The Magic of Apple

I just saw an ad for the iPad. It was called a "magical and revolutionary" product. Which is funny, because those were the exact words that popped into my head when I first laid my wide-eyed gaze upon it. Then I read the description, which was exactly what I was about to say it was, and it was kismet.

I believe it is magical and revolutionary. So is my iPod and now my iPhone. Yes, Ron bought me an iPhone. Especially after the other morning. This is how the conversation went that morning:

Me: I wonder if you can Skype on the iPhone. Wouldn't that be cool? So when you go on your business trips we can Skype each other and it would be like I was walking around with you. If I was shopping I could just hold up the phone and say 'Can I buy that? Is that a good color?'

Ron: It would be like your communicator. It's kinda futuristic.

Me: Yeah, and when you get cut off in traffic in the big city, instead of complaining to me you can just hold up the phone and say 'Did you see that?' And I would have.

Ron: And then I'd be like 'Sir my wife has something to say to you.'

Me: And then you can turn the phone and it would just be my middle finger.

We laughed and then Ron said: You know what's really funny though? The fact that I woke up from a dead sleep and the first thing out of your mouth is about an iPhone. You're obsessed.

He's kinda right. I have a love/hate relationship with Steve Jobs. He keeps making these wonderfully fantastic things that change your life. In my mind, Steve Jobs is Willy Wonka (cue the "Candy Man" song) and he lives in place where the furniture is futuristically bubble-shaped or else modern and cubed. And what's ordinarily colorful is transparent and clear and what is usually pale and ordinary is bright and colorful. And at his fingertips are a rainbow of iPods which he sprinkles about like shiny Skittles candies. And tiny little fantastical creatures, no wait, fuzzy little bunny-looking animals, create life-changing devices that grow ever smaller. And I have to have every single one.

So Ron bought me--and himself-- an iPhone this week. It wasn't all that frivilous, afterall it was my birthday, and Ron's as well. Probably, I also got brownie points for my creative obsessing about the world of Apple, but secretely I think Ron suspects they are magical too.

What You Can't Do When You Win the Lottery

I always thought if I won the lottery, I'd be able to spend money on whatever I wanted. After discussing our imaginary lottery win with my husband, I realized there are certain things that are off limits.

Ron: "If we won the lottery at $130 million that would mean we'd end up with half. Then we'd have x amount per month which would mean x amount per week."

Then he started running a stream of numbers that soon filled the car and spilled out onto the street.

Me: "If we won the lottery could I get that Tauntaun sleeping bag from ThinkGeek? How cool would that be?"

Ron: "What? That's like $100 bucks. No way. So anyway, your allowance would be like $1000 a week."

Me: "A $1,000 a week allowance? Not bad."

Ron: "You couldn't even spend that much."

Me: "I think I could. A pair of boots from Simple shoes, a few dinners out, a Tauntaun sleeping bag."

Ron: "I would kill you," he said jokingly "Then I'd take my half and leave."

Me: "I thought what's mine is yours?"

Ron: "Not if you're going to be stupid about it."

Life Overflows with Abundance

I know I've said this many times before, and you childless types can stop reading right here. And those of you with perfect children--the kind that never announce in the middle of a meal that they've got to poo and then excuse themselves--can read on with glee. But I have to admit, my kids are full of it. So full of it that at times it all comes spewing out, whether it be the occassional bad word, bad attitude or anything else that spews.

Why is this such a huge part of parenthood? When my colleagues ask me how my weekend was and I tell them "full of crap," they think I'm being sarcastic, but I'm totally serious.

Case in point, our spuur-of-the-moment trip to Mavericks. How cool are we? The big wave surf contest was called the day before and the next morning we are on the road to be there. Yeah, who says you can't have kids and still do the cool stuff? That's what we thought.

Until one of my sons hurled all over the backseat of the rental car. In fact, he was going for the gold in power hurling. After some panic, a lot of yelling "it's on me" by various members of the vehicle, and some swerving, we pull off the freeway and throw the kids to the side of the road.

Ron helps the barfinator change his clothes. I am bent over the car, my backside to the road and cleaning up vomit when I hear "Escuse me, I am wanting information on how to find this location ..." in some weird accent. Really? As we are cleaning up vomit on the side of the freeway with half naked kids brushing chum off of them.

Then a sportscar pulls up behind us and the middle-aged couple just watch us. This is the side of the freeway, remember, there's no reason for there to be a crowd but there we are having a party. And they just watched us and all I can think is that the man was asking the woman, "Now aren't you glad we got the porsche instead of a kid?"

But this is how it always goes. We drive home from the snow, baby vomits in the backseat. We go out to eat on the pier, I run into a kid I knew in like elementary school as we are walking out. We catch up, I pick up my baby and the entire meal he just ate pours out the top, bottom and sides of his pants and all over me. And on, and on.

And all of this, dear Internet, should be put in a handbook and made available to teens when they hit puberty, and it can be called And You Thought the Birth was the Grossest Part.

Cutting Calories Matrix Style

Ever notice how when you are on a diet you instantly see the world in numbers? Matrix style? I've finally started a diet. A real diet, not just "I'm eating well," because I already eat excellently, but a real "diet because I have to be on a diet" diet.

And suddenly I see everything differently. It's like I'm Neo and the world is the Matrix. Everything is clear: that bagel -- 250 calories, that cookie -- 100. As I pass restaurants I see numbers instead of signs outside -- 1,530 calories, 2,300 calories. After making peanut butter sandwiches for the kids, (320 calories), I notice my finger has 20 on it and I totally want to lick that 20 so bad, but I refrain because if I give in to 20 I may then give in to that 50 that the baby just dropped onto the couch from his snack bag and then that would be 70 and the numbers would grow stronger.

