I'm talking to you. Yes, *YOU*

Or "A post where I attempt to get my ass in gear"


Hey Tira,

So the other day, I was talking to you about how I need to start going to the gym because honestly? My ass is HUGE. And I’ve tried, LAWD HAVE MERCY have I tried, to start some kind of workout routine (yet again) And you, said you would like to make the gym a regular part of your day too. Me? I need motivation, a workout partner. Because workout partners keep you honest. I will really roll out of bed and hit the gym at 5AM, because I HATE knowing that somebody is at the gym weighting for me (ha! Get it? See what I did there? Not funny? Psht. FINE) And seeing as how you are 9, 271 miles away...that workout partner is not going to be you.

Even though you can’t be here in body, you can be here on the interwebs. My proposition? I will be reporting to you once a week, RIGHT HERE, on my progress. And you, can do the same. Since we 1) are CLEARLY incapable of maintaining a “main” blog and a “Let’s-talk-about-my-fat-ass” blog ; 2) need to encourage each other the best we can, and 3) isn’t it better to keep a log of all this shit somewhere? May as well be here, right?

This morning, I was gonna surprise you by taking a picture of my treadmill stats once I was done. But seeing as how I NEVER bring my cell phone to the gym (I’m working out, I am not gonna answer the phone to tell you that I’m at the gym and can I call you back. I’ll just call you when I’m done so I can be all smug “Oh, you called me? I was at the gym working out” ALSO? I hate people who carry on cell phone convos on the treadmill… that is asshattery at it’s finest and you should stop that. REALLY.) I forgot. So please to enjoy a “snapshot” of today’s workout.


Calories: 200
Distance: 1.87 miles
Time: 32.18 minutes
AVERAGE Speed: 3.7 - cause you know...I walked some, I ran some, then I walked sommore.




Also.... I woke up late and I can only be at the gym until a certain time ‘cause you know I have to be at work at 7AM for fuck’s sake.

Anyways, I’ll be working out MWF and Saturday, with an option to rest Sunday – cause you know, I’ve got school. And you know I will not lie about whether I did or I didn’t go. And I’m giving you (and anybody who has read this far/is interested) permission to give me shit when I don’t do what I said I was gonna.

Let the weight loss begin. AGAIN. LMAO.

Edited to add: Hey! I was over on your blog and it looks like we’re both talking fitness!

Because I know all about fashion

I was talking to my sister the other while I was on the way to work (YES, I was totally wearing my earpiece. It’s the LAW) and while I was sitting at a light, this guy is crossing the street walking his daughter (?) to school. The girl was in her school uniform with the cutest pink backpack I ever did see and the guy was in a uniform, of sorts. A wife beater and jeans hanging down to his knees. It aggravated me to the point that I completely veered off topic and started a tirade. I think that this whole saggy pants thing has gone too far. There. I said it.

It may be that I’m used to STANDARDS (very rarely will you see a military guy sagging something ridiculous, even in civilian clothes – you do NOT want to get caught out looking like a thug by your commanding officer at the mall), or that I’m OLD, or old fashioned, you can even say that I’m not hip. But seriously. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Back when I was a teenager (yeah, all the old people start their tirades like this, don’t they?), my boyfriend wore tapered khakis (new school skinny jeans. Ahem. All things old are new again). Yes, I keep it old school. And YES, there was a teeny bit of sag. I mean, who wants to wear DAD JEANS?

Now I have to see your WHOLE ASS? WTF is that about? Why is that supposed to be cute? I thought we were in agreement people. I thought crack (ass crack, crack pipe, ALL CRACK) was wack. ‘Member? Whitney Houston said? Not only do I have to see your raggedy draws, I have to watch you duck walk across the street because your pants are so down around your knees that the belt you have on (why are you even wearing a belt?!) is completely superfluous and the only way you can keep your pants from falling around your ankles is to walk like that, while trying to hold up your pants with one hand. THAT? Is not sexy.

It also makes me want to cause you a thousand years of pain.

