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It goes without saying that the month I attempt to “cut back” on foods with extra calories, fat, or sugar, clever little impish people with their high-pitched cackle will strum their fingers together and come up with a way to FORCE my indulgence on a tasty new concoction.
Cold Stone Creamery’s new Dark Chocolate Peppermint is one such evil scheme. Mmmmmm … *drool like Homer Simpson over donuts and drumsticks*
Though Mud Pie Mojo (pictured below) is usually my absolute favorite, I now think about Dark Chocolate Peppermint as much as men think about sex. I’m told that’s every 30 or so seconds, si?
No, I’m not really THAT much of a glutton. I’m not THAT obsessed with FOOD, sheesh. Consider this, instead, a product review. All professional and platonic and un-attached:
Dark Chocolate Peppermint: A+
Seeee, no harm done.
Gotta go, Hubby just stepped on the picture frame we were gonna give Grandma while we celebrate with them during Thanksgiving, so it looks like we will just HAVE to go back to Kohl’s and get a knew one… Oh well, I guess I’ll just HAVE to get a kiddie scoop of Dark Chocolate Peppermint ice cream next door at Coldstone while we are at it. Christmas is SUCH a pain
Oh, and I’m SUCH a hypocrite because tonights article for Polk Voice is going to be on cutting the sweets out of the holidays!
Right now my brain is SO fried that every time I go to write something witty, I find myself wanting to type a line from It’s A Wonderful Life that is stuck in my head:
“Say, brainless, don’t you know where coconuts come from?”
There, I said it. Proof that my brain is seriously farting some silent but deadly’s.
Why is it that just when I feel great about getting some work done or folding the laundry I am scolding myself for not reading more, losing weight, or paying some “attention” to my husband?
Along the same line, how come there is no medium between over and under-achiever? If there is, I need some one to define it.
All that aside, maybe I’ll be over my whining tomorrow and give you poor readers back your 45 seconds you wasted on this one!
Why, might you ask, do I not have time for the 48 hours worth of things I want to crame into a 24 hour day? I wish I knew! One thing I do know? My laptop is seeing a lot more action than my hubby!
Check out my mention on Sisterhood Six blog carnival, as well as the other interesting and funny posts on working vs. stay at home moms out there in the MOMOSPHERE!
Don’t neglect the links on the side under Blogroll, especially for Lakeland area blogs like Empiral Polk and Polk County News Blog. Sisterhood Six, among many other mom blogs which you can actually follow the links to more on their site, is fun to browse!
Tonight’s the Third Season Premiere of my favorite (that might be an understatement) show LOST.
Before I post tonight on “Viv’s Quirky Recaps” -where I break down the episode into its major points and tell you in my own crazy words what I think - I think I need to do a better job explaining this show in general terms to those reading who may not know.
Why I like LOST:
The basic hook for me in the show is not the suspense, or the romance, or anything else but one major thing: the “what does it all mean?” factor.
I know so many people who love LOST with a simple, child-like faith that comes from plainly watching the majority of its Wednesday night episodes. I also know fans who go above and beyond the call of the general viewer; who have registered names in all of the frillion message boards dedicated to the show; who download the latest podcasts for insights into the plot; who know the newest clues to the interactive game; and who understand without any explanation what I mean when I say: “Fenry”, “Easter Eggs”, or the familiar goof question, “Did you see the logo on the shark?” I’m not really a LOST guru, but I do chuckle about these common inside jokes, and I do regularly login to the ABC message board forums to see if some one caught something I didn’t.
The nearly phenomenon status of the show might leave those who missed the boat wondering what the big deal is. Originally promoted as the story of several survivors of a crash on an international flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, the true intrigue began for most about the time that the invisible monster/dinosaur/smoke thing uprooted trees and slaughtered the pilot – that’s just the second episode.
From there the plot thickens, with detailed back stories of the main characters; haunting memories often containing eerie connections to other survivors own puzzling pasts. The discovery of underground hatches, among other island landmarks, creates an intense brainteaser involving the crash site. Then there is the fact that the island has more inhabitants than a big invisible monster – try a band of ruffians that kidnap, and kill, survivors, and who may just be extremist scientists in disguise.
