11 year old child rendezvous was that both of our siblings had to accompany us.  So, while we were awkwardly sharing popcorn while trying to keep our sweaty little paws in the proper movie-watching-hand-holding position, my sister was to my left and his brother was to his right – one or the other constantly staring and snickering at us.  It was uncomfortable to say the least, but as an adult, I am more uncomfortable about the fact that I was even ON a “date” in 5^th grade.  

 

I don’t remember a ton of details about this prepubescent tryst, but what sticks out in my head most is that my sister did my hair for me in 2 french braids – Dorothy Gale style – for my big date.  I thought it was the COOLEST.  So much so that, when I returned home that night, I used half the bottle of my Mom’s Paul Mitchell hairspray to keep it in place for school the next day.  I just kept spraying and spraying and spraying, thinking the more I sprayed, the more it would stay.  The next day at school, kids were starting to whisper and point at me until one of my friends gave me a teeny mirror and told me to go look at the back of my hair in the bathroom mirror.   I did as instructed and, you guys?, my entire head was one big ball of big white flakes and crusty knots.  It was terrible.  I didn’t know hairspray turned into crust when you apply 25 layers of it!  Woops. 

  

Ok, first date and first school humiliation.  Check.

 

On to…....

 

2.  The Crow (1994)

 

 

 

Oh my GOD did teens girls love this movie (at least the ones I hung out with).  I think it was the mixture of Brandon Lee’s fatality while shooting the movie and pure-on teenage angst but secretly wanting someone to “get” them.  I’ve only seen this movie the one time I saw it in the theater, but I do remember goth make-up, leather pants, and wanting to be The Crow’s love interest.  “Dear The Crow, I am 15 years old and in desperate need of you to come to my bedroom window and make out with me…”  

 

I remember one of my friends in particular would NOT stop talking about the end of the movie where, according to her, The Crow and his fiancée share the “best kiss I have EVER seen in my LIFE”.  She said this kiss had changed her life, completely.  She told me this before I actually went to see the movie, so I was very excited to get to see this extraordinary kiss she had raved about for WEEKS.  I anxiously anticipated the end of the movie, knowing I would be blown away by the love portrayed on the screen through a single kiss.  I was ready for my entire life to be changed forever.  I was preparing to take mental notes on how to execute this wonderful kiss for future use.  And then it happened……a normal fucking kiss.  There was nothing special about this kiss, in my opinion.  I feel like I had just seen my PARENTS kiss like that the night before.  My friend had GROSSLY misled me.  I don’t know if she was under some love spell from her first real crush of life, but that kiss was average at best.  Of course, after I told her my opinion, she declared me insane and could not believe I didn’t cream my jeans over that dumb assed PECK between two (spoilers!) GHOSTS.  Dumb.  Please Netflix this movie, watch the ending kiss and let me know if it does anything for ya.   Go.  Do it now.  I’ll wait…….  SEE?!!??   NBD.

 

I guess the way she explained this kiss and the anticipation of waiting to see it is what was most vivid about this memory.  Fuck The Crow and fuck that kiss.  Next….. 

 

 

3. Wyatt Earp (1994)

 

 

 

 

This one isn’t THAT coo-coo, but it burns in my memory banks just the same.  I liked this boy, no, MAN, in high school (for a fleeting moment, in retrospect), and he FINALLY asked me out to a movie.  I was so fucking nervous, for many reasons: 

 

1.  I had never gone out with an older dude. 

 

2. He was like THREE years older than me and, when you’re 15, that’s like TEN adult years. 

 

3. I was pretty sure he would want me to touch his wiener in exchange for this movie. 

 

4.  I had never touched a wiener before and did NOT plan to start now.

 

5. I had a VERY strict curfew on school nights, 9:30pm, and the movie started at 8:15pm.

 

So, we go to see Wyatt Earp.  I don’t remember ONE thing about the movie except that it was called Wyatt Earp.  The entire time we were in the movie theater my brain was switching rapidly from one concern to the next.   Will I be grounded when I get home late?  Will this guy I BARELY know DATE rape me?  What will I do if he tries to make me do “stuff”?  What will my Dad say to me when he finds out I’m with this older dude ALONE in car AND movie theater?  My mind was going insane and about 45 minutes into the movie, I decided it was do or die.  I had to do something that would a) get me home before 9:30pm and b) avoid any bodily contact of any sort between this boy and I.  So, I d did the only thing my brain would allow – I pretended to barf on the floor of the theater.  Right in the middle of Wyatt Earp.  It was dark in the theater and no one would know I didn’t really puke.  I just made coughing and gagging noises for, like, 5 seconds.  The dude was SUPER freaked out and was like “GET UP!”  We both got out of our seats and I pretended to step over the fake pile puke and he followed suit.  We immediately went to his car and he drove me home in silence. 

 

I made it home at 9:25pm. 

 

I did not have to touch any wieners.  

 

I was a genius. 

 

 

4.  Empire Records (1995)

 

 

 

This movie was GOOD.  I find myself watching it every time it happens to be on TV to this day.  The characters were relatable to my 16 year old self and the clothes, I thought at the time, were AMAZING.    The only drawback to viewing this movie now is the resonating memory of what my friend did to the theater floor when we went to see it my Junior year.

