Liberating the Wishy Washiness…

Not really.  The wishy washiness is still firmly implanted deep in the tendrils of my being.  I don’t think my being has tendrils, but it sounded really cool in my head and I went with it.

I am pretty sure I’ve mentioned on this blog once or never that I am not so enamoured with my major of choice, technical writting.  So, I’ve been wracking/racking/racketeering/ROCKING my brain as to what else to choose.  Math and Science extraordinaire was number 12 billion on my list of possible majors, so I’m pretty sure I’ll never make it that far down the list.  Sorry rocket scientists; I will not be gracing your presence any time soon.  I finally settled on liberal arts.  I’m durn sure the liberal arts major is a prime major for people who can’t make up their minds to save their lives.  Mostly because you don’t have to settle on one subject.  It’s a conglomeration of a bunch of subjects all rolled into one big ole ball of confusion.  And then there’s the never-ending question, Liberal arts, eh?  And what exactly will you do with that major when you graduate?   Pipe down, Barbara Walters!  Good laws!  Can’t please anyone up in this county.

A trip to the career center is in order, but I’ve seen my guidance counselor where she gave me a confusing rundown of all the requirements and then I decided to double minor in English and sociology.  The liberal arts major also requires 2 years of a foreign language.  Yo habla Espanol?  Me llama, Patricia.  Turns out knowing how to count to 10 in Spanish does not knock it down to a year requirement.  I already asked.

Onward and upward friends.  Until the next time we wishy washily meet.


Plunging Right Along…

I was minding my own business earlier today, doing the usual… moaning and groaning over the fact that I hate cooking my meals for the week… chopping my finger off approximately 18 times when cutting potatoes… tripping over the kitchen rugs 12 times… and let’s not forget burning my face over a boiling pot of water.  You know… the usual happenings in the life of Knit-Whit in the kitchen.  During this kitchen catastrophe of epic proportions there was a knock at the door.  I wasn’t expecting anyone… the men in white coats had already come and gone for the day… so I was totally surprised when I saw two of my favorite ladies waltzing into the danger zone I was preparing for them.  BEWARE… CHIC WITH A SPATULA AND FLAMES.

Karen and Audrey had a present for me.  What!?!?  It was not my birthday… not even my half birthday!?  What had I done to warrant such a sweet gesture… and the fact that they came to deliver it during Whitney Cooking Extravaganza Time was like the bravest thing anyone could ever survive… aside from the Black Friday Wally World sale.  This had to be a great present!  And a great present it was.  Upon opening the box, I immediately started laughing my patookus off!

If you can’t read it due to my quality picture skillz, it says:  Ask me about my… PLUNGER  Bwahahahahahaha… If you haven’t read this post, you will have absolutely no clue why that is significant.  And it totally made my week!  That’s Karen andAudrey’s hands in the picture.  I don’t blame them for not wanting a picture of their faces plastered all over my blog even though they are both beautiful women.

If you don’t know these 2 ladies, I feel bad for you.  They’ve always been so sweet and supportive of me and it makes an accident-prone gal feel good to know such kind people are in her corner.  That’s the truth… make no plungers about it!  Thank you, Karen and Audrey for the laugh.  Y’all are gems!

This picture just so happened to be a drive-by shooting (of the camera… not a water pistol… and I was the passenger.. not driving… chill, Smoky the Bear), but I had to get a shot of the cool light show on the mountains.

Rockpaste and Sorbet…

I have nothing in my brain at the moment, which makes talking about something difficult.  I keep picturing the brain folds up in my noggin snoozing… I think they do that for 23 hours out of a day.  The other hour they’re banging themselves against my skull wall.  What is her problem!?

Crest toothpaste is inventing new flavors… a part of a Be Adventurous campaign.  Mmmmmkay… never really had an adventure whilst brushing my teeth unless you count that time I slammed the toothbrush so hard into my gum, it bled for a week.  I usually could care less about new toothpaste flavors since I’m picky about them, but then they went and added that one certain word I can’t resist to the package and I nearly punched an old lady in the banana aisle trying to get to a tube of it.  Mint CHOCOLATE Trek is the name.  Who in their right frigfrabbed mind brushes their teeth with a bar of chocolate… and gets away with it?  THIS GIRL!  I had all these delusions… I was certain it was going to taste like I was brushing with a package of Girl Scout Thin Mints, which would be cool because so far this season I’ve resisted buying any Girl Scout cookies, so I deserved to pay $4.50 to buy a tube of the toothpaste version.

