crevette: (Default)
We were flipping channels earlier today and discovered that PBS still airs reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show.

Liv, who is now 17 1/2 and going for the classic pin-up girl mystique, did not find it at all disturbing. She found the most of the music quite nice, even the accordian solo.

Thom and I instantly found other things to do in other parts of the house--washing dishes, starting laundry, cleaning the bathroom, flossing the cats. Just like we used to do thirty-seven years ago. It was kind of amazing how nothing has changed.
crevette: (Default)
Man, I really need to update this thing. I mean, my mom's been through, what...three... four... boyfriends (not counting the 'naturalist engineer') since we last talked about her?
crevette: (Evil)
Last weekend The Surfers (my incredibly talented writing group) had a meeting and discussed how none of us had anything to submit this time. I shared how drained and just uncreative I felt--like if someone tried to stick a tap in my head and opened it, all that would come out was sand.

So, it was decided that we would all try and write more and have something to submit in six weeks.

I pulled up Mathieu and the rewrites I started about three years ago (YIKES!) and have been pleasantly surprised with it. I even changed a few sentences, but now am struggling to figure out how to recapture his voice. It's been so long since he's spoken to me that I'm not sure what he sounds like any more, if that makes sense.

But onward and upward, I guess. So here goes my attempt to write something.

So yesterday I noticed that Luna was holding her tail all the way up. This is a good thing--and I need to explain why since I never told you guys about the chaotic events of last year. (This happened during my radio silence.)

I'll call this...A Tail of Two Kitties )
crevette: (WychXanadugenekelly)
Dear Orlando Bloom:

Hi. Remember me? I know, I know. It's been a while. QUITE a while, actually. I know, I suck. There's really no excuse. If it's any comfort, there's members of my family who haven't heard from me longer than you have. (It's a comfort to me, frankly. There's valid reasons I don't talk to them.)

But listen, we need to talk. We really need to have a little Come-To-Jesus. An intervention, if you will.

And no, it's not about your horrible taste in women. I mean, that horse is not only out of the barn, it went down the road, willingly walked up to the glue factory, got hit with a 2x4 in the head and ended up having tasty sugar-free Jell-O snack cups made out of its hooves. (only 10 calories each. Yum.) You knocked her up, you married her, you have a kid. You're stuck. FOREVER. DON'T CRY FOR ME, ARGENTINA.

We have a problem. A major problem. A problem so major that it made me break LJ silence, with a migraine even. I mean, my mother's latest escapades couldn't make me break silence, but this...

We need to talk about THIS: )
crevette: (Default)
..and it'll be more. I'm on migraine meds and about to crash. But sooooon you shall know the story about my mom, cheap vodka and diet rootbeer mixed together, pain meds, and a nudist.

Oh, yes. Soon.
crevette: (Default)
Ten points to the person who recognizes the subject line.

I have discovered this week that if the zombie apocalypse comes, I will be able to survive solely off Halls cough drops and my thigh fat for at least several months. And if that were not enough of an encouraging thought, the Halls wrappers have a variety of motivational sayings that should help me through any low point I might have while I’m blowing away the reanimated corpses of my loved ones.

No, seriously. I just glanced down at the wrapper after I popped one of the Warm-Ups (Apple Cider flavor—ick. I am a cherry purist but was unable to find any at Target. Damn them. Their bright cherry red logo LIES.) into my mouth after coughing up a lung. “Go for it,” I am exhorted. “Don’t waste a precious minute,” it cheers. “You’ve survived tougher,” I am reminded. “Put your game face on,” I am instructed. “Don’t give up on yourself,” I am cajoled. “Take charge and mean it,” I am ordered.

Really? No, Really? Who came up with this shit? I’d bet money that it was the same idiot who came up with the “Have a happy period” campaign. Or an idiot relative of that guy. Because only a guy would be stupid enough to tell a woman that. A really, really stupid guy. Who doesn't know any women. At all.

How about some true-life motivational sayings? Something more in line with the harsh reality of our current day to day existence? “Sick time? What’s that?” or “Think of the hit to your paycheck!” or “The bills still have to be paid!” or “37 voicemails in one day? What the fuck is wrong with these people???” or “You blew your last sick day for the Green Lantern Midnite premiere. There's eight more hours of your life you’ll never get back, loser!”

It’s bad enough that I feel like shit but now I have to be given rah-rah speeches by a low end pharmaceutical product?

