Crazy Track Lady Weight Loss Tip #1

July 25, 2010

July 25, 2010

Okay, so I have received my first comment from a fellow blogger who is looking for a weight loss support buddy or two. Terrific! I have someone else to help me keep accountable!

Today’s weight loss tip: substitute artificial sweetener (such as aspartame or Splenda) with a substance called “Stevia”. Sold in a variety of packages (packets, included), it is a natural sweetener that comes from the Stevia plant, and has been in use for over 400 years in Japan, the middle east, etc. It is actually 300-400 times sweeter than regular sugar, so use it sparingly. I am gastronomically sensitive to artificial sweeteners, so when I tried this, I was waiting for the side effects. I drink several large glasses of water a day, but can’t stand the lack of taste. I tried TruLemon, which worked great, until the high level of citric acid gave me a raging case of heart burn. So I turned to lemon wedges and Stevia. Absolutely delicious! One or two triangle wedges, two Stevia packets and a cup full of ice makes for a great substitute for a glass of pop (or soda, depending on the area of the country you live in).

Got a safe weight loss tip to share? Send me a comment!



Mistress Nic

March 19, 2010

Twenty-four years together.

Daily visits with you.
Sneaking around behind my back.
Trips out to meet you.
Thousands of dollars wasted on you–
Money that could have financed
Our dream vacation
Or brand new furniture
(Instead of the crap we have now)
Or paid for our kids’ braces
Maybe even a few college credits.

Well, bitch, guess what?

He finally dumped you.
It took him awhile
and a lot of pleading from me and the kids
But, he chose life with us
Instead of a living hell with you.

So, get out — You disgusting piece of filth.

He (We) doesn’t want you around.
Dirtying up his life or
Ruining  his health anymore.

He’s not falling
for your tricks anymore either
or your instant allure.

He’s done with meeting you
for morning coffee
or an evening beer
or a quickie
after our family meals.

I (We) win.

He’s mine (OURS) now.

You (YOU) lose.

Take your poison elsewhere.

Conversations with My Muse: The Sandman Waketh

August 14, 2009

Dude, get up.


I said, get up!

Wha? Huh? Whose zat?

Me. I said wake up.

Go away.

No, not until we talk.

What the fu–

Don’t speak to me that way, now get up or I’m gonna give you a wedgie.

Friggen leave me alone, dammit!

NO. I want an explanation now.

Bitch, can’t you see I’m trying to sleep here? WHAT THE FU-

That’s it, I’m grabbin..

Ow! Jezzus, what the hell is wrong with you?

Good, you’re awake.

Well now I am!!!

We need to talk about last night.

What about it? Ooooooh, my friggen head. I think I’m gonna hurl.

The bathroom’s over there. Go do what you gotta do and then come back. We’re gonna talk about that dream I had last night.

Dream you had? Sheeee it, that’s what this is about?

Yes, now go.

Little demanding there. Can you at least give me a couple minutes here? I gotta —


I can’t stand up yet-

Why not? Ohhhhhh…

Yea, smart ass. Ohhh.

Sorry, I’m a chick. Nothing on me wakes up twenty minutes before I do. I’ll turn away until you’re, ahem, ALL awake and good to go.

You can at least offer to make me a cup of coffee while we’re waiting.

Sure, but let me tell you it’s early afternoon.

So? My shift starts at midnight.

Ah, that’s right…you have the night shift. Which is exactly why we need to talk.

I’m not getting into this without my afternoon piss and a cup of coffee.

Fine then – I’ll be back with two cups. I give you two minutes, make it quick.

Two minutes? I can’t whiz that fast.

That’s gross, just go already — sheesh!


Watch the attitude.

You’re a pain in the ass, ya know that?

Hey, I’m not the one with the raging hangover.

You try coming up with millions of ideas for dreams every night, night after night. Then you can come bitching to me about how much I drink. It’s not easy being me, ya know.

Oh, quit your whining. Geez, you can be such a girly man at times.

Excuse me?

You heard me. You have no idea what it’s like to be female.

Uh, yea, I do. I rummage around inside many females’ heads on a regular basis. And let me tell you, what I see is scary shit sometimes.

Like what?

