The Activia Situation

So I have decided to go back to trying some new things on the diet and exercise front. Since I have acquired a taste for yogurt (this took months), I thought I would try Activia since I tend to suffer from IBS and Jamie Lee Curtis raves about it how it “regulates” your digestive system in just 2 weeks.

I bought some Activia Light (Vanilla flavor) which has only 70 calories and I must say it tastes pretty good. But my problem isn’t with the taste. Actually it isn’t so much as MY problem as it is my husband’s problem. He has informed me that if I don’t stop eating it, he may move out for he cannot take another night “dealing” with the gaseous affect it has on my poor digestive system. The first night I thought he was bluffing, but after 4 nights straight, he has put is foot down and I am going back to my Light-n-Fit.

Trying Yoga tomorrow….pray for me.

The Racoon

The following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event.

Okay, maybe I am too embarrassed to admit that this indeed did happen and my husband is borderline crazy. Judge for yourself.

It was a Saturday night and we were driving home from having dinner with friends. We had met at the Old Town Mexican Cafe and unfortunately ingested way too much food. Knowing my propensity for “stomach problems”, my husband was moving quickly through traffic to get me home as soon as possible.

We were less than a mile from the bathroom when I noticed the car in front of us suddenly swerve as to avoid something in the road. I soon saw what was causing the calamity. A rather large raccoon had obviously been hit and was flopping around in the turn lane. Though I only saw it for a minute, I will admit it was a sad sight.

Unfortunately my husband saw the same painful look in Rocky’s eye and slammed on the brakes. In doing so, he spun the car so it faced the curb and the passenger side was in the direct path of oncoming traffic. Meaning I was in the direct path of oncoming traffic.

“Oh my god, that raccoon has been hit!” he screamed. “We have to help him!”

“Can we move the car off the road first?” I screamed back.

“No Laura, we can’t!! You move the f*cking car!”

And with that, he jumped out into traffic and ran to be by Rocky’s side.

“You stupid Mother---!” The profanities came quickly as I crawled over the gear shift (remember, I am 6 foot tall) and moved the car to the side of the road. Thankfully oncoming traffic had slowed enough for me to get to safety.

My husband, on the other hand, was crouching by the animal in the middle of the road. He kept looking over at me as if asking what he should do. He would look up with this helpless expression and then slowly stroke Rocky’s fur. Not in any mood to help at this point, I continued to shout creative and masterful expletives from the car. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the windows were rolled up so he heard none of it.

I was about to get out of the car and ask what the hell he was going to do with Rocky when I heard the sound of screeching tires. I looked up in time to see a pickup truck slam into the back of a car that had slowed to see why a crazy a man was in the middle of the street (I assume). The car was catapulted about a block before coming to rest on the shoulder. The pickup truck sped off leaving the accident in his wake.

So let’s recap, shall we? It is Saturday night, my husband is in the middle of a busy road with a now DEAD f*cking raccoon, and there has been a hit and run. Oh and did I mention that a Mexican Hat Dance was going on in my digestive system?

The cops were on the scene rather quickly. Come to find out the guy in the car had minor injuries and the paramedics had to be called. The traffic cop couldn’t understand why anyone would rush into the street to comfort a dead raccoon (my husband explained that the animal wasn’t dead when we arrived on ‘the scene’). And all the while my wonderful husband didn’t realize why I was mad or why I thought he caused the accident. Once we got home I made my feelings known, after I used the bathroom of course.

For the sake of our marriage, we no longer speak of this night. And if any of you see my husband and remember this tale, I ask you to do the same.

The Scenic Route

I took the scenic route to the gym the other morning. I like taking this “back” way because it avoids the freeway and I get to drive along palm-tree-lined streets that wind around Mission Bay, past Sea World. It was like any other drive until I took the exit and wound my way down to the street where my gym is located. As I made my way down the loop, I glanced over at the wooded area at the edge of the road. There stood a homeless man (I assume by his appearance), facing the road, taking a piss. Yes, taking a piss. He was making no attempt to hide his actions, so I was lucky enough not only to see the rainbow of urine, but his penis as well. The “scenic route” now has a whole new meaning.

