Top O' the Lap

Photo courtesy of ABC.com

I’ve never had a lap top computer before, but I’m typing this from one now. Doc. B. got me an early Thanksgiving, early Christmas, early MLK day, early President's day, early Valentines day, early St. Patrick's day present and I’m SO loving on it. I can now sit anywhere and type. That may not seem like such a big deal but what I used to do was write out my blog entries on paper, type them into Microsoft Word and then copy them into the blog once I could get myself onto the web. Not anymore.

Doc. B. has been pet and house sitting an hour north of town this week so I’ve had an abundance of secret alone time to play with all of the lap top bells and whistles as I let our home go to pot. I haven’t made the bed in three days, the dishes are stacking up, there’s dirty laundry everywhere and I’ve been watching way too much television - because I can sit in front of it with the new computer.

Last night I was lounging in the love pit (our TV viewing area), watching "The Biggest Loser" while The Dish Network cut in and out during a major windstorm. But I had a charged battery and I didn’t even have to worry about a power surge. All I have to worry about now is the scrutiny you’ll send my way based on the fact that I chose "The Biggest Loser" over the season finale of "Dancing with the Stars". Sorry folks, Mario the Matador just doesn’t do it for me, nor does "can’t touch this" football player, Emmitt Smith. But put a bunch of fat people on television trying to lose weight, and I’m there. It’s closer to home for me. I’ll never be dancing with a star but I certainly have spent time being fat and making all sorts of crazy attempts to lose the extra pounds. Even just typing that three letter word, f-a-t, is hard for me. I was inclined to change it to "overweight", "chunky", or something similar. But let’s face it, I was fat - no bones about it - unless those bones were covered with excess skin of course.

At least tonight I didn’t have to choose between Grey’s Anatomy and the Barbara Walters special; they come on back to back. I hope I can get this place cleaned up before Doc. B. comes home tomorrow.

Gloating

Tuesday, November 7, 2006 will long be remembered in history. We knew the day was coming, and many of us were waiting with greater expectations than Charles Dickens could have ever imagined. Millions were watching in every state from Montana to Virginia. The world was also observing. We could only guess it couldn’t last. We figured if we were patient, the day would come. We would live to see a cleaning of the house and a measuring of the drapes. It would be a sea change, a turning of the tide. Defense of Marriage Act supporters would shake in their boots. Proclamations of reconciliation would have to wait. Crow would be eaten. Stay the course would no longer work. After much anticipation, the day finally came. And just as all the polls, and the Mickey Mouse Club, predicted… Britney filed for divorce from Kevin...


p.s. I have no idea who those people are in that celebratory photo. Really, I don't.

Salt Lick

Last week, Mrs. T. and I got on the subject of "food regret". We were at work the day after Halloween and there was leftover candy on every cubicle filing cabinet, break room table, fax machine and copier. I think I even saw someone shove a quarter into the tampon dispenser and receive a pack of M&M’s with her purchase. It seems that every woman in the building was trying to hide, donate or dispose of her Halloween candied remains. Except me. Yeah, I ate a couple of Snickers mini bars and some of our left over tootsie rolls, but most of the time, candy and chocolate don’t really do it for me. Put a tub of movie theatre popcorn on my lap (and it has to be on my lap – I’ll share it, but I have to hold it!), and an hour later I can tell you all about food regret. And don’t give me any of that kettle corn crap (Tom), just pour on the salt. I really wouldn’t even need any butter except that it does make the salt stick better.

My love affair with popcorn goes way back to before my knowing what a love affair was. It was a Sunday night ritual for our family of six to gather around the television, be mesmerized by the Wonderful World of Disney, and share a grocery bag full of homemade popcorn. That’s right, we’re not talking about Jiffy Pop, air popped or even micro-waved (I don’t think we had microwave ovens back then, did we?), this was the real deal. Dad had, and still has, a special pan that has now been used only for popping corn for three generations. When we were little, we would each get our own recycled pot pie container to use as a popcorn bowl. Remember those small tin foil things? I’m certain that it was not uncommon for me to fill up that cute little metal container at least 16 times.

For most of my adult life, Sunday night popcorn has been a continued tradition. Last year for my birthday, Mr. and Mrs. T. even bought me my own popcorn pan and a jar of Orville Redenbocker. However in recent years of trying to maintain my weight, or more often lose weight, I make popcorn maybe once or twice a month. Before I start the corn a poppin’, I check in to see if Doc. B. will be eating any. It would be traumatic if I made only the amount I wanted and then found Doc. B.’s hand in the bowl. Can you believe that nine times out of ten, Doc. B. doesn’t want any? That’s just crazy. Who in her right mind turns down popcorn when it’s placed in front of her? Oh wait, that’s like me and chocolate.

Hmm…it’s Sunday night…popcorn anyone?

cool rats