You fantasize too often. Sorry, but Erik Estrada? How gay is that?

Me dreaming about Erik Estrada is gay? How do you figure that?

That guy was so..I dunno, 70s?

Ya, so what? At least I’m not fantasizing about Courtney Thorne Smith.


Hey, that’s hubby’s fantasy, not mine. Stick with the program here.

Whatever. So, I’m up now. What’s the big deal about last night?

Well, you threw me in a garbage truck. I’m curious to know what made you decide to do that.

I did that?

Yes, I was thrown into a garbage truck and covered in a whole bunch of disgusting crap. Then, I had to sit there and listen to the thing start compacting on me. It was scary, I started freaking out.

Wow, that’s nasty.

No kidding! I could even feel my head compressing. I feel things in my dreams, you know.

You do? Like what?

Oh, everything. Some people only dream in black and white. Many don’t even remember their dreams. I, on the other hand, remember everything. I also taste, see, touch, smell and feel in my dreams.

That’s cool.

No, not all the time. Imagine being able to feel the concussion of being shot. Think that’s “cool”?

Well, no.

Exactly. But that’s what happens to me when I dream. Everything is 100% vivid.


What? You actually sounded coherent there for a moment.

Well, I do have a theory about your dreams, now that I’m a little more awake.

Hangover going away?

Can’t ya tell? Heh heh heh.

Good Lord, it’s like visiting with a frat boy. This place is even littered with beer bottles, which is odd since I don’t drink beer.

Imagine how your dreams would be if, say, I dropped acid? I think you’re getting off pretty easy here.

How so?

Well, you get the benefit of my insobriety while I have to wake each afternoon with a hangover. I think you’re the one taking advantage of me.

Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re pushing your problems off onto me.

Listen, I’ll make it very simple for you to understand. Your dreams aren’t as incoherent and incongruent as you think.

They aren’t? Hmm, try explaining that to my husband. He thinks my dreams are indicative of something far worse than just an active imagination.

He does?

Not really, but he does roll his eyes whenever he hears me say, “You won’t believe the dream I had last night…” He usually follows that up with, “And it was very weird.”

Nice catch phrase.

It works. So, back to the garbage truck dream. What was that all about?

Simple. Remember last year when you got all caught up in that work stuff?

Yea, that was a load of crap.


Oh…I think I’m catching on. I had to take a load of crap last year from some fellow workers..

Keep going…

And now that the main trouble maker is gone…

Un huh…

I can officially “dump” the idea of having to take that same load of crap THIS year!


Wow, that is freakin’ amazing. You did all that?

And you thought I was nothing more than just a lazy, shiftless, raging alcoholic frat boy who enjoys the occasional picture show of girl-on-girl action and nudity..

Whoa, buddy…Let’s not go there, okay?

Hey, I’m a guy, what can I tell ya?

I guess we all have our weaknesses. Just remember, I don’t swing that way. So, if you’re in the mood for a little girl on girl porn, go visit my hubby, okay?

Cool. How does he feel about Jennifer Aniston?

You’re a pig.

You know you love me.

I’m out of here.

“Mistake” versus “Choice”

August 6, 2009

I’ve had it with the euphemism world out there. Specifically, the one world where people believe the words “a series of bad choices” can be intermingled, intermangled, and interchanged with the words “stupid mistake”. Let me explain.

Here, in my relatively “safe” local suburb, a police officer was recently arrested for riding his motorcycle at 149 mph down a country road. Yes, that number IS correct: 149 MPH!

First, I can’t stand motorcycles. And don’t even bother to respond to this post if you own one and want to tell me how wonderful they are — I will never be convinced. They are dangerous to ride and even more dangerous to have to drive anywhere near. I can never see the bike until it’s within smacking distance. Sorry — but all the safety training in the world won’t guarantee you will come out of a 25-foot skid over asphalt unscathed if you choose to ride your motorcycle wearing only flip flops, shorts and a wife-beater shirt. For people who choose to do that, thank you for your willingness to “thin the herd” of stupid people.

But this rant isn’t about motorcycles. It’s about what happens when people are caught doing something they know they shouldn’t be doing, and the excuses that stream from their mouths once they are standing before their local judge.

