They say that you can’t believe everything you read on the internet.  However, I have found something that has been documented as fact. I have done extensive research on the subject, which basically means I saw a caption and it made me happy enough that I didn’t need to go any further. Sometimes in life you just have to trust. There was a study done stating that a glass of red wine is the equivalent to an hour at the gym. I don’t know how, I don’t care. I know there are doubters, especially all of those people that have been getting up early and dragging their butts to the gym, but all I can say is – haters gonna hate.  All of those wishes on stars finally paid off.  Hot damn and hallelujah!  I knew I would end up being a trend setter in some form of my life but honestly had no idea it would be with my wine consumption.

This new exercise regime not only fits my lifestyle perfectly but opens up a whole new world of possibilities.  Now I can work out practically anywhere and at any time.  I can wear dressy clothes and I won’t need to worry about getting sweaty.  I don’t need to make sure someone is home to watch my children.  I can work out in restaurants, bars, sporting events, just about anywhere that it is legal to drink wine.  I am going to be in the best damn shape of my life.  Tube tops, string bikinis, daisy dukes, oh my!

The only challenge I foresee is making it socially acceptable to “work out” in the morning.  It is recommended to start the day with exercise to clear the head.  Think of how stress free the day would be if you started out with a nice glass of exercise.  If it’s nice out I may even bring a chair down to the track and sit there to “work out”.   Wear some cute Lulu Lemon active wear and start a work out group.  We can help each other to push through the bloating and hiccups.  For the advanced work out group we will use a heavy wine glass to tone the arms and increase calories burned.  Lift, sip, lift, sip.  I pick things up and put them down.

I know that the economy may be affected by this new development and that some large gyms may lose profits. However, the farming industry should see a large increase in sales and personally I feel much better helping farmers. Farmers you say?  Yes, vineyards are basically farms, they grow grapes so you could even say we would be helping farmers.  I could even get one of those bumper stickers for my car, “Save Farms”.  I probably won’t be driving that much with all of this additional exercising, however. The way I see it, despite the haters, this is a huge win win for everyone.

Do you ever feel like no matter what your answer is about a topic it is still wrong?  It’s not really wrong because everyone is entitled to their own opinion, yet we are publically told we are wrong.  Wrong because some group has decided we are because to go against their opinion is wrong.  Most days I just shake my head and laugh when I read the news.  What new form of political incorrectness has decided that I am a bigot today?  Just about anyone can decide they are offended about something and if you disagree, you are a bigot. Period.  **Let me put in a disclaimer that I do not condone discrimination of any form and the intention of this blog is for comical enjoyment purposes only. **

It really has gotten out of control to a scary point of no return.  I don’t hate being white, therefore I must hate blacks – bigot.  I like being a woman, I must hate men – bigot. I prefer a blue water cup over the green, I must be against the color green – bigot.  My husband will only eat a salad in a bowl, he must be a plate hater – bigot.  You aren’t a bigot when you go to bed but when you wake up you are.  Surprise!  The rules have changed while you were asleep.  I’m really tired of being labeled as wrong just because some group has decided that is the case.  What makes them right?  What happened to freedom of speech?  ** The opinions of this writer in no way reflect the opinions of her family, friends, neighbors or anyone that has ever come in contact with this writer.**

Brace yourself for the big gasp, I’m about to say something that apparently makes me a bigot.   Never in all my years did I ever think preferring women in the ladies room with me would make me a bigot.  But it does!  I know it’s a serious issue but come on, I’m a bigot if I personally feel more comfortable with women in the ladies’ room?  Can you disagree with me, sure, but to call my personal feelings bigotry?  How dare you?  That does not mean I am against anyone who is transgender despite what is being spewed in the news.  It’s almost like you are on a game show, the spotlight is glaring down on you, the clock is ticking.  “So Stephanie, do you think men should be allowed in the ladies room with you?”  Ummm, “the clock is ticking”, Ummm, no?  Buzz.  Wrong answer.  Um, yes?  Buzz.  Wrong again.  Umm, as long as they are good looking???  Buzz. Forget it, I just won’t use a bathroom.  I would honestly rather pee on myself than have to engage in a discussion with anyone about this topic.

