My Pinterest boards are filled with “eyeliner hacks” aimed at creating the perfect cat eye.
My makeup bag is filled with eyeliners promising to draw the perfect line.
My trash can is filled with kohl-smeared cotton balls, q-tips and Kleenexes due to my repeated failures.
The latest acquisition – recommended by In Style Magazine – is essentially a Sharpie pen for your eyes.  
I did OK on the top lash line, but when I tried to do my lowers, I ended up giving myself a prison tattoo.
And of course it’s waterproof.
I figured this may be a skill reserved for professionals, so I headed to my local MAC counter.
The beautician had flawless cat eyes herself and she assured me that with THIS product, I would finally achieve my goal.  
She swept and brushed, brushed and swept, finally allowing me to see the results in the mirror:

I make a lovely Drag Queen.
Caitlin Jenner is courageous?  Honey Puh-leeez…

Pretty as a Picture

Going through my Facebook Photos, I noticed that most of my photos aren’t super flattering. 

Don’t care.

I used to hate photos of myself. . . until I realized that like it or not, this is what I look like.   

My friends like to see my picture.   Not because I’m gorgeous, but because I am their friend.  

I realized that my CHILDREN needed to see photos of me. 

Even in my bathing suit.  

I am not real pretty, but I am their mom.  I am a special kind of pretty to them that they will never see in another woman.  Not their wives, not their daughters, not even their grandmothers.  This beauty is mine.  And it’s theirs.  Because no one will ever see me the way they do.  

I am committed to allowing my photo to be in our family scrapbooks. For my kids.  And maybe for their kids.  So I guess what I am saying is. . . .let those who love you see photos of you.

Even if you look like this:

This is me with 2 dreamy guys

I’m Not Gay, But. . .

Gabe has been on a well deserved vacation. 

He got to spend time with his lovely wife and gorgeous kiddos instead of his foul mouthed, sweaty clients.

He gave me homework, of course.

And I didn’t do most of it, of course.  (Hello???  If I could work out on my own I wouldn’t need Gabe!)

Because Gabe is on vacation, I had to turn to Vic.  Vic has a Transformation class at 5 am.  Or, as I like to call it:  THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

So I got up at 4:30 IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT and snuck out of the house like a teenager going to a keg party full of college students.

Only there was no beer.

And no college students.

There WERE a couple of College professors.  (Holla Dr. T!)

Sleepy as I was, it was great to see my friends.  Mary, Carrie,  Tony, Anna, Jules. . . Fun people.  Doing abs.

So I started doing them too.

Then Kelley joined us.  She had on an ADORABLE pair of black & white swirly pattern capris. 

She muttered something about not being able to find anything else to wear, but I thought they were cute.

Vic had us do all kinds of squatty jumpy lungie owie things.  Lots of stick your butt out and get low-low-low-low kinda stuff.

Kelley’s pants were distracting. 

So I kept looking at her butt.

And her butt?  Tight.  Firm.  Shapely. 

I didn’t want to creep her out by looking at her butt, so I averted my eyes and they landed on Mary’s butt. 

Tight.  Firm.  Shapely.

Dangit.  Look away!

Carrie.  Jules.  Anna.

Tight.  Round.  Defined.

Geesus.  What’s gotten into me?

So I look for Tony.  I’ll feel comfortable ogling him.

He’s wearing baggy sweats.  Dammit Tony.

What can I say?  My friends have been working out with Vic and it shows. 

Clearly Vic is an ass man.  I didn’t know I was too.

Well Played Clark Kent. . .

I always thought that Superman was so stooopid because how could Lois Lane not know that Clark Kent was Superman?

His “disguise” was glasses.

D-U-M dumb.

But then today. . . . .

The messy, trendy, fun Color Me Rad 5K came to our town.

Color Me Rad is a race that travels around the country.  It’s just like most other 5Ks except its HUGE — we had about 6200 people there this morning.

Where are you people when we do the rest of our 5Ks?

Also, the fun of CMR is the color.   Runners are dusted, squirted, and bombed with vibrant colors. 

Here is how I looked BEFORE:

Yes — those are boxers.

Here is AFTER:


Notice the sunglasses? 

Everyone had to wear them to protect our eyes from all the color.

I was looking forward to seeing all my friends there.  I knew they were there — Facebook has been buzzing about it for weeks.

I was running with my friend Kathy — this was her FIRST 5K!  Whoot!  I wanted to introduce her to all my fitness friends.

But I didn’t see hardly anyone!  I saw Sarah, & Mark, & Omar & Mendy.  Kathy saw a couple of her friends, but that was it.

I thought maybe people were dodging me on purpose. 

But my friends aren’t assholes like that.

I didn’t get it.

Until the aftermath.

My friends were there.  ALL Of them.  Amy, Dee, Mary, Rachel, Lisa, Marjorie, Oakley, Robert, Michelle. . .everybody was there.

But they were wearing sunglasses.

And I didn’t recognize them.

My husband thought that was a stoopid theory.

But I can prove it.

My friend Michelle posted a pic on FB.  She’s the one in the middle.


See the girl with the white bow in her hair?  That’s Kathy.  See the girl in the boxers right in front of Kathy, kinda blocked by Michelle’s friend?


Clark Kent knew what he was doing.

Found a New Fitness Pal!

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that any fitness success I have is due to the amazing people I get to work out with.

Gabe, of course, my incredible trainer.  The man who makes me do stuff that most reasonable people would completely ignore.  He’s like an endearing, yet tortuous little brother.  Except I can’t hit him like I would my real brothers. 

Vic, the V in V-Fit.  The man who is so committed to the fitness of our community that he donated thousands of dollars of training services to not just one, but two leadership challenges.  He makes me pant, sweat, moan and scream.  Plus he’s a really top notch trainer.  (If I have one criticism of Gabe, it’s that he’s not the kind of guy who appreciates a good double-entendre.)

