Dieter

Years ago, I really started trying to eat better. I followed the expert advice of eating fewer fried foods, more produce, whole grains, smaller portions. Instead of eating out for most of my meals, I cooked at home. There was no immediate or drastic weight loss, but I felt better about what I was consuming. While I readily admit that I have a 2-Chewy-Chips-Ahoy-a-day habit that I will not apologize for, I believe that I usually do very well limiting junk food and portion sizes. Then, some days...
Because I don't eat out often, I feel excused for overeating when I do. Even though I almost always box half of the meal immediately, half meals at most restaurants are still huge. This is not even an option with family-style dining, where I never stop at one serving. But truly, my greatest weakness is dessert. I will view the dessert menu before entrees. I rarely share dessert. I rarely leave any dessert over to take home. I do this even though I am fully aware that the dessert could very well meet my caloric intake for the whole day.
I do sometimes have days where my portions remain small. All 112 of them. Take one date night where Husband and I stayed home with a rented movie, takeout burritos, and candy. Since it was a giant Chipotle burrito, I only ate a third of it. Then I had some tortilla chips. And some more chips. Then I ate some of my candy, stopped when I thought I'd had enough, and put the bag down. Then I ate some more chips. Then I ate some of Husband's candy. Then I ate more of my candy. Then more of his. I can quit any time!
I've read that you shouldn't beat yourself up for lapses in good eating habits. Just face up to your mistakes and get back on track tomorrow. But if tomorrow's breakfast is last night's leftover pizza and ice cream? Well...you might as well confess that you are not a professional dieter.

Office Supply Distributor

I don't know if this happens in other offices, but at mine, we are inundated with rubber bands. They're mostly used to bind stacks of mail. Occasionally there will even be one random rubber band left on my desk by someone else. Because I process most of the mail at work, I end up with most of the rubber bands. Other than one coworker who started a rubber band ball, I have no idea what anyone else does with them all. Maybe they throw them away? Maybe they melt them down and make tires? There're probably tire molds at someone's house, right? Everyone's got that friend who has the kiln, the industrial copier, and the tire mold that they got for a steal at business liquidation auctions. No? Well, I was getting off subject anyway.

The rubber bands are out of control. I have no idea what to do with them. I don't have any way to reuse them. They just sit in my desk drawer next to the paper clips, waiting to not be used. So I decided to put the rubber bands in a cup and wrote "Free Rubber Bands" on it, so anyone needing a rubber band could take one or five hundred. I assembled a photo essay detailing the result of my generosity, which I now present:

That's my chair that I had planned to sit down in when I got to work. Guess not. And guess where the rubber bands ended up once I got them off of my buttstand? Right back to the cup. Professional office supply distributors charge for their supplies, and people steal them from work all the time. I think I'm going to move the rubber bands to an upscale ceramic cup, charge $.25 a piece for them, and watch them disappear.

Party Planner

Last year, I thought it would be fun to have a Halloween party. I had never hosted one before, but I had lots of cute ideas (mostly involving food) in mind. Because Halloween is not just about me, I had to get permission from my daughter. After much (much, much, much) consideration, she agreed to the party. I immediately began my shopping list, to-do list, and activity list. I thought the easiest way to schedule a kids' party Halloween night would be drop-in style, rather than a set party beginning and ending time. So aside from friends and family, I thought it would be fine to invite her entire 5th grade class, since not all of the kids would be there at once.
Because the schedule was relaxed, and because we hadn't concretely decided on the party soon enough, we only started making the invitations on the Sunday prior to the Friday night event. We made our own, cutting cute ghost shapes out and hand writing the party info, including the clever phrase, "Be there...or Beware!" This little craft project took us until Tuesday to complete, thanks to being interrupted by things like work, school, and sleep - so the invitations went out on Wednesday.
I realized I was sorely mistaken thinking that it was alright to get invitations out so late, even if the message was "drop by when you can," when besides friends and family, only one of the 5th graders showed up.
"Mom, I don't want to have a Halloween party next year," were the words my daughter used to fire me from professional party planning.

Bargain Shopper

Since this is about shopping, I'll post it in list form. I have overpaid for the following items:

• Shampoo - I left the $1.00 off coupon in another purse.
• Halloween costume - the offer was buy the costume, get a free plastic trick-or-treat pumpkin bucket. The costume didn't fit, but upon returning it I found that getting the "free" bucket, and not returning it with the costume, lessened the return value of the costume itself by $1.00.
• Claritin - the $3.00 off coupon was sitting in my wallet. The same wallet I took my credit card out of to pay for the Claritin. D'oh!
• Soy milk - it was a buy 2 cereals, get the soy milk free coupon. The coupon was attached to the cereal...and still was attached when I got home.
• Jeans - I found the perfect pair (yay!) for $49.95; a few weeks later they were on sale for $9.95. Ouch.
• Egg Nog Latte - I asked for soy milk, which I was charged for, without knowing (because the barista didn't tell me, even as she rang up my order) that the latte was made with actual egg nog instead of flavored syrup, nullifying the need for milk of any kind. I only found out as she was making the drink. Grr.
• Bulk candy - because my son reached out of the cart and shoved some in his mouth, and I had no idea how much of it he took, so I just asked to be charged double for the candy I actually bought.
• My laptop - it no longer works, is out of warranty, and I'm still paying for it. Ah, good old high interest loans.