Further examination of the packaging shows that this stuff is made in Canada. So why doesn’t my pep talk have a few “eh”s or “tuque”s or “zed”s? I might feel better if my pep talk came in Canadian. “You can do it, eh!” or “Put on your tuque and face the day!” or “From A to Zed, you’re the best!”

This also leads one to wonder why this product does not come in Canadian flavors. Like beer. Or bacon. Or poutine. I would probably be all over that, or at least more than apple cider. Yuck.
crevette: (magicalmuscularcrotch!)
It's kind of hard to find the time and energy to post when your life is complete and utter chaos.

That's not an excuse, it's just a statement of fact.

Since I got laid off on Friday May 13th, the following has happened: I've been working around 50 hours a week at a temp job (they say they intend to hire me permanent in the next few weeks). We vacationed at the most beautiful cabin in the North Carolina Mountains. Liv got her driver's license. School started again and I now have a junior in high school taking five AP classes and all the chaos that implies.

Mom moved in with her rich boyfriend after selling/giving away all of her possessions, even her car, to make him happy. Mom was dumped and abandoned at a Chinese buffet by her rich boyfriend a week after moving in with him. This happened an hour after receiving from my sister the simple instruction of "Do not mention this conversation to him. This will make him angry and he will take it out on you.".

Mom has been living with my Rational Sister's family while she finds a new place to live. Thom has been sitting on the couch smiling and gloating with great self-satisfaction about our decision to buy only a two bedroom house and to never buy a sleeper sofa.

So, Monday night mom took a dive down my sister's stairs. Those in the know will remember that my mother is what we refer to in the industry as a "professional claimant" or a "Slip and fall queen" or an "eggshell claimant". What that means in non-insurance talk is that she's the type of person who falls down in places a lot. Because of her pre-existing medical conditons, any type of trauma can be expected to cause her great injury (hence the 'eggshell'). Oh, and she sues. A lot.

She was walking up the stairs after her shower with an armload of stuff and somehow came back down hard and fast.

My sister's stair rail is very simple. Something like this. Nothing sticks out at all, and the part on the end is curled under and inside itself.

Somehow, she managed to come down the stairs, smack her head and face on the tile floor at the base of the stairs, and catch her leg on the curled under part of the iron railing, tearing a six to seven inch long gash in her leg and losing a sizable piece of fatty tissue in the process.

Okay, let's be real here for a moment. I want to assure everyone that I love my mother VERY MUCH. She's a good woman at heart even if she's incapable of handling finances of any sort, religiously pushy, neurotic and crazy-making to the Nth degree. Also without her, I would have much less comedy material.

That said, the first thing that all of us thought was, "OMG, is she going to sue Rational Sister?" The second thing my husband thought was, "Rational sister's husband shouldn't have pushed her down the stairs in the first place!"

As an aside, Rational Sister's husband kind of hates my mom. Well, hate is such a strong word. 'Loathes' probably works better. As another aside, beer consumption at Rational Sister's house has jumped 53% since my mom moved in. That's a number that I pulled out of my ass but I feel secure in saying that the figure quoted is probably about 74% too low.

Rational Sister's husband is the one who held my mother's leg closed while the paramedics were on the way, and kept her from going into shock. He's also complained he was the one who had to lift her nightgown to check her for further damage. Rational Sister's husband is a bit of an ass but has been earning MAJOR points lately. Thom still suspects he pushed her, but my mother confirmed he was in the other room at the time.

Liv and I went to go see my mother (known to her grandchildren as "Mimi") this weekend. Mom looked pretty horrible. She has major black eyes, bruises and contusions, and 11 stitches in her leg. It's nasty.

Of course, she hasn't been following Doctor's orders (I come by my "bad patientness" honestly) and had gotten infected, requring a visit to the urgent care clinic to get mondo antibiotics and a cream that is supposed to be applied topically three times a day.

While Rational Sister and I were clucking over and rewrapping mother's wound, Liv kicked back and had a cup of coffee with Rational Sister's husband and their eldest daughter, V, age eight.

V told Liv all about how when the firemen came to take Mimi to the hospital, they gave her and her little brother some really awesome special fireman silly bandz shaped like ladders and fire helmets and axes and such. The kids really loved them.

I honestly think this is a GREAT idea. Something to kind of distract the kids from the blood and gunk and such. Of course, I wouldn't put it past the kids to push Mimi back down the stairs for more silly bandz, but we'll deal with that if and when it happens.

