May 2007 Archives

Again, I purposely waited extra long to post again so that everyone could read about my man. Oh, you haven't had a chance? Well go here. Or here. Or try here. It's worth a read. I'll wait. Go ahead...

Last week, I knew I was doomed when I saw our bad ass trainer, Lori, with another client. And she was making the poor woman do some freaky lunges with a medicine ball! Being the moron I am, without consideration of the fact that she could totally recant by default of our up and coming workout, I opted to do what I always do and open my smart ass mouth with something like:

"Wow, she's tough on you!" to her client.

To which Lori chimed in, without ever taking her eyes off her client, very slowly, and very Mob Boss-like said, "Just wait until Tuesday."

There were two things that bothered me about this. First, she'd been strategically planning what she was going to do to me. And second, she knew the day of which the ass whipping would commence off the top of her head. I was concerned. As I should have been.

Tuesday came and went. And Lori has once again, challenged our strength, our cardio, and our coordination. The latter of which, I have none.

One of the things that I like about Lori, is that she's real. She's down to earth. She knows that my need for delicious food all the time and my refusal to diet is not a problem...to me. Because, while we were circuit training, I had a moment with her.

"You're looking good, Les."

"Thanks. I've lost some weight up top, but it makes my pear shape just look like a bigger bottomed pear."

"No, you've lost some inches in your hips too. I can tell."

"What's odd to me is that the weight is just shifting. I haven't lost or gained one pound."

"Um, yeah, well, the scale's not going down unless you change your diet."

What I wanted to say was, "You mean that half a can of icing I ate last night after dinner?" But instead I said, "I'm not willing to do that, Lori."

"Then consider yourself on a maintenance program instead of a weight loss program."

I just like that she told it to me. No frills, no pushing. Go girl!

Even better was when we were in the midst of the same workout, and doing dumbbell bench press. It's good to mention here that I've lost a lot of inches where my boobs are supposed to be. I have a sweet gaping B-cup bra right now. It's supposed to take what little I have and push it up. Nice and perky. But, basically, what the silicone bra is doing for me now is simply acting as a prosthetic for what's not there anymore. Seriously. Strangely enough, I'm okay with that.

Okay, so, Lori is checking my form on the dumbbell bench press gig, and I'm not doing it right. She keeps saying, "You want to come down right at your chest." But since I don't HAVE A CHEST, I couldn't gauge where to hit. After about the third remark, she finally gave up and said, "Well, just right where your bra line is."

Julz(holla!) busts out laughing. (Shut up, your boobs are smaller too.) She's laughing and says, "Where your boobs are SUPPOSED TO BE." Oh, good times. Then we got in trouble for laughing and cutting up during our workout and she made us run laps. So Lori, thanks for the workouts. We love them. And thanks for keepin it real, yo. But mostly, thanks for putting up with us. We hope you continue to do so.

That's how I roll.

Just so you know, I purposely waited extra long to post again so that everyone could read about my man. Oh, you haven't had a chance? Well go here. Or here. Or try here. It's worth a read. I'll wait. Go ahead...

Wednesday was preschool graduation. I know. I know. That's lame. Yes, preschool graduation is silly and just an opportunity for those crazy scrapbooking moms to get nutsoid wrestling each other to get the best picture. For the record, I GOT THE BEST PICTURE. And my kids ARE cuter than all the rest.

The kids were excited enough to get up and get their Sunday-best clothes on before 6:30a.m. I had to bribe them with waffles and extra syrup to get their clothes off and get back in their grimey pj's to eat so they wouldn't get anything on their Sunday-best.

I got them fed, dressed, hair done, teeth brushed. It was a big rush. A race against the clock -rush. Not an adrenaline rush. So, I got them in the car, and they were just hillarious. They both asked for the Peter Pan song. And while they listened, they danced (while safely buckeled in their car seats) and talked about the weather and who would be there. I looked back in the rear view mirror and I saw two of the most beautiful, grown up, funny, best looking kids.