So I guess it’s lucky for me that 1) I’m married 2) I’m CLEARLY not the kind of person these boys (because I am unable to call you a man when you are dressed this way) are trying to attract and 3) I STILL don’t have a camera. Because I totally would have been taking pictures of all the ridiculousness that I’ve seen over the last couple of days.

Although I will say that this has motivated me to go out and get one, this weekend. (No, really. I’m going to get a camera. For real this time)

No More Talking

I haven't been able to write.

Because I've been TALKING. Talking, talking, TALKING. I don't think I've ever spent so much time talking. Because I was mad. Beyond mad, actually. Pissed off to the highest of pisstivity, if you will.


I went out for a friend's Big Birthday Bash. Where after a somewhat cursory hello, she and a couple of friends proceeded to ignore me. Since I am a) slightly oblivious and b) sure I've done nothing wrong, I disregard the feeling that I'm being iced out. Because that's just crazy and I'm being ridiculous. Also? I pulled one of the "friends" aside to ask if there was a problem, and she said NO. The Birthday Girl's husband, with whom I'd had a falling out came, and promptly bought me a shot. While The BG's husband & I are not BFF's... I almost never turn down a free drink, I know he's trying to make nice AND he's The Man's BFF, so I accept it.



The Birthday Girl's friend stops ignoring me long enough to ask if I'm putting in on bottle service. Which I'm not. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay very long because I didn't drive myself, but also because the feeling of not being wanted there persisted.


As my ride & I were leaving, I finally gave in to my paranoia and asked her "WTF?" Her response, "I KNOW." So, apparently I was not only *not* crazy...I wasn't even alone in the feeling of hostility being directed and her & me. AND I completely missed the request to hold the bottle service until we left conversation being held while I was having my inner monologue... As the pieces started falling in place: the hints about being ready to drink, the way they completely separated us from their conversation, getting the stink eye from the BG's friend, the madder I got.


I decided that I DIDN'T want to talk about it anymore. Not with the Birthday Girl, not with anybody. But then she started calling me, which I ignored because I was too mad for any conversation I had to be constructive. So then she e-mailed me. NOT to apologize, or discuss the weekend...she e-mailed me to pretend like nothing was wrong. And THAT? Made my head explode. At which point, I wielded the truth like a baseball bat and bashed her over the head with it. I don't LOVE confrontation (hard to believe, I know), and yet... I felt like I had to point out some things that she neglected to say to me ON TOP OF she and her friends acting like a big giant assholes at her Birthday Bash.

Which led to some back & forth conversations that only led to no conversations at all. Normally, I'd feel bad about that. In fact, I felt bad enough about it to talk to the BG's husband, because I didn't want him to think that HE was the reason for the conflict. And in talking to him, I realized that she'd done more than just ignore me, she'd made specific requests on how HE was to treat me as well. And I didn't like that at all. Not because I expected differential treatment, but because it said so much about how she felt about me that she'd even make the request.

I have been MORE than a good friend to her, and I've known her a really long time. She is not a person who shies away from making her opinions or feelings known and there is nothing she loves more than confrontation, so I have no idea why she chose to make her displeasure known with me this way. I DO know, that *this* is not how you treat friends, and so at this point, I choose not to call her friend.

I've said everything that I have ever wanted to say about this. And I've said plenty. I've bent my friends' ears off with lots of "Can you believe this shit!?!'s" and "WHO does that?!'s" with a few "WTF?!'s" thrown in for good measure.


My anger has burned off leaving lots of Tired and Indifference in it's wake. No burning need to demand an explanation, no curiosity as to how she's dealing with this on her side...just nothing.

And so, I am dismissing this whole incident, and her, with silence. I do not want an apology, or to hear her side (again), nor am I interested in reparations for the sake of a preserving a decade-long friendship.

It seems like I should be a lot sadder than I am about this, but it is what it is.

I don't want to talk to you; I don't have anything to say.

STILL Not Ready - The First Day of High School edition

Me: Brat, you ready?
Brat: I’m ready.