As Lost takes on a slightly sci-fi tone in season two, the characters’ interwoven paths and the real-time mystery of the happenings of the island truly have a little something for everyone. There is the quintessential love triangle, tension between good guys and bad guys, and all the other tell tale markings of a great nightly drama. But perhaps what makes Lost so relatable to its audience is the colorful cast diverse enough that the viewer can identify with at least one character at all times, whether it’s the soldier, the doctor, the drug-lord slash priest, the hunter slash guru, the addict rock star, the single mom, the overweight mentally ill lottery winner, the foreign couple whose marriage is on the rocks, or the conman. LOST enthusiasts are just as varied; from pre-teens, to twenty-something techies, to middle aged teachers –even young moms like me! I suspect that it is precisely these one or two word labels that Lost intends to dispel, pulling back the curtains on the characters through back-stories and current events, revealing that humans are much more complex upon further investigation.
There are a series of threaded themes to Lost: fate, destiny, faith, guilt, survival, prejudice, healing, good verses evil, and the list continues, but wouldn’t be complete without the theme of being, well, lost. The characters aren’t simply “lost” physically, on a mysterious island that cannot be found on any map, they are also lost mentally, spiritually, or relationally. Many theories about the show’s design involve the idea that these characters must rectify their pasts in order to find resolution for their inner turmoil. But don’t bring up some of the many termed “noobie” theories –i.e. it’s all a dream, or worse, they are all in purgatory—without dealing with the proceeding Napolean-like, “GOSH!” that will ensue. Producers have long since assured fans that there will be no cheat in the end, and perhaps all of the hypothesizing will not have been in vain.
So if you haven’t been watching lost, go rent the first and second season. Then you can catch up with the first six episodes of season three, airing as a mini-series, during the 12 week hiatus. Pick back up like a tride and true Lostaholic in March, when the next 18 episodes will play through, rerun free!
I will be up late tonight recapping the premier, title The Tale of Two Cities.
There’s a million confusing ways to reference your period, from “monthly” to “aunt” to “red tide”, but let’s just say it- I’m having my period! I’m PMS-y, eating Hagan Dais for breakfast, not shaving my legs all week because I already know my husband won’t come within a mile of me while I’m on the rag (oh! There’s another one!), and feeling incredibly over it after just a few days. Arg.
Arg used to be my little word for the exasperated face I make when I give up. Now it just reminds me of Backyardagin’s Pirate song. You know your a mom when…
Anyway.
Fridays are officially NOT fiction Fridays anymore. I may share some little poems here and there, but I will most likely call Fridays “Free Friday”, using it as my one get-out-of-jail-free card where I can write no-holds-bar on whatever topic(s) I so choose. So it will be highly ADHD sounding and incredibly un-spell checked or proof read. Deal.
Because it is one am, it is technically Friday, so here goes.
Aside from the period stuff this week, I have been busy workin workin workin. I am reading a gazillion freelance writing books, a gazillion magazines, and a gazillion websites. I am feeling like I’ve got another leg up on the writing junk and yet SO INCREDIBLY FAR TO GO. Chris’ interview with Publix was neither good nor bad, leaving me wondering if I’ll ever hear from clients who owe me precious moolah to pay my not-so-precious-in-fact-I-hate-them bills. I missed the last two minutes of Grey’s Anatomy tonight because I was at a friends house whose tivo prompted a recording of AMERICA’s FUNNIEST ANIMALS OF ALL THINGS, so I’m in a particularly P.O.ed mood. The entire week has left me feeling like a mess, which is really ok, but I sure wish my brain would stop screaming. It’s really loud.
Can I just say that the fact that mostly my family and friends read this sort of sucks sometimes? Sometimes I want to be able to honestly say that my brain is screaming and not have to worry that I’ll get an e-mail tomorrow from some one telling me that they are worried, that I should rest, that I need to find peace in prayer, bla bla, as if I don’t know these things and perhaps I am simply NOT TALKING ABOUT THEM AT THE MOMENT. Hmmmm. But I will get the occasional friend, who knows who she is, who will call and ask to go out for some Starbucks or who will come over after she walks dogs to watch a mind-numbing movie with me like Thumbsucker. Giiiiiirl, call me.
Well, that does it -I have proved I have multiple personality disorder. Only some one suffering from such illness could write a prose on perfectionism and parenting, faith, LOST, PMS and brain screaming all in one week.
I hear some people typing “www” in their url bar to leave the site now, so I’ll say good bye.
No child on earth was ever meant to be ordinary, and you can see it in them, and they know it, too, but then the times get to them, and they wear out their brains learning what folks expect, and spend their strength trying to rise over those same folks. — Annie Dillard, American author
Photo from ColdStone press, not me!
