I am working on a longer post for tomorrow so I’m being lazy for today. I posted this back in January when only people who shared DNA with me were reading this blog. And it is along the same lines of the post last week about how boring I am. So if you enjoy reading boring stories about someone you have never met while you could be on Friends with Words or Pinterest, then I. Am. Your. Gal!
This was written back when I was religiously working out on Sparkpeople everyday. Now I’m not and I’m fat again, so clearly I don’t need them. (Update: I’m going to go on Sparkpeople today and record my calories.)
January 2012 —
One of the weight loss fitness tips I got from Sparkpeople was to take my measurements in order to have more data available to evaluate my progress. So I did that and those details are private. I decided to take my diet tracking one step further and this morning (that morning), dressed in my underwear, I asked Brigid to take a “before” picture of me. I wasn’t wearing particularly revealing underwear, it just looked like a black two piece bathing suit with a fat woman in it. Brigid looked at me as though I had asked her to photograph me with a goat and something with batteries from Madam Giggles’ Whack Shack. I told Brigid it was for my “Before” picture, my “before I lose all the weight I’m going to lose” picture. Brigid, with a sneer of distaste on her face said, “Well, you’re still posting a picture of yourself in underwear.” Yeah, guess what smart ass? No, I’m not. The photo that she finally took will not be posted unless there is a rockingly hot “After” photo to go with it. “Before” photos suck by themselves. “Before” photos are simply photographs of someone who is fat, ugly, hairy, blotchy, whatever but they are no good to anyone without really good “After” photos. For now, I have the “Before” photo….it’s not pretty, but it’s an outstanding “Before” photo. (Update: still no “After” photo.)
When I first wrote this, it had just snowed. As a born and bred Oregonian, I believe it is part of my physiological make-up to flip out like a 9-year-old whenever rumors of snow in the Portland metro area pop up. At night I stare out the window, squinting to see if there’s a flake or two falling, hoping and praying for school to be closed. And typically, we get nothing.
Christmas of 2008, Portland had a snowstorm that effectively shut down the city for 10 days. We had 18 inches of snow. That’s highly unusual here but it was so pretty and if we had been better prepared, like had a Christmas tree, it would have been perfect. And if my mother hadn’t died two months earlier setting us up for one of the most twisted yet memorable O’Connor Christmases ever but that is a post all its own.
That sort of storm has hit NW Oregon twice in my lifetime. The first time was 1968 or ’69. I may vaguely remember that first storm or I’ve seen photos and heard stories so I think it’s a memory. My dad built my brother and me a little snow hill to slide down. It was just a little hill but we were only toddlers at the time. Instead of buying a disk or sled, my parents put us (not at the same time) in the O’Connor family salad bowl and we slid down the hill in that. It is an acrylic, green tinted shallow bowl with leaves and sparkles in the acrylic. I now have it in my garden planted with succulents.
That story reminds me of an incident that took place 10+ years ago when my girls were little. One night after a bottle of chardonnay in the basement (we can discuss the very clear and completely denied depression issue some other time), I was looking at their Little Tykes plastic slide and thought I would be a footloose, zany, fun, self-medicating, lunatic mother in the basement and give that slide a go! I climbed on the slide with youthful exuberance and apparently no center of balance at all and tipped over. Me with the slide attached to me, tipped over. While I was smaller then than I am now, I was firmly wedged into the slide, stuck on the floor on my side, drunk in the basement. I recall having to wrestle myself out of the slide, standing up, straightening up my person, putting the slide upright, looking around to make sure no one but the dog was witness to this humiliating stunt and vowing to keep this little mishap to myself. At least until I had a blog to share it on.
I am happy to report that I don’t do things like that anymore. That may be due to the fact that I don’t drink in the basement and we don’t have any plastic slides around.