Why does everything have to be so difficult?  Why is everything a big freakin issue?  Basically if you look like a woman, act like a woman and identify yourself as a woman then just go in the damn ladies room and no one will be the wiser.  For however many years there has been indoor plumbing everyone was defecating just fine without having to change the laws to do so.  The only confusion I have run into is occasionally in a Mexican restaurant, sometimes I get a little confused depending on how many margaritas I’ve had.  However, if you are walking around with a beard while wearing a dress, no thanks buddy, I’m not buying it. If I can see your nuts, I’m going to kick them.  I’m sorry but if that makes some people think I am a bigot, that’s their opinion, I know I’m not.  Just because someone disagrees with the political correct view of the week doesn’t make them a bigot. All opinions matter and that is the beauty of living in the United States.  I respect yours, you respect mine.

As I find myself in my forties, I look much younger of course, I’m realizing how mellow I am becoming as a person.  I avoid confrontation like the plague and just want to appreciate every aspect of life.  I still hate just about everyone but I no longer feel the need to tell them.  It’s amazing that I was able to become such a softie considering how extreme of a change that is from how I used to be.  I wish the people that I tormented back in the day could see how I’ve become so they can cross me off of their list of people to kill, before it’s too late.   I wouldn’t say I’ve matured because I still have the sense of humor of a child and I’m not sure if I would go so far as to say I’m wise, I am still dumb as a stump.

When I was young I would look for confrontation.  Thank goodness none of the girls in Tello’s in the Meadow Glen Mall ever took me up on the threats I made.  Considering the mouth I had on me, I am proud to say I never got in a physical fight.  Very, very close.  I even had a girl’s mother standing by saying “kick her ass Kristen” to a girl I was mouthing off to.  No wait, my best friend was mouthing off to her but I always had her back.  Like Dione Warwick said, that’s what friends are for.  Seriously though, I was even starting fights in elementary school.  Here’s a tip, don’t try to fight a girl in library class when her mother is the Librarian.  See what I mean, I haven’t always been the sharpest tool in the shed.

Then I got my license and found myself using my right hand to steer while my left hand with middle finger extended hung out the window at all times to be prepared.  I knew every swear word, or so I thought until I started a coloring group using swear word coloring books.  There are some good ones I never even thought of, I can only imagine how great life would have been if I utilized some of those words when I was young.  Anyway, not only did I know them but I made sure I found situations to use them on a daily basis.  God forbid you dated my ex-boyfriend.  I would sit in front of your house, of course with the same best friend, and wait for you while using some of my favorite words.  Yup, I’m embarrassed to say, I was that girl.

But here I am now, smiling and waving to all of those nice drivers on the road that want to show me their middle finger.  I never swear in front of my children and find myself saying Jiminy Crickets which always cracks my mother up, nor do I find it acceptable for them to swear.  Unfortunately I’ve made up for that by teaching them the fine art of political incorrectness.  Better than them learning it on the streets I always say!  However, I like to think I have become a nice person.  I try anyway.  I try every day to be better than I was the day before.  It’s kind of like a song on repeat because I don’t always succeed.  It’s definitely a work in process.   Don’t worry though, the old Stephanie is still in there and I will mess you up if you do anything to my family.

If someone asked you what an idyllic neighborhood would be what would you say?  A quiet cul de sac?  Or would you say a house on a large lot of land with few neighbors?  I like a combination of things, neighbors close enough to hear you if you scream but I enjoy privacy and am very big on boundaries.  My home is right outside of our downtown so land is not an option and privacy is hard to come by.  I have been very fortunate over the last 10 years in that my house has sat between two sets of perfect neighbors for an extraverted introvert like myself.  Nice, tidy, respectful people without young children that keep to themselves.  We smile and wave and chat on occasion.  Perfect.