I've been waiting four years for this. When they were babies, I'd just pray for the day when they could talk to me and tell me what was wrong, when they could feed themselves, wipe themselves...definitely prayer-worthy. And I knew that most people would say, "They're only babies once." But I can't explain it. I've just been waiting for them to grow up, just a little bit. When they were babies, I was just exhausted. When they were toddlers, I was chasing them all over the place. And they plotted against me, trust me. They'd give each other the eye, and then like little rolie-polies, scatter. One would go one way, the other, the other way...laughing in their success of plotting against me. When they were two - that was potty training. Let's just say, I got a black eye. Hey, potty trianing is a sport, in my humble opinion. When they were three, Ricardo would come home and find me looking for a job. It was, at times, THAT BAD.

But today, it turns out, I'm happy. I'm just as happy as can be. I'm well rested and happy. My kids are potty trained. My job is done. I thought I'd never get to where I am now. I never thought I'd be a stay-at-home-mom to twins. And here we are, riding through town, looking in the rear view mirror at them, in their Sunday-best, getting along, no hititng, or blood drawn. And just for a minute (I was at a red light folks, relax). I just took some time to never forget that moment.

Here's the song we were dancing to. If you can find it and download it. I highly recommend it. I think I'll save it and force Max to dance with me at his wedding. Maybe Ricardo can dance with Lucy too...but for now, I'm embracing the happy.

"Time" by Chantal Kreviazuk

Time, where did you go?
Why did you leave me here alone?
Wait, don't go so fast
I'm missing the moments as they pass
Now I've looked in the mirror and the worlds getting clearer
So wait for me this time
I'm down I'm down on my knees I'm begging for all your sympathy
But you (I'm just an illusion) you don't seem to care (I wish that I could)
You humble people everywhere (I don't mean to hurt you)
Now I've looked in the mirror and the worlds getting clearer
I'll take what you give me. Please know that I'm learning
So wait for me this time
I should've know better
I shouldn't have wasted those days
And afternoons and mornings
I threw them all away
Now this is my time
I'm going to make this moment mine.
(I shouldn't have wasted those days)
I'll take what you give me. Please know that I'm learning
I've looked in the mirror
My world's getting clearer
So wait for me this time

That's how I roll.

No, not my kids.

Some of you may not know that Ricardo had a baby before he met me. I know, it's shocking to imagine life before me. I know. On Friday, at high noon, his baby graduated. 18 years. Amazing. Fine, it's not the baby you think it is. No, this baby took more talent and discipline.

On Friday, some kid broke Ricardo's state track meet record high jump of 7'. A kid, who was NOT EVEN BORN WHEN THE RECORD WAS SET BY MY BABY, the kid jumped 7'4". The kicker, folks, is that I had no idea. Ricardo is so humble, I had to see on the news the night before that the kid could break the record. And lame as I am, I waited until Friday morning to tell Ricardo:

"Hey, some kid's going to break some record at the state track meet tomorrow."

"Yeah, I heard about that."

"Really," I said. "What's your record?"

"At the state track meet it's 7'."

"Baby, is that YOUR RECORD he's going to break?"

"Yep."

And he just kept working. Like, "Oh did you just take the trash out?" "Yep."

As mentioned before, I'm not the greatest, most graceful athelete. I did okay, and inevitably, set some records of my own. But trust me, the damned records were broken within 2 years, I'm sure of it. Okay, whew. I just checked the record books and I'm still in there, but BARELY. And I certainly don't hold the highest record. I'm in the top ten though, so that's nice. And that was college, not high school. In high school, I won awards like "The Spirit Award" in Choir. Translation: You're pretty much tone deaf, be we totally love your great personality.

My point is this, folks. You know what I did in high school? I GRADUATED. That's about it. Meanwhile this guy was jumping 7 FEET ...OVER A BAR. And he just sits there and works while some guy down the road is going to break his record. The record is amazing, but the fact that it's held strong for 18 years, just speaks volumes of how fabulous my man was, and is now.

I wanted to go to the meet and heckle the guy, maybe throw jacks or marbles on the ground or something. But Ricardo said no. Still, I wish I'd made him go out there to see it. And it would have been awesome for the kid to meet Ricardo. It's a treasure to know him, let alone, be married to the man. I think that would have been really cool for Ricardo, and especially the kid, that he went down there to watch it and shake the kids hand.