My two friends and I went opening weekend to see this movie, after seeing countless commercials for it on MTV.  We anxiously awaiting the opening credits and from the first minute of rockin' music and characters that were almost our age, we were in awe.  This movie got it right.  We were mesmerized by the hipness and didn't want to miss a single frame of the film.  Well, apparently, my one friend REALLY didn't want to miss a thing.....  After informing us that she needed to go to the bathroom, we were like "Go ahead, we'll fill you in on what you missed."  She took that suggestion quite literally.  Before I knew it, she was inching forward, undoing her jeans and squatting on the floor in from of her seat!  She.  Was.  PEEING.  In the theater.  Just pissing away while Ethan Embry sang into a broom handle.  I could not believe it.  I actually STILL can't to this day.  The theater rows were on a decline, so her pee pee just flowed right down to the front row......right at the feet of some unsuspecting preteen boys.  It was the most shocking thing I had seen in my young life. 

After the movie was over, and the credits were rolling, I noticed the boys in the front row getting up and looking down at their feet.  I heard one of them say "Aw MAN!  Someone spilled their Mountain Dew!!"  I was mortified.

That was 100% a true story. 

 

 

 I actually just realized one or more of you reading this may have been a part of one or more of these stories.  If you remember them, I hope you got a good chuckle.  For the rest of you, this has been just a small glimpse into my teenage life.  Hope you enjoyed.

XOXOXOXO

 

Mothers Day: A Ranting

I lost my Mother to cancer 17 years ago and in 2 years, I will have known more years without her then with her.  That is a hard thing to comprehend.  Everyday, it gets harder to remember her.  I only remember the very good times and the very bad times and I wish it wasn't that way.  I'd love to remember her laugh, her smell, the way her hand felt in mine.  I'd love the chance to have just one more day with her to ask all the questions my eighteen year old brain couldn't have thought of.  I was a kid.  A kid who didn't fully appreciate her and certainly didn't entertain the thought of life without her until it was far too late.  As you all must remember when you were eighteen, your Mom wasn't exactly high on your priority list and mine certainly wasn't, even though she was sick as hell and all the signs were there that she would be gone soon.  I didn't know.  I truly didn't think she would die until the day it happened. 

My parents kept a lot of her disease from me, to protect me, my Dad would later tell me.  I didn't know how sick she truly was until my Dad called me at work and told me I better come to the hospital.  When I walked into her room, I saw my sleeping Mother.  She slept a lot back then, so I didn't really think it was serious.  It was only when I went to wake her up to let her know I was there that I got the first pain in my chest that told me this was not good.  She didn't wake up.  It was then that my Dad told me she was on morphine to keep her comfortable until the inevitable happened.  I had no idea my Mom would die the next day.  I had no idea that an eighteen year old girl was ever expected to live without her Mother.  I had no idea what she meant to me until she was gone. 

I can't apologize to her for ever being a brat.  I can't let her know the joy she brought to my life.  I can't hug her.  I can't curl up on the couch and watch TV with her.  I can't tell her I love her.  And I do. 

Some days I only think about her once.  Some days I spend hours imagining what she would be like today.  Some days I can think of  nothing else but her and what my life would be like if she where here to share it with me.  Some days I want to scream "THIS ISN'T FAIR!!!" at the tops of my lungs.  Some days I just can't process what I'm feeling so I burry my sadness as deep as I can.  Some days I'm totally fine.  MOST days I'm totally fine now that more time has passed, but when it hits me, it hits hard.  Especially on days like today.  

My Mom was cool.  My Mom was funny as hell.  My Mom was soft and warm.  My Mom was beautiful.  My Mom loved my sister and I more then anything in the world.  My Mom died of cancer.  In 1997.  6 Months after my high school graduation.  My Mom is now a skeleton in the ground.  The loss of a Mother is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, no matter how old they are.  I just want to hug her.  Right now.  Please.  I'm angry and I'm sad and I miss her.  I miss her.  I miss her.  I miss her.  I miss her.

XOXO
Robyn

I'm Happy....

I distinctly remember writing a paper in high school about what my adult life would look like in my 16 year old mind.  A college graduate, a record producer (which I'm still not really even sure of what that ACTUALLY is), a wife, a mother, a home owner and, inexplicably to me as a grown up version of that student, a vegetarian.  I had it all figured out, as the assignment was to be as detailed as possible.  I would wake up, get the 2.5 kids ready for school, see my architect husband off to work, and go to my recording studio (what??).  I remember the paper detailed that I would meet "the band" at the studio (this making me laugh, like out loud, right now) and we would lay down some tracks (laughing harder).  Then I would pick the kids up from school, make them do their homework, play with our yellow lab named Mustard (I was a weird 16 year old), and prepare some delicious vegetarian meal.  My husband would come from architecting (I don't know....drawing a futuristic mall all day or something?) and we would all tell each other about our day.  Repeat 5 days a week and on weekends we would go to Monster Truck rallies or art museums or volunteer at a homeless shelter.  This was the ideal life of my teenage self, I guess.

I have none of these things.  I am not married, no kids, no house, no Mustard.  I'm not a record producer (someone seriously tell what that really is) nor did I graduate college.  I eat a lot of various meats and have never even considered being a vegetarian.  Not once.  I have none of these things, yet I'm happy.  Take THAT 16 year old me!

I think that, from an early age, we are programmed to want the cool things we see around us.  Obviously.  What else is there to want besides what you have been positively surrounded by?  When you're a kid, you think the families on your favorite sitcom are something you aspire to have.  You think that your family is NOTHING like this perfect family (except Roseanne, of course) and you want to create that for yourself.  You are inspired by your teachers and are determined to teach that EXACT social studies class when you get older.  You see a house on the cover of a magazine at your dentist's office and are certain that you will live in that house by the time you're 25.  Simple.  Well, know-it-all kids, guess what?  NO.