So V wanders off to watch us wrap up mom's Frankensteined up leg (while she's bitching that she just got vein treatments done and dammnit, it'll never be pretty now) and RS's husband takes a drink of his coffee and tells Liv how V sat at the head of the stairs and just basically watched everything unfold, and then after the paramedics left AND I QUOTE: "And then V went around picking up pieces of Mimi off the floor."

As we were leaving, my sister showed me the stair rail and the curled under bit and said, "Yeah, and there was this big piece of mom's leg hanging there. A big piece of fat. And V picked it up and said, "COOL! Can I put it in my dead things collection?"

Okay, so my eight year old niece has a 'dead things' collection. SHE'S A VERY NICE LITTLE GIRL AND LIV LOVES HER EVEN IF IT IS VERY "WEDNESDAY ADAMS". And also, Liv has already called dibbs on V to be on her team when the zombie apocolypse comes.

But I digress... But yes, she has a 'dead things' collection.

I don't think that RS let her keep the leg fat for her collection. I'm pretty sure, at least. Keeping juicy pieces of family members is considered gauche, after all. On the way home Liv and I were conjecturing that V would have used the chunk of fat like silly putty--you know, slapping it down on the funny pages to make a copy of a comic, or maybe throwing it against the wall to watch it slowly pancake down.

And then Liv and I (mostly Liv, though) composed a song about my mother. And this song is why we're going to Hell. Or we would be if we believed in it.

Sung to the tune of Ren and Stimpy's Log song:

She falls down stairs
she loses her hair
bleeds over the welcome mat.
She's round and she's fat,
she goes "bump-bump-SPLAT"!
It's Mom, Mom, Mom.
It's Mo-om, it's Mo-om,
her fat hangs off railings in chunks.
It's Mo-om, it's Mo-om,
And 'ginia collects it in hunks!

And maybe you had to be there, but the sentence, "And then V went around picking up pieces of Mimi off the floor" will never NOT be funny. NEVER.
crevette: (Cone O'Doooooom)
Tropical Storm Irene. Possible Hurricane Irene eventually. If she's anything like me, she'll dither around, be completely erratic and constantly rain/use every restroom in the hemisphere.


Aug. 11th, 2011 08:18 pm
crevette: (Default)
2nd fill today. I'm down another 6 lbs since beginning of July. I'm thrilled.

I'll update more this weekend. Promise!
crevette: (Default)
Glancing at the headlines this AM while I got my coffee (blessed, blessed coffee), I saw a story questioning if Michelle Bachmann's suffering from migraines would be enough of a medical condition to disqualify her from the Presidency.

As someone who suffers from migraines, I can state with complete confidence that it's not the headaches that disqualify her. It's the batshit insane that takes her out of the running.

I don't get why this is so hard for people to understand...
crevette: (Default)
Last night, the fireflies came out. Now, I've not seen fireflies since I was a child--I think where we live is too urban and too hot for them.

Our cabin is perched on a steep hillside over a river. There is not another house or soul in sight up and down either side of the river. We're about halfway down the slope so we can see the entire slope on the other side of the river. Near the top of the other hill, barely visible is a patch where someone planted some evergreens as a Christmas tree farm. Other that, there is nothing to be seen but trees and plants and river and the old garage at the head of the driveway.

Last night, the fireflies started flashing, first down near the river basin, but then climbing up and up. We turned out all the lights in the house and sat in the dark and watched them in the treetops and bushes.

Across the river, the trees were different shades of black with bright, happy flashes--all from the river below to the summit above. Thom and I moved two chairs together and held hands and watched it for over an hour.

As the sky darkened, the stars came out. Even though we can only see a small bit of sky because of trees and mountains, the stars were diamond bright and so numerous.

It was the most beautiful night of my life.

Today Thom and I are sitting outside on the deck over the river, laptop to laptop. The river is rushing below us over the rocks, the birds are singing, dragon flies are buzzing.

This is truly heaven on Earth.

Today we're going into town for breakfast (as soon as the two teen girls are ready--Liv brought her best friend and they're having a wonderful time--which given teen girls, could be hours) and to go grocery shopping for the week and take a walk on King Street. Boone is a sweet little college town and King street has such interesting, fun shops.

