Dear Gym Management,
Today, I took a big stand. Seeing as how I showed up late, threw my screaming kids into the hands of unsuspecting child care staff,and my mp3 player was out of juice, I opted to do cardio while watching tv. I fully appreciate the many choices of not one, not two, not three, but FOUR television stations to watch.
I’ve always been curious as to why two are devoted to the news, one to espn, and then the other is always on cbs. Let’s review the CBS line up for a bit:
Lowest rated morning show _ sucky
Regis and Kelly _ eww
The Price is Right _ just one look at bob barker and I’m ready to yack.
Young & The Restless, One Life To Live, Guiding Light _ Seriously, folks….all the worst soaps on the planet. They don’t even have a STEFANO or a witch or anything!
Dr.Phil _ Now, I love Dr. Phil, but he’s just no fun anymore. He’s all about saving marriages, and it’s, at this point, not fun to watch. It’s bad. Real bad. I don’t need to tear up while working out. That’s not my cardio gig. I save that for buttcramp.
Oprah_ this is inconsistently a good item to watch while working out. But unless it’s a light hearted fun one, what’s the point. I don’t want to watch starving people in africa while slurping my protein drink on a treadmill. You feel me, yo?
News_ this is always fun to me, because they do the news based on what Oprah talked about, with a local flare. It’s fun to see how bad they botch it up.
Evening News with Katie Couric _ Makes me want to go overdose on laxatives.
Survivor _ they still have that show on or is that re_runs?
I could go on, but I won’t. My point is, of all the networks, CBS is the worst, until David Letterman comes on, and even then, you can’t guarantee that it’s worthy of a good adrenaline rush while exerting infinite calories on the stair master.
So, today, I politely asked the worker guy, we’ll call him “Luke”, to change the channel. You can imagine the suppression of hysterical laughter I had to endure when I was told that the Price is Right was on, and the cardio room was full of people who would not be okay with that. And also, there was a memo, and staff can’t really change the stations anymore. Are you serious? Who is sleeping with Les Moonves, and does Julie Chen know about it?
“Luke” is a nice guy, and so I opted not to shoot, spit at, nor clock, the messenger. I found a magazine, and walked slow enough to read the ENTIRE magazine for my workout today. I am happy to report that I think Prince William is going to be okay after breaking up with his long_time girlfriend, after all, he WAS found at a pub doing the robot dance while standing on a table. But please, for the love of all that is in me that fights to not get in there and work out hard, could we please have a little more variety? Just a better channel? ABC? NBC? I mean, how will I live without knowing where in the world Matt Lauer is!? Seriously, y’all. Can we put an end to Bob Barker and the Showcase Showdown? I don’t like to watch a walking dead, and very orangesque man with a 1940′s microphone calling fellow old people up to run and jiggle. I don’t run on the track so I don’t have to look at MYSELF jiggle in the mirrors.
Do I need to start a petition? I’ll do it. Help a phat girl out!
Thanks
That’s How I Roll.

The comedy gig has rolled into a big snow ball of “What the heck are you doing?” I have discovered a new place to practice. Practice? You say….for what? Well, I opted to sign up for a competition. I’ll be competing at the FunnyBone in Omaha, 7:30 on May 9th. If you live around here, and want to come see if I’m funny or not, call ahead and make a reservation. (It’s reservation only.) And tell them you’re coming to see me. If you give them my name at the door and on the phone with the reservation, it helps me out. They keep tabs. So, if I’m not funny, atleast I’ll get “most popular” right? I’ve always wanted to be popular!
So, I’ve found a place to go up and practice. Comedians tend to do this stuff late at night and apparently, in dark shady bars. Holla: Saddle Creek Bar. It starts at 10:30p.m. on Tuesday nights. That’s my prime bed time. Julz (Holla!) offered to go with me last night. She is so supportive and sweet. I wonder if her kids cared the next morning that mommy is tired because she is a supportive angel for her online girlfriend. Hmmm. Probably not. They’re sweet kids, but that’s a bit much to ask.
When we pulled up top the bar, Julz(holla!) said, “There’s a drive thru bar? Oh, this is blog_worthy!” and then she said, “Les, I don’t think you should come here by yourself.” We are sheltered women with children, just living out an adventure. I’m sure watching Jeff Healey perform behind a cage in a bar on Roadhouse flashed through her mind.
There was one guy in a ballero, a duster, and some 1980s trite dangle native_american dream_catcherish earring who got upset. Apparently, he was bothered, while playing pool, smoking and downing beers that comedians, it turns out, aren’t politically correct. The kid he got mad at I’ve secretly adopted. He doesn’t know it. But I’ve got your back, Stefen. And for one shining moment, all the comics were supportive and protective, circling up a human shield in defense of mister freakish offended guy. It was a sweet moment.
I now have email on this website and am trying to figure out how to sell ads on it. So, if you’re interested in contacting me. Moreover, if you’re interested in contacting me about money, yours, not mine. Then, please click on the email access located to the right. You may have to scroll down a bit…it’s there. See it?