You can plan your life all you want, but in the end your life will just kind of HAPPEN to you.  The choices you make, the people you choose to share your life with, the hard work you put into any little thing, THAT'S what life is.  I'm telling you right now....you can't plan it.  You can plan to go to college, graduate and work hard to procure your dream job, but the family thing will have wait.  You can plan to have the 2.5 kids, the house and Mustard, but some of your passions and career aspirations will either be put on hold or disappear all together.  The full package, as mentioned in the above high school assignment, is a myth.  Sure, there are people that are living their perfect life, but I can guarantee you, their version of their perfect life has changed, in more ways then one.

The moral of the story, kids (HIMYM), is that happiness lies in your immediate vicinity.  If not, change either your version of perfect or your surroundings.  Either way, don't think about what you thought your life would be like.  It's not that.  It probably will never be that.  But, you still win if you are happy.  Always. 

Long time, no blog.

It has come to my attention that people not only actually liked my Blogs, but are somewhat disappointed with me for not keeping up with it.  Well, according to my very thoughtful, but sometimes overbearing, sister anyway.  I understand that I forced all of you to become invested in at least some aspects of my life then left you hanging.  My bad.  Here's an overview of what I've been up to for the past few months......

First of all, let me just say that I have never been happier in my entire life.  I love my job, my boyfriend, our cat, my home and all my friends.  I also love the fact that I have not had to rely on the crutch that my Blob became.  It was more of a cry for help then anything, really.  It was almost as if I wrote about my plight as a fat girl, I wouldn't have to do anything else.  Just make people laugh and cry with  me over my unfortunate circumstances and feel good about myself when people show their support by "liking" what I wrote or sending me words of encouragement.  It felt good.  Too good.  It was too easy to feel fulfilled by not really DOING anything.  Does that make sense?  I didn't have to DO anything about my weight because people were giving me so much attention and I started to feel good without losing weight.  ANYways, enough of that. 

I started working out with a group of people from my work.  I go three days a week, sometimes twice a day to a rec center here in town.  The hospital I work for was generous enough not only to give us all free memberships to the center, but also hire a company that sent three personal trainers from Arizona to live here for 12 weeks and train us every day.  We do some yoga poses, strength training, core work and cardio.  The trainers are so flippin' nice and encouraging.  They teach us the correct way to do the moves, correct us when our form is wrong and generally allow us to be the best people we can be.  I'm telling you, I'm doing things I never thought I could.  I RUN.  I never even thought my body could physically do it, but it is.  I'm a pro at lunges and glute bridges and thoracic rotations and deep squats and mini band work and tightening by butt cheeks.  This is week 4 and I'm already getting sad that it's only a 12 week deal.

Just so everyone knows, I'm not weighing myself during this.  I know myself well enough to not.  When I used to try to work out and try to get healthy in the past, I'd work my ass off for a week, get on the scale and see little to no change and become discouraged.  I'd be like, "I worked so hard and ate so good and I lost no weight.  Fuck it.  Big Mac for dinner it is..."  So, just to ensure there is no stopping this, I will not weigh myself.  I will just bask in the glory of an energized day and know that I am making healthy decisions.

So, that's what I've been up to.  Thanks for reading. 





P.S. If I don't write as often as I used to, just know that I am filling my time wisely and doing well.

XOXOXO

You Damn Kids And Your Sickening Posts......

There is something so sickening and wrong being posted on Facebook and I am tired of holding my tongue and scrolling quickly by. Over the past week I’ve seen at LEAST 4 different horrific pictures of dogs being tortured in one way or another. I’ve wanted so badly to comment “Really?” or “C,MON” or even “Is this really necessary??”, but I haven’t. I didn’t want to draw more attention to these disgusting pictures. I didn’t want to give the posters the satisfaction of knowing these pictures had affected me in any way. These pictures are erroneous, perverted and intended only to shock and appall.

 

Before you say, “Well? It’s the truth…these things are happening and people have to be aware of it….” let me make some suggestions on how you can help poor, defenseless animals WITHOUT unnecessarily exploiting their pain and anguish:

 

• Post a link to a website that responsibly informs people about the abuse of animals and, more importantly, tells us how we can help.
• Start a website (or blog) about cruelty to animals YOURSELF....I mean, it means so much to you that you post disgusting pictures on Facebook, so why not put your time and money where your mouth is and DO something about it.
• Do some research about when and where these things are happening and call the police.
• Get a bunch of people together and protest a pit bull ring or puppy mill.
• Donate food, blankets, detergent, litter, toys, or money to your local shelter.  At least you can contribute to the humane treatment of animals in that secure environment.
• Speak up if and when you see an animal being mistreated.
• Help look for a lost dog in your neighborhood.

These are just a few things you can do to help fight the terrible treatment of animals.  You don't need to post pictures of mangled dog faces and "rape belts" or whatever they're called.  If you were such a dog lover, those pictures would infuriate you and your response would not be re-post, but to gasp and click "x".

Bottom line:  If you post those pictures, you are a jerk and you know it.

XOXOXO

 

 

 

Lazy man's blog.....

It's not so much a "blog" as it is a really cool quote I found today......

 



 

“I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess tremendous power

to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration;

I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides.…..”

 

 - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

XOXOX

NO Christmas tree, NO Christmas tree.....

Seeing all of the Christmas trees on top of cars, posted on Facebook and on TV really has got me in a mood.  Christmas trees are my most favorite thing of all.  The twinkling lights, the family ornaments, the smell of pine, the garland shimmering off the white lights, the glow in the living room when you turn off the lamps.....I could go on and on...... 

