Birth of a Caveman

It has happened.
Mr. Hummingbird has lost his damn mind.
*sigh*
It all started when I noticed that he took an awfully long time in the shower.
Hummmm.....that's kindof strange. (Honestly? I thought he was knocking one out. You do know that that's what they do in the shower, right? Not your man?? Oh, no, of course not. No.......no, I'm not rolling my eyes. I'm not! They just do this naturally.)
Anyways, he starts off by taking a longer time in the bathroom.
Next, I catch him checking himself out on every reflective surface in our house. (Plates? check. Windows? check. Mirrors? check. Spoons? check.)
Then, he starts wanting to carry stuff all over the place.
"Honey.....did you want me to carry the hamper to the laundry room?"
"Hey, does the car need to be unloaded of groceries??"
"Sweetie.....how about I move that chair over there?"

Pretty soon, he just let's it all hang out.
"Honey, I'm going to open this door, using this muscle right here" he says as he flexes and points to his forearm.
Uh, huh.
"Baby girl, this muscle right here is going to carry the patio chairs outside."

Seriously.

He is now referring to his muscles as people in our lives. I blame Tyrese. TOTALLY. It's totally his fault, huh? I mean, he was a pretty good husband up until this craziness. I mention it to Tyrese at our next appointment. He laughs until tears come into his eyes. (I'm used to this by now, BTW.) When he catches his breath, he says, "yeah, that happens."

WTF?

I didn't sign up for this neanderthal madness. I've invested a lot of time training him already, (6 years at this point) and I'm not ready to see all my work go down the drain.
"Wha? What do you mean??"
"Girl, men are like dogs. That's what we do. You go out and get all pretty, doin ya nails, and pretty'ng yourself all up. This is what men do. We scratch and we boast."

Wow. It suddenly makes sense to me.


I married a caveman!!


P.S. I let him open all the stuck jars in the house. Move all the heavy furniture. And pretend to faint when he flexes. (<---this makes him really, really happy.) Sex is now amazing.

Peace Out, Ratty Sweater!

I'm about to do something that scares the hell out of me.
Scarier than the colonics.
Scarier than eating toilet paper.
Scarier than butt cramps.
I'm going to clean out my closet.

I have a closet full of clothes. (but I only wear a small portion of the whole) I have every size that you can think of. Everything from leather minis, to muumuus. (Don't laugh. I totally rock those muumuus.) It's like an evolutionary linage of my life.

And getting rid of stuff is like recommitting to losing the weight. Because once I get rid of my size 22 boot cut khaki pants, I can't replace them. (Oh, where ever would I find another pair?) They will be gone forever.

What if I don't lose the weight?
Uh oh.
What if it comes back?
EEKKK!
What if I gain even more than before?
AAAACCCKKKK!!!!

I clutch my clothes like a lifeline.
Like a security blanket.
I hold my sequined size 22 black 20 year old sweater like it was the most precious treasure.
I'm not ready to let it go.
I'm not ready to move on.
I can't.
I'm afraid to fail.
I'm afraid that I will end up worst than before.
I sit there, holding my ratty old sweater, procrastinating.

The bags stay empty, as my "keep" pile grows larger. Each item I pick up gets older than the one before. And in worst shape. Eventually, I'm holding some unfamiliar item of clothing. It's old, and in terrible shape. I hold it, caressing it, waiting for the memories to come back. I know this is important to me. It has to be. Why else would I still have it, right? I toss it on the top of the "keep" pile.

I continue to have an internal argument with the rest of my stuff.

After a while, I glance over at the mystery clothing. I hold it, caress it, smell it. And it hits me. I have no idea what it is or where I got it. And most importantly, why I'm keeping it. This is my old life.

I'm ready for my new life.

I take all the clothes and put them in the bags to take to Goodwill. (well, everything over a size 16. I'm not ready to give away ALL my fat clothes. I'm not freakin crazy. Baby steps, baby steps.)