My BFFs.  Best Fitness Friends — Mary, Mary, Megan, Dee, Jesse, Omar, Kelley, Dana, Carrie, Amy, Lori, Albert, Tim, Lee, Tony. . . just to name a few.  These are the folks who cheer me on, challenge me, inspire me. 

Mary L. & I started working out on the same day.  Today she runs half-marathons and is a size 4! A strong, healthy size 4.  So proud of her!

Friends are important in fitness.  At least they are to me!

I have a new friend.  This friend doesn’t have abs like Albert, or Megan’s energy.  This isn’t the friend who is gonna laugh at my tacky jokes like Dana & Kelley.  This isn’t the friend who inspires me with his commitment to work out at 5 in the morning like Jesse.

This friend has been holding me accountable on my eating, without getting all judgy.  ‘Cause I hate judgy.

Wanna know who it is?

My Fitness Pal.

As in the smartphone app.

My Fitness Pal.

I log everything I eat.  It tells me things like “If every day were like today, you’d weigh 225 lbs in 5 weeks!”  Thanks MFP! 

So far it’s been about 3 weeks, and My Fitness Pal has helped me lose 3 lbs.

Big deal, 3 lbs.

Dude — that’s 2 more lbs than I lost ALL LAST YEAR.

So I’m kinda digging my new fitness pal!

Mom’s Advice Applies to Social Media

“For Heaven’s Sake close your mouth when you chew!”  says every mother everywhere.

“Why?” says every mouthy little brat.

“Because”, replies mother patiently, “NO ONE WANTS TO SEE YOUR FOOD”.

Folks, mom is right.

No one wants to see your food.


Not even Facebook.

It’s one thing to post a photo of a beautifully designed wedding cake, it’s quite another to post that pic of sweet-potato-lentil stew you made.  I know it’s delicious.  But it looks like vomit.

As a rule, food is not photogenic.

I know it looks pretty on Pinterest.  So did the white manicure with purple dots.  In real life?  It looks like I’ve been playing with white-out and a sharpie. 

I am happy to hear about your yummy food, I just don’t care to see it.  Especially things like biscuits & gravy, corned beef hash, bean & cheese chalupas, eggs sunny side up (gag), venison chili, tapioca pudding and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. 

The exception, of course, is a dipped Italian Beef from Portillos. 

This?  Is friggin GORGEOUS

Mommy Boot Camp

I guess it all started when they sent the note home.

The note that outlined the goals for President’s Physical Fitness Award.

The award I never got.  Ever.

I don’t mean to go all Tiger Mom or anything, but I want my boys to win that award.

I want it real bad.

But not for the reason you think.

I don’t care about the award, per se.  I don’t care about the prestige.  I don’t care about the recognition.  I don’t care about the flashy patch that they get (although it will certainly be put in the scrapbook).

I care about the fitness.

I care about the heart health, the lung function, the lean muscle and the flexibility.

I have been working out like a madman to get myself to an acceptable level of fitness.  But what’s the point if the rest of my family is out of shape?

They’re not out of shape.  Not now anyway.

That’s the point.  I don’t want them to GET out of shape.

Plus, I want to spend fun, fit, active time with my boys.

But I need to exercise. 

The solution?

Mommy Boot Camp.

From now on, every Tuesday and Thursday, instead of spending a sweaty hour with Gabe, I am spending a sweaty hour with my children.  We will run, play tag, and do burpees.

We started today.

We began the way Gabe does, with a quick jog down the bay front. 

My kids jog a lot faster than I do.

A LOT faster.

Then we did a circuit.  I brought a ball and a stretchy band.  One of us did those squat-pull things Gabe makes me do, one of us did the figure-8 through the legs while balanced on the butt, one did jumping jacks and one did push ups.  We did the exercise for 1 minute then switched.

Except it’s hard to tell one minute when you are balancing on your butt trying to weave a ball between your legs.

It’s also hard to tell one minute when all you can hear are whines of “this is boring”, “can I stop now?”, “why are we doing this?”, and “I have to pee”.

But we are not giving up!

I made them play tag.  Have you ever seen forced tag?  One kid stands there, the other kid touches him and the third kid says “I’m done”.

OK.  Fine.  Tug-O-War!  Fun!  Muscle building!  Whoot!

I put the 11 year old and the 7 year old on one end, and me and the five year old at the other. 

One – two – three PULL!


OK.  No more dollar store jump ropes. 

Then I had to yell at the 5 year old to tell him to stop whipping his brother with the broken jump rope.


Back to Gabe’s old standard.

Jumping jacks.  Bicycle crunches.  Squats. 

In the end, we got 30 minutes of activity.

Nobody sweated much. 

Except me.

Next week we’ll try again.

If Gabe can put up with me, I can put up with this.


Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!

I wrote about some of my favorite acronyms to see who else likes to talk in code.

The winner is . . .KATHRYN!


Here are the answers:

1. LOL = Laugh out Loud
2 OMG = Oh My Gosh (or Gaw, as I like to say)
3 ROFLMAO= Rolling on floor laughing my ass off
4 BAER = Big Ass Eye Roll!!!! (my personal favorite)
5 OMFG = Oh my “freaking goodness” (that’s the polite version)
6 ITA= I totally agree
7 STFU= Shut the fuck up (there’s just no polite with that one. If you need to STFU, then STFU.)
8 WTF= What the fuck
9 BFD = Big freaking deal (again the clean version) (pairs nicely with BAER)
10 LYLAS= Love you like a sister (and you know I do!!!)

Congratulations and enjoy your gift card!

Thanks for playing everyone!