I often read articles about the tricks of bargain hunting and coupon clipping, and I know there are sites out there to help you find coupons, but seeing as I can have the coupon in my purse, put the product in my cart because of the coupon, and still not use the coupon, I don't know what good this does me. I also hate to haggle over a price, and I'm pretty sure haggling skills are a must on any professional bargain shopper's resume.

Karaoke Partner

I am an avid karaoke lover. Since the time I was old enough to be allowed into a karaoke bar, I've been karaokeing*. I've always loved to sing, but since talent scouts don't just knock on doors (do they? because I'm ready if they do), my only venue is the local karaoke bar. So when I took a trip to see my best friends in WA, we hit the karaoke joint the first night I was there. It was great - we hadn't seen each other in years, and we were having a blast. After I'd sung a couple of songs, a guy asked me to sing an Evanescence song with him. I said sure, but I warned him I didn't know it that well. I also warned him that, since I was on vacation, I was drinking and couldn't guarantee my level of sobriety by the time our turn came around.
Which seemed to be a long, long, time...but maybe** I was just guzzling my tequila sunrises faster than I should've. Either way, it was a few drinks later before our song came up. I was right to have warned him, because I was definitely smashed. I should point out that this is not the kind of drinking I do on a regular basis (not since I was 21, anyway). I am not a heavy drinker under most circumstances, even on occasions when I have a designated driver. But this was different; I was partying with my girls, on vacation from all my responsibilities, and nowhere to be in the morning. I didn't hold back. And honestly, I don't remember much of the duet. I think I hit some of the notes. Maybe even most of the notes (the guy did high-five me afterward). I do remember giggling. And unless you're doing that way overdone dirty version of Summer Nights, a professional karaoke partner does not need to giggle.

*most likely not a word.
**with "maybe" being defined today as: definitely, certainly, and without question

P.S. This is a public service announcement: STOP SINGING SUMMER NIGHTS AT KARAOKE- any version - IMMEDIATELY.

Prize Fighter

Not only am I clumsy - dropping things, running into things, tripping over my own feet - I bruise easily. When a bruise appears, I usually have no recollection of what caused it, since it didn't hurt at the time. My husband has given up asking me where bruises came from, since I almost never have an answer. (Side Note: this is why I don't wear shorts. Black and blue shins are just not fashionable.)
But some injuries are memorable, especially when the mishaps seem to come non-stop. In a matter of a few days, I had bruises on my forehead, my arm, and my chin.
Wednesday - Forehead injury: My two-year-old and I were settling in for a nap. I laid next to him to read a book - a required naptime calming procedure with my rambunctious boy. But before I had a chance to open the cover, he began rolling around. He rolled to the right, then when he rolled back to the left, conk! right into my temple. I know his head hurt too, but I was the one to yelp first. Guess which of us ended up with the bruise...
Thursday - Arm injury: I had to take my poor flu-symptom-suffering 11-year-old daughter to the doctor. Not feeling well myself, I decided the easiest way to keep the still-quite-healthy two-year-old under control was to keep him in his stroller. For some reason, the stroller had been put into the trunk upside-down, making it difficult to take out, and with it some random junk from the trunk (heh, heh) fell to the ground. By this time, my daughter had gotten out of the car and was watching me struggle. She wasn't watching me closely enough, though. Once the stroller was out, she tried to close the trunk - with my left arm still inside it, trying to put back that random junk that had fallen out.

"AAH!" the parking lot echoed, "What are you doing?! NEVER close this trunk unless I say it's okay!" I realize I was yelling at a sick child, but at that point, I'm not sure which of us was more miserable. She certainly wasn't the one with a rapidly-developing bruise on her forearm.

Friday - Chin injury: There I was, sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when my two-year-old (yep, him again) came over to play with me. I reached out to hug him, resting my chin on his cute, curly little head, when he jumped. His cute, curly little head hit the bottom of my chin, which hurt me, but not him. A little while later, a little purple circle appeared on my chin. Sigh. Being so little, you wouldn't call him a bruiser by looking at him, but he definitely is. And looking at me, you might suspect I am a professional prize fighter, but I definitely am not.

Dancer

When I was 5, I took ballet lessons. I have no idea if I was any good, because I also stopped taking ballet lessons when I was 5, so I barely remember it. I do know that the lessons did not have any lasting effects, because I am hopelessly devoid of grace or fluidity when I walk from my desk to the copier, let alone when I dance. These days, I no longer even bother attempting to dance while sober. This limits my dance opportunities to a handful of occasions per year, which is really in the best interest of all mankind.
I have known this about myself since about middle school, and though I would attend nearly every school dance, I wouldn't actually dance. I would go to stand on the wall with my friends and talk about boys. When a song came on that I just couldn't resist, I would dance badly anyway, hoping everyone else was enjoying their dancing enough not to notice me. My senior prom, when dancing to "YMCA," my date complained, "I can't keep up with you, you keep changing your beat." I blamed it on my shoes being too slippery on the dance floor.
I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance for several months now (thanks to its back-to-back seasons) with unmitigated envy. I am awed by the absolute control some humans have over their own bodies, while I stumble just playing Dance Dance Revolution. While I was watching last week's episode, my toddler glanced at the TV and then began mimicking the dancer's moves. He was really trying, and was able to accurately copy a couple of her steps. I called my husband in to watch.
"Look, that's the same move! He got it right!" I bragged, "He's going to be good at anything he tries." And I will be proud of him in all of his endeavors, but I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. If he is a good dancer, it won't have anything to do with my gene contribution. Hopefully when he's a professional dancer, he'll give his poor mother lessons.