…Lucy cut her hair, again. Another mullet. I alerted my friends and family with pictures, knowing, that in their sweet and supportive hearts, they were laughing at me the whole time.
Thank you to all the wonderful, creative, and very SUPPORTIVE replies I’ve gotten from friends and family who love me. I can only deduce that it was a good thing I didn’t send the pictures to any enemies.
Lucy’s hair is in between haircuts of getting it corrected. (The exact damned thing that happened last time.) And it really bothers me. I think I need either therapy or a nice fresh bottle of vodka. Maybe I should waltz into therapy with the bottle of vodka, and only one glass. Mamma don’t share.
Sigh. So, here are the two points that were brought to my attention. I am still upset, but would like to offer up a counter balance to your, uh, supportive points.
1.” I bet she’s found her calling to be a hairstylist!” She also likes to cook, and lick the spoon. So, if you come over for dinner, chances are, it’s flavored with Lucy’s saliva. Oh, relax. I boil everything to kill the bacteria.Or throw in some garlic to burn it off. Here are some other things that she could creatively turn into a career that she likes to do on a daily basis:surf the web, boss people around, poop, sing in the shower, brush her teeth with her BRATZ toothbrush with rotating bristles (but not while the bristles are on and rotating. No thanks from her on that), eat snacks,rock out.
2. “Have you thought to hide all the scissors in the house?” No silly, it’s never crossed my mind. Geesh! If you’ll remember, she did this before about a year and a half ago. A mullet, as well. That was per her perky little preschool teacher at the parent conference in which it was suggested to me that my kids had dexterity issues, particularly with scissors, and that I should run out and get scissors and have them practice all the time. I did. Because I’m competitive like that and my kids will win the dexterity contest, hands down. Hahaha, get it? Hands down? And we’re talking about dexterity? Bahahahah! Within the week, they’d practiced and were dexterity rockstars, enough to move on from menial paper and on to better things, like hair. Up to current, my kids are the best dexterity scissor cutters ever. We’ve worked hard, and I win! wait….
And, I’d also like to take away toilet paper, water, dirt, lipstick or lipgloss, markers, pens, leggos, raw eggs, and chocolate because together, they abuse them all and ruin everything. However, I think you’d all agree with me, that scissors join in that list of necessities and should I take them away, and not let them ruin my life with a recurring mullet scenario. But, what they don’t have the resources to destroy now, will only delay the process of learning and destroying later, right?
And that’s how I roll, one mullet at a time.

