My Dear Old Friend...Friendly's

I would like to take a moment to pay homage to my dear old friend Friendly's!  I have not been on the East Coast but 24 hours and she's already come a calling.  Her sweet red sign with the big white letters, shine in the moonlight, like a star leading a ship back home, after a very long journey.  She never changes, she never disappoints, she always encourages you to go big, and she always has exactly what you want.

Today I started with a Reese's Pieces Sundae and oh I went BIG.  Huge in fact.  Of course at first I used the excuse, that I would be sharing it with my son.   It was really for him, not for me, I would just have a little scoop off the top, and take the leftover  home. In my heart, I knew that within minutes of the waitress walking away,you would be able to see the table through the  bottom of the glass sundae cup.  But I said it anyway, like a programed robot.  Then something fantastic happened.   I remembered I wasn't in Los Angeles!!!  Sweet Mother of Jesus... I am aloud to eat again.  It's actually encouraged here.

 Like an animal at the zoo, who has been taken away from her natural environment too long, I was confused at first, and then like any good beast, I snapped  right back into my old self and immediately ordered a plate of half onion rings/half french fries, to go with the sundae I was about to devour.

UHHHHHHHHHH.  God that's good. So f-in good.

As I started to shove the food down my throat I realized, "holy shit," there may be people out there, who have actually never been to a Friendly's! I began to feel sad, and think about all the poor bastards who are less fortunate than myself.  I dipped one last french fry in the ketchup, grabbed the menu out of the convenient side table pocket, and ordered another Sundae.  For all my Friendly's Virgins, this ones for you!

Let me tell you a little bit about what you might be missing.   First off you've got your Reese's Pieces Sundae.  It is 5 scoops of  the most tasty vanilla ice cream you've ever tasted. None of this Breyers home churned no sugar added nonsense.  It's full on high fructose syrup at it's best, and it's worth ever year it  is going to take off my life.  Then comes the, peanut butter, marshmallow, hot fudge, Reese's Pieces candy, and wait for it......the most mouth watering whip cream, that makes the cows proud, perfectly crafted into a tornado Esq whip, right on the top of all that deliciousness.  It's a mind blowing master piece, that dessert connoisseurs like myself, will never get tired of.

You have your Jim Dandy for your fruit and walnut lovers, Forbidden Fudge Brownie, Peanut Butter Cup Sundae and of course the delicious Fribble.  Oh the Fribble.  The milk shake of lovers.  I have shared many a things over the Fribble.  First dates, birthdays, graduations,  mono! All equally memorable.

Dear dear Friendly's, you make me feel so good.  So good in fact I didn't even realize when I left your glorious establishment, that the button on my jeans had burst open, and there was a smudge of chocolate across my cheek. It's like wearing a badge of honor from your restaurant, and I consider it a privilege that you have invited me in!

So in closing, I'd like to say a quick "I'm sorry," to my ass.  You're just not worth it!

Pain in the ass packaging.

Okay, I have a complaint. A big one! PACKAGING! You know what I'm talking about.  Packaging so frustrating to open, it elicits the most mild mannered of people, to spew profanities so vulgar it would make a filthy sailor blush. Do we really have that many crooks in the world?   If so, shouldn't we be worried about packaging things like TVs or  expensive electronics?  Why does it have to be the every day stuff.  I mean seriously, when was the last time you opened a box of cereal and didn't struggle with the bag inside?  I say if you're a thief who manages to get through the preposterous packaging that's out there now, you deserve whatever it is you stole.

  One of the worst packages to get through...plastic -encased packs of sippy cups? Impossible! Show me the woman who can do this in a jam, with out slicing a finger or smashing the cups up against the kitchen counter, and I will give her an award! The Sippy Cup Opener Champion Of The World Award.  It will include a glittery belt, and lifetime supply of already opened sippy cups.