I have been wandering from place to place, with roommate after roommate, for the past few years.  None of which did I feel comfortable putting up my Christmas decorations in or with.  Not that my apartments were too small or my roommates were assholes or anything.  It just didn't feel right putting up a tree with my family's decorations on it in a place that didn't feel like home.  Well, now I have what I feel is a true home, with the most wonderful man that ever lived and a cat that I love so much, but loves being naughty more than me or said wonderful man.  Which brings me to my problem....that f-ing cat.....

I love the cat and everything, but he is a little pistol and gets into everything.  The garbage, my underwear drawer, under the sink, under the bed, under my FEET and everything else he can either leap or scrapple up (scrapple is a term we made up that describes when a cat uses their claws to scratch up any surface in order to get where they need to go, JSYK).  That being said, a Christmas tree is out of the question.  We tried to put one up last year and, within an hour, Hammy had taken all of the garland off and was eating like 6 candy canes at once.  Not that I blame him.  The tree was just too much for him.  All the glitter, lights and general wonderment made it impossible to leave alone.  So...no tree.

 

I have been forced to be creative this Holiday season by staple-gunning garland to my ceiling and hanging ornaments from it.  While it certainly isn't a tree, it's still pretty cool looking.  Now, if I play play the Christmas station, spray my Glade Winter Pine bathroom spray and squint my eyes really good, I might just be able to get through a tree-less Christmas.  Stupid, handsome, cuddly, naughty cat.....

 

XOXOXO

I'm a mean girl, and that's not fetch......

One thing that annoys me is gossiping and talking behind each other’s backs at work.  Especially where I work, most of our efforts should be focused on our patients and tasks at hand, not who’s on a personal call or wearing the wrong kind of shoes.  It has always irked me to hear whispering, crouched and mushed into a cubicle where all you can here are the gossipers “sh’s”.  Like, “SHE blah blah blah blah SHE blah blah SHE blah blah blah SHE.”  Believe me; you know what I’m talking about if you work in a quiet office with a bunch of women. 

 

The reason I’m bringing this up is that I, believe it or not (ha ha), was the gossiper yesterday at work.  I was having a really rough day and I received an email that rubbed me the wrong way for no reason at all.  It was someone asking me a question about something she didn’t know and I took it to somehow be degrading to me.  I still have no idea why it bothered me so much, but I did what all other dumb chicks do when a co-worker bothers them…..talk shit to another co-worker.  I felt bad instantly and knew I had become the very thing I hated so much.  I wanted so bad to suck back in the words for two reasons, 1. I didn’t even really mean any of the things I had said and 2. I didn’t want to be known as the asshole that everyone steers clear of like I do to some people I work with.  So, I talked shit yesterday, and today, the person I talked shit to told the person I was talking shit about.  Follow that?  (If you’re a girl, you did.  If you’re a boy, you might as well stop reading right now and go play Xbox or something.)  OK, so, my co-worker told my other co-worker that I talked shit and that she shouldn’t trust me.  How do I know she told the person?  Read on, my friend…..

This morning I was summoned by the very gal I was a mean girl to.  She asked if we could talk privately and I knew right away what it was about.  My heart sank.  She had always been so sweet to me and now she thinks I’m a total dick.  Which I was.  We went to an empty area and she gave me the best speech I had ever heard.  It went something like this:

“Robyn.  I know that you said some things about me yesterday and I’m not quite sure where it was coming from, but I know that’s not you.  You have a good heart and I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt.  I didn’t want to talk badly about you behind your back and perpetuate the negativity on our team, so I thought I’d come to you and let you know that people here think you’re awesome and I don’t want you to sink to other people’s level.”

I couldn’t believe it.  She was saying all the exact right things.  I felt so bad, but good at the same time?  She is an amazing woman and handled this with such grace.  I felt like a real turd.  Like when you were little and your Dad says “I’m disappointed” instead of yelling at you.   I apologized and let her know that I didn’t really mean the things I said and that I instantly felt bad when I said them.  All was well and we went back to work.

The moral of the story is this, don’t talk shit about a co-worker unless you’re 100% sure they won't ever know.  Just kidding.  The real moral is don't be a jerk and talk smack behind any one's back (at least at work) because you'll be an even bigger jerk than the jerk you're talking about.


XOXOXOXO

Confessions of a jerk-face.......

I am a procrastinator.  I am sometimes very lazy and would rather be home, relaxing with my boyfriend then really anything else.  I am unapologetically selfish and I think everyone should be.  I think the word "selfish" shouldn't  always have negative conotations, by the way.  I believe everyone has one life and they should live it how they like, as long as they let me do the same.  I am bothered by a lot and take action very little.  I help when I can and I don’t when I don’t feel like it, unless it’s a matter of life or death, which it rarely is.  I say I’m going to do things and sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.  I don’t see the big deal in doing things that feel and seem good at the time.  I used to care a lot about everyone and every little thing, but I don’t as much anymore.  I’m not sure if it’s my age or my experiences, but I am realizing more and more that people are mostly jerks and, given the chance, most people will do things that will benefit themselves before others.  And it’s OK.  It’s human nature.

