You can’t go home again. But you can always feel like an awkward, moody teenager.

High school wasn’t bad for me.  It wasn’t great, either.  I had my share of unreasonable teenage angst and questionable fashion decisions.   

I went to a large high school.  While I wasn’t one of the cool kids, it never bothered me because I had friends who were just as uncool as I was.  I was an odd combination of nerd and wannabe arty rebel—think National Honors Society, editor of the literary magazine, a bit of backstage theater work, ska-and-punk music lover, and a horse wrangler for a Girl Scout camp on occasional weekends.  Plus, I was weird and awkward.  I once wore a pair of pants with battery powered Christmas lights decorating the outside seams, and I tended to read novels behind my text books. 

I keep in touch with a couple people from my high school, as we went to college together and remained friends.   When I got the invitation to my ten year high school reunion, I had two simultaneous thoughts. 

1) Ten years?  That can’t be right. I’m fairly certain I’m still like 26.  I know I’ve been 26 for a few years now, but it’s a good age. 

2) Sparkles and I can go together, and we can get drunk and make snarky comments.  And that is what reunions are truly about.

After I bought the ticket to the reunion, I found out that the ever illustrious Sparkles had to work—and she has the type of job that you can never, ever, call in sick unless you are already dead from the plague.  My other friend lives across the country and wasn’t about to spend $500 on a plane ticket just for a reunion.  So I was stuck flying solo. I considered bringing my husband but tickets were $60.  And while I thought that I may be able to have $60 worth of fun, it was unlikely that my introvert husband would have an additional $60 worth of fun with people he had never met.

I was strangely nervous about the whole thing.  Batman pointed out that it was highly unlikely I would be made fun of, as we were all adults now.  I reminded him that with copious amounts of alcohol, anything was possible.  

Low points of the evening:  Two people called me by the wrong name.  Including our guidance counselor.

High points of the evening:  It was actually cool to see everyone all grown up.  Most people seemed about the same (which is a scary thought in itself) except, you know, older.  There was no snobbery going on, and while everyone kind of gravitated towards people they knew, I spoke to almost everyone there.  There was a constant litany of the same three questions:  What do you do?  Where do you live/have you ever left the city?  Do you have a family?

I'm glad I went.  When I got home, Batman asked me how it went.  I told him it was fun--and assured him that none of my high school crushes were remotely attractive anymore. 

Kashi Go Lean Crunch Cereal: The New Musical Fruit

If you do not think that passing gas is funny, then this is not the blog post for you.  You have my permission to go here instead and do responsible, grown-up things like checking stock prices.

.....

Okay, if you're still reading, I'm going to presume you're like me and twelve year old boys:  We all think that farting is funny.

I've been trying to eat healthier.  I've gained five pounds since starting my new job because all I do is sit at a desk, work, and snack.  "I don't understand it," I complained as I scarfed down bags of M&M's and destroyed some double-stuff Oreos.  "Why am I gaining so much weight?"


I bought a big box of Kashi Go Lean Crunch cereal in an attempt to not become a giant quivering pile of Jello, because you all know how I feel about exercising.

"It's healthy!"  I thought.  "It even has the word lean in the name!   This plan can't go wrong."

(insert evil laugh here)

Little did I know that Kashi Go Lean Crunch would better be named Big Tasty Bowl of Toots.  The first day I ate a huge bowl for breakfast.  Two hours later, almost to the dot, I had gas.  Horrible gas.  Like, quivering-to-hold-it-in-because-I'm-at-work-and-turns-into-one-minute-farts-when-I-can-let-it-out gas.  Luckily on the stinkiness factor, it was oddly odorless.    

Stupid me, I didn't make the connection the first day.  So I ate a huge bowl the next day.  The same thing happened.  I'm fairly certain my officemates hate me now, and I don't even have a dog handy to blame it on.

By the third day I started to figure out something was wrong.  My husband was worried about me and feared I was getting an ulcer because I would complain of a stomachache every afternoon (which sounds better than saying my colon hurts).

Mmmm!  Now with more flatuence!

I stopped eating the cereal, and lo and behold, my flatulence problem disappeared.  I've googled it and apparently it's quite a common problem.  There are web pages and blog entries like this one devoted to telling the story of Kashi:  The New Musical Fruit.  There are people who thought they had a serious medical condition until they found out that no, it's just their cereal.  There's one woman who describes how in attempt to be healthy, she ate a huge bowl and then went to her first yoga class.  Hilarity ensued.