Just admitting to being on a diet is empowering, however. For years now I've eaten almost ideally, with the exception of some cheat stuff like ice cream and chocolate and of course alcohol. But since I already eat well and exercise regularly I can't lose anymore weight just tweaking my diet or exercising more. I'm overweight and I need to really cut back. I need discipline. Things like flour and sugars have to go. Butter and ranch dressing, outta here.

And committing to it makes me feel in control. "Slice of cake, no thank you. Oh that quiche, thanks but I'm on a diet." I'm Neo and I'm deflecting everything bad, that is until a chocolate truffle kicks my ass.

I almost want to just give in and stay overweight. My husband loves me, what the heck right? But it's a personal challenge, my own test of my will power, discipline and strength.

Give me support people! How do you stay focused on your diet?

Introducing Reality

It’s Friday night and I’m getting dolled up. Because I’m having a heart attack, and I want to look good for when the paramedics get here. Uh, well, I’m pretty sure I’m NOT having a heart attack, but you can never be sure.

My chest feels like it does when I try to do crunches and instead, because I’m vulnerable on my back, Sebastian comes running and jumps onto my chest. And my shoulder hurts and my back hurts. That’s a heart attack right? Google says it is.

Anyway, I’m not surprised. My heart finally had that moment. That moment where it wakes up and says “WTF? (Yeah, my heart likes to use those text message abbreviations) This is my life?” And then my Brain said in its snooty little British accent “Why yes Heart. Allow me to introduce you to the Real World.” And then my Heart went into shock.

That’s because the last time my Heart was consulted it had been inspired by the Gulf War to become a war correspondent and then instead it fell for this blond-haired surfer dude and had delusions of joining forces and taking on the world. And then somewhere along the line Brain kicked in, and being British and all he’s a bit stuffy and not a lot of fun. Actually, my Brain isn’t really British, he just puts on airs, talks in a British accent and gets all logical and stuff.

So it’s with great glee that my Brain presented reality to my heart tonight. That reality is my husband’s job keeps sending him away so I’ve got three super rambunctious boys to deal with on my own, I’m more tired than I’ve been in forever, haven’t been to the gym in three days and I just spent 15 minutes sifting through a nasty trash can looking for a lost birthday invitation at the insistence of my son.

Don’t get me wrong I love my boys and my life and wouldn’t change it for anything, but it sure gets tiring. And I look around and think “Wha’ happened?”

Then I remember, that super cute mysterious guy I kept running into until we decided to introduce ourselves. And I remember how I felt each moment when I first looked into a giant pair of eyes and held a little hand and thought “This is exactly where I want to be.” And then I remember that and it all makes sense.

Sappy, I know huh? And that’s exactly why Heart isn’t consulted much anymore.

Is That Exercise or Foreplay?

Ever watch infomercials? What is up with the all the exercise products that should bear the seal "Now with more sexual innuendo"? The commercials alone make me blush.

Have you seen some of these? First there is the Ab Circle Pro. You get on it on your hands and knees, doggy style. And you grip the handles in front of you, spread your legs and pull yourself forward, all the while on all fours. The other exercise you do on this is in the same position however you swing your hips back and forth.

Ummm, OK, this may work your abs, but isn't there a better, more modest way to work them. What happened to good old fashioned crunches? Do they not work anymore?

What is even worse is the commercial shows a girl with a fab body, wearing skin tight spandex and just doing her thing, just tightening her, um, abs. So I checked out the site to learn more about the science behind this thing, and I couldn't. There was a giant picture of this girl, bent over on this thing, her bazoombas spread and popping out of her sports bra, just smiling away like a picture you would see in a men's mag. That did it. I couldn't even look at the site. Call me a prude, but it's so blatantly sexual that I couldn't imagine doing this exercise. Or maybe I'd laugh so hard and that is what would be working my abs.

So I thought that one was bad until I saw a commercial about Shake Weights. This is a bar that looks like a dumbbell, innocent enough, but the point of the exercise is to work your arms by shaking it up and down with both hands. You hold onto an outer "sleeve" while the inner part of the weight moves up and down. Yeah, I think I know how to do that already and my arms really aren't the better for it.

Right now there are dozens of YouTube videos about this very product. No I'm not joking.

This exercise really must be a joke. Ron says, "Right now, there is some guy who invented this thing sitting back with a beer, telling his buddies, 'Dude, look they're really doing it'."

Again, I don't know, this thing may make you firm, but I bet it's the husbands that get even firmer.

If anyone has tried these tools I'd love to hear a review. But until then, if that's what exercise trends are coming to I'll stick with the real thing, thank you very much.

Christmas Trees of Years Past

I'm not a responsible person. At least up until the last couple of years I wasn't. That is when it comes to disposing of my Christmast tree. Luckily I haven't had to. I've had a pack of Mormons, a semi truck and a crowd of fire bug drunkards do it for me until now, when my kids reached an impressionable age and I have to set a good example. This year the tree made the curb the weekend after New Years. Previous trees haven't been so lucky.

Here is a link to one of my previous posts about Christmas tree removal. Check it out, it will give you new perspective on saying goodbye to your tree curbside.
http://www.thesearethesaladyears.com/2009/01/life-and-death-of-tree.html