Hell hath no fury like a mother who’s child’s been scorned!

It’s been a month since I blogged. In debcb terms, that’s a helluva long time. It’s not that I haven’t had things to write about, I just haven’t had time. Or made time. At least I’ll be honest.

I’ve thought about it often. Especially last week when my mom called and asked “when’s there going to be a new blog?” I shrugged my shoulders, mumbled that I didn’t have time and thought about writing. Doesn’t that count?

So, I’m sure you’re dying to know what brings me here today. What witty words I’d like to share or motherly mistakes I’m about to admit. For those of you that know me well, you may even be thinking, “who pissed me off?”

Well, someone did.

And, unfortunately, I can’t tell you who. But, this person obviously doesn’t know me well (and isn’t smart enough to ask around to get intell). So, I might as well give them a little super top-secret advice: If you jack with my kid, you better be prepared for a little bit of a fight.

I’m not a helicopter parent. I’m more than happy to have my Rosie make her own mistakes. If she’s screwed up, she needs to pay the piper. But, if she hasn’t, then I think it’s outrageous that she be accused of something that she did not do.

Yes, life is unfair (a conversation that Rosie and I have often now that puberty’s begun) but it shouldn’t be a complete bummer. And, there’s no reason why my child should be crying uncontrollably (until her heart is broken, but hopefully that’s not going to happen soon). So, I am NOT happy.

The good news for the person that pissed me off, is that I’m going to handle my displeasure as I’d handle any other unpleasant business situation. My temper will be under control and I will be very matter-of-fact. If that doesn’t work, I may be forced to be passive aggressive, but I’m going to try to avoid using overt anger unless absolutely necessary. So, right now they’re lucky.

And, as long as we resolve this issue in a peaceful manner, then it will go away. If not, I may go postal. Warning: Hell hath no fury like a mother who’s child’s been scorned!

(I can just see a someone whispering in her ear tomorrow, “Well, you DO know she writes a blog, don’t you? Wish I could be a fly on that wall.)


Help! I’m being stalked by Jillian Michaels!

I need to lose weight. The two injuries I had this summer that kept me from the tennis court have helped me to pack on some pounds. My clothes are tight and I can’t stand to see my heavy reflection in the mirror. I need to do something different.

So, in a moment of late night desperation, I must have clicked on a Jillian Michaels Facebook ad or something (trust me. I wouldn’t actively seek out the woman. I think she’s one scary gal). And, it brought me to a screen that I found mildly interesting so I thought I’d explore. Big mistake.

“Enter your email for a free weight loss plan,” is said. So I did. I should have been smarter than that. I’m old enough to know that nothing in life is free. But, it was late and I was tired.

For a half-second after I pressed enter, I expected Jillian Michaels to come through my computer and scare the living crap out of me (including all the calories I ingested for the day). But that didn’t happen. I logged off hoping to have my own personalized plan emailed to me in the morning.

Didn’t happen.

The next day, I got an email from Jillian asking me to sign up for more stuff and since I had a good night sleep, I changed my mind about trusting my weight loss to the world’s toughest trainer. I decided I’d do it the old fashioned way with less food and more exercise. I didn’t need Ms. Michaels.

However, it seems that Jillian needs me. Especially since she sends me two or three emails every day. I read a couple at first, but all they did was make me feel bad for not continuing the process and responding to her first sign up email. So, I unsubscribed to that bunch.

But, I’m still on some other list. And, she’s still sending me emails. All the time. She’s stalking me (which is an excellent form of marketing for her since she probably preys on insecure people that finally break down and hit the subscribe button. Then she sells DVD’s and all kinds of other crap guaranteed to make your muscles hurt so you can hate her more).

So, Jillian, leave me alone. I don’t want to see you in my inbox, on my Facebook or even on my Wii. You scare me. I’m fat and right now I’m cool with that.

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