In the case of High-Speed Willy, his only comment to the judge was: “I made a mistake.” And this is where my head exploded.

A couple years ago, the principal of my children’s middle school was arrested for driving while intoxicated (DWI or DUI for some). It was 2:00 am, he was going the wrong way down a one-way street, and when asked for his driver’s license, he handed the arresting officer his Blockbuster card. Yea, he’s REALLLY coherent. He blew twice the legal limit on the Breathalyzer.

Of course this made the local news — TV, newspaper, etc. His name was everywhere along with the name of the middle school my kids attend.

While I am not opposed to adults getting their “drink on”, I am vehemently opposed to drinking and driving and was very irate by this principal’s words to the press: “I made a mistake.” No, a mistake is accidentally dropping your cell phone in a river while fishing, or accidentally leaving a wallet filled with money on a table in a high school weight room after you’ve left for the night. (Both of which have occurred to family members of mine).

What these two morons (the police officer and the principal) did were make bad CHOICES. The police officer didn’t accidentally stomp his foot down on the gas pedal and clutch, causing an unexpected acceleration — for which he kept it down (again, by mistake?) for an extended period of time. He didn’t suddenly find himself  “swerving” on the road, around cars that mysteriously “appeared” beside him.The principal didn’t “accidentally” walk into a bar, unknowingly order shot after shot of alcohol (or beer, whatever the case may be), unwillingly open his mouth, surprisingly pour it down his throat hour after hour, then get back into his car and inadvertently drive off into the night.

The drunken principal’s situation hits closer to home with me. Not because it’s the school where my kids go, or the fact that I am a teacher. No, it hits home with me because of what happened two days before he was busted for DUI. My son was caught goofing around during a fire drill, and was given a “Saturday school” for this. The principal pulled my son into his office, said “Because of your CHOICE to screw around during school, you can come to Saturday school.” And when the principal called me to tell me what he had done, I agreed with the principal’s use of the term “choice”. My son earned that extra day in school for the poor choice he made.

But, when the principal was busted for DUI, what do you imagine was the consequence for his behavior? Jail time? Personally, I would have loved to see him serve 3 days in jail. But, of course that didn’t happen. Instead, the school district gave him 10 days, suspended leave, with pay. WITH PAY.

Sorry, but that is not a “consequence” for a school principal — that’s a freaping vacation! How am I, as a responsible parent, expected to teach my son and daughter about “consequences” when the adult leaders aren’t taking responsibility for THEIR own actions?And THIS chaps my hide.

Fortunately, the students were smart enough to recognize the actions of the principal were abhorrent. Conversely, the principal lost all respect from his student body immediately after the incident. None of the students were able to resist a good “So I threw a spit wad at Suzy, so what? At least I didn’t get busted for drinking and driving and gave the cop my Blockbuster card!” As disrespectful as that sounds, you cannot argue the logic behind that.

For the police officer, I believe his career is officially over. The local city government has issued a statement concerning the officer’s conduct and how it is detrimental to the overall “perception” of the police force.

There is some wonderful irony to both of the stories above:

The officer’s story is an ironic metaphor for motorcycle riding. He threw himself under the bus, and came out in a world of hurt.

The principal was demoted to the rank of “assistant principal” and is now responsible for disciplining disruptive, behaviorally challenged, high school students.

All because of the “mistakes” they claim to have made. Yea, right.

Conversations with My Muse: Reacting to Stress

August 3, 2009

Ummmm…can I come in?

Well, well, you’re back…


Do we even need to talk about where you’ve been these past few days?

Stop shouting…I’ve got a raging headache.


Please stop! I think my head’s going to explode here

Serves you right! What in the world happened this weekend?

I went a little off the deep end.

I heard that…you know the authorities are out looking for you?

Yes, the grapevine is all abuzz about what happened in Italy

Amazing what happens when the story shows up on the internet news wires, huh?

Guess so. Are you mad?

Hey — it’s not my fault you went on a bender. I’m not ultimately responsible for your behavior, ya know..

I know, I know…but — I had a great excuse–

This oughta be good…care to elaborate?

I was “stressed”…

Stressed? STRESSED?