Having said all that, it was brought to my attention yesterday that there were some people who really liked my blog and were inspired by it.  Everything’s awesome in the beginning.  I had big ideas of writing about losing weight and having pounds magically melt off my body just by watching the “how many times your blog has been viewed” ticker go up.  That will not happen, I’m fully aware, but it felt like it might.  It really did.  The truth is that I felt the pressure to blog every day about losing weight, even though I’m the one that had the idea.  I just thought it would get annoying to readers eventually…like how many blogs can you read that start with, “I’m fat and I’m tired of it” or “I went to the gym today..”  I wouldn’t want to read that.  You wouldn’t either.  I set myself up for failure and I’m pretty sure I knew it from the beginning.

I haven't been to the gym in over 2 weeks and I hate it with a passion when I'm there.  I've eaten so many desserts and fattening foods over the past week, I've stopped trying to keep track altogether.  My job is becoming stressful and I find myself coming home, putting on my pajama pants and playing Bingo online for most of the night.  That is the truth. 

ANYways, here I am, starting over.  Again.  Blogging feels good, so I'm going to continue to write.  Maybe it won't be ALL about weight loss, but it will definitely be about something real.  Real to me, anyways. 

Thanks for reading.

XOXOXO

Halloween Candy: What a JERK....

Halloween Candy:  Hey there!

Me: Oh!  Shit.  I didn’t see you there.

Halloween Candy:  Oh yes.  It’s that time of year again, Robyn!  You can eat as much as you want of me!!  I’m so small and unassuming.  There’s no WAY I have as much calories or sugar as you think!  How can I?  I’m so SMALL……

Me: NO!  No way.  I’m sorry, Halloween Candy.  I just can’t this year.

HC: What do you mean?  We’re best friends, you and me.  Remember Trick or Treating when you were little?  You and your sister used PILLOW cases, you loved me so much.  You’d lay me out on the living room floor and trade the things you didn’t like, remember?  Then when you were a young adult, you’d buy me for the trick or treaters, but no one ever came by so you ate all of me before the 2^nd week of November!  Now that you’re an adult, I’m in your office!  Every woman named Barb, Nancy or Kathy has an orange pumpkin bucket filled with delicious treats!  You can’t get away from me…..

Me:  I know.

HC: That’s right…….just take one……then another…and another…….and another…..no one’s watching…..

Me: OK.  But, just the Tootsie Rolls, I heard they are fat free, which means good for you, right?  Then I’ll just have ONE fun size Snickers.  No biggie.  Oh!  And one of those peanut butter chocolate balls with the foil wrap that looks like an eyeball.  Score.  OK, ONE tiny bag of Skittles.  ONE two pack of Starburst.  OK.  Now, that’s it.  That’s really it.

HC:  NO WAY!  You can have more!  The pieces are so teeny tiny!  It’s not like eating a WHOLE candy bar.  You deserve this little treat anyways, Robyn.  You’ve been working so hard.  Please.  Enjoy…..

Me: Shut up, just shut up, just.  Shut.  Up.  (Garth from Wayne’s World style).  You’re a JERK!  You were never my friend.  You trickster!  You chocolate devil!  You false sized little minx!  I had my Tootsie Roll, baby Snickers, eyeball, Skittles and two Starburst.  They were delicious!  But, that's it.  They were TREATS.  That means a special indulgence not to be had too often because it will lose the very definition of treat!  Be gone with ye!

**POOF!**

Happy Halloween!!

XOXOXO    

Cat Tick Fever.....

I once had a cat named Mia.  She was white with black spots and she was not very nice.  She would scratch and bite me when I walked by, but I loved her.  She was my constant companion throughout my twenties and think about her often.  Like this story, for example:

I had just gotten Mia a few months prior and was not quite sure what to do with a cat.  I had dogs my entire life and I always thought of myself as a cat hater.  But, she was cute and nice to have around the house, even if she tore through my sweaters and sliced my skin wide open with her raptor claws.  She rarely let me pet her, but when she did, she really liked it.  One day, she was letting me pet her and rolled over on her back so I could pet her belly.  I happily obliged when my hand ran over a little bump.  What the hell?  That did not feel normal.  I had read that outside cats sometimes get ticks and Mia was from a greenhouse.  She had spent most of her baby kitty weeks outside!  Could it be that she has had a tick living under her skin this entire time??  I panicked.  I felt the spot again and, sure enough, the bump was no mirage.  It was there and it was hard.  I quickly ran to my bathroom and grabbed a pair of tweezers then grabbed a box of matches.  I saw this on TV once; you burn the head of the tick off and pluck it out.  OK.  I can do this.  The burning was out of the question, upon further inspection.  She had WAY too much white, fluffy hair.  OK.  I’ll just pluck it out, right?  I grabbed her, she hissed and flailed around.  I finally got her pinned between my knees and I started looking for the culprit.  She was hissing and growling and not very happy.  Doesn’t she know I’m saving her life??  I finally find the tiny hard bump and begin to wildly pluck at it as Mia is flailing and not making this very easy.  I grabbed it and pulled and nothing happened.  I tried at least 10 more times and nothing came out.  Not even the head of the little bugger.  I let her go and called the vet.  I didn’t know what else to do!  When the nurse picked up, I told her what was going on.  Sensing the panic in my voice, she promptly got the veterinarian on the phone.   He asked me what the tick looked like.  I told him I couldn’t see it because of all the fur, but I could feel the bump.  He asked me if I felt any other bumps.  I grabbed the cat and began to feel.  No.  Just the one.  WAIT!  There’s another one!  Oh my GOD, there’s another one.  OH SHIT!  There’s THREE!  He told me to calm down and pull Mia’s hair out of the way to really get a good look at the bumps.  I pinned her down, pulled her hair WAY back from the tick bump and took a good look.  The bump was pink.  I told the vet that the ticks were so deep in her that her skin grew back on top of the tick.  He asked me then to really give her a once over and count the bumps.  I did.  Holy SHIT.  There were EIGHT!!!  EIGHT!  He said….. “Robyn?  Those are her nipples.”