I mean come on manufacturer's. Don't you realize us mommies are sometimes in a hurry.  Do you know what it is like to have a screaming toddler in the middle of Target while you're trying to buy one measly roll of toilet paper.   You need to do anything in your power to quiet them down, and that usually entails breaking into whatever shiny package you can find that has the words COOKIE or TOY written across it.   Target, can you  do me a favor and make this task just a tad bit easier damn it. Lay off the prison chains around the Oreo's.   I promise we will still pay for the slobbered on cookies when we get to the counter.

Today while packing for a trip back east, and what is sure to be the worst 5 hours of my life.  I was trying to prepare my bag of tricks, that's suppose to help me conquer anything this 5 hour flight and 19 month old monster might have in store for me.  I started with snacks, got those open and put into zip lock bags fairly easy, then DVDs.  I carefully began to unwrap the 14 Sesame Street DVDs I purchased to help keep my son,hence myself sane on our journey, and I nearly killed someone.  I actually had a full on MMA fight with a DVD that had a picture of Elmo on its cover and practically pulled a hamstring in the process. How dare this DVD not open! I was sweating and cursing and stomping on this damn DVD case, all the while Elmo's stupid little red face was staring back at me.  I was not going to let it win.  Finally with one bloody finger and a huge "Mother...BLEEEEEP" I ripped the damn thing open. Utter satisfaction!

So a big F.U to all those packaging people.  I win!  Only 13 more DVDs to go!

90's tattoo's I hate you.

Having been a child of the 80's, but a teenager of the early 90's, I have become horribly aware of just how embarrassing this decade was.  I get a little reminder of it every time a mommy bends down to change a diaper in mommy group, and some questionably accurate Chinese symbol on her back, pops right out at me.  You can always spot a good 90's chick by the tattoo on her lower back, bikini line, ankle, or hip.

I myself became a victim of this horrific fad. I have a tattoo, that can only be described as stupid, of a sun with a smiley face on my ankle.  Every morning when I step out of the shower and start to apply my favorite lotion, I curse my younger self.  As the lotion glides over the stupid sun, I usually get more enraged and I give it the finger.  I wish I could remember what the hell I was thinking.  I know I was with my besties, I know "everyone was doing it", but I can't remember anything else.  I wish I could remember how the hell I came to the brilliant conclusion to choose a sun.  How at 18 years of age, I thought a sun would be the right thing to represent who I was for the rest of my life.  This baffles me. I don't even like the sun! It takes me 45 minutes to decide what to wear in the morning,and usually stresses me out, yet putting a sun on my ankle forever, no big deal.  I should have just tattooed a picture of my mothers face on my ankle saying, " You're gonna regret this."

Clearly I never thought it through.  I never thought about being a mom myself one day and what my child might think of it.  Never thought about what it might mean in the future.  I surely never thought about how I would feel 13 years later, with my feet in the air ,strapped to stirrups, giving birth, staring down at that bastard sun.

My only comfort in the matter, is that clearly I am among the millions of young ladies who decided to do this, and we have  become sort of a new generation of mommy's with tattoos. We're no hells angels or bad ass rock stars, just a bunch of mommy's running around in our leggings and t-shirts, sporting some pretty hilarious ink.   You may be a J. Crew wearing, organic food coking, prim and proper mom today, but girl friend, we were all once the same. Prisoners of the 90's.

 Today I saw a mommy bend over ,and a full size Tinkerbell was staring back at me. "Jesus" I thought, She has got to regret that.  NO ONE likes Tinkerbell that much!  Then  I thought, who knows, maybe I have got it all wrong.  Maybe that mommy actually did think ahead and knew how entertaining Tinkerbell on her back would be one day.

Whatever the case may be, you've got to stop and laugh at the silliness of it all, the innocence of being young and stupid, and just how freaking awesome it must have been when that stupid girl tattooed a Chinese symbol, of what she thought was her boyfriends name on her stomach, and then later found out at a Chinese restaurant it actually stands for "TAKE -OUT."