Please, I’ve asked you not to shout…and yes, I was stressed.

What in the wide, wide world of writing could you be stressed about?

That speech…

What speech? I’m assuming you have assisted many people in writing speeches, right?

Yes, but THAT speech — you know, the one I did last week for the genocide witness.

Ohhhh–okay, go on

That one knocked me off my ancient flip flops. I thought the topic was going to be a little less heavy than it turned out to be…

Well, you knew going in it was going to be about “genocide”, didn’t you?

Yes, of course I knew that..based on the outline she had ready for me. I just didn’t expect it to become as gruesome as it did…

Gruesome? What exactly did you and she write about anyways?

Ohhhh, this and that..ya know, it’s not easy to talk about it — especially with a throbbing headache…got any aspirin? I tried chewing a willow tree branch, but that didn’t work.

I have ibuprofen, if that helps

I’ll try anything. Gawwd, I feel like crap!

No doubt. So, wanna talk about it?

About what?

The speech? Your bender? Why you felt it necessary to trash a hotel, sleep with an Italian soccer team, shout at the Pope….need I say more?

Oh myyyy…did I really do all those things?

Yes, and more..why — don’t you remember?

I don’t remember anything past the nachos and margaritas at the hotel’s bar.

Oh, that’s bad

Tell me about it…can I have that ibuprofen now?

Sure…here ya go, and make sure you chase those down with a big glass of water.

Uggggh, thanks.

Okay, so — the speech was horrifying, you got stressed out….took a much needed vacation. I get all that.


What I don’t get was the trouble you got into afterwards. Did you even stop to think about what you’ve done?

I told you, I don’t remember anything beyond Friday night…nada, zero, zip.

Wow, that’s bad. Do you need a reminder?

I dunno — do I need a reminder?

Well, there was a news report out there about you…I figure someone might be looking for you.

Oh nooo..

I would suggest you do two things: 1) lawyer up — you’re going to need a good one to help you weed through this mess you’ve made for yourself and 2) turn yourself in.

Lawyer up? What’s that?

Find a good public defense attorney who can argue your case for you — apparently you’re not in any position to defend yourself — I don’t care how good of a writer you think you are, there is no way you’re going to write yourself out of this one.

Ugggh, guess I have no choice. Okay, next?

Number 2: turn yourself in. Authorities appreciate not having to use their valuable time and resources tracking down criminals. If you turn yourself in, throw yourself at their mercy, then maybe you’ll have the more serious charges reduced down to some minor misdemeanors.

What does that mean for me?

Well, in some cases, the courts will sympathize and give you community service.

That’s not too bad, huh?

Well, it depends…it seems that happens with celebrities and rich people more than anyone else — of which you are neither.

Again with the “celebrities” — why do they get away with so much?

Ask them, I’m just a regular “jane”. I live in the midwest.

I suppose I could use my charm and try to get the charges whittled down, huh?

I’d try that. Anyone you know who could help you write a really emotional plea bargain? I suggest you hire them.

Good idea. As for community service, what would you consider a fair amount?

200 hours of community service…


Hey, you insulted the POPE and you have any idea how pissed off people are at you? Two thousand years of religious theology — and you had to go and denounce it? Then, insult the very  man who introduced more than 1,000 words into the English language? Wow, I’m amazed they aren’t calling for you to be burned at the stake like the heretics of old!

Again, not my fault…

I disagree — it IS your fault, but the motives behind your actions are somewhat plausible.

Haven’t you ever done anything under stress?

Sure, I have..I was just thinking about that today..

And what is that?

Well, I finally stopped a lifetime habit of biting my nails.


Yea, did it most of my life.

Any insight why?

I dunno. But strangely enough, ever since I started writing, I stopped biting my nails.


I sense you have a theory about this?

Of course.

Okay, shoot..

I think you had so much to say, and no “safe” place to say it, that you were all “bottled up” inside.

Now it’s my turn to say “hmmm”. Go on.

Well, once you started getting these thoughts down on paper, you relaxed a bit, and no longer feel that same level of compulsion to bite your nails.

Ah. Fascinating.

It actually is amazing, when we think about it. Our brains make us do things we aren’t consciously aware we are doing.