Oh.  Thank you for your time, Doctor.  CLICK.

XOXOXOXO

It's very hard......

I work for a cancer hospital and it is very hard. It is very hard because I talk with people every day who are battling a disease that I have only known to kill. It is very hard because I have to talk with human beings, who are scared that they will die, about money…the absolute last thing they want to talk about. I can hear in their voices that they are scared. I can hear in their spouse’s voices that they are mad that this disease is infecting their partner’s bodies. I can hear in their adult children’s voices that they are serious about fighting for their parent’s life, just as their parent’s fought for them their whole lives. I can hear all of this just by talking to them,because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of that phone and not know what the hell is going on except that someone I love is sick.

I’ve often thought about looking for another job. Every single day I am reminded that both of my parents are gone because of cancer. Then I’m reminded how my Dad forged a new family when my Mom died, and how I was left all alone when my Dad died. Then a patient will come to my office to talk face to face and I have to smile while looking at the same bald head I looked at 16 years ago when it was my Mom.  Then I look at the framed picture of the two most important people in my life and have to remind myself, again, that I can't call them after work.  These are not great things to think about every single day from 8:30am to 5:00 pm.  But, if I'm not there to help patients and family members that are going through the same thing I went through, who will?  Someone with regular old customer service experience?  Someone who looks at the computer screen and sees numbers instead of people going through the worst time of their lives?  No way.

 I have been cursed out by people who say that all we care is money, not healing their wife/husband/sister/brother/mother/father. I have helped people get all of their balances written off without having to pay a dime of the $250,000 their insurance refused to pay. I have cried with patients, I have laughed with daughters, I have argued with husbands and every emotion and type of person in between. It’s exhausting. But the thing that keeps me there is just knowing that I am making a difference. I am helping someone who is going through the same thing my family went through the best way I know how without having a medical degree. I’m helping people understand their insurance benefits and I am arguing with those same insurances to get our patient’s claims paid so they have one less thing to worry about.  Sometimes I get a chip on my shoulder and find myself thinking, "MY parents died, why shouldn't they?"  That's not right and that's not fair...but I think it anyway....sometimes.  My job is exhausting, but I truly do love it.  I try to take the coldest part of health care - MONEY - and make it warm and caring.  I try to go about it in a real but compassionate way.  It's hard.  It's really hard.  But I do it.  I do it for my parents.  I do it for my sister.  I do it for myself.  But, I especially do it for everyone who is going through this fucked up roller coaster that is cancer, so they can have one less thing to worry about because they know I'm on the case.

XOXOXOXO
  

MMMM....Zombies.....

While watching The Walking Dead, my boyfriend and I were discussing what we would do in a zombie apocalypse.  I asked him if he would protect me if we lived in a world full of zombies and, without hesitating, he says “I won’t be around to protect you.  I’m gonna be a zombie.”  He went on to say how cool it would be to consume all-you-can-eat brains, walk around and never get tired, and not have to worry about being caught/maimed/eaten/bitten/killed by zombies.  Then we talked about how much easier it would be to just give in and become one instead of constantly running.  I was on the same page as him for awhile, but then I thought of something.  I probably wouldn’t have the CHOICE to become or not to become a zombie because I probably couldn’t outrun whoever I was with, leaving me to be the one attacked.  Yes folks, my fat ass has even affected my make believe ZOMBIE escaping abilities.

First off,  after destroying my stairs (duh), I would be forced to accept that sooner or later I would have to eventually eat the tofu noodles in the plastic bag full of fish-smelling water that I bought because someone on Food Network once told me it tasted EXACTLY like real pasta, with 75% less calories.  Ugh.  Those three baggies are in my vegetable crisper right now.  Gross.  I'd probably eat my boyfriend's Pop Tarts first.  In the first 10 minutes.  Then, after about a week of eating the stock piles of chicken broth I have because I was going to make some delicious soups and stews with it, but never did because I'd have to, like, COOK.  Soon the cupboards would be bare and my boyfriend, I'm sure, would STILL uphold the argument that the cat was a member of our family and is not to be eaten.  Then what?  No food.  No way of getting out of the house as we live on the second floor and we have destroyed the stairs to keep out the invasion of zombies that used to be our community.  No connection to the outside world because the power, to be sure, would have been out for weeks.  No way of going to the Walmarts to pick up provisions.  And especially no way of doing what I would LOVE to do at the end of times; eat every kind of cake and candy bar ever created.  No thank you.

Next we have the fact that you have to be at least the slightest bit fit to outrun, well, anything.  The other survivors trying to stay alive, the zombies that want only to consume you, and maybe even the wild animals that suddenly feel more comfortable hunting humans as they have always wanted to but couldn't because we lure them into our backyards with our garbage then shoot them.  I would easily be the one sacrificed by my once trusted group of comrades that formed our own tribe.  They would either push me down while trying to evade the army of zombie behind us or kill me themselves for eating everyone's week-long rations in one sitting.  Either way, I'm fucked.  I probably wouldn't even have the upper arm strength to lob off the head of a zombie with and axe.  I certainly couldn't wield a machete, and everyone knows THAT'S the weapon you want in a zombie invasion.  I could go on and on about the physical challenges of the human vs zombie world, but this is a blog, not a dang novel.   