So to all the butterflies, tweedy birds, lady bugs, tribal arm bands, fairy's, wings and Chinese symbols, you suck!

Where my girls at?

In this day and age of scankalicious girls, when it has become easier to earn recognition and success, by screwing someones husband, than actually working for anything that means anything.  I have decided to write a blog about the women in my life who really matter! The women who would rather cut off a pinkie toe than sleep with a married man.  The women who remind their daughters and their sons what it means to be a decent human being.  The women who would actually find humiliation and harrowing grief if ever the cause of breaking up a family.  The women, who are my friends!

I am admittedly a tabloid junky.  I don't want to be, but I am.  I slip the Us Weekly, OK Magazine, and Star, under the pack of diapers,  along side all my other "organic" groceries, thinking to myself just how UN ORGANIC, I am being. Pay the cashier and run out of there.   After reading one of these latest treasures, about all of the home wrecking, soulless, messes I needed to stop.  I needed to take a shower, and check to make sure my lips were still at a normal size, because apparently I have missed the memo that looking like a blow fish is hot this season.

That being said, I have taken the  liberty in this blog to tell you about some of the most fantastic women I know.  My friends.  They are so much more fabulous then those stank pot vagina's, and really should be recognized!

My dad once told me if you can count on one hand the amount of friends you have that really mean something to you, you're lucky.  The kind of friend that you can call in the middle of the night.  The girl who always influences you in a positive way.  Routes for you always.  No matter how many careers or chosen paths you have found that month, and truly knows the difference between when to tell you the truth, and when to lie to you!  (Example: when you're swollen like a tick from pregnancy, and your ass is as wide as the couch, your feet look like two sausages, and they still tell you how fabulous you look in your moo moo, and how no other pregnant woman has ever been as beautiful.  Then hand you the box of oreo's, and actually eat them with you!)

I am lucky enough to have many of these real friends, and they are funny ass women who deserve to be celebrated!

Some of these women have been around my whole life.  Some of these women just a few years.  Some, new rookies, who have influenced me already, and I admire how they choose to live their lives.

The oldies know my secrets and love me anyway.  Never judge, and decorate my life with humor, creativity and the organizational skills I tend to lack. They worry for me when I should be worrying and don't.  They are my doctors, even though they might not have medical degrees.  My lawyers, when  I can't figure a situation out, and my personal cheer leading squad, when I'm just about to quit! Oh and of course the voice of reason when I'm sure I need those $800 dollar shoes to wear while I change diapers!

These women have held my hair in ugly situations, preformed emergency eye surgery on my eye lid when something strange was happening to it, and there was no time for imperfections on the face.

They teach me, when they make difficult choices such as leaving the comfort of a job, or a situation, to start all over again however terrifying and uncomfortable it may be.

Get me to go on adventures and keep me from losing my keys and license without ever complaining.

Inspire me, and show me that just because you're a mom doesn't mean that's all you are.  They never wait for the phone to ring, and don't take no for an answer.

I'm thinking of starting my own magazine, where the cover stories would read more like, "Working mom, survives 14 hour day filming in Las Vegas, then turns back into a pumpkin and cuts the crust off grilled cheese, all while playing princess tea party and never breaks a sweat!" I would buy that magazine  and not hide it under the diapers! I'm just saying!

So to my Dancer, "Doctor", Asian, Artist, Actress, Writer, Childhood 4, the red head, nervous Nelly, and my sisters...Thank you!

Without you...I'd probably be a skankalicious asshole!

The mourning of my breasts!