Tyrese Has a Butt Obsession

So, Tyrese likes "the butt". It's pretty obvious. He spends a lot of time on working mine so it doesn't slope into my thighs. He goes on and on about how a butt should be it's own part, and not meld into your leg. Like a little shelf. (<----his words, not mine.) So, we spend a lot of time, (A LOT) working on my butt. Tyrese's number one rule about working out the butt, is "The Clench". Each time I do a butt exercises, I'm suppose to clench my butt cheeks so they tremble. (which, really isn't hard, if you want to try it. We'll wait...................................................see?) So, each time I do a move, I hear "Clench it baby! Clench it!!" (Yeah, it does make me feel dirty. But in a good way, I guess.) So, the shouting in my ear continues. He especially likes to shout in my ear when I'm walking on the treadmill. (I'm back to alternating between the treadmill and the elliptical machine.) With each step I take on the tread mill, I'm suppose to squeeze my butt cheeks.

Seriously.

I looked like I was having some sort of seizure on the treadmill.


It's really ugly. I swear that I hear snickering from the back of the room, but I'm too busy concentrating on not falling off the treadmill to look.


Sigh.


So the shouting continues, and so does the squeezing.

At one point, I'm working out on the Roman chair. Yeah, it looks complicated, huh? And...a little bit dangerous to someone klutzy, huh?
So, I'm on this machine, which is really a back machine. You lay on it, (just like Barbie is doing in the pic) and swing your body upwards, using your core and back muscles. And of course, since Tyrese likes to yell, I'm suppose to squeeze my butt cheeks while not falling on my face. He tries to be creative, and tells me to "pretend like I'm holding in a fart".

Pretend?

He threatens to put his palm in between my cheeks, to make sure I'm squeezing hard enough!

Oh uh.

When I start to get tired, I simply ask, "Am I going to get a massage if I get another cramp?"
This immediately brings the butt workouts to a stop. And the color drains from his face. Tyrese has made it clear that there will be no more butt cramps.

Well, something amazing happens. My butt starts to get a little higher, and a little rounder. The most amazing thing of all??

I have no dimples on my butt or thighs!!!

That's still totally amazing me, since I'm still somewhat overweight. (I'm no longer grossly obese, but now just obese. Yay?) I didn't think it was possible. I thought that only stick thin women could have dimple free areas. But here I am, looking at my naked rear in a mirror. I see a tight round butt.

(The butt of a 16 year old Swedish boy, thankyouverymuch)

Dear Husband

Dear husband-
1. Do not wake me up before my alarm is set to go off. I cannot control the bitch when she is suddenly woken up.
2. Do not park my car in the street and leave me with the kids and all of their bags when it is raining buckets. Again, the bitch will come out.

Consider yourself warned.

The Lobster-Part Two

So, apparently, people really, really love lobsters. And.....apparently people do not like me "torturing" lobster before I eat him. (<---Yes, someone actually emailed me that. *insert eyeroll here*) And since I really, really was trying to be humane when I wrote my lobster post, and I got hate mail anyways, I will now tell you the part that I originally left out of my story. (Because, even I have standards. But, those are long gone now. Are you happy now, Tom in AZ?) The missing piece of the lobster story:

"After I gave up trying to eat the poor sucker, Mr. hummingbird continued eating. At one point, the lobster stopped wiggling, so Mr. hummingbird thought that it finally succumbed. So.......he proceeds to flick it in the eyeball.
It makes the lobster start squealing.
LOUD.
The entire restaurant looked over at the screaming, wiggling lobster on my plate. I really, really wish I was joking. "


And, for those naysayers, next time I go in, I'm requesting the death lobster, and videotaping it for you. (and also for those who apparently are becoming obsessed with wiggling lobsters on youtube.) I just got a new Balckberry Storm, so as soon as I figure out how to video, it's on!