Concensus?  It tastes okay, thought definitely not what a toothpaste should taste like… but it was like brushing my teeth with a pile of mint-chocolate-flavored dirt particles.  My mouth actually hurt when I was done and I had to wash out the particles with a shot of Act not-chocolate-flavored Mouthwash.  I thought it was a fluke so tried it again.  Nope… same thing.  I’m thinking next time instead of spending 5 bucks, I go outside to the garden, dig me up some prime soil, and pick me a mint leaf.  FREE!  Congratulations… extreme couponer.

As a side note, I’d just like to tell the person at the Smith’s grocery store who opened up the container of sorbet I later unwittingly purchased, dug their finger into it, ate a chunk of it, and then reapplied the lid and put it back on the freezer shelf as if nothing was wrong, it was me who licked every one of your Jolly Ranchers and wrapped them back up.  I also licked all of the cream out of the Oreos and stuck them back in the package.  YOU’RE NASTY… and according to the nifty Shakespearean insult generator I found, youre also a:

And a:

Take that!


Plunging Humiliation!

Back when I was a teeny bopper, I went through a phase where I thought it wasn’t lady like to refer to going to the bathroom… at all.  Back then if I had to refer to the restroom, I’d say, I’ll be in the ‘R’ because even the word restroom was too much for me to say outloud.   I’m sure it stemmed from my germ-a-phobeness and the fact that I don’t find bathroom humor funny… and still don’t to this day.  I take my personal hygiene seriously yo, said the uptight psycho chic.

That back history was necessary because it will make the next story sound even more utterly ridiculous… but only if you jump inside my head space for a day or fifty.  I swore I’d never tell this story outloud to anybody and when it comes right down to it, I’m the only one who would ever find this humiliating… because of my “R” phase and the stick up my patookus.

A few weeks back when we were visiting cuzzin Jen-Jen, we stayed in a hotel in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  I have my annoying disinfect the entire hotel bathroom ritual I go through on a nightly basis because EW… you don’t know what people do in the bathroom and I ain’t trusting no overworked, underpaid maid to clean it properly!  Just a minute… adjusting the stick.  So, I finished my cleaning ritual and I hopped into the shower.  When I was done showering, I flushed the toilet where I had thrown in a bunch of Clorox wipes and maybe a paper towel.  I know it was stupid… use the garbage can… but those few cleaning towlettes managed to clog the toilet.  Picture it… it’s 12:30 a.m., I’m in a hotel, and I have no plunger.  I weighed all my options… run for the Mexican border was at the top of my list, but I decided to try #2 just so that I didn’t have to deal with border patrol.  Trying to work on my dramatic reactions!  :P  The second idea was to call the front desk and ask if I could borrow their plunger… this was a Holiday Inn… surely they had at least one plunger for 80000 rooms… and surely I’m not the only person who has ever asked for one.

The guy at the front desk seemed a bit taken aback by my request, but said I could borrow it.  I waited 5 minutes for him to find it and then trudged down to the front desk with wet hair, wearing pajamas.  It’s surprising how many people are checking in/roaming the hallways of a hotel at 1 in the morning, to my humiliation.  I was sure that everyone was looking at me… Oh, so, that’s the girl looking for a plunger… wonder what she ate!  

The guy was still looking for the plunger.  There was another girl working the front desk as well and they kept yelling across the busy lobby, THE PLUNGER ISN’T IN THIS STOCK ROOM… WHERE ELSE SHOULD I LOOK!?  Please just shut up… for the love of all things stick-up-her-buttocks chic… PLEASE!!  Everyone knew I was the one waiting on the plunging device.  I was the only 300-pound chic standing in the lobby with wet hair, no makeup, wearing pajamas and slippers.

I paced that hallway pretending I was really fascinated with the hotel gym and the pool safety instructions that I read approximately 8 bajillion times.  Thirty minutes ticked by… One hour ticked by… the front desk guy gave up and sent the front desk girl on a mission, which was worse because this guy felt the need to talk to me and update me.  At least the girl let me misery pace in peace.  I do not want to have a conversation about how I need a damn plunger!  GOT IT!?  He kept calling her and having loud conversations about plungers… and I wished I had a magic lamp so I could ask the Geney inside to give me powers of turning into carpet… or blending in with the carpet… something… ANYTHING!

At 90 minutes of waiting, I suggested that I would just run to the nearest drug store and buy my own plunger.  He assured me that the girl would find it, so I waited some more.  At 2 hours of reading the same phrase about pool usage, I asked him if he could please write down an address of the nearest 24-hour drug store.  He finally obliged, but first asked if I lived in Albuquerque.  Um… if I lived here why would I be staying at your plunger-less hotel!?