It turns out the record doesn't matter to Ricardo. Having our babies is his biggest accomplishment now. And that'll be another 18 year record! Even more!

So, fine, I'll be a good sport. Congratulations, Randal Carter of Papillion-LaVista. I hope you know what an amazing feat you've accomplished. Seize this moment and know that you have broken a record set by a man who has always been greater than that record. I hope you lead a life that trumps your state track meet record so that it's not your greatest accomplishment in life. We are proud of you and all that you have yet to accomplish.

That's how I roll.

I was playing with the kids last night, when I heard Ricardo shriek in pain. He kept screaming, "OW!" over and over again. It was loud and to the point where it was alarming. So I rushed in to see if I needed to call 9-1-1.

"Oh My God, What's WRONG BABY!?"

He was bent over, grabbing his foot, taking off his sock, and said, much more calmly, "Man, I really need to cut my toe nails."

Lovely. That's how I roll.

Ok, I really debated whether to post these videos at all. Critiquing myself is always unfun. I think it's good since I teach public speaking to get a dose of my own medicine. It turns out I do one of my pet pieves all the time. I'm going to try to fix it. I'm sure you'll see it and guess right off the bat what it is.

So, the first one is at Saddle Creek. I go there for practice on Tuesday nights. Tenacious D is now ringing in my head with a resounding, "It takes commitment. You have to wake up at the crack of noon and ask yourself, it's gig day, what tshirt will I wear?" It's late there and you can hear the pool game going on in the back. The guy egging me on in the background really thought he was funny. While I was up, he was harmless, but he continued to heckle and think he was funnier than anyone on stage. At the very least, at least I was funnier than THAT guy. Once I finished my set (because I am so professional, I have a "set" now), heckler boy realized that my Ricardo was sitting there with me. He got quiet for a while, spared some other rookie comedians, then got his drunk back on. At some point, he came up to tell me how good I was. When he go to our table, he saw how big we were, and just the look on his face was priceless. I tell him, in the video, how tall I am, but apparently, you've just got to see it to belive it. So, there's not a lot of laughs because everyone is a)getting their drunk on b) playing pool or darts c) working on their own sets or d) heckling. So, just click here to view this one. I'm sure with that intro, you're all desperate to see it immediately. Insert sarcasm here.

How did you like it? You're yearning for more you say? Well, I recorded the one at the Funnybone too. But I need to explain. Again, I have some work to do. I thought I rocked it out until I got home and reviewed the video. So, I'm working on it. But I got over a big hump performing at the Funnybone. I thought I'd build up to this competition and then see if I sucked or not and go from there. Turns out, I wasn't that great, and just like the glory days, I refuse to realize just how bad I am. I think I've got something here, just expected to be perfect at it right away. I went up and had a pretty good set laid out. It was my first time without my nifty notes. Thus, the bumpiness of it. And then, I whipped up some adlib. Not great for a 5 minute set. And then, ofcourse, I ran out of time, so I had to cut my set in half. Still, I had a bal. I kind of had fun adlibbing too. So, maybe I'll work it in. Here it is. Click here.

Thanks to all of you who came and supported me. I think the other comedians were fun. I've been to some open mics and competitions where they weren't. So, there's that. They had such a good turn out, that it was the most attendance to an open mic competition ever. Hopefully they'll do it once a month. It's $2 to get in, and pretty fun.

I'd like to know what you think. So, give me some feedback,either by comments or email. You can email me from here now. Just scroll down and on the right, you can click on the contact link.

That's how I roll.

To tell you the truth folks, everyday is Mother's Day for me. My kids are four now. My son tells me he loves me and that I'm beautiful unsolicited and without motive. Lucy usually has motive, but she tells me, so I'll take it.

I'm really only second to this woman on being spoiled by my husband, my kids, and some times, extended family and friends.

I'm still surprised the state of Texas allowed me to leave the hospital with these kids. But then, George W. is in charge, so I suppose anything goes.

Mother's Day at my house kicked off with eggs and toast in bed, made to order. So good! Then, we were to go to church. I haven't been the best churchgoer as of late. It's basically been Easter, Christmas, and Mother's Day....again, all miracles, because I think God looked down on me and said, "OH, Les, you want to be a Mom? Mwwwahahahaah, Oh, I'll make you a mom, lady. Girl, you are in for it! This is going to make you crazy, and brilliant, beaming with pride and guilt." And He waved his I'm-Gonna-Make-You-A-Mommy wand, and voila.

