A whole lot o' nothing. And then some….
Random header image... Refresh for more!

Category — HEALTHY HAPPY LIFE

There Ain’t No Flies on Us – Just Our Walls

I have this book I read to my kids – Thelonius Monster’s Sky High Fly Pie. It’s a rhyming one, funny and clever and illustrated by the guy who does stuff for The New Yorker. It starts off with this guy, Thelonius Monster, swallowing a fly – and deciding a fly would taste grand in a pie. Etc. And there’s this one line in it that I can’t get out of my head: “and now for the flies”.

‘Cuz we’ve still got ’em. Sewer flies. Still here. Only now they’re bigger and, it seems more resilient. Maybe it’s because we know what they are (and where they come from), but somehow they’re getting harder to kill. Before, when they were just flies, we’d slap the wall and they’d be dead. We’d bat at them mid-air, they’d drop to their deaths. Now, we whack ’em. And guess what? They take a licking and keep on ticking.

I’m beside myself.

I’ve called the exterminators who tried to reassure me, telling not to panic….yet. I asked them when I could start to panic, and they said it takes a couple of weeks for them to die off. Now, I’m no scientist, but if they live for a day and their breeding grounds are gone – how can they still survive? It’s Darwinism at it’s purest form. A true survival of the fittest, ‘cuz these mofos are big and bad and refusing to go gently into that good night.

We say goodnight, and their party starts.

Sickening.

So while my basement continues to lie fallow, the flies frolic. The insurance-approved demo team wasted no time in ripping it out (my basement, that is). All of it – floors are a mess of concrete and nails. The asbestos (yup) is gone so at least we’re no longer the house in the plastic bubble. The walls don’t touch the floor. No euphemism – it just means the walls hang there, not touching the floors. My garage is packed up – most of it upside down. All my kids’ toys, in boxes, upside down in bigger boxes surrounded by enormous, near-impossible-to-move furniture.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. For the big rebuild. And yes, we’ll probably look back and laugh. But that’s of no comfort to me now. Even my baby tells everyone our basement is broken. My Big Boy tells people they can only come to play with him if it’s nice outside because we have no toys in our house. And tho’ it’s not killing them, it ain’t making them stronger either. This is no character building exercise. This is a bloody nightmare.

And so we play outside. Except when it’s cold. Then we watch TV. And we read. And we keep coming back to that book, and that line:”and now for the flies”. Which prompts someone to look around. And spy a fly. And try to kill it. Tiny corpses litter our walls. And the cycle starts again.

“And now for the flies”.

I was told not to panic. So I asked when I could panic. The exterminator laughed and said a few weeks. That makes it June 1st. One week. Then I can really panic. So I’m trying to hold off and just rant a little until then.

And now for the flies.

Perhaps they’ll die.

2 comments:

Anonymous said…

IT WILL GET BETTER.. THAT I CAN PROMISE YOU LADY

10:51 PM
My name is Andrew DiPalma and I’m the Social Media contact for Nina Sutton, author of “The Chic Mom’s Guide To Feeling Fabulous.” I’m contacting you about the book as we’d love to have you review if for your site (We LOVE your blog by the way!). “The Chic Guide” is extremely synergistic with everything you stand for – fashion, beauty, fitness, finance, romance, and organization tips – and takes a practical approach to how women can feel fabulous after the stork has arrived…and beyond! You can visit Nina’s personal blog about the book at http://thechicmomsguide.blogspot.com/

Share

May 24, 2008   No Comments

Advertisement

It’s a Kind of Magic

My name is MOAM, and I’m an addict.

It’s the bullet. The Magic Bullet. I’ve been shot.

Huh? You don’t know from Bullet? Wha? Where have you been? Obviously not hanging out in flea markets or watching late-night shopping channels. Well, neither have I. So there.

Neither grinder nor blender, cuisinart nor mixer, it’s combo. A sit-on-the-counter, throw-in-your-dishwasher, who-knew combo.

My intro to the Bullet came through a friend. A friend with fantastic taste and an immaculate kitchen. She swears by the Bullet. Claims she uses it every day. Don’t ask how we got on to the subject. I haven’t a clue. I don’t know how I end up talking about half the crap I come up with. I just do. But back to the Bullet….So she swears by this thing and I humour her. Like I need another gadget.

And then I went trolling through my mom’s house looking for an extra hand held blender. Yes, she stocks small household items in her house. My job is not to ask why. But if she’s got an extra Braun, I’m all over it. Turns out, she didn’t. But what she did have, sitting on her counter in all it’s TV-endorsed packaging glory, was The Magic Bullet.