The moral of the story is this: I want to get in shape, if for no other reason then to survive a Zombie Apocalypse.

XOXOXO    

Office Donuts...so much you could GO nuts.....

Why do people insist on bringing donuts into work for any kind of celebration?  Birthday donuts, anniversary donuts, Bosses Day donuts, promotion donuts, pay day donuts, I got to work on time donuts, both of my socks are matching today donuts.  When did donuts become synonymous with office treats?  I get that milestones need to be celebrated, I’d freak out if ANYONE forgot my birthday…..ANY.  ONE.  But can’t we think of a more appropriate treat for such occasions?  There doesn’t have to be a caloric equivalent to a warm “congratulations”, does there?  Here are a few suggestions for congratulatory tokens to be given and received freely in any office setting, for any occasion, instead of donuts:

1.        Money.  I mean, who doesn’t like money?  Even if it’s a dollar.  If everyone gave you a dollar in your office, you’d have at LEAST $50 bucks by the end of the day.  Then you can go out and get a manicure, or pay half your phone bill, or grocery shop at the EXPENSIVE store in town for tonight’s dinner….I don’t know.  I don’t really care what you do with the money; just don’t buy donuts to bring into work with it.

2.       A cute pencil.  Personally, I keep many different colored and patterned pencils in my drawer to match my outfit each day.  Who says I can’t start a trend of pencil-shirt matching?  I think if we all collectively agreed on this option, we could trade, borrow and collect all kinds of fun and funky pencils from each other.  FUN!  SO fun.  Start the pencil thing in your office tomorrow.

3.       A token of some kind.  Remember Shrute Bucks?  Similar principle.  There could be, like, wooden nickels that everyone gets when they first start in your office.  Maybe 20.  Then you can give your tokens out to whoever you want to congratulate!  Don’t worry; people will be giving YOU tokens when you do good stuff, too!  Win/Win.  What can you redeem with the tokens you collect?  I don’t know, you figure that part out.  I don’t know where you work and what your people would like.  Shit.

4.       OK, you know when you have a document and its 1 page long, but you don’t notice that there’s a blank second page, so when you print it, you have a totally blank piece of paper along with your document??  Use that piece of paper to make a card!  Simple.  And the dirty hippies will thank you for not wasting paper. 

5.       Why don’t you guys just bring in a donut box full of vegetables?!  People will be very excited to see the box, then when they open it….BLAMMO!  Veggies.  They will be forced to eat the vegetables as to not be rude.  Again….Win/Win.  C’mon.

I’m sure there are many more examples of replacement gifts instead of donuts, so use your imagination. 

I guess the bottom line is this:  If you work with me, please don’t bring in donuts.  I will eat more than my fair share when no one is looking and when someone says, “Hey!  Where did all the donuts go?” I’ll be like “WHAT?!  All the donuts are gone??!  MAN, some people are pigs.  Why didn’t we just give Barb a cute pencil that matches her blouse for her Birthday?!”

And……scene.

XOXOXO

In the meantime, in between time....

I was sitting here wondering why I haven't been writing this blog for the past few days.  I've been going to the gym, playing a whole lot of Xbox Kinect, working, spending time with my boyfriend and generally enjoying my life.  Then it dawned on me.  Maybe I needed to write this blog, motivate myself and get the support I've been craving for a very long time now....and I got it.  My mood has been better, my energy level is through the roof and I'm really very happy.  Maybe writing this blog has finally given me what i needed....I good swift kick in the pants and an opportunity to air out the skeletons in my closet so I can finally be free.  Free of the self-doubt.  Free of the thoughts that were plaguing my day to day life.  Free to do what's best for me and my body.  Free to let my past stay there and forge ahead.  For the first time, I'm not counting calories or being forced by guilt to work out.  I'm saying no to treats and only eating when I'm hungry.  I'm working out after work because I really enjoy it and I know my night and morning will be better when I do.  I'm feeling better then I have in years.  And it's only been two weeks.

Now, I don't think I'm cured of my addiction to food or my slothful nature, but I know I'm headed in the right direction.

I don't want you guys to worry, though.  I have plenty of stories and memories to write about.  Like the time I made cupcakes from scratch, ate most of them and told everyone I had them on a beautiful tray and I dropped them down the stairs.  Or the time I found my Mom's old VHS tape of Richard Simmon's Sweatin' to the Oldies, tried to do it, and got winded by the end of Sugar Pie Honey Bunch, or whatever it's called, and it was the FIRST song.  Or even the reason  I think I began to eat and get the way I am now.  I have them all in my memory banks and one day I'll tell you all....most of them.

XOXOXOXO

Strawberry Mrs. Fields.....

OK, remember the chocolate chip cookie story?  I know I do.  Well, that very same lady who made those delicious cookies came into work this morning.....with more cookies.  These ones were twice as thick and looked amazing.  I was prepared to decline her offer of her homemade goodness when I heard her coming toward my desk.  "Robyn?" I heard her say.  I turned around.  No cookies.  But something was behind her back.  She proceeds to say, "I know you've been watching what you eat and I'm really proud of you.  I made everyone more chocolate cookies, but I brought THIS for you..."  I looked down and an immediate tear came to my eye.  She had brought me my very own little Ziploc baggie of fresh strawberries and a granola bar.  I was so touched.  I couldn't believe she would think of me and my quest in healthy living.  I hugged her, thanked her and hugged her again.  That really meant so much to me.

See?  Just when you think you have to alter your entire world to be healthier, someone notices and supports you in the most unique and kindness ways.  Thank you, lovely lady.  You're a real pal.