Whether you know them as boobies, or tits, sweater kittens or milk jugs, breasts are an obsession in the world today .  I would like to take a minute to mourn the passing of mine.  Goodbye old girls, you were always so good to me.  You put me on the map junior year of high school.  You got me into countless clubs with your perky posture.  You kept the most horrific of bridesmaid dresses up, and never let a nip slip on the dance floor.  In your final months you showed your true colors by sacrificing yourselves for the life of my child.  You endured the most horrific pain and ungodly transformations. You changed shapes and colors.  Spewed weird things.  Mystified the most astute of breast men.  Your champions in my eyes girls. You deserve countless pictures of your glory days on the mantle, and you will always be remembered as a great pair of double D's!  


That being said....Hello oatmeal packets! You know what I am referring to right? My new breasts!  The ones that have been left behind after all the sacrificing of the old girls.  Two little measly looking, oatmeal packet like breasts, that just remind me  how unfair fake boobies really are! Sure I should be proud of them and tell them they are beautiful every day, but frankly, I don't want to.  I admire those women who love there breasts no matter what.  They sit in mommy groups praising the gift they gave there child by breast feeding.  They wear those cow utters like a badge of honor!  I wish I had the courage!  Maybe I am just to damn vain! Or maybe I have just lived in the land of fake tits way to long! Thank you Los Angeles. Now not only are you responsible for the demise of my soul, but also my feelings on breasts!


Yesterday as I was folding the laundry, I picked up my new barely a C cup bra, and sighed. Oh well. At least running will be easier now. As I began to fold the rest, my husband walked by and said" I miss your old jugs babe." 


"EXCUSE ME?"


(Insert record screeching sounds, and a face that looks like a deer caught in head lights!)

"Do you know what these FUN BAGS have done for this family!"  As the list went on and my rant became a revival of my breasts, I realized just how silly I was being. I mean my god, they are just a bunch of mammary glands and muscle tissue put together on a chest.  Every second person in the world has a pair and to be honest I have seen just as many men with them these days!  


So no more self wallowing over the new condition of my breasts!  Thanks for the mammary's girls!!!  You are the best! 




Side Note: To all the fake boobied girls in exercise class, running around the bars at night, flaunting your perfectly positioned watermelons!  Okay YES I am jealous.  But ENOUGH! We get it!  Plus you are all cheaters!!! 

"Little Bee"-Our Book Club pick of the month!

In an attempt to make myself feel smarter, and improve the quality of my brain, I decided to start a book club.  To be perfectly honest, I really just wanted an excuse to have my friends over and drink wine.  What ended up happening, was a Oprah ah ha moment. Reading is AMAZING!  Who knew!  I have truly been engrossed in the last two books we’ve read and can't wait to keep going. My inner nerd is on it's way out.


Two months ago if you would have told me a book would replace my hour with  “The housewives of New Jersey.”  I would have told you to go take a hike.  (After all, it is the most exciting hour on television, well since the Jersey Shore.) But now,  now I can’t  seem to put my books down.  I plow through them like the September issue of Vogue.  I can’t get enough.  I have been moved to tears, brought to an audible laughter alone in my bed, and in our latest book, “Little Bee”, by Chris Cleave, inspired to actually look up words I do not know the meaning of. Then try and use them in a sentence.    Usually I just skip over the foreign words  I don't understand and make my own  words up  to fit in the unfamiliar spot.

In the past two months I have become a 50 year old black maid in the heart of Jackson, Mississippi, circa 1962, thanks to   “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett.  And now, a 16-year-old Nigerian girl, in what has to be one of the most special books I have ever read, “Little Bee”, by Chris Cleave. 

The phrase “Never judge a book by its cover,” rings true in this book.  It’s pretty book jacket, and sweet title are deceiving to say the least. Without giving too much away, the story revolves around a 16-year-old Nigerian girl, who is both captivating and inspirational. Her name is Little Bee.   Little Bee’s life is entangled, by accident, with the life of another woman, Sarah.  Sarah has just had something terrible happen to her, and is grappling to keep her self together and her head above water.  Sarah and Little Bee knew each other briefly under an unspeakable circumstance that lingers through out the book.  The awareness that something horrific has happened is present, and holds onto you during the book.  This horrific scene doesn’t actually take place till much later in the story, therefore I felt myself reading this book, white knuckled, with one eye open, terrified to find out if what I was thinking happened, happened!  It’s brilliant!  I wish I could remember one of the big words I had to look up right now. Brilliant doesn't do it justice.   

