Are You There God? It's Me Margi

Ah, the book club of our youth (more like pre-teen angst) anchored by our fearless leader Judy Blume. Thank you for addressing our changing bodies in a way we could deal with (I prayed for illness the day of the "sex talk" at school). Alas, here I sit at the age of 36, three kids, and still have trouble getting my head wrapped around what's going on with this bod of mine. With no Judy Blume book geared towards mid life post partum moms, I'll take my questions straight to the big guy. Here are my most pressing:

WHAT THE #$@!& IS GOING ON??? Allow me to follow that up with, ARE YOU SERIOUS??? With each passing year I am asked to do more and more but yet my metabolism retired at the age of 30 and may have died at age 35. Don't go telling me to work out, because I do. Six days a week for over 4 years Mister. I would say I'm working my ass off but the reflection in the mirror and my jeans beg to differ. So to net it out, I'm just working. I look at pizza and I gain a pound. If I actually eat it - 5. Don't get me started on the holidays. Did you really mean for us to eat for a straight month to celebrate your son's birthday? However, I must say thank you for Flag Day. Maybe the only non stuff-your-face holiday. I would include Groundhog Day in this, but the little bugger almost always sees his shadow predicting 6 more weeks of winter, causing instant depression and into the pantry I go. I realize emotional eating is not your problem. However, I would have appreciated a metabolism that could handle it, not the early retirement package.

Moving on to body type. I would like to confirm my hypothesis that genetic code is really your lottery. Hitting the jackpot is almost statistically impossible. The
.0001% who have are Victoria Secret models. The rest of us settle for having one or two of the numbers and make do with what we have. We look enviously at the jackpot winners, but know there is not a damn thing we can do about it.

The "Power Ball" of this hypothetical lottery has got to be the boobs. I have had more conversations with my girlfriends about this body part than any other. Please tell us how the boobs are dealt out. Is it a rock, paper, scissors situation? Rock for big ones. Paper for flat ones. Scissors, you give out whatever you feel like because you know a third of us will contemplate going under the knife anyway? Speaking of the fake variety, those of you who have them...rock on. They are far cuter than the real deal. Yes, you are hearing the voice of experience here. Speaking as a "C or above" (no one gets my vitals) they're really not that great. Newsflash, they're made of fat tissue and don't look cute in sundresses. One last questions regarding "the girls" (my nickname of choice by the way). Please explain to me why post pregnancy those of us of the "petite variety" shrink to mosquito bites and those of us who have the "grade A larges" jet on up to "jumbos?" I will sum this up for you in two words. Have mercy.

Now I realize that sassing God is never recommended, so allow me to say after all of the sass, I am grateful for this healthy bod that has served me quite well physically and emotionally these past 36+ years. For those who have not been so fortunate, I pray for you and have faith that God hears that first and ignores my nonsense.

And that wraps up this installment. I'm heading to spin class and will then exercise every shred of will power I have not to dive head first into the Easter Candy. I'm signing off to play with my kids for the rest of the weekend. Be well and appreciate what you have!

Why the Fancy Branding? Call it What it is.

Hello Consumers! As good'ol Americans we probably consume more crap than any other nation out there. No, I did not do a great amount of research on that statement. I'm blogging, not trying to be a journalist. But seriously, we can't jump on the computer, grocery shop, get our nails done (wish me luck getting that off the to do list) or even take our kids to the dang doctor without being assaulted with some advertising/branding message. We're numb to most. We don't even recognize the assault anymore. However, I would like to call a few brands and marketing ploys on the carpet. Cut the crap, let's just call it as we see it.

1. The "Fun Size" candy bar. This is a total joke. Hands down this should be called the "Denial Size" candy bar. I would never eat the regular size one. Eating the big daddy sends me into a downspiral of guilt, but three little bitty sized ones? Housed without thinking twice. I know more than one gal that leaves the gym and dives head first into a bag of "fun sized" Snickers, but she washes it down with a Diet Coke so all is well. And speaking of...

2. Let's just call Coca-Cola "Crack-a-Cola," or in my case "Diet Crack." I have rehabbed myself off this stuff more times than Robert Downey Jr. and somehow I always fall back. On my last attempt I decided the only way I wouldn't drink it is not buy it. This is how that went down. Mid morning, I start having "the Diet Coke meltdown" (withdrawl). I got the lunches packed, everyone to school alive, and worked out. Dammit, I deserve my effervescent, caffeinated, can of chemicals! (enititlement) I call my neighbor (dealer) who has a stash. She agrees to leave not one, but two in her mailbox so I can come get them (the drive by). My first sip is pure heaven. I actually feel it going through my veins (full on substance abuse). I drive to Target to buy my own case. This brings me to...

3. Target. This one may not be too far off as it "Targets" my wallet. but in the spirit of keeping things literal, can we just call it the "Hundred Dollar Store?" I go in for diapers and formula and I come out with a picture frame, vase, movie, three new t-shirts a piece for my daughters, one for myself (that's how the ratio works...3 for the kids, 1 for me), pokeman cards, and a mini bottle of Purell that they sell at the checkout counter (because you can always use that right?). The sad thing is, there's a good chance I will have forgotten to actually pick up the diapers and formula, sending me back into the store for round two.

4. Some things I understand, like the "Happy Meal." It's really not practical to call it "My kids don't eat anything resembling a vegetable anyway, my husband's away and I'm not cooking" meal. However, here is one suggestion, just to be literal. The big "Golden Arches" out front that you can see a mile away? Turn them upside down and call it "The Big Fat Ass" because that is what you will have if you keep eating there.

Just calling it as I see it folks! We're intelligent people. Don't try to fake us out with cutesy names, jingles, and slogans. We're Americans. We'll consume the living daylights out of it anyway. Find the fun around you today!

Why Are These People Celebrities?

Last Friday I hear the mailman pull away from the mailbox. This can only mean one thing...Us Magazine!!! It's arrival says "Happy Friday!" to me. This paired with the fact that my husband works from home, there will be no homework, and there is a family dinner out on the horizon (drinks!), make a great start to the weekend. The Sandra Bullock/Jesse James scandal has broken this week (feel terrible for her), so it's 1:1 odds who is on the cover. I practically skip to the mailbox knowing I will win this silly bet with myself. I pull out my magazine. BINGO, Sandra Bullock. Then I scan the sub stories and there she is...Kate Freakin Gosselin. The only consolation is that it is a sub story, not the whole stinking front page, and she's on for Dancing With the Stars, not because of her divorce. But then I think, "Dancing with the STARS?" What is it about this woman that makes her a star? I'll give her the sextuplets, but outside of that, what does she bring to the table? She's a mom, just like millions of us. Why do we shower her with all of this attention? As a result she has round the clock nannies, paid vacations, plastic surgery and hair extensions. Personally, I think she should get back to the business of being a mom and made to slug it out with the rest of us (i.e. luxury = uninterrupted hot shower). This brings me to some other useless celebrities. Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and the Kardashians to name a few. They're basically paid to be vapid, self obsessed, law breaking, emaciated, drama queens who get pregnant out of wedlock. As I write this I realize I am contributing to the problem and only bestowing more attention on them. Can we organize a boycott? Buy no magazines that feature these unworthy objects of our affection/attention. Next week when I skip to the mailbox to collect my coveted magazine I hope Mother Teresa is on the cover.