Two-and-a-half hours after my initial request, I was back from Walgreen’s carrying my $10 plunger and hoping to all heaven all the people wandering the lobby and hallways had gone to bed.  You can’t hide a plunger… not without looking like an idiot with a stick up her rear patookus!

Back in the hotel room, Madre hadn’t stirred.  Seeing as I had been on a not-so-secret-to-everybody-in-the-entire-hotel-but-Madre plunger mission for 2-1/2 hours it warmed the cockles of my heart to know she could care less that I may have been kidnapped and bludgeoned to death in Albuquerque, New Mexico!

As a side note, this speaks to my luck.  I cannot remember the last time I’ve ever needed a plunger.  It’s been YEARS!  But, the one time I need one, I happen to be in a hotel in New Mexico!  I never go anywhere!  Thank you, universe… consider me owned!

I donated that plunger to that hotel.  One plunger for 7 billion rooms… that ought to work out well for you.  If you need me… I’ll be in the R!

South of the Utah Border…

I feel like I should reintroduce myself… but then I realized the 3 people who still read this blog could care less as long as I provide free reasons for them to feel like they’re pretty much normal in comparison to me.  You are welcome, 3 people… you are welcome!  I haven’t posted for 2 weeks for good reasons… the first Monday that went by without a post was due to the fact that I had procrastinated my 6-page English empirical research report for far too long and then I had an identity crisis due to the fact that I never ever procrastinate… I also never lie or embellish the truth.  What’s an exaggeration?

The second Monday went by without a post due to the fact that I was in Albuquerque, New Mexico visiting my cuzzin Jen-Jen and her adorbs family.  Yes, I stayed in a germy hotel room for 5 days… and I lived to tell about it!  Granted, I did pack my own sheets, Clorox wipes, and hand soap.  CoughCoughPSYCHOCoughCough…

Jen-Jen and her husband, Seth just had their 2nd son in January, Blaize Isaac (insert last name here)… add him to their busy 2-year-old Cruz, and they have their hands full!  We ventured down (and by we, I mean my sister Lindsay and Madre) to try to help her out for a few days… freezer meals and cleaning were on the agenda… plus some fun stuff in between.

When we arrived Thursday evening, Jen had disobeyed my orders (think of me as a British war general but wayyyy less British and without a war) that she was not to do any cooking and had dinner all ready!!  JENNIFER!  I still ate it because Jen is a great cook and hello it was delicious and such deliciousities shouldn’t go to waste, but you ought to have seen the stink eye I gave her.  Guarantee she is lifetime scarred by it.  :P

The next morning we took the kids to the Albuquerque aquarium.  Fish are much tastier when you’re looking at them through a glass partition.  That is the truth!  What I learned from that outing was that 4 adult women were still not enough to keep track of one adorable, but busy 2-year-old.  We lost him approximately 18 times… and because he wouldn’t hold still for 5 seconds, I got some winning pictures of the back of his head:

In this one he’s wondering why we didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to get into the water.  And then I got a great mother/son shot on top of the star fish:

He was more interested in the new girlfriend(s) he met.  Sorry, Jen!  You are already being replaced.   I spent 10 seconds taking a picture of the sharks… and that was time #17 we lost Cruz…

The only time he stood still was when this SCUBA diving chic came down into the tank to hand feed the fish… then the boy was transfixed for like 10 minutes.  I told Jen she should just try to hire one of those SCUBA chics as a nanny.

I’m sure the SCUBA chic wasn’t at all self-conscious that we were staring at her.  Also, I realized that SCUBA/fish-feeding chic is not on my list of job options.  NO THANK YOU!!

That evening we had a joint birthday celebration for Mr. Cruz and Lindsay.

Cruz got all sorts of fun gifts, but his favorite were socks and a bicycle helmet.  The bike helmet came with a bike… but I think he liked the helmet the most since he wore it the rest of the day.

And then there was the cake incident!  I’m sure Jen and Seth will never want us to return again after we encouraged Cruz to have horrible manners by laughing at him and waking up the baby in the process!

This is quite possibly the cutest video EVER… but I’m not biased!

The rest of the trip included touring Old Town in ABQ:

Eating wayyyyy too much food!!  Stop the DietBet, y’all folks!

Getting pedicures…

I think mine and Cruz’s are obviously the best.  I call mine socks and slippers!   And there was a lot of hanging out with two of my favorite buddies!

Next time Blaize better get in on the act… he mostly slept, ate, and dirtied diapers!  The life of a baby!  Where do I sign up?  Not for a baby, but to have the life of a baby.