On the softer side of this book, is a character named Charlie, who is Sarah’s three-year-old son.  He refuses to take off his Batman costume and will not respond if you call him Charlie.  He is Batman! Or as Charlie puts it, “I is Batman.”  I loved everything about him.

My own superhero!

To end this blog I would like to say how very aware I am, that this is no New York Times review, and I am certainly no New York Times reviewer.  Let’s face it, I thought, “Confessions of a Shopaholic,” was riveting and the “Twilight” series should win a Pulitzer.  "Little Bee" though, "Little Bee," is captivating and I would highly recommend it to everyone! All 19 of my followers!


Get to reading people. It's awesome.

(If your face is swollen from the severe beatings of life, smile and pretend to me a fat man.----Nigerian proverb)

Oh and the picture posted is what I will be bringing to book club tonight. After each book we all bring something to the group (food or drink related) inspired by the book!

Because I had no idea what Nigerian food really was I went with Batman Cookies!

Kids, and screwing it all up!

As parents we are constantly bombarded with the fear that we will screw up our kids.  It starts from the moment they are conceived.  "How a pregnant woman should sleep"... not to mess up your baby.  "What a pregnant woman should eat"... not to mess up your baby.  There is a never ending list on what you should and shouldn't do when it comes to raising your children and I've pretty much had it.  So what if my kid eats dirt from time to time, is it really gonna kill him?  I watched a grown up man drink a blue colored alcoholic slushy drink, in a cup shaped like the Eiffel tower, that was taller than my son, and undoubtedly going to cause  him alcohol poisoning, and people just cheered him on.
My son had a piece of non organic fruit, non picked by the hands of real farmers on a fairy fruit farm today, and I watched the head of one mom actually spin around in horror and three others run away!   I'm sick of the rules! Yes my son watches TV, and ya know what THANK GOD! If it wasn't for that TV I would have quit this job a long time ago.  How can one little furry red animal that teaches children about numbers and letters be bad?
When as "new parents" does that crazy switch flip?  I know a few mommy's who up until the moment they found out they were pregnant, were smoking cigarettes walking around barefoot on Sunset Blvd, showing people there ass. Now, god for bid there kid sticks a non covered toe in the sandbox, or dare try to show someone a body part, the anti bacterial spray is out and being blow torched onto the child!  This new generation of never get dirty, never get messy is driving me crazy. Who says boys cant wear long hair and play with dolls.  What's wrong with wearing a costume all day even to the grocery store! I say let our kids be kids! Let em get dirty and eat bologna sandwiches with sand in the middle at the beach. Let em eat non organic whatever if the mood strikes. Let em play just a little longer than usual. Even though it breaks the rules.

Childhood is so short, yet so HUGE!  The fact is I will most likely screw up my kid somehow, but god damn it we will have fun during the process.

Deal of the day!

There must be a chemical in the brain that is released when one finds a bargain. At least there is in my brain. For me, there is no better high than seeing the words SALE colorfully splashed across the window of a store.  I can start to feel the excitement building in my body as I approach the racks with the ever so beautiful white cardboard signs that say 50% off!  I am immediately turned on and ready to score.

I take the art of shopping very seriously and that is why I have practiced over and over again for many many years. Like any great artist who excels in their field, controversy is sure to follow.  Some people don’t understand the dedication and heart it takes just to put together the perfect outfit.   By some people I mean my husband, but sometimes a great artist is not recognized until they are dead! 