The worst part about it is that it's quite tasty.  I would have happily used it as a snacking food along with eating it for breakfast.   I've even tried eating half a bowl, hoping that if I started off with small amounts, my body would get used to it.  My body most vehemently did not get used to it. 
 
When I told my family about this, they all 1) wanted to try it and 2) wanted me to give some to my brother.

Wait, what?  I guess it's like the reaction when you try something so horrible that you just have to share it--the "here, try this, it's gross" factor.

As for the second part, the males of my family are pretty naturally gaseous.  I grew up thinking that guys farted all the time.  Giving Kashi to my brother, Meat, would be like adding gasoline to a fire.  A very stinky fire.

Some people blame the chicory root, others the soy powder, and still others the vast amounts of fiber.  Whatever it is, I know that I shall no longer be eating Kashi Go Lean cereal.  I will close with this aptly appropriate link to an SNL commercial for a cereal called "Colon Blow".   

I guess it's back to double-stuffed Oreos for me.

Stylish

I'm kind of dumb when it comes to fashion trends. 

It took me several years to embrace the pointed-toe on heels.  I made fun of them (they look like witch shoes!) until they became so prevalent that I broke down and bought a few pairs, a couple of years after they went out of style.  Same with the skinny jean which I looked decent in until I had Mo-mo and failed to lose those cough cough 20 cough cough extra pounds.

My sense of style used to run towards flip-flops, jeans, and graphic tees.  Right before I started graduate school, I had a serious epiphany.  I realized that I needed to grow up and quit dressing like a teenager.  So now I wear solid colored shirts, jeans, and flip-flops!  I HAVE MATURED! (hahahahaha no.  Now I just look boring.)

I like to think that I have good fashion sense but everyone thinks that.  Even the poor people on What Not To Wear think they have fashion sense.  But it's a fringed jean-jacket with puffy paint!  It can never go out of style!  That's totally untrue unless the puffy paint is black because black never goes out of style.  It's classic.

If I have to be perfectly honest with myself, I don't have great fashion sense.  I love tacky.  I'm immediately drawn to things like brightly-colored cowboy boots (I have a pair in red and lavender), paisley in turquoise and orange combination, and shiny things.  I choose my clothing with the same forethought and planning as a raccoon with ADD.

 I'm prettyyyyyyyyyy!

One of the goofier reasons that I am looking forward to going back to work is for the clothes.  I can rock a suit.  I look awesome in suits.  They make me feel powerful, as if I'm going to make a lackey fetch me a latte and then I'll fire some people.  I've tried to recapture those feelings recently but it hasn't turned out to well.

(Note to self:  Batman does not like being referred to as a lackey.  Nor do the cats respond when I tell them that they are fired.)

Most recent fashion purchase I've been pondering is Spanx.  It's not a girdle, it's a slimmer!  (i.e. it's a spandex girdle).  I'm kind of afraid that I'd wear one and everyone would tell me how good I looked and then I'd have to wear one at all times or everyone would think that I just was gaining weight.

I was looking at them at Dillard's and apparently now one set of Spanx isn't enough, you need to layer them for maximum fat-suckage.  So you double or even triple layer your Spanx.  I fear that this trend will continue until everyone is wearing 15 or so layers of Spanx under their clothes and their belly flab has migrated up to their neck and it'll look like they have a grotesque turkey gizzard.  Don't laugh, it's going to happen.  After all, they even have Spanx for men now (aka a "mirdle"). 

So how about it, ladies?  Do you love your Spanx?  (ew, that sounds dirty.)  Feel free to weigh in with a comment.  Men, would you ever wear man-Spanx? 
  

Crafty like a fox

So I'm taking a cake decorating class at Micheal's.  This week we practiced making a lovely cupcake design.  The cupcake in the book looked light and fluffy and cute.


Mine looks like a pile 'o brains.

What's that you say?  It doesn't look too bad?  Let's get a closer look.

Definitely a brain with a cherry on top.  Maybe I was just channeling my inner zombie.

It was still delicious.


I've also been working on a texture monster, a variation of the taggie monsters that I made before.  My cousin's son has sensory processing disorder.  He's been doing awesome with his therapy and they've been exposing him to toys with a lot of texture.  I made my standard monster, but added faux snake skin on one leg and tulle on the other, plus a uni-brow of fake fur and fringe around his back.  I think he turned out quite cute!