Me: ....Really?

Brat: Okay, lemme get my phone.

Me: Now?

Brat: Oh oh… mama, I need a jacket.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me? It’s one THOUSAND degrees out there
...and it’s only 6AM.

Brat: It might get cold. THE BUS gets cold.

Me: …sigh. NOW? I still have to drop you off so I can go to work, you know.

Brat: Did you sign all my school stuff?

Me: YES. Jesus, girl, are you ready now?

Brat: Yes. I’m ready.

My baby, her first day of High School

*sigh* I'm not.

And we're done.

20 years ago:

Every day we went somewhere different to eat. He wanted to have some of everything before he went off to boot camp. I was 6 months pregnant, and everything…and every smell turned my stomach. But I went, because I still WANTED to eat, even though almost nothing stayed down and because I knew that time was slipping away. Soon, he’d be gone. And I’d still be here.

The last day before he left, we went out and came back to pack & clean his (always dirty) room. I fell asleep, as usual, in his bed. He woke me up, because it was time for me to get back and he had to get up early in the morning. I cried. Because I was feeling all sappy, and I always do when he goes away (yes. even now). He hugged me and told me that he would be back soon, he would write and he would call.

I didn’t go to his graduation, because I was not feeling good enough to make the drive. But I saw thousands of pictures, of him in his brand new Marine Corps uniform. Did I mention that I LOOOOVE a man in uniform? Because I do. And he was extra skinny. Because in boot camp, you didn’t walk; you ran. EVERYWHERE. And don’t be the recruit lagging behind. Or so I’ve heard. I’m a lollygagger…just one more reason that I never would have cut it in the USMC.

But I did the next best thing... which, is sort of like joining. I married a Marine. I’ve lived with the *locals* in Hawaii and Boston, on Marine Corps bases in San Diego and Army (?!) bases in Yuma and am now back in Southern California. I’ve spent up to a year intermittently pining for The Man while he went unaccompanied overseas. This would not be including any time he spent in the sandbox. Which was time spent quietly (and sometimes NOT so quietly) freaking out because there was a pretty good chance that he was going to be shot at maybe not make it home. (For which I thank GOD EVERY DAY that he did. REALLY), and not sleeping because I was worried I was going to miss his call which was always at the most randomest of times, or not sleeping because the news only likes to report how many people died in Iraq/ Afghanistan (which is why I stopped watching), not how The Man was doing over there.

I’ve sat not so quietly when the moving people were shoving all my shit in a box for the NEXT duty station. I’ve comforted both brats when they moved to another school AGAIN. I’ve cleaned more apartments to look brand spanking new so I could get my deposit back…and sometimes paid a cleaning lady (heh). I’ve memorized The Man’s SSN# because it’s the only one that matters in the military-- I’ve forgotten my driver’s license but NEVER my ID card. I’ve called the Red Cross because I needed to get in touch with The Man RIGHT NOW, and I knew that was the only way. I’ve opened my home to single Marines since the day I got married, so they could ALWAYS have a home cooked meal. I’ve lost touch with military wives because it used to be so hard to keep in touch/ have the right phone number when everybody is changing duty stations/ husbands are complaining about phone bills. I experience sticker shock every time I go into a grocery store to buy eggs & milk.

Today is The Man’s last day as an enlisted Marine. Tomorrow, he will OFFICIALLY retire/ be a civilian. No more ironing Cammies (although I haven’t in quite some time), early morning PT sessions, unit/battalian formations, or doing stuff because the Sgt. Major said so. I have no idea what I’m going to do with you not going TDY, or going on field ops, or having duty…plain & simply underfoot all the damn time.

But I am so happy to have you home.