Tomorrow is Tweetsie's Railroad (don't laugh, we're going for the cheese factor and then to stay for the fireworks). Tuesday is open. Wends we're driving to Asheville for the Biltmore. Thursday is whitewater rafting. Friday is a picnic on Grandfather mountain. The girls are trying to convince us to fit ziplining in on one of those days. If you know me, you know how much the thought terrifies me.

Saturday we return home. I really don't want Saturday to come at this point.
crevette: (Default)
Photos of cabin

We left at 2 AM, arrived here around 4 (stops for bathroom breaks and meals added to everything)and are in the most relaxing paradise I've ever been in.
crevette: (Default)
Had my first fill today. I lost thirteen pounds in May and two in June while healing (although according to the strangely mystic scale at the dr. office, I actually lost 5 lbs of fat and gained 3 of muscle. go figure).

So now the whole lap band experience really starts. I'm kind of nervous, kind of excited.

I'll blog more about my first few weeks of Lap Band--most of which involves me pondering if I am now bionic because I have artificial parts now...

Have been at temp job for 4 weeks. They still like me. I'm becoming unsure of them the longer I'm there, but a job is a job. I'm thinking the best thing for me to do is to pray for a storm so I can go work storm claims and make $700 a day. I like that idea.

Am looking very much to vacation in NC. Here is where we'll be. DO NOT STALK ME. I'm very excited about doing nothing for a week, and intend to live in that damn hot tub, with side trips to Grandfather Mountain, the Biltmore and Tweetsie's Railroad (do not laugh--it's awesomely hokey there. Think Sponge-O-Rama with cowboys, indians and trains).

And being on vacation after my first fill... well, we'll save money on food? I'm still holding out for ONE good piece of fried chicken. It's been two years since I've had good fried chicken in Savannah, Ga. As an aside, it sucks being a southern girl and lacking the "good fried chicken makin'" gene. SRSLY. I have the cast iron skillet, the buttermilk, the recipes, and I still suck at it.

Ah, well.

And also, I never ever thought I would type, "I had to borrow my daughter's car today to get to work since mine was in the shop". Oy. Oy. Oy.

Also, Embry Riddle Aeronautical has been courting her hardcore, and she seems to love them back. Although at $52k a year, I don't know if we can love them long time or not.

And that's the way it is... June 27, 2011. I'll be back soon--been working OT for the job since they pay OT for temps. Cha Ching!!!
crevette: (Default)
Also, just watched the AI finale and lost my shit over Tom Jones. Bouncing up and down on the couch, clapping, squealing lost my shit. Almost threw my panties at the TV. Was reaching down and digging for them when I thought better of it.

In other news, Liv disowned me today.

I guess I should explain about Tom Jones and I should put it as simply and succinctly as possible:


Back in the old days, over on the old Trust The Process boards (John Taylor's old message board, long gone now) I would say that all the time. A lot. Probably to the point where people wanted to hop in their cars and drive down and punch me in the twat just to shut me up. I didn't care. Because TOM JONES IS HOTTER THAN SHIT!

It's true. There is something about that man that just makes me want to get up, jump around, dance like I have a mental issue, squeal at registers that cause dolphins to beach themselves and bats to fly into trees, and divest myself of any manner of underwear I might be wearing and toss them in his general direction after writing "SNIFF HERE" with an arrow pointing to the crotch in Sharpie.

So, yeah... I was already loving the American Idol guys doing a Tom Jones medley, and I was amazed that Liv knew most of the words to all the songs (and not because I play them at home, because I don't,) but she knew ALL of "What's New, Pussycat?" and most of "She's A Lady". And then OMG TOM FUCKING JONES FUCKING WALKS OUT ON FUCKING STAGE AND I FUCKING LOSE MY FUCKING SHIT.

I'm literally squealing "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IT'S TOM JONES!!! IT'S TOM JONES! TOM! JONES! JONES! TOM! TOM JONES!!!" and bouncing up and down on the couch and flailing my arms and squealing incoherantly with "TOM!" and "JONES!" coming out between squeals and breaths.

It was really quite undignified, but really, FUCK DIGNITY. IT'S FUCKING TOM FUCKING JONES!!!

My Thom just shakes his head and keeps on painting whatever WWII piece of weaponry he's working on now (I think Italian tanks, but it's hard to keep up...)

Liv, on the other hand, stares at me in complete and utter horror. "Mom, stop it..." I keep bouncing and squealing. "Mom?" I start seriously thinking about going for my underwear and say so. "MOM! OH MY GOD, MOM. GROW UP!"