This one's short and sweet.  Just like my co-worker. 

XOXOXOXO

Chocolate Chip Cookies.....

I was as at work on Friday afternoon, minding my own business, when an EVIL co-worker came over to MY cubicle with a tray full of cookies the size of your head.  Literally.  They were the biggest chocolate chip cookies I had ever seen.  They were flat and perfect and looked like they were just the slightest bit raw in the middle....my weakness.  That chewy, moist and sinful center of not-totally-baked chocolate chip cookie is my Kryptonite.  I tried to politely refuse this wonderful treat, but she said the one thing I knew I couldn't resist...."Why don't you take one for your boyfriend and one for you to have tomorrow morning with coffee?"  Now, she was a sweet gal.  She didn't know that I was refusing her treat because I knew I would eat the entire tray of cookies should they be left unattended.  She especially didn't know that I was subconsciously hoping she would offer me more then one so I could eat them ALL in  my car.  I hadn't eaten ONE treat, sugared or otherwise, all week.  I was DYING for those cookies.  I politely refused once more, she insisted that I take two and even put them in my own special container for transport.  Those cookies never stood a chance. 

I had eaten the first one before I even left me desk.  Then the second one was just sitting there, so lonely.  My boyfriend would never even know I had a treat for him.  No one would.  I scarfed down the second cookie 30 seconds before I left work for the day.

When I got to my car, I knew I had made a mistake.  Why did I do that?  This was the NEW Robyn.  New Robyn would have just simply said, "Those look delicious, but I'm trying to watch what I eat.  Thank you so much for thinking of me though!"   But I didn't.  I ate those raw, ginormous, delicious cookies and I didn't even enjoy them.  I just ate them because they were there.  As I drove to my friend's house to pick her up for a Friday evening shopping outing, my stomach started to turn.  I picked her up and headed for Gurnee.  I told her that my tummy hurt, but that it wouldn't stop our shop-date.  Half way there, my mouth started watering.  Oh shit.  This is not a drill.  I'm going to puke.  I pulled into a subdivision, my friend was confused.  "What are you doing?"  I couldn't talk right away.  "I'm gonna puke, dude."  We spent the next 2 minutes looking through our respective purses for a hair tie.  Found one.  I pulled my hair back, got out of the car, and projectile vomited in some stranger's yard.

I'm not telling you this stuff to gross you out.  I'm telling you this to 1) confess to all of you my downfalls and not-so-great moments and 2) to tell you about the silver lining.  Since the puking incident, the thought of cookies, cake, pie, anything sweet, really, makes me sick.  I even had to dump out my coffee this morning because it had a tiny splash of pumpkin spice creamer.  I think that cookie eating tragedy was my rock bottom, guys.  I had eaten enough shitty sweets to make me vomit.  I can only go up from here.  I think I needed that dramatic incident to really open my eyes to what my eating addiction is doing to me and my body.  I'm confessing my sins, paying for them and coming out the other side with a different perspective about it.  I guess that's what life's about.

XOXOXOXO

Ode to fast food....

Oh, McDonalds.  How I loved thee.  You picked me up when I was down.  You tasted and looked the same wherever or whenever I bought and ate you.  Your delicious fries and large ice cold Coca Colas made me so happy.  I loved the way your processed, orange-ish cheese melted over your greasy, grey, and rumpledy patty.  Your perfectly deep fried, white and oddly shaped like Idaho McNuggets always hit the spot with sweet and sour sauce and a large Sprite.  Oh sure, once in a while I'd stray to Burger King or Wendy's, but never too far, McDonalds.  I couldn't be tempted by flame broiled treats and square hamburger shapes.  You were always in my heart.

Remember the time you tried to trick me into thinking if I just had a double cheeseburger Mighty Kids Meal, it would be like dieting?  Ha....good times.  Oh, and remember how every year you made me addicted to your Monopoly game and I thought it was OK that I ate you every day because I was going to win $250,000?  You got me there, McD.  You got me there.  Ah, the memories.  I can remember vividly the times I would go through your drive through, order 2 meals, pretending I was bringing it home for someone, and eating the entire contents of the bag behind random buildings in town.  Or the times I would stop by and grab a double cheeseburger on my way home from work, only to get home and eat a full dinner as well.  Man, no one knew about you and me.  Your food was so easy to scarf down and all I had to do was throw away the bag and no one would ever suspect. 

I though it was really cute when you introduced a healthier menu including salad that, when your dressing is applied, has just as many calories as a Big Mac.  I would eat those salads, loaded with candied nuts, rich dressing and various not-so-great-for-you toppings, and thought I was actually making a healthy choice.  You rascal.  Your healthier menu also included items that were under 300 calories, but once you order 2 or 3 things from that "healthy" menu, you might as well have had a #2 with a Coke, what with the sodium and fat content.  It was a sweet idea, but you can't fool me anymore.

I will genuinely miss you, McDonalds.  Sure, I might see you for ONE item on a Sunday morning once in a while, or MAYBE a hamburger Happy Meal when I'm feeling especially reminiscent for you, but this is it.  This is the end of our relationship as we knew it.  Thank you, from the bottom of my clogged-artery heart, for always shining your golden arches in the shadows of my life and letting me know everything will be OK.  You were a wicked temptress, but I must move on.  You were delicious and a HUGE part of my life, ever since I was a little girl, stacking your Styrofoam Big Mac boxes in the back of your restaurant at my neighbor's 6th birthday party, but all good things must come to an end.  Goodbye, sweet prince.  Good bye.

XOXOXOXO