As we were getting ready for church, and by getting ready for church, I mean, I was shouting out commands to the kids from my breakfast in bed, and Lucy was picking out her dress. She came to me and said, "Mom, I don't have any clean underwear."

And insert failure and guilt here. I'm the child's mother. They bring me breakfast, and homemade cards and tell me what a great mom I am and then I'm such a wonderful mom that my child has no clean underwear. So, after church, I indulged in some self-prescribed pennance: laundry, mowing the lawn, yard work, ice cream for the kids-twice, and they got to play in the sprinklers. So, see, every day, is indeed, Mother's Day for me!

Happy Mother's Day to some very amazing people in my life. Judy, M'liss, Sarah, Beth, Court, Sus, Julz, Yal, Daph, Mols, Beck, Paula, Becca, Cherie, Breezy, Miss Polly, Kitty, Steph, Jenny, Mary Ellen, Rosie, Shelly, Darci, Nikki, Shay, Aunt Pam, Joyce, Julie, Barb, Cindy, Suzanne, Miss Elinor, Lonnie, Kim, Chastine, Becky, Luain, Lisa, and April. You're an inspiration of motivation and reality all rolled up in one.

Some of you have been like a mom to me. Thanks, that's even MORE of a thankless job. And some of you are yearning to be moms, or incubating as I type. Get ready for the ride of your life.

One last thing. Ricardo is to be heavily credited for having the insight that I'd be a good mom. Within two hours of asking me to marry him, he was ready to discuss (and practice, probably) making babies. I told him "You have to be on board with this parenting gig 50/50" I was petrified. He agreed to it, and he's held up on his end of the bargain if not more. Truly, being a happy person makes for a kick ass Mom. And I kick ass. Ricardo, thanks for making me a mom, and thanks for spoiling me and making every day Mother's Day.

That's how I roll.

The other day I was in the gym...again. And I was working out. By working out, I mean, babying a little knee glitch I've got going on, by talking on the phone with my girl, Suz, and walking (slow enough to talk and walk) on the treadmill. On my way down to my beloved steam room, I saw a guy who worked there, giving a tour to a lady and telling her to walk through the lockerroom and he'd meet her on the other side. I quickly got off the phone with Suz because, this woman needed to see more than just the lockers. It's a necessity to find the beloved steam room, the sauna and the whirlpool. But also, I was just being a good citizen in offering help, because she had her swim suit in hand, and it's a bit of a maze to find the door that leads to the pool. Being a stellar gym member, I showed her around, noting that she looked VERY familiar. She thanked me and we parted ways.

I got my shower stuff ready, and headed to the steam room. All was right with the world. And there was familiar looking new girl, in the steamroom. It takes a while to get used to being in a community setting, but naked. Steam helps. For a slight moment, I forgot she was new and how long it takes to get comfy with others in a steam room, and so, I said hello again, and started up chit chat.

She was nice. Turns out, she was from Holland, visiting for her grandmother's birthday. That's nice. I had to laugh later because I showed her around, worried that she wouldn't be able to find the pool door. Silly me. Hell, she found OMAHA!? Doi.

You can imagine the moment of awkwardness, when there we are both naked, steaming away, and I tell her she looks just like Sarah McLachlan. She didn't know who that was, so I explained. To which she got a little uncomfortable and said, "I only sing in the car." And then opted to go for a swim.

And insert irony: Once, Sarah McLachlan was sued by her stalker because she used one of his freaky deaky stalker letters as lyrics, and the psycho wanted copyright to it. I think the restraining order might have had negated any copyright. But I'm just guessin. The case never came to fruition because the stalker, well, uh, he killed himself. And here I sit in a steamroom, striking up a conversation with some chick, both of us, naked, mentioning Sarah McLachlan. It's really a steamroom ettiquette faux pas to meet people in there. okay to go in and talk with someone you already know, but when you get to the point of, "My name is Leslie, what's yours", it gets awkward real fast.