Again with the Magic Bullet!

Call it fate, call it curiosity, or call it shamelss consumerism, whatever. The Bullet came home with me. And then…and then it sat on my counter, in its box for a week or so. I didn’t get it. I didn’t buy it – literally or figuratively – so I was hardly impressed. Until one Saturday afternoon. It was freezing. It was snowing. I was home alone, and I opened it. And I made a Pina Colada. I did! And I was hooked – on cocktails, maybe. On the Bullet, for sure.

Sucker for smoothies? Now you can make ’em, in about 30 seconds. And you can customize them too in yur own Magic Bullet mugs. It come with four. Pop your ingredients in, screw on the blender bottom and, well, bottoms up. Salad dressing? Five seconds or less. Grating cheese? (I didn’t think I’d do it either, but I did). Done like, well, dinner. And it even comes with a shaker top, should you be so inclined. Throw in a garlic clove, a handful of brocolli and some chicken stock. Put on the steamer lid and pop it in the microwave for two minutes(carcinogens be damned). Then, press, presto – soup! Chopped herbs? Check. Salsa? Check. Hummous, fat-free hummous, bean dip and guac? Check, check, check and check. You can also grind coffee beans, nuts, and – god knows who would or why – meat. It’s incredible. It’s handy. Abracadabra!

It’s…..maaaaaagic.

I now call my friend, the original Bullet-head, for the daily Bullet report. And it’s not just me. My Man has also, erm, bitten the Bullet. He’s ready to go all Oprah and buy one for everyone. (Don’t get too excited. It’ll never happen. ) But we’ll stand proud and say it loud: we’re a Magic Bullet Family.

Look, I know you think I’ve become an infomercial. And I kind of have. Without the show. Or the daily make-up ‘n hair. Or the big pay day. But what can I tell you? I’m obsessed. And you will be too. For now, forever, or until the next great American gadget comes along….

3 comments:

Anonymous said…

I’m sold! What time is the infomercial???? I’ve got my credit card out and I’m ready to chop some brocolli. If all else fails, you’d make a mighty fine saleswoman.

10:21 AM

Anonymous said…

MAGIC BULLET? It ‘s changed our lives!!!!!!
Our whole family that is! We look for ways to bullet!
Who is the most original? who is the fastest? Those that keep it on the counter qualify! Those that keep it in a drawer don’t count!!!!!!
You know that neighbour friend of yours, the one who Bullets everything? Yup, she is our family winner!!!!
Keep Bulleting and we will let you in on our contests!
xxxxx j

5:32 PM

Anonymous said…

Thanks MOAM– now I’ll be singing “Choppin’ Brocolli” for days!

Share

February 12, 2008   No Comments

Advertisement

Resolve This

I will, I won’t, I swear, I’ll try…..Talk, talk, talk, doesn’t anybody…erm…do anymore?

I’m talking about New Year’s resolutions. It’s January 12th. Do you know where your resolutions are? Are they down the crapper? Come on, you can admit it. Still eating? Smoking? Lounging? Working too hard? Not working enough?

Probably.

Rather than fall off various wagons and miss crucial deadlines, I didn’t even bother making resolutions. It’s not that I think I’m perfect. Far from it. I’m just as much a fixer-upper as the next gal, if not more so. Always in need of a fine tuning here, a slight shaping there, a little motivation…

Motivation!! Maybe THAT’s the problem. I’m so unmotivated (insert: “how unmotivated are you?”). Well, I’m so unmotivated that I can’t even make a bloody New Year’s resolution.

But with all the studies showing how fruitless they are, really, who can be bothered?

VIVA LA REVOLUCIONE!

Yep, I’m rebelling against resolutions. For me, this New Year’s backlash isn’t about staying home on New Year’s Eve. Au contraire!!! But Jan 1st? Could there be a worse time to start making empty promises? I mean , puh-lease people – it’s a national holiday! We’re all still on vacation!

The good intentions of Christmas – I mean – The Holiday Season – are sweet. Nice. Charming. But come January? Buh-bye. I almost want to start smoking – almost. Except I need to be supportive to those who resolved not to. Eat less? I resolve to do that every week. But in January? Sheesh…I’m a Weight Watcher’s Lifer and haven’t been since the ‘007 began. Working too much? A non-issue for me. Starting work? Erm…It’s January. Isn’t showbiz dead in January? Isn’t it?! All the best movies came out in Dec and the best TV is on hiatus ’til, well, Sunday. And people are just starting to get their work-groove back. Right?