She might have left the room but I honestly don't remember and didn't care. I'm a horrible mother.

I can't explain it unless perhaps I learned to love (I suppose I should say SIR) Tom Jones in utero, but I don't know of my mother even likes Tom Jones. (Hell, she was a straight woman with a pulse in the 60s. OF COURSE she loved Tom Jones. DUH.)

And let me explain something here--the man will be seventy two next month and still does about 200 shows a year. And still kicks ASS.

So yeah, Tom Jones IS hotter than shit. And can still get it. Orlando Bloom (who???) WISHES he had that much sex appeal at 34, for Chrissakes.

crevette: (Default)
...but I have a temp to hire starting on Monday. For a respectable amount that while I am going to lose out, it is not a crippling amount. And it is a guarenteed temp to hire, which my "ace in the hole" could not stop waffling on--"Well, some people here have been temping six months, and some not as long. I'd like to hire you in two or three months, but I can't promise anything." Vs. Me: "Is this a temp to permanent hire?" Them: "Yes!".

Also I asked the recruiter about this company's hiring record, and they have hired all but two of the people sent over (including the claims manager I interviewed with.)

The company is in downtown St. Pete, is planning on expanding into five states soon, (so growth is very possible, where ace in the hole was not) and the hours are slightly flexible enough that Thom and I can carpool, saving $240 a month (or more--my van was getting to $60 every four days...) in gas.

So yeah, I took it after FUCKING NAILING the interview. And I was out of practice! 1.5 hours of interview and they actually gave me a claim to adjust and I impressed them on that very much. They also offered more than $3 an hour than the "ace in the hole" company.

So, yeah. I feel good.
crevette: (Default)
Today started off very nice. I woke up feeling very positive and upbeat. It's gorgeous out and I took a two mile walk around the golf course and just enjoyed the day.

Came home and talked to the recruiter--I have an interview tomorrow for a temp position in St. Pete. Not something I'm really hot about.

And then I talked to my ace in the hole--the company I almost went to two years ago. There was an offer and I ended up recinding my acceptance of it to stay where I was (stupid me).

There is a position, but they want to start it as temp and move to perm with no set time on how long to move to perm. She'd like to say two months, but she can't make promises.

I've never done temp work and really have no clue how it works. I called the temp recruiter and asked just how this does work. It's weekly pay, hourly. I can get insurance through one of their plans, but I pay it myself--not deducted pre tax (ugh). Hopefully the hourly rate is negotiable because I don't know if I can take a $22k a year cut in pay for more than a few months.

The insurance is weighing on my mind more than anything right now.

So, my wonderful state of mind I had this morning is pretty much shot--LOL. I guess any job is a good job and I should be grateful for the prospects I have, but now I'm just getting nervous and scared again. The unknown freaks the hell out of me, and I just really don't like waiting to find out.

Oh, well.
crevette: (Default)
Well, if one is going to get laid off, Friday the 13th is the day to do it, I suppose.

I guess I can now openly say "Incompetent douches".
crevette: (Default)
Am semi upright.. thanks for all the good wishes!

Back to bed now!
crevette: (Default)
Obvs the only way I’ll ever get a decent entry is if I just type up my random things I think might be good on LJ as I think of them. Because I have no short term memory. Could be all the concussions. Probably. It has taken me four days to get this far.

Anyway, does anyone else hate the Toyota Highlander kid as much as I do? That self-important spoiled little douchetard twit. He’s the kind of kid that makes my teeth itch.

Of course, most kids make my teeth itch. I’m not overly fond of them. I keep telling people that if they cast me for “Supernanny” the show would only last about five minutes, ten tops. That’s all that’s really needed to supply a much needed ass-kicking, privilege restricting, electronic confiscating and soul crushing. Anything more than ten minutes would be overkill and kind of cruel. Not that there’s a problem with that, but there’s a time and place for everything and if I'm going to be doing that I'd rather be naked and in bed with Dwayne Johnson or Orlando Bloom. Or both. Or watching them both in bed without me. (My feelings for them = SOVERYconfused)

My kid, of course, is an awesome kid. We are still in the college vetting process and now she's talking Embry Riddle. (That may change when she starts getting stuff from Georgia Tech or MIT or somewehre else.) That's on the other side of the state--far enough away that she's on her own, close enough to come home once a month to do laundry.