That's how I roll...absolutely shameless, even naked.

I'm competing at Open Mic night at the Funny Bone in Village Pointe on Wednesday, May 9th. The more support I have, the better. And hey, I'll do everything I can to make it the funniest 5 minutes of your life. I've seen some of the competition, and it's good! So, at minimum, you'll laugh at someone...right?

So, if you live in Omaha, or within driving distance, you HAVE TO call in and make reservations!! Just call The Funny Bone @ 402.493.8036 x5. YOU HAVE TO TELL THEM YOU'RE COMING TO SEE ME! (That's Leslie, folks.) You must tell them my name when you make your reservation and when you come in and get your tickets. Make sure you do it.

Well, as you know, I spend almost every day at the gym. (For the record, I didn't go yesterday.) I'd like to confirm something real quick that I may not have mentioned before: Back in December, we were out in Texas, doing a Christmas tour of dear family and friends. By Christmas tour, I mean, we drive down there, let our kids get out of the car, and grace everyone with how amazingly smart, cute, AND funny our children are. Some get it and oblige us, others totally miss it. And we laugh at those people all the way back home. I was a bit disappointed to find that half my family does not even read this very enlightening and educational blog. As much as I discovered those crazies don't read my literature, later, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that one of the family friends, did indeed, read it. However, now, he sees me in person, and is a bit perplexed:

"I read your blog. It's good."

Me, flattered and not even seeing it coming: "Oh, thanks! It's fun. I'm glad you read it and like it!"

The reply comes with a bit of a glance of my ever-binging holiday food body.Given, my "holiday" binge (I have to label my binges because there are many) starts in October when the kids bring me candy and the binge concludes right about New Year's resolution time...I like to keep it consistent. So, he says questioningly while giving me that once-over...stopping to take in the thick layer of winter fat on my hips, eyes widening :"Yeah, you talk about the gym a lot. Do you really work out that much?"

I had to suppress the laughter because I knew exactly where he was coming from. But I didn't want to own up that I was, again, uh.....big-boned. That would ensue the beginning of a twelve-step program, because the first step to recovery is admitting I have a problem. And indeed, I had 2 1/2 weeks of the holiday binge before I was even considering recovery of any sort. So, I just said what was the truth, "Well, I go to the gym a lot. And on occasion, I get a work out in."

Mind you, I'm a Texan, living in Omaha. It's December, and my only motivation to go to the gym is my beloved steam room. There, I can hide in the steam, and it takes me about 30 minutes for my feet to warm up to normal temperature. So, you see, I'm getting my sweat on, I'm just not working out.

Fast forward to this week, and Mamma's got something to say, again, about the gym. I'm actually, working out with Julz(holla!), with weights intertwined with cardio (we're both looking pretty good), thanks to Lori. God Bless Her. And while we're taking a lap in the midst of our sweat shirt, we run right by, what I consider, well, fine, I'll say it, A ROMAN GOD. The man was chiseled and beautiful. I say this openly, only because I've discussed this with Ricardo. He knows exactly who I'm talking about. He's okay with it. Hey, if he sees some broad in the gym as comparatively artistic and biologically engineered to such perfection, I not only encourage him to share it with me, I expect it. The thing is, this boy is tall. Extremely tall. And it's rare for extremely tall boys like that to be THAT sculpted and well, RomanGodesque. Seriously y'all, it's like he walked right out of The Colosseum. Julz(holla!) and I have named him Ike Andee. I'll let you figure that one out. We got a good giggle at what he was wearing, I'm sure neither of us have any clue about gym fashion. Julz(holla!) wears sequins, and well, I buy only the best three pack tank tops I can find at WallyWorld. So, you know, we have no room to judge, but the best way to describe the shirt is a shirtthong. It was cut just so that it dropped between his nipples. Yep, I said nipples folks. It was a shirtthong. Go to a gym, and you'll see the kids wearing them, mostly boys, I hope. The only critique we have on this item is thank you for the view of your perfect pectorals, and why even bother wearing a shirt? There must be some rule or something.

