Mandajuice

But trust me on the sunscreen...

A few weeks ago, I heard this song on the radio. It had been at least a decade since I'd heard it and I forgot how much I've always loved it.

For whatever reason, I kept thinking about it today.

Probably beacuse my day started off with some not-so-complimentary feedback and even though I mostly agreed with it, it was still pretty damn painful to hear. There's nothing quite so hard as hearing someone you love and respect repeating - out loud - all the worst things you keep playing on repeat in your own brain. Even if those truths are expressed with kindness and love and understanding, you might still feel like a shit popsicle in a fly storm.

Because no matter how loving or kind the delivery may be, those things are still true.

And come midnight, you won't necessarily feel all that much better, even if you know you spent the rest of your day swimming butterfly stroke up shit creek to rectify your faults.

So I guess I had that song in my head because I needed to be reminded that I've (FINALLY) started wearing sunscreen, among other things.

I'm not even remotely perfect, but by 1997 standards, I did at least a few things right today.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Today I did at least three. Maybe closer to ten. (I even started a new blog!) And none of it required an extra Clonazepam.

Sing.

"Hey oh, listen what I say oh, I got your Hey oh, now listen what I say oh." (Which I sang out loud while tweezing the pubes of some of my favorite clients.)

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts.
Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Tough call, that one. I'll keep you posted.

Remember the compliments you receive.
Forget the insults;
If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

At least three people told me I looked "skinny" today. And by that I mean they used that ACTUAL word. And I understand that that's not a legitimately feminist compliment, but fuck that, I used to weigh 309 pounds. Skinny is pretty much the best thing you can call me. EVER.

Of course that paled in comparison to the criticisms.

But still.

Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…
Don’t be afraid of it,
or what other people think of it.
It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own..

I found this THING today while I was driving the kids to Oaks Park. I was trying to brush a stray hair off my shoulder.

But the thing I felt actually turned out to be a bone.

A bone I didn't know I had.

Let me just say, I ENJOYED the fuck out of that. 

Then later tonight, I did several cart-wheels in the basement between rounds of Hide & Seek with my kids. I may or may not have dislocated a geriatric hip (0r both), but I was using it every way I could. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who enjoys her body more than I do.

DANCE.

I certainly did that today. On roller skates. Backwards. While holding my daughter's hands during the couples dance at the roller rink on Two-for-Tuesday. I think it was a Katy Perry song and the reaction on her face was a slice of perfection I will carry to my grave.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

That one I'll probably have to save for tomorrow.

But at least I wore sunscreen today.

Houston, We Have a Rooster (AKA - Chicken Sex!!!!)

Our baby chick, Emily, started off SO CUTE!
She was sweet and she followed around her big brown sister Cinnamon Chip like she was a queen. I even remember her climbing into my (then bosomy) cleavage for a nap or two.

But then, she somehow managed to outgrow all the other ladies. Even the really FAT hens.

We started to get worried.

Then, about a week ago, Joel and I moved down into the basement while he was sick and that's when we both heard it.

The crowing.

It's not LOUD yet, but when you hear a cock-a-doodle-do, you know it.

Emily turned out to be a transvestite chicken.

Emily isn't so much Emily anymore as she is Amil. You know. A meal.

I would feel bad about the fact that we're going to have to eat her/him now (because roosters are illegal within city limits, for obvious reasons) except for the fact that a) S/HE'LL BE DELICIOUS and b) S/He keeps raping his older sister!

I mean, just watch!

First s/he's all cool and nonchalant. 

"I'm just chillin' here with my lady friend!"

Then BAM!

COCK ATTACK!

I mean, not that neck-biting isn't hot or anything, but it's not like Cinnamon Chip was PREPARED for it. Then s/he had to go get his/her butt all ready for it. (Because, after googling CHICKEN SEX, I now know that all chickens - male and female - only have ONE import/export dock. The only difference is that the boys can squirt happy juice from theirs and the girls can't. Which explains how difficult it is to sex baby chickens and why it was so easy for us to end up with a rooster...)

So Emily/Amil had to go get his/her butt all ready for it.

Aaaaand....

Now we have a fertilized egg.

And a big, fat, two-timing cock who walks away as if nothing just happened.

Poor, poor Cinnamon Chip.

Lucky us. Because basically, what we have on our hands is a delicious, delicious problem.

For Amil.

In which I DON'T overshare. For a change.

There's a LOT going on in my life right now and most of it I can't talk about. Or I'm not willing to. Which means, GUESS WHAT? I've apparently grown a filter after all these years.

Don't laugh! It's true!
Such things are possible!

Here's the stuff I CAN share:

In therapy I'm working through the fact that I'm not necessarily a GREAT mom, but I'm not a BAD mom either. I'm somewhere in the middle and I'm trying to make peace with the idea of that spectrum. I constantly need to remind myself that kids this awesome don't come from shitty moms.

I've also been saying the Serenity Prayer a lot, but I'm saying it with a fistful of cocktail and not for the reasons you'd think:

[God] grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

I'm trying to write fiction about Colin, but it's just not happening for me at the moment. There's too much personal crap to wade through first, but I agree with the consensus: it's the book I need to finish first.