The skill it takes to maneuver through a shoe sale gracefully is ethereal.  The ability to move ones eyes up and down sales racks taking a mental inventory of what sizes are available, what colors are in stock, which shoe goes with what you have in your closet, all while doing the math of what 30% off of $125.89 is spellbinding.  If you asked me to do a simple math  problem a 6^th grader might have I would panic and start to fidget for the first gadget I could find that had a calculator.  If you asked me to grab four size 8, spring inspired d’orsay peep toe heels, calculate the percentage off of each one, and tally up the grand total, I could do it in a heartbeat.  Not only that, but I could do it, trying on a wedge sandal, pushing the girl reaching for my shoe out of the way, rocking the stroller to keep my son asleep, while checking to see if the added inches the wedge gave me in the mirror make me look thinner!

The high that comes with finding the perfect shoe and flipping it over to see that bright red sticker staring back at you that says half/off is intoxicating.  You have beat “The Man” today.   That Miss Sixty brown leather wedge, normally $200 and change, $60 at Macy’s is your gold metal!  Today I wished I had one of those vuvuzelas horns from the world cup, and was able to run up and down the shoe department yelling “GOAL” or in my case “SCORE” that’s how happy I felt.  In respect for the meeker women around me who had no idea what they were doing I refrained myself.  

107 Degrees.

When you hear it's 107 degrees out you think, "Wow that's hot!" When you actually feel 107 degrees you think holy shit I'm gonna die! My family has ventured out on yet another exciting work project where the perks are plentiful, the people are awesome, and the place is freaking HOT!   Las Vegas, Nevada. It holds the title for driest state in the country and a record for highest temperature ever, reaching 125 degrees  in 1994! There must have been a lot of sinners coming to Vegas that year!

 It's truly mind blowing.  I can honestly say I thought I knew what heat was.   Having grown up on the east coast with parents who wouldn't let you turn the air conditioner on unless it hit 100 in August.  "It's good to sweat," my dad would say.  "Gets out all the poison."  At 9 years old I had no idea why poison was running through me, but what I did know, was that my best friend must have had no poison running through her body because her parents left the air conditioning on 24/7.  You could see your breath in her house. After a few years and a few sweat sessions, I now know the poison my dad was referring to was surely my moms cooking, and I thank him for having us sweat it out. Who knows what would have happened if her meat loaf was left inside us.  So of course I know heat! Or so I thought.

  Las Vegas heat is different. This sun is like a woman scorn and she is pissed and just wants to burn you.   Burn you with her eyes!  When we pulled up to the hotel and opened the car door it was like being sucked into a blow dryer.  I checked the passenger seat  to make sure my ass skin wasn't left behind that's how hot it is. You can certainly be branded by your seat belt if you're not careful.   My 18 month old son says about 5 words and usually makes no sense.  When we took him out of his car seat and walked towards the hotel, he looked at us and said.."HOT" Over and over!  I had a few other words to add to the list like blistering, boiling and scorching! Every time I go out side, which mind you is for like 2 seconds and it's because there is no other way, I actually feel my self sizzle. 107 degrees people!! What else is there to do but get the poison out.  Only this time I am in the most ideal place to put the poison IN first!

My Dog, The Poor Bastard!