Random Fat Embarrasing Moment- #837

Mr. Hummingbird and I lived in a small home. Since it was just the two of us, the small house suited us just fine, for a while anyways. Pretty soon, our house seemed to shrink even more so, so we decided to move to a bigger house. While it was a lot of work, it was fun and exciting. I felt like we were taking a baby step towards being adults. And the best part of all, was decorating our new home.
Once we were in our new home, it was decided (by me of course) that we needed new living room furniture. Our current furniture was stuff that we had inherited from various (and apparently color blind) family members. (Some of the pieces had some unidentifiable smells, too.)
We headed out to the local furniture stores with a shopping list of new couches, love seats, and maybe some lamps. (I was giddy. Mr. Hummingbird was already bored) I had already decided that I was really interested in the fancy new micro-fiber couches. We walked around, checking out each couch in every store that we came across. We would sit on each one, lay on each one, and put our feet up on the coffee tables. At one store, we had sat on at least 20 couches. We had finally decided on a beautiful micro fiber ultra suede light green couch. Before paying for it, I wanted to check on couch #6, that we had looked at 2 hours earlier. I made my way back to that couch, when I noticed it.

The couch had a huge pair of enormous butt prints on it.
My butt.
The prints were left on the suede couches.
And they were enormous. (the spread was amazing)




Thirty seconds later, I realized that my butt prints were on at least 25 couches in the building!

*gasp*

I quickly sat on couch #6, and used my buns to "erase" the prints. (instead of getting straight up, I shimmed to the edge of the couch, erasing the butt prints.) I quickly moved to couch #1 and did the same thing.
Over.
And over.
And over.
I had re-worked my way through the entire store. Eventually, I managed to (I hope!) erase any evidence of my badunkadunk.






We didn't buy the micro fiber couch.

STOP LOOKING AT ME!

I love sushi. Love it. So does Mr. Hummingbird. For those of you who do not share my passion, let me tell you that I was the same way. Mr. Hummingbird made me keep trying it and trying it, until the day that I finally decided that I did indeed loved it. We soon started trying every sushi place we could find. (And we're not sushi snobs either. We'll try it anywhere.) We've come to enjoy a local restaurant, and have gotten to know the chefs pretty well.

We've made friends with the brothers who run the restaurant. (Mr. Hummingbird is everyone's friend.) The Yamamoto brothers have always treated us like royalty. When we both announced that we were now on diets, the Yamamotos created a "movie star diet plate" just for us. We forgo the sake shots, and drank water instead. (not quite as fun, BTW) We still enjoyed ourselves, but it wasn't the same, you know?

Well, our anniversary was coming up. Tyrese knew it was coming, because he saw both of us for most of the day. At our last workout that week he said, "Go out tomorrow, and have a wonderful time. Don't worry about your diet, but take it easy. Ok? Congratulations."

I seriously skipped out of the gym.

When I got home, I told Mr. Hummingbird the good news. He read my mind, and told me that we were going to visit the Yamamotos. I was so giddy, I was probably drooling.

The next night, we got all cleaned up and headed for the restaurant. As we walked in, everyone greeted us. "Yamamoto behind the bar" asked us if we wanted sake.
Heck ya!

"Yamamoto behind the sushi bar" asked us if we wanted the Movie Star Diet Plate.

Not tonight, we said, grinning like idiots.

We sat at the sushi bar, and told everyone that it was a special occasion, and we were not on a diet tonight. Everyone cheered, and the sake started flowing.

And flowing.

"Yamamoto behind the sushi bar" started making our favorite rolls. We toast each other and start enjoying the rolls. Suddenly, we hear much fanfare, and look up to see "Yamamoto behind the sushi bar" hold out a very large platter. "Yamamoto behind the cash register" grabs it, and brings it towards us. When it arrives in front of us, the entire restaurant has been alerted that something interesting was happening.

I looked at the plate in front of me, and saw a large lobster. The lobster was belly up, surrounded by little bits of fried food. The lobster has been removed of all it's meaty goodness, and replaced with said meaty goodness wrapped up and rolled into little bite size nuggets of fun. "Yamamoto behind the cash register" handed us a pair of chopsticks and stood out of our way. (he could have gotten stabbed at that point if he wasn't careful.)

YUMMMY..................