Perfect until yesterday when my husband and I found out that one set of neighbors has decided to move.  To some that might not seem like that big of a deal but to me…. to quote Ralphie in The Christmas Story, “Fuuuuddddgeee”.  To someone who’s an extroverted introvert that’s friendly but dislikes most people, this is not a good thing.  Some people might think this is a positive thing, maybe a younger couple with children will move in.  We think, great now there will be kids running on the tiny strip of grass between our homes and people will want to talk to us. Don’t get me wrong, I am very polite, always, and can talk the paint off a wall but only when I want to.   Sometimes I relish in social settings and other times I just want to smile and wave.  I don’t need to be around people and am very content being alone in my own little world.

So what is a girl to do?  Since sitting on my front porch with a shotgun appears to be frowned upon in today’s society, we resorted to the next best thing.  We have already gotten quotes for a fence, barbed wire, land mines, trained attack dogs and a sentry tower.  I know the tower seems excessive but since I can’t shoot anyone, what the heck, I’ll splurge.

In the the movie Over The Hedge, there is a line that completely rings true in my life.  Animals eat to live but people live to eat.  My life is always about food.  I LOVE FOOD.  Let me clarify, not healthy food.  If there ever comes a day in my life where I get all excited for a carrot, please get me some help. Actually just put me out of my misery, there’s no coming back from that.  I have such an addiction to food it is really sad.  I hide food wrappers like an alcoholic hides bottles.  I’ve said it before but I am quite surprised that I don’t weigh 500 pounds.  Especially considering most days the only exercise I get is struggling to get the top off of a jar of cheese dip.

To justify my gluttonous behavior, I have made up my own little rules over the years about when there are and aren’t any calories in food.  There are never, ever any calories in mac n cheese if you eat it out of the pan with the large wooden spoon while at the stove.  That is a proven fact.  I will never get myself a bowl of the mac n cheese but I will stand and eat it out of the pan.  Once you put the food in a bowl, boom, calories.  Did you also know that if you eat off of your child’s plate there are no calories?  When they can’t finish their meal, the food Gods take out all the calories because they hate seeing food go to waste.  Another proven fact.  I should start my own diet plan, watch out Jenny Craig because my plan is way more appealing.

The other day I was standing in our pantry with the door closed wolfing down potato chips when I realized I am literally a closet eater.  I was too embarrassed for my family to see me and was trying to hide the evidence like it was a crime scene.  Now that I think about it, I was standing so there weren’t any calories so I really had nothing to be embarrassed about.  I think it’s time for me to come out of the closet.  I need to be careful telling people I’ve come out of the closet or my children might end up with two moms.  Not that there is anything wrong with that.

This morning, as I was preparing my children’s lunches, in an already foul mood, I heard the dreaded words come from the television that stopped me in my tracks.  The words that caused the weather person to smile and rejoice but caused me to utter a gurgling sound that resembled the last breath from an antelope being killed by a lion.  Those words were – 70 degrees.  That can only mean one thing.  Spring.  The season where you can no longer wear sweaters and jeans to hide your winter (or with me permanent) bulges.  The season where I start to get uncomfortably warm. The precursor to the season that mimics entering the bowels of Hell.  The season that tests to see if you can stand being in Hell, which apparently I cannot so I am good.

I know I am in the minority to feel this way but I despise warm temperatures.  Warm meaning anything above 65 degrees and I lose my tolerance.  I am happy as a clam when it’s around 50 degrees.  Side note, why are clams happy anyway?  Probably because they are in cold water, see, I must not be the only one?  I know I am the sexy kind of hot (sarcasm) but I must also be very hot blooded because I am never cold.  To me it never really becomes jacket wearing weather until it’s below 35 degrees and that is only if I will be standing outside, never to just drive somewhere.  Jacket wearing in the car is when it gets down below 0.  Anything above 70 degrees to me feels like I am taking a Zumba class on the Equator.  The only thing that gets cold with me is my mood when I get hot.  It even scares me, it’s that bad.  Like Monty Python says “run away, run away”.

Has anyone else noticed that there appears to be a day dedicated for just about everything now?  I thought of this the other day as I was reading all of the Happy National Siblings Day posts on Facebook.  I didn’t think too much of it, celebrating having siblings must be nice.  Since I am an only child I started wondering when National Only Child Day was.  It wouldn’t be that much fun to celebrate because everyone would be alone.  One perk is you know you would get exactly what you want as a gift because you bought it for yourself and best of all, you don’t need to share the cake with anyone.