We had to find a new dentist this year--insurance changes. Those in the know will remember that I loathe going to the dentist. I am almost as afraid of dentists as I am of spiders. Almost being because while I know that spiders are lurking everywhere to jump out at me, I can always tell what they are at first glance. Dentists, on the other hand, look like everyone else. Because of that, anyone I encounter who has that smell--you know which smell I mean. The smell all dental offices have. The half antiseptic, half minty smell--gets the side eye and then I sidle away from them as fast but stealthily as possible.

But this dentist... while he doesn't have gas, he has something that's even better. He has a 6 lb mini schnauzer. The dog is a therapy dog, and will sit in your lap or stand by the torture chair and let you scratch him while the dentist drills away.

It is AMAZING. And I am not even a dog person.

Liv is even more in love with this dog than I, which is hard to believe. She calls the breed "mustache dogs" and she loves them with a love beyond all loves. So imagine her squeals of joy when she finds that she's getting a cleaning AND gets to play with a mustache dog. She says that when she has a place of her own, she will have two dogs and two cats and they will all live in perfect harmony. (she keeps talking this way and forgets about the allergies--funny, that). The dogs will be a German Shephard and a Schnauzer.

Of course, when I mention that there are many breeds that can be considered 'mustache dogs' such as Scotties and such, she puts up her hands and Tsssts me and says that she's all about the German dogs. "They're so well engineered," says the future Aeronautical engineer. "I live for German canine engineering." She then pauses and delivers in a weighty tone: "Das Dogs." Of course, that's where I lose it.

Of course, when I take the logic to its natural conclusion and point out that while the engineering is great, they're also an expensive bitch to repair, I get the Tssst again. Obviously she's been watching too much "Dog Whisperer".

But she loves to watch reality TV when she gets home from school. Mind you, it's usually home improvement shows on H&G or "What Not to Wear" or something like that. Friday Thom and I came home to a "Project Runway" marathon. While I made dinner and then while we ate it, we sat and watched two episodes with her. She and Thom started arguing about one of the dresses. "I like it," Liv said. "It's poorly constructed and look how badly that bodice fits her. He needs to get voted off!" Thom's aethetic sensibilities were offended, obviously. By a woman's bodice. I'm really not going to follow that logic strand any further. (He said in his defense that both his mother and grandmother were seamstresses, and truth be told he sews almost as well as I do and likes it more)

While Liv and I will watch things like "Survivor" and "Hell's Kitchen" religiously, she says there is one thing she will never be able to sit through and that is "Jersey Shore". She told me that one day she was home sick, drowsing on the couch with a high fever, going in and out of conciousness, and that show came on. She says she focused on it for about three minutes before she started flailing for the remote that had fallen between the cushions. It was an epic battle but she managed to turn it off five minutes in.

Liv says that if I come home and find her dead, all I need to do is turn on that show and she will turn away from the light to come back and change the channel. Might work better than a defibrillator. Although if she's a zombie at the time, that might not end well.

Also, I am so winning This Contest. Know a Joe? I *AM* a Joe! I submitted my cookie dough concussion story. How could I go wrong with that????
crevette: (Default)
I think I have solved the state of Florida's budget problems. I think most people in this state would line up and pay good money to punch Rick Scott ($10 for the face, $50 for one testicle, $75 for both). Asshole.

Florida, why oh why????

But I digress.

I am a week out from surgery. I've been on a 'pre-operative diet'. I've not been doing as well at it as I should have but overall have been okay. I'm hoping on the scale Thursday I do well enough to continue on to surgery next Wendsday.

Yeah, next Wends. I'm a little apprehensive about this, but when I lay down the reasons it mostly comes back to, "but...but... I love to eat!!!". Which to be completely honest is what got me into this mess in the first place.

So yeah, pre-operative diet. Two protein shakes and 4 oz of lean protein and green veggies a day.

I can't live on that so I've been making beef broth with sliced portobellos and onions (under 100 calories for the entire quart drunk over a period of four hours for lunch) and I'll have the occasional hard boiled egg white. And sunflower seeds, which while full of salt are not too, too horribly caloric and are very low carb.

Easter, obvs, was just a non-starter. But I'm back on. I'd already lost four of the five pounds I was supposed to lose as of last Saturday, soooooo... Hopefully... LOL.

I'm such a horrible patient.

Anyways.... gotta motor. Goodnight!
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