That is....until I noticed that the lobsters legs were wiggling.



WIGGLING!


Yeah, my dinner was still moving. I stopped and stared at this poor creature, spread eagle on my plate, eviscerated, belly full of lobster rolls, and me standing there with a pair of chopsticks!
His legs were definitely still wiggling.
Now, here is where it gets emotionally conflicted. Do I stop eating the yummy goodness? Or do I continue to pause and let Mr. Hummingbird gulp down all the rolls? And more importantly, what do I do that will not insult the Yamamoto brothers? I smile even bigger, and "Yamamoto behind the sushi bar" nods and smiles.
Under the table, I nudge Mr. Hummingbird. I catch his eyes, and direct him to the wiggling legs.
He shrugs, "better him than me" and continues to inhale the lobster rolls.
I sit there, with the chop sticks in my hands. Looking at the wiggling.

Then, I notice the antennas. They are also wiggling around. Searching for his inners, I'm guessing. This lobster is now moving more now, than it probably did when it was alive.

I sit there, grinning like an idiot.
Holding my chopsticks.
Trying to decide what to do.
I do a sake bomb to compose myself.
I nudge Mr. Hummingbird again. He just grunts.

Then, I notice the lobster's eyes.
It's eyes are staring right at me.
Pleading with me.
Looking right into my soul.
I swear.
His eyes are following me, his legs are wiggling, and his antennas are searching.
I'm still holding the chopsticks.
Smiling like an idiot.

I nudge Mr. Hummingbird again, and whisper to him, "he's looking at me!" Mr. Hummingbird swallows, looks over and nods. "Yup, he sure is." (Thanks a pant load, buddy.)
I give Mr. Hummingbird the stink eye. He immediately recognizes this international sign of distress, and he looks around for the solution to my problem. He proceeds to unravel his napkin, and lay it on the lobsters face. (I'm not sure if this makes the situation better or worst.) He goes back to eating. I start to contemplate eating again, when I notice the napkin moving!! The antennas are now waving around the napkin like the proverbial white flag.

The lobster is now surrendering to me.

The situation is now officially worst.



I give up.
Mr. Hummingbird continues to eat the lobster, ignorant to the waving white flag of death.





I order a cucumber salad, and call it a night.



Happy Anniversary.

Sidebar: Panty Patrol

Um.....hi!
This is awkward.
But......who just did a search on my blog for the word "panties"? It set off all sorts of bells and alarms. (predator alerts!)
LOL!

Did the warden let you use the computer today?

Much Too Tired.....

So, three times a week, Mr. Hummingbird is up early and heads to the gym. Just as I'm beginning the process of waking, he's home and pumped for the day.
Loud and obnoxious.
Mama does not like.
I restrain myself from hurting him.

As payback, when I get home from working out, I limp around the house and moan alot. For some unknown reason, this really gets on his nerves. He rolls his eyes alot.
And sighs.
Alot of sighing going on in my house.

When I talk to Mr. Hummingbird, it seems to be to be as we pass each other in the hallway. Our focus has now changed, so our lives has changed dramatically. Before, the focus of our night was dinner. The preparation and consuming of dinner. After dinner, we just sat on the couch and waited for bedtime. This was our life. All of it. (Pretty sad, huh?)

Now, we are so freakin exhausted, we hardly make it past dinner. We sometimes eat, sometimes not. We dress in our pajamas, and head to bed. We skip t.v. and we're both happy when the other one is not interested in sex. (more sleep for us)

The best part is, since we are both being equally tortured, we feel less lonely. He'll complain about having to drink 6 protein shakes a day, (A DAY!) and I'll complain about being the only one in the office that didn't get a donut today. He'll talk about how much his legs hurt, and I show him the bruises on my thighs. He'll talk about the disgusting men that spit in the drinking fountain when no one is looking, and I'll talk about the dumb girl that doesn't shower after her workout but instead just sprays her whole body with FDS spray. (eeewww....) And finally, he'll complain about how awful his pee smells like asparagus, and........well, mine does too.