Trying to force myself to write led me to a recent epiphany that I'm not so much a writer, or a Brazilian waxer, or a slutty girlfriend, or a cook, or a hostess, or an urban farmer, or even a mom. What I really am - IN ALL THINGS - is an entertainer. It's how I do verbs and blowjobs and rainbow birthday cake all in the same day - I get off on making other people happy. It's a bit of a fetish for me, this thing.

So I've been thinking a lot about what this predilection MEANS for me. What does it mean for this blog? Or for my writing career (which is totally in the shitter given I'm not, actually, you know, WRITING). I've honestly been worried that maybe I'm just losing my creativity altogether.  

But then I come home and make dinner and my creativity explodes all over the kitchen. I'm beginning to think food is my art. For right now, it's certainly my medium of choice. And cooking has always been my love language. When all else fails me, there's always dinner. It's my only reliable source of redemption. So I'm thinking I should probably write more about it.

What I'm saying is that I need to start a food blog, but I'm not sure what to call it or what to do with it. I'm tempted to just write up everything I cook. That's as simple as it gets and would be at least five posts a week. I just need to fix my camera so I can take pictures. I couldn't promise it would be even remotely Pioneer Woman-like because all that photography takes FOREVER, but it would be interesting nonetheless, methinks.

I also need to come up with a name for it. I wanted MyCrazyKitchen or ManicKitchen, but MandaFeast is the best I've got so far. I'm open to suggestion. Any ideas?

Speaking of entertaining, we're having another WEEEEEEENIE ROAST this Friday. We're trying to have them on a monthly basis until it starts raining again. If you know me IRL and didn't get the invite, you're still invited! 6PM. Just show up.

HOWEVER, I can't drink too much this weenie roast because GUESS WHAT WE'RE DOING ON SATURDAY!?!!??

No seriously. You'll NEVER. EVER. guess. Let's just say it involves these sexy shoes Joel bought me:

...and $200 worth of REI rental equipment!

A month ago we accidentally did an eight mile hike and I was, all, THAT WASN'T SO BAD! So that apparently turned into a 16 mile round-trip overnight hike in the gorge this coming Saturday.

Camping, you guys.

With backpacks.

WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH AMANDA!?!?!

You know? The girl who won't get her feet wet in the ocean because IT'S TOO COLD??!!?

The only real question is whether I pack my makeup bag or my .357 magnum. They weigh about the same amount and I still haven't decided which is more vital.

Also? Whose skinny legs are those with the giant feet? Because they CLEARLY aren't mine. Not possible.

Anyway, it's summer so we went to the coast on Monday.

The coast liked us so much that it wouldn't let us leave, so we stayed the night at the very. most. awesome. hotel in Astoria. (The Commodore! Seriously! Feast your eyes on the magically restored decor!!!)

The next morning we had coffee at the shop in the hotel lobby, which was equally magical.If money were no object and I could live anywhere in the world right now, I'm pretty sure I'd choose Astoria. It's like Santa Cruz, only the people who work there can actually afford to live there, so the neighbors talk less about their retirement plans and more about the halibut.

Shut up! I still haven't decided how I'm casting my vote this election. SO BITE ME.

All I know is that it's summer; I'm officially an Oregonian; none of my chickens are laying eggs; the tree in our chicken coup has THE MOST DELICIOUS PEACHES I HAVE EVER EATEN IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE and my tomatoes are almost red.

I can't really think of anything more beautiful.

From my guts to yours: The 10-year anniversary of my gastric bypass surgery

I'm getting really sick of talking about my weight lately, but it's been exactly ten years since I had gastric bypass surgery and that seems like a milestone worth noting.

I started at 309 pounds. I was a size 24/26.

This morning, precisely ten years later, I weighed 167 (which is only two pounds above the lowest weight I've ever been, even in high school). I'm a size 10.

That means I've lost 142 pounds.

I was trying to think of a way of illustrating how painful it was to carry around all that extra weight, but all I could come up with was five gallon water bottles. Every time I change the water bottle at our office,  I feel like a huge wimp and I used to carry around over three of those ALL THE TIME.

I think it goes without saying, but the surgery was one of the best decisions I've ever made. It worked for me and that makes me an advocate for others who wish to pursue it. It's dangerous, yes, but far less dangerous than a lifetime of obesity.

People are starting to give me shit about my recent weight loss and how little I'm eating these days, but I'm still technically OVERWEIGHT according to my BMI. I need to lose two more pounds to get into the "average" weight category. I'm actually starting to think I might reach my original Pie In the Sky goal of weighing the same amount that I've lost. (154.5 pounds) That would make me half the woman I used to be, which is still very weird to even think about.

Anyway, here I am ten years later. Joel kept trying to get me to pose, but it's an AFTER photo, you don't pose! (Right?)

If you want to read about my weight loss surgery, I've been writing about it for years. Just start here. The rest of the story is on the sidebar over there. -------->

Which novel should I finish writing? You read the first chapters and VOTE.

I'm jonesing for a project, y'all. Bad. I need a fix. And I think that fix needs to involve fiction writing.

There are two books I'm roughly half-way through and I need a push to get me to finish one or the other of them. Just tell me which one you'd rather read:

Download - Colin (Romance + Family drama)

Download - Thelonius  (Dating + Erotica)

Read em and weep! Then decide!

Just leave your preference in comments.