The day after I recovered from everyone on Facebook reminding me I don’t have any siblings, it was National Pet Day.  That’s when I started thinking this is getting a little ridiculous.  There really are days for everything now aren’t there?  With social media anyone can create a day and guaranteed people will follow.  Of course with my warped mind this made me giggle.  Should I create a day, maybe start with something small to see how it goes.  Today I am going to post a picture of myself on Facebook, wish myself a Happy Only Child Day and see how many people catch on.  I really do love messing with people, I feel like it might be my calling in life.

Then I’ll post some random picture of someone on National First Cousin Twice Removed Day and watch as everyone scrambles to find a picture to post.  People will be waiting outside of their homes to take pictures of their mail carriers, paperboys, the possibilities are endless.  Now that I think about it, this could actually stimulate the economy.  Hallmark was brilliant with creating Valentine’s Day and watching as the sale of greeting cards soared.  Think of all the products in addition to greeting cards that would benefit.  On National Bed Wetter’s Day the sale of Depends and rubber sheets would increase.  If only I owned a product or a company that could benefit from this type of marketing genius.  Lots to do to prepare for National Crazy Blog Writer’s Day.

After my physical yesterday, I realized that I might have told some untruths.  I didn’t realize how much I had “fibbed” until after I left feeling all proud of how healthy I am and was questioned a little by my husband.  I basically lied to every question I was asked.  One didn’t seem like that big of a deal but when I added them all up, yikes.  I better buy an apple orchard because I’m doomed, I need more than an apple a day.  I basically walked in bleeding out of my eyes and dragging my left leg but led my doctor to believe I was fit as a fiddle.  What is with these odd sayings?  Who came up with these?

The depression questionnaire in the waiting room started my downward spiral.  I could have answered yes to every question but checked off no.  I’m fine, whatever, no one needs to know I contemplate jumping in front of a Big Wheel daily.  I can handle it.   Then came the question about whether my menstrual cycle is regular.  Pretty much was my answer, and in my eyes six periods a month qualifies as pretty much.  That’s for my GYN to deal with anyway, no need to get two doctors concerned.  “Is your asthma under control?”  Yup, pretty much non-existent.  Good thing I was too lazy to carry my oxygen tank in from the car.

“Stomach issues?”  Nope, all good.  Meanwhile my family compares me to the funny intestine person on the IBS commercials that holds its belly.  I’ve had a sensitive stomach all my life, it’s fine, it’s just me.  No need to talk about it.   “Been to the eye doctor lately?”  Not too long ago, I wear glasses.   I didn’t mention I was only looking in her general direction because she was speaking and I was using my hearing to guide me.  I lost a few pounds, which I was praised for.  If I had taken off my socks she would have seen the weight loss was because four of my toes had fallen off recently.

We ended with her telling me to keep up the good work and I was looking great.  Fit. As. A. Fiddle.

This morning I read an article about towns that were considered “bubbles”.  I wasn’t surprised to see my town on the list.  My family always jokes about living in a bubble.  It’s very similar to Stephen King’s “Under the Dome”.  When we cross over to the “real world” I hear Dorothy’s voice in my head saying “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore”.  When you enter our town, once you make it through the screening process you must walk through a de-contamination area to ensure you have not brought anything back with you from outside the bubble.  That is the reason our taxes are so high, we need to pay for all of the guards, the filtration system and upkeep of the bubble walls.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy being in the bubble.  However, I do wonder what it will do to my children when they go to live outside the bubble someday.  When they realize everything isn’t handed to them and you need to work and save to get what you want.  I grew up outside the bubble and worked hard to get in, I know what non-bubble life is like but all my children know is bubble.  Sometimes it doesn’t feel real where we live.  My children don’t often see what “real” is.  Where some people smoke, don’t eat organic food, cut their own grass and have never heard of Vineyard Vines.  All they see are women in tennis skirts driving expensive cars.  I was quite shocked actually when a tennis skirt was included in my welcome package.  I’m not a tennis skirt type of girl so I gave it to my husband, he has better legs than I do.