It turns out, that when the kids aren't on their mark, the gym is the best place to go for material...uh, I mean a work out Even moreso, now I have a girlfriend. And even BETTER, she's my online girlfriend. We're working out together, with our trainer, and really, it's working. So, see, I'm in recovery (again). I'll be in perfect swimsuit shape, and when Halloween hits, I'll probably start the holiday binge all over, but this time, I'll be armed with a trainer, Ike Andee, and my online girlfriend to motivate me and share it all with.

That's how I roll...at the gym.

One day I was driving to the gym. To workout. Or nap in the steam room, whatever. But on the way, something caught my eye. The beloved KFC had been bulldozed down. It was an old school KFC with a buffet. It was at it's best shape, disgusting and wrong. You know, the kind where you can see the oil on the floor when you walk in? Still, the sheer smell as I left the gym after exerting such energy, burning calorie after calorie, reminded me of such joy as extra crispy fried chicken and sometimes drew me in to the depths of despair of nasty ass chicken in all it's glory. I don't even like chicken, really. Well, I'll eat it, if it's deep fried in a vat of oil. That's the only way I'll eat fish too. (Lent is very tough on me...the sacrifice it's meant to be, I'm sure.)

So, you can imagine the depression I immediately sank into when I saw that it was gone. I sulked for a few days. And then, on our way home from the smokey bar last night, Julz(holla!) and I drove by it and I started to weep. I would like to explain the importance of girlfriends at this time. Because Julz(holla!) goes above and beyond the call of duty. First of all, it's 1 a.m. and she's just escorted me to the bar so I could practice my comedy set. Because she just doesn't trust a bar tucked way in the depths of the Big O with a drive through bar attached. So, she insists on going with me. That's love. She's got to protect her 6'3" gal.

Even moreso is when we past the remains of the KFC and I start to weep, she explains that she has done some investigating.
"Don't worry Les, because I drove through the Fazoli's (next door) to get my one day worth of Weight Watcher points all in a bag of bread sticks. (They are totally worth it.) And I asked the guy what they were putting back up in the KFC's place. And you know what it is sweetie?"

"No" I blurted out through the tears.

"Oh sweetie, they're putting up another KFC. That one was in such bad shape, they're just building a whole new one."

Relief and then disgust that I'd eaten at a condemned restaurant overwhelmed me, but mostly relief. And sheer joy and the sincerity, savvyness, and kind hearted friend who would have the instinct to help me understand where my KFC had gone.

I think our relationship has just gone to another level.

That's how I roll.

I think I may have mentioned my horticulture disability. Truly, if there were a handicapped sticker for this, I'd be given one and asked by the state to hang it for all the neighbors to see. The grass is always too tall, the weeds are taller, there are bald spots where Farley the Wonderdog has "fertilized", and back in the glory days, it's true, I killed a ChiaPet.

Our neighbors have even, tried to catch an opportunity in conversation to very politely and non-chalantly suggest to water more, or not cut the grass so short.

So, for yard decoration, I go over and above the call of duty to disguise this character flaw, with obnoxious plastic items, like gigantic plastic eggs for Easter. And you can count on Clark Griswald being referrenced each year as we put up the Christmas lights. It's all a plan to distract the neighbors from the weeds and death that blankets our yard.

For the last two years, I've gotten to hay bales to display the yard decor from October through April. That's fall: giant scarecrow thingies, Halloween: Halloween stuff, back to fall scarecrow thingies for November with some Thanksgiving additions, and then ofcourse Christmas stuff, usually poinsettas on the hay bales, then winter stuff for January, love stuff for February, St. Patricks day stuff because I'm 1/47th Irish, I'm sure. And then the finale with 10 gigantic Easter Eggs. After Easter, I usually take it down. But it takes a few weeks of procrastination at the very thought of getting hay bales into my beloved minivan.

We have lived here for 3 years now, and have very successfully managed to kill the majority of lovely flowers and plants that the previous owners planted. Apparently, tulips are tough enough to survive me and are coming back up close to where the hay bales are. I think what you are about to see, though, pending my very black thumb, should go to some photo contest.

It's as if the tulips are saying, "You punk ass bitch, you never water us and we're going to grow in spite of you...THROUGH THE HAY! Top that you mo-ron!" I think that's what they are saying.

That's how I roll.