Back in the glory days, I had a very nice pattern of getting to fall 3_a_day workouts for volleyball without lifting a finger all summer. Supposedly there was a theory proven by doctors and trainers and coaches, yada yada yada, that if you worked out during your offseason, and prepared…blah blah blah, that this would hinder chances of injuries and all that stuff.
Clearly, it never sunk in. And so, every year, I’d show up and get so sore. At one point we got a new coach. We met her for the first time on the track where she proceeded to make us run 200′s. She claimed they were sprints. But to me, that’s distance. And you want me to sprint the WHOLE THING? Pishaw! I am like Forrest Gump, I can go the distance. But long sprint, it’s maddening psyche to me. All the other teammates (suck ups who did their summer workouts) made their times and were waiting for me and my pal, J_Dog to finish up. Mind you, this is our coaches first time to meet us. And so, you can imagine Coach’s fear and dismay when J_Dog was in so much pain from the new form of exercise, the “sprints”, that she just starts wailing in pain. It’s just me, the coach and J_Dog on the far side of the track. And she’s begging the coach to make the ButtCramp stop, and actually asked my the Coach, can she rub it.
Yeah, Coach called off the sprints that day on account that J_Dog clearly couldn’t run anymore, and I was laughing so hard, I’m pretty sure that I got put into a time_out that day. While I was in the time out, I’m certain that Coach searched long and hard for a new job, but was stuck with us. It was too late to retreat.
Coach and I are fairly good pals these days. I’m certain our relationship is founded on the basis of a very traumatic moment of butt cramp. It’s a moment we share.
Fast forward to this week, and I’m unhappily reminded of that pain inflicted on me. Except this time, I’m no smarter, I have PAID CASH for someone to do this to me. Our trainer, decided to make us do A SOLID LAP OF LUNGES. And why I did it has me completely puzzled. I vowed when I left collegiate sports to never do a push_up nor lunges for the rest of my days.
Dr. Phil’s key phrase rings in my ears about this: “So, Les, how’s that workin for ya?” (Does Dr. Phil voice come up in any of y’alls heads too, or is it just me?) Well, Dr. Phil, considering I’m still working off baby weight, the last 20 pounds and my kids are 4, I guess my vow to put off the injustice of pushups and lunges clearly is NOT working for me. So, I succumbed to the pressures and demands of my rock_hard tasty_ab’d trainer and did it. By the end of the lunges, I was back to the glory days, knowing exactly what J_Dog was talking about. I had buttcramp. But did reserve just a little bit of dignity for me and the trainer and refrained from asking her if she could indeed, rub the butt cramp. That would have been awkward.
Still, I knew that I was in trouble. If you’ve ever worked out after a long “hiatus”, then you know, the soreness only gets worse. The workout, was painful. But the next day, I was sore. And here we are on Day 2, I should call it something like ass_whipped Thursday, and I can barely move without the assistance of a minor overdose of ibuprofen.
My only solace in all of this is that fat does not get sore. Somewhere in the depths of my butt and thighs, there is muscle. It is muscle that apparently is very angry. But it’s there.
I will continue to pay this trainer only because today she saw me sipping coffee at the gym, not working out, and took the time to sincerely and almost apologetically ask if I was going to be okay. I have a permanent wincing expression on my face, I guess.
I explained that I’m fine as long as I can use the handicapped bathrooms so I can use the rail to sit down. Seriously. I need assistance. It’s that bad.
And somehow, I must find the courage and strength to do the same thing to my body tomorrow. This better work, Lori.
That’s how I roll.

Anytime you ask a young strappin buck who his favorite Food Network personality is….he says Giadda. This Chick:

However, not my sweet Ricardo. This woman disgusts him. I find it amusing, really. He is repulsed,not by her freakish mouth, nor her hot body, nor the fact she can cook. Nope, Ricardo loathes this woman simply for her disproportionately large head.
I love egging this on because he just goes on and on about how repulsing her forehead is.
Then, one day, I was arguing with my 4 year old daughter about whether she could have a BRATZ place mat. It was very hard to explain to her that I didn’t want to have to stare at those anorexic big headed gigantore head, lips and eyes, no noses, and just freakishly made to be a social standard for little girls, I didn’t want that at my dinner table. But I stood my ground, because for God’s sake…they have no NOSES. Eventually, she gave in and we walked out with a nice Strawberry Shortcake place mat.
For Easter, she got in her basket, a BRATZ toothbrush. See. I’m flexible!
Then as I was defending the fact that I got her a Bratz toothbrush, but not a place mat, it ocurred to Ricardo and I that, Giadda is a spitting image of the BRATZ.
See…the one in the middle can cook Italian food, I’m just sure of it:

Today, at school, Pre_K, mind you, I got a homework assignment. Me. It’s for me. This is a fun one, because I get to do it twice. Super. Clearly, I’m about to be found out, that indeed, I have no clue what I’m doing and the state should have never released these children into my care.
Already, I’m shamed with fear and test anxiety, and much more concerned with getting the assignment done right than I ever was when it was me in school. They just gave me a blank piece of paper that says, “My child is special” and I’m supposed to fill in the blanks.
At some point, I started coming up with some very “creative” points as to why my children are special. Enough to necessitate this entry. Clearly, I can’t REALLY turn these in. But I just have to get it out.
So, without further ado:
My Child Is Special, by Mom On The Rocks:
My child is special because
1. She’s just like me. And that’s extremely frustrating, and yet brilliant.
2. She can mix a vodka tonic with a twist of lime just right. But she’s learned the hard way to not rub her eyes after perfectly giving the lime a slight twist before assembling it just so on the edge of the tumbler.
3. He can pee a very long distance. If it were water rather than urine, I’m guessing we could use him to put out large forest fires.
4. Thanks to toothless, dixie flag waving superfreak nascar industry, my child knows all his numbers and the sponsors. (Last year and this year….apparently they change up on occasion.)
5. Neither of my kids require A.D.H.D. drugs, but yet, both request daily that I go on some type of pharmaceutical enhancement program of my own. Now, that’s special.
6. She thinks being a BRATZ is a good thing. So, when I shout it at her, in my best no_wire_hangers_ever voice, she’s beaming with pride.
7. SHE can fart the alphabet.
8. He knows all the words to Too Legit To Quit and the theme song to King of Queens.
9. Today she told me that chocolate was her favorite vegetable.
10. They are both smarter and cuter than all the other kids in their class. (If you are a pre_k mom reading this, I’m just kidding. If you’re not a pre_k mom, I’m totally serious.)
I think I’ll just turn this in…..at the very least, it’d bring joy and laughter to the teachers.
That’s how I roll.

I just don’t get the Easter Bunny. Santa breaking in to leave presents, I totally get. The tooth fairy leaves compensation for the large gaping hole in one’s mouth, and the devastation of ripping a tooth out. I get it. But where the heck did they come up with an Bunny who leaves Eggs in celebration of our Lord and Savior’s rising from the dead?
It turns out…because I did VERY EXTENSIVE RESEARCH on the world wide web…that bunnies and eggs are a pagan tradition. I find that ironic, don’t you?
Still, I went and sat on the Easter Bunny’s lap and put in my order. OR. I went with Julz(holla!) on a very secret covert mission to WalMart very late at night in disguise so as not to be discovered. It’s not for the weak. We kicked some pagan bunny with eggs butt and had fun doing it.
I know Easter isn’t about the bunny who leaves eggs. Shouldn’t that be up to a giant chicken? But it IS about the perfect dress. Right? No, wait, maybe being with family and the delicious Easter Dinner and then dessert. No? Hmmm.
Maybe it’s about my gigantic Easter Eggs I have for lawn decor that no one appreciates but me. I finally found a giant Easter Chick to go with them and then the wind came, blew the giant eggs all over our street, spreading Easter Joy to all the neighbors, and then blew the cute spinning sock/streamer part of the chick right off. The chick’s bottom half is missing. If you see it, please call me.
The other day, we were about 1/4 mile from our house, and we drove by a parked car out on the street and one of my giant eggs was underneath the car. We stopped, I got it, put it in the car. And the kids just cheered. Ricardo explained he was bothered by this reaction as I was never questioned about why we randomly stopped, grabbed a giant Easter Egg out from under someone’s car and then took off. I find it perfectly normal.
That’s how I roll.

For all of my very devoted fans. (Hold on, while I giggle a little…and pat myself on the back…oh, that was funny.) Anyways, in case y’all were wondering, I did NOT win the competition this week for open mic night/wp-content/uploads/images/2007/03/now_performing_on_sunday_night. I’ve hesitated to report back to you because, well, I’m a bit bitter and I feel as though I was set up to fail. I asked the week before what I needed to know about the competition. I prepared. And I got there that night to a few surprises:
So, next week, I’m going back, doing my whole set. I will not bring in any money. I will not recruit, market, or beg people to come. I will just go, with my manager (Ricardo) and do my whole set that I wasn’t allowed to do for the competition. I want Ricardo to see it. If we get it on video, I will post it…if it’s any good.
I’m not sure where I want to go with all of this. It was fun until the competition was rigged. But hey, who’s bitter? Oh, that’s right. MEEEEE. I think I’ll do it again for fun, and then just review with my manager why I’m doing this anyways.
That’s how I roll.