(I love him even though he is a rat bastard UCLA fan)

I've got mail

I have several thousand e-mail addresses. The one that I've had since I've had a computer (an AOL e-mail address if you can believe it). I keep it so that people who have lost touch with me will always have a way to find me. I always check it, and it's also generally the one that family uses. A Yahoo one that I use for "other stuff": paypal, promotional e-mails for stuff like RueLaLa, discount hotel offers to Vegas (please stop it. I can't afford to go back yet and all these super discounted rates are mocking me. MOCKING ME), concert information - because I go to a LOT of concerts, it's also linked to my Facebook, and...back in the day..I even got porn to that e-mail address. Long Story. I have an "I'm a professional" e-mail address, a work e-mail that I sometimes, okay...OFTEN get personal e-mails sent to, and the one for here: youbethekettle (at) gmail.com.

I got a lot of fucking e-mail addresses. But, I'm going to talk about my yahoo one. Why? Because it's becoming the bane of my freakin' existence right now. I've never had so much mail in my entire life. This yahoo one... generally, if I sign up for something, that's the one I use. Unless I'm mad at The Man. Then I use his. I know. Fuckery at it's finest. But at least he knows my horoscope, and when Tom Jones is going to be in concert. Moving on. I signed up for Facebook on a fluke. Because a friend of mine has all of his pictures there, and I couldn't see them until I signed up.

ANYWAYS, for a long while, I never used it. Then my sister was all "Hey, DINOSAUR, get with it and get on Facebook." Which, SURPRISE! I was already on but not using. So then I'd posted an update:

I signed up for a fantasy football league. I have no idea what I'm doing and draft day is Sunday. Suggestions, comments...HELP?
Yesterday at 8:54am · via iGoogle Gadget · Comment · Like · Remove

Let the crap-tastic amount of e-mails begin: "...XXX commented on your status..." Heaven forbid that you mess around and comment on somebody ELSE'S status. Because then? You're getting eleventy thousand emails every time ANYBODY comments "..xxx also commented on JoeBlow's status". And I don't even know these people, more importantly could care less what they think. More to the point, I would prefer not to get an e-mail everytime somebody says BOO.

These e-mails add up. Facebook will send you e-mails if somebody:

• sends a message
• adds me as a friend/ confirms request
• posts on my wall
• pokes me
• tags me in a photo
• tags one of MY photos
• coments on my photos
• comments AFTER me on a random photo
• leaves a wall comment
• comments AFTER me on somebody ELSE'S wall story
• sent me an drink, or a smile, or a chug it request, or a sorority life thingamajig
• does anything at all to me
• the list goes on and on....

My e-mail was blowin' up y'all...and not in the good way. In the "Fuckin' A...what the hell is all this shit?!" way. I was deleting messages so fast that I was actually MISSING the stuff I wanted to read. Don't you hate that? You're all in the zone and before you know it, you've deleted that pre-sale info about NIN's final tour and you threw it in the trash because you thought it was another g.d. facebook message?

So. I went back and changed everything. Unchecked it ALL. I don't want y'all sending me e-mails about anything. I will check my own friends requests, and respond to those people I want to respond to and ignore everything else (No more pillow fights, food flings, what kind of rock star am I, no kisses, no hugs...just...NO)

I can just feel my aggravation ease now that I am no longer receiving crazy amounts of e-mail. Well... I mean I *STILL* receive crazy amounts of e-mail, just...about stuff I care about. Like $35/night room rates in Vegas, and pre-sale info for various bands (speaking of...WTF Paramore?! I can't/won't take a 13 year old girl to a concert on a THURSDAY, she's got school on Friday), and upcoming boutiques. Even though I'm sort of on a haitus for shopping/concert going, I still wanna know what's going on in the world of people who go places and people who do stuff.

So I'll content myself with reading e-mails from cousins, of the next 9West sale, jokes from long lost friends, and comments from you.

YES, *YOU*. I see you reading this. Now, pop on in the comments and say "hey!"

WTF Wednesdays

A real conversation I had with my son & his girlfriend:

The Boy: Mommy! What happened to your foot?

Me: I went to the Green Day concert last night and some jackass kicked me in the back of my (just barely recovered from surgery) foot.

The Girlfriend: Did you at least punch him in the face?

Me: ....Yes.