That’s what I tell myself.

And then there’s the working out issue. Talk about been there, done that… I used to be a daily do’er. Complete with trainer. Mr. Mexico, no less. That’s right, the real Mr. Mexico. While Miss America was saving the world or getting wasted, Mr Mexico was training me. Until I fell for someone else – Bikram. Cuz folks, let me tell you – nothing beats a Bikram body. Nothing. Except you can’t do hot yoga pregnant. So that was replaced by walks. Power walks. Then strolls. Then stepping into the car. And now? The closest I come to a workout is lifting my fork to my mouth.

But not for long. Because I joined a gym. I joined a new, hot, fancy shmancy gym. I figured the price alone will drive me onto that treadmill. Except for one thing. My gym isn’t open yet.

That’s right, I’m so loathe to make a new year’s – or anytime – resolution that I pre-joined a gym. Back in Sept. I figured I’d give myself a couple months to procrastinate and then, when it opened, I’d go. Is it a coincidence that it looks like it’ll be opening in January? Perhaps. But because I joined a while back, and didn’t make any announcements, it wouldn’t be a real New Year’s resolution. And thus I wouldn’t be breaking it.

Here’s the thing – while it’s still not open officially, it’s getting close. Every week I get emails informing me of the club’s progress. The lobby’s done. The equipment’s in place. The classes are up and running. Unlike me. All that’s left are the showers. And any minute now those changerooms will be rarin’ to go – but will I? What excuses will I have left? By the time it opens it won’t be about breaking New Year’s Resolutions. It’ll be about breaking in my shoes and breaking out of my lounging habit. The other day they even left me a message about setting up a fitness consultation. Is it too late to resolve not to waste time talking on the phone? Would that count?

Tick tock….January’s flying by….If the resolutions are out the window, does that mean we have to keep the secret promises we made to ourselves…in September? I’m changing my mind. I am going to make resolutions. And stick to them too. If Jan 1st is the day, so be it. January 1st, 2008. Shame I missed the boat this year, then….A real, lovely, lazy shame…

Share

January 12, 2007   No Comments

Advertisement

Afternoon Delight

I hate 4PM. 3:30 too. Hate ’em both. The day is winding down. It’s finish-up-and-get-ready-to-go-Time. Too-late-to-start-something-new-Time. Too-tired-to-care-Time. For some, it’s TV Time. For others, time to hit the gym. For me, it’s please-perk-me-up-before-I-empty-the-fridge-Time. In other words, it’s Coffee Time.

It used to be all about Grande Soy Lattes and low-fat, no-whip fraps. Then the unsweetened green tea lemonade took over, followed by my current fave, the non-fat, sugar-free vanilla latte. Spending my children’s tuition at Starbucks? Uh, yeah…Who isn’t?

Well, as of today, I’m not. Because there’s a new drink in town. One you can enjoy from the comfort of your own home/office/personal space. And one that, while not all that cheap, is definitely cheerful and absolutely delicious. It’s not really winterized, but who cares?

It’s Pom Tea.

That’s right, Pom Tea. I am now a walking ad for the stuff, ‘cuz it’s incredible.

Y’all know Pom, right? Or, sorry, PomWonderful (but who in their right mind actually calls it that? Puh-lease). It’s that sexy bottle full of pomegranate juice. Some freakshows drink it straight, but it’s far more palatable diluted. Better still diluted with fizzy water to make Pom Pop. Yum.

And now, the sequel has arrived. Pom, the Tea. Blackberry Black, Passion Peach White and, my personal fave, Lichee Green. All with pomegranate o’ course. It’s not too sweet, doesn’t need to be diluted at all, and the packaging’s kinda fun too, if a little odd. All Pom Teas come in their own somewhat ceremonial glass. Yes, a glass. I dunno know why. It just comes that way. With a lid.

Shake, sip, enjoy. But wait! It gets better: You can convince yourself you’re actually drinking some sort of anti-aging elixir of the gods. A potent potion to ward off evil (lined) eyes. They call it PomRx but whatev. It just tastes good.

Will I be giving up my Starbucks fix forever? Of course not. What kind of gal do you take me for? I’m true blue loyal to their ripoff fancy coffees. But I’m also true blue loyal to all the friendlies, which is why I’m passing on the Pom.

Try it, you’ll like it. And if it ends up being as good for you as it claims, you can thank me later. When we’re all old, happy, healthy and hot.

Salute.

Share

November 22, 2006   No Comments

Advertisement