A Week of Firsts

• I made my very first Pot Roast with potatoes and vegetables. This may not sound like a big deal, but anyone who has ever lived with me knows my dinner usually consists of hot dogs and popcorn (all low fat, of course). According to Scott, it was edible.
• I attended my first Turbokick class in over four years at a neighborhood gym. Oh my god I forgot how incredibly hard that damn class is. If you have seen any infomercial on it, do not be fooled at how much fun the participants seemed to be having. They are faking it…and probably died shortly after.
• This morning was the first time I saw my breath in I don’t know how long (don’t yell at me my beloved Midwesterners).
• This may sound weird, but bear with me. While driving to the gym the other morning, I passed a Home Depot. Near the driveway into the parking lot stood at least 25 men. At first I was confused, but then realized they were waiting to see if they could get picked up as a day laborer. I had never seen that in person, only on TV shows like CSI and Law and Order.
• This week marked the first time I made a U-turn at a stoplight, and it was legal (California is weird).
• I made a friend using the Internet. One of the things I have learned during the process of moving all over the country is how difficult it is to make friends as an adult, especially when you don’t work in an office. So I decided I would try the Internet and low behold it worked. I found myself a workout buddy and someone to help me find the best mall and a good hair salon (all very important things).

Laker Fan

I realize I have been slacking when it comes to updating this blog. Part of me was being lazy and the other was a little embarrassed due to the Lifetime movie my life can be sometimes. But I’m over that now and am ready to get back to making fun of my life and the people in it.

And I think it is fitting to have my husband be my first victim.

Laker Fan
The other night we were watching the L.A. Laker game. We hate the Lakers (as most people do and should), so we like to watch and root against them. Since they were playing in L.A., the camera panned through the crowd showing some of the famous people in the stands (with captions, in case you didn‘t know who they were). We saw Adam Sandler, Jack Nickelson, and my personal favorite Leonardo DiCaprio. The last fan the cameraman showed was California’s First Lady, Maria Shriver.

“Maria Shriver, what was she in?” Scott asked.

“What?”

“What was Maria Shriver in? Was she in something I would have seen?” He asked with rising annoyance.

“Um, nothing. She is a reporter and a Kennedy and is married to Arnold Schwarzenegger, our governor,” I replied, giggling and shaking my head.

“Well excuse me for not keeping up with the Kennedys!”

“Dude, you just made the blog,” I smirked.

“No! Not the blog!”

Sorry honey.

Damn Funny

So my mother and I just spent 5 days together in Reno. She had a conference for work so I tagged along for some mother-daughter time. One afternoon we were in the hotel room watching TV and a commercial for the new movie “Couples Retreat” (which is damn funny by the way) came on. It was a scene in which all the couples are supposed to strip down to their underwear but one of the characters admits to not wearing any underwear.

“Is that what you call Guantanamo?” Mom asked once the commercial was over.

“What?”

“When you don’t where underwear, what is that called?” She asked.

“Um, you mean commando?” I asked, starting to laugh.

I still haven’t stopped laughing.

CPR Class

I have to maintain a CPR certification from the American Red Cross to be a certified personal trainer. So once a year I spend 4+ hours in a classroom rolling around on the floor with my classmates and Annie the dummy. And every year I am “pleasantly” surprised by what I see and hear in class.

This year’s observations/thoughts:

• I’m not sure how comfortable I would be to receiving CPR from a woman with a lip ring
• I’m not sure how comfortable I would be receiving CPR from anyone who has trouble passing the open book test required for certification
• Females over the age of eight should not have hair down to their ass (except for Chrystal Gail)
• I don’t think a 4 hour class really prepares me to save a life