I didn't know what to blog about today,  it being a pretty uneventful day.  So I decided to take my poor bastard of a dog for a walk.  After a long lap around the block, and what has to be the longest piss in the history of dog pisses, it dawned on me.  It was only fair I write about "The Mick." Mickey James Mantel to be exact. The third penis in my very male household.  My very beautiful, very stupid Labrador Retriever.   I have no idea where the "James" came from in his name. My husband just started to throw it in there when we would find him face down in the garbage can, or up to his elbows in mud from digging out side.  I also have no idea where the retriever part came from because this dog has yet to bring me anything but a headache.
 This dog is insistent upon eating every pair of flip flops I own.  Stupid enough to think they taste good and definitely deficient in the dog walking department.  Oh sure he use to be our numero uno.  Our precious little pup.  Or sweet gullible dumb dog.  All pre baby of course.  Now the poor thing is lucky if we remember to feed him.  If I had a dollar for every time I yelled, "Did anyone feed the dog?" I would be rich!  I'm pretty sure I saw him roll his eyes at me today on our walk when my mouth was gaping open when he peed for what had to be twenty minutes.
 If Mickey could speak he would have said, " Bitch... what are you staring at? Maybe if you took me out more like you use to, I wouldn't have to stand here like a freaking fire hydrant."
 When I think about it, this dog went from 1500 thread count sheets to my pregnancy pillow stuffed in a corner of the room.  Hikes up Runyon Canyon to hikes up onto the couch.  It's really a wonder he hasn't run away.
Mans best friend right? Oh but that's just the thing about Mickey.  Just when I think I'm ready to give him away, or bring him "back to the farm".  There he is under my feet when they are cold.  Greeting me at the door like I am god damn Angelina Jolie.  Helping me clean up all the god for saken food my son has thrown on the floor for the umpteenth time that day.  There is he the poor bastard,  just ready to love!

18 Months a Mommy!

My son turned 18 months old today. 18 MONTHS! It's absolutely mind boggling, when you think about it. I wasn't sure I would make it through the first 18 days! Oh sure I pretended like I knew exactly what I was doing, but the truth is, it's really a miracle I haven't left him on top of my car in his baby seat as I drive away. After all, I leave my coffee cup up there on a regular basis and that shit is like liquid gold to me.

18 months doesn't seem like a long time when you write it down or say it out loud. Hell I still have a Costco size, ginormous thing of garbage bags I haven't finished, and I know I bought that thing longer than 18 months ago. When you have a baby though, 18 months is a HUGE milestone.

I have managed to keep this little human being I created safe and relatively sound, for one year and a half. I have made it through the teething and the tantrums . I survived the endless nights of no sleep, and fears my baby was definitely going to be the baby that had some horrible baby disease. The hours on end staring into the baby monitor making sure he was still breathing. Forever running thorough FBI checks on my new babysitter, and crying my first night out, sure I would end up on Oprah's couch next week pleading for my sons return. I have endured countless hours of Yo Gabba Gabba, and I am alive to tell the tale.

I have been a mommy for 18 whole months, and haven't needed more than one glass of wine a night. (Okay maybe two)

I will be checking the mail everyday waiting to receive my Super Hero cape. After all, I have never seen SuperMAN, make a dinner for 6 while changing a poop diaper,singing the theme song to Elmo's world, making sure every one's got on clean underwear, all while wearing 6 inch stilettos and a buzz light year back pack! Thank you very much!

Cardio Barre

I would like to take a minute to give a shout out to my new obsession Cardio Barre. It's a high energy/no impact, ballet/exercise class that combines barre work and light weights. It's building a dancers body with no dance experience and building long lean muscles and burning fat.

I know what your thinking. (Yeah Right!) And do I get to wear a tutu? At least that's what I was thinking. Well I'm here to tell you it works! It really really works. I have tried everything.

With skinny fat genetics, and by that I mean , I am skinny looking in clothes but under it all feels like a hot mess. I was ready to challenge my body and see just what it could do. Plus the promise of the ass of the girl on the DVD was pretty motivating also.

My excuse of ," I just had a baby" had about 2 more uses left and I knew I had to do something. So there I was surrounded by dancers and some of the most spectacular bodies and ass's I have ever seen, and away we went. Plieing, rengataing, and kicking all the way to the most insane amount of sweat I have ever felt come off my body. 4 weeks later I was 5lbs lighter and pretty sure my ass could be DVD worthy.

It's a great post baby workout that really helps you get that lean body. You can see your muscles reemerging after being stolen by baby hormones and crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches. It's truly amazing and I would recommend it to anyone who wants an insanely awesome workout.

I haven't got to wear that tutu yet, but any day now!