Have you been studying psychiatry now?

A little bit. I’m fascinated by how the brain works.

Me too, I especially am intrigued about the nature of “handedness” and how that plays in our development.

Are we going off topic here?

Just a bit. I am definitely more creative than I am analytical. That’s cuz I’m a leftie. Creativity occurs more in the right brain than the left…

Uhhh, my head’s beginning to pound again. Can we table this discussion for now?

Sure, besides, don’t you have something important to do?


Turn yourself in, face the authorities, etc..?

I suppose so…But, can I have a drink first?


Come on, how well do you know me?

Too well, which is why I’m shocked.

Oh, lighten up — I was only kidding.

Okay, okay — I’ll give you that one. And I’ll let you go. But you have to promise me something first?

What’s that?

Do the right thing. Always. And if you feel like you’re getting overstressed again, come to ME first, k?

Will do.



Later, chickie.

Conversations with My Muse: Consequences of Our Actions

August 2, 2009

Well, well. It looks as though my muse has gotten herself into a little bit of a legal entanglement. While perusing the internet news sites, I came across this little news blurb:

Woman Sought for Damages, Causing International Havoc

(IP) International authorities (Interpol) are currently on the search for a woman connected to a recent series of disturbances in and around the Mediterranean area. As recently as last Friday, July 3l, several witnesses staying at the Hotel Trevi in Rome, Italy, indicated they had seen a young woman acting “strangely”. “We were there to see the Pope,” Augusta Sincionni stated to local authorities. “We didn’t expect such a sideshow!”

According to local attendees at the Pope’s Friday night service, the woman was overheard yelling random, nonsensical things such as: “Down with monotheism! Socrates deserved to die!” and, most bizarrely “Shakespeare was a fake!”

Unable to apprehend the suspect, authorities are now asking for the public’s help. The woman can be described as “in her mid- to late-twenties, braided, reddish hair, wearing a white toga with gold lamé trim and carrying a switch-blade stylus.” Anyone who sees a woman matching that description is encouraged to contact the local authorities. She is not considered “armed and dangerous,” merely off her medication.

More About Michael Jackson’s Untimely Death

July 29, 2009

For some strange reason, I’m still fascinated by the emerging details surrounding Michael Jackson’s death. I wasn’t a fan of his — I haven’t been since 1980(ish). I think I stopped caring about him the moment he went from black to white (hmm, kinda like his song, huh? Just now thought of that) And with his questionable behavior the last few years, I certainly turned away from anything to do with him. Artistic talents aside, I am skeeved out by any man who invites young boys to play at his house. Shuddddder.

But, this isn’t about that. It’s about the details that are now covering all the headlines and internet news sites out there. has a feature on it now (I admit, I read it — I’m a slave to tabloid reporting) where they interviewed the former chef. She mentioned part of the “typical” morning routine at his house was for Dr. Murray to “come down the stairs from Michael’s bedroom carrying oxygen tanks.” HUH?

This sounds so bizarre to me. What allegedly “healthy” 50-year old needs oxygen tanks replaced every morning? It was evident Michael did not smoke, so needing oxygen treatments for COPD could certainly be ruled out. I have a family member who requires oxygen for COPD, and that is only from 40+ years of smoking two packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day. That’s enough tar and nicotine to shellack the inside of one’s lungs, I would presume. And she’s in her 80s– did I mention that?

So again, I’m not buying whatever all these former and “current” employees are trying to sell as a “casual-day-in-the-park”. I don’t understand how all of Michael Jackson’s bizarre, unusual behavior and required “treatments” by his physicians (on-call or otherwise) can go unnoticed and unspoken about for  years.

The LAPD has every right and concern to go into a full-blown investigation of these doctors. But, I think it needs to go further. I think everyone who had any part in the “silent acceptance” of Michael Jackson’s slow descent into mental illness and subsequent drug use deserves to be put under a microscope and examined.

This is akin to watching some sort of psychological experiment run completely amok.

As an aside:

Has anyone thought to step in for Lindsay Lohan? I am worried she’s going to be making headline news next, followed by a whole new series of  stories that start with the line: “I remember when Lindsay used to…”

Sad, very sad.