I miss my little buddies already!  Thanks, Jen and Seth for letting us hang out for a few days.  Y’all better build a wing onto the house, I might move in next time!  :P

Wishy Washy Whitney…

It smells like the Yankee Candle Company vomited all over my bedroom.  Note to self:  Do not purchase smellies from the clearance bin… there’s a reason those flavors are in the clearance bin to begin with.  The flavor “winter” smells just like a smog-infested inversion met a dollop of deer doo and united as one.   And of course, I forgot and left the candle warmer on all day.  Gag me a maggot!

I’ve always, always, always and forevermore been a horrible decision maker.  Where there’s a choice between 2 things (seen as equal in my eyes), I have a hard time picking one and committing to it.  It’s annoying for everyone involved.  Choices between one thing I love and one thing I hate are a different story… show me a pot of asparagus and a chocolate bar and I’ll pick the asparagus, but only so I can have the satisfaction of putting it through the garbage disposal.  That’s also why I’m 35 years old and barely a junior in college.  Couldn’t pick a major to save my life… that and I had a hard time controlling my ADD back when I was 18 and didn’t want to go to college.  Plus I was busy gaining 530 pounds of weight… no time for homework, yo when there be thangs to eat!

I finally committed to a major a year ago, technical writing.  Phew… that’s over and done with.  Only one problem… this semester I am taking my first actual technical writing course… and I can’t see myself wanting to do what I do for this class on a daily basis in a work environment.  I just can’t.  I don’t enjoy it, and I think you should try to pick something you enjoy doing… even if just a little bit.  I don’t want to say back to the drawing board, because I do think I’m on the right course in the English section of things… maybe.  I wish I had a new brain and a magic 8 ball that worked, but mostly I wish someone would come and finish this paper I’ve been slugging my way through due Tuesday.  Procrastination… it’s what’s for dinner!

In other news… I have 2 days before my first DietBet weigh-in day and it happens to be right during hormone hoarding week where I gain 80000 gallons of water hormone weight.  No matter… I’m ounces away from my goal of 14 pounds in 4 weeks and heck if I’m going to lose this thing by ounces.  I might have to get all Arnold Shwarzdknfkwiejrowijposear before a weightlifting competition up in this joint… no water drinking and exercising wearing sweats and a garbage bag will be in my future… the lengths I will go to to keep my money!  Maybe if I just eat my dinners next to this here “winter” candle warmer, I’ll lose all sorts of ounces… on account of the fact that the stench will ruin my appetite!  Totes worth a try!


Singles Appreciation Month…

That must mean February is here.  Galentine’s Day… Singles Awareness Day… Bowelentine’s Day (that’s the day after Valentine’s Day for people who eat too much chocolate).  This year I was the model of restraint when it came to the February goodies.  I gave my family strict instructions that I was not to have any candy given to me this year and that all the candy lying around needed to be hidden… and then I ate my weight in Fritos.  KIDDING!  I didn’t.  I stayed away from it all!  Every last piece of it.  Pats on the back to Whitney’s willpower, which is usually sunning itself on the beaches of Chuck-A-Rama next to the all-you-can-eat bread bowl.

I had 2 dates for Valentine’s night…

I took them to The Lego Movie, and then I learned I had them commit felonies by stealing the 3D glasses I rightfully paid for in the ticket price!  Recycle bin my rear receptacle!  There’s this song in The Lego Movie, “Everything is Awesome”.  I thought it was totally a cute song the first 2 times I heard it.  Times 3 and 4 it was still tolerable.  It is now Sunday night and  I’ve been playing it on constant rewind in my brain and I have decided to change the words to This song is NOT awesome.  The song is stuck!!  STUCK!  Someone cut my brain out and wash it and then reinstall it, but put more smart sections in it before you do!  

In other news… I’ve decided that kickboxing is my new jam when it comes to exercising DVDs.  There’s just something about kicking and punching the air… like a psycho person.  Stress relieving and exercising… 2 birds… 3 stones!  I made the mistake of buying a Billy Blanks Tae Bo DVD, in which he makes you hold your arms up in the air, waving them around wearing weighted gloves for 60 straight minutes… if my arms had any energy left to punch his ever living lights out, I would.  Teach him to ever do that again!   The next day I put in a Jillian Michaels Kickboxing DVD (on mute, thank you very much) and then proceeded to die 5 deaths before the 40 minutes were up.  So, all in all… I’ve been resurrected about 18 times this week.  Time well spent… just don’t ask my arms… or legs… or back…