the answer, in no uncertain terms, is…

NOT NEARLY ENOUGH!

For all of you that know me, the scale is my total Frenemy (a friend/enemy combo). I would link to to the current definition to look all cool, but basically it’s easier to type…prepare for a better explanation tomorrow…but I digress.

I mean, who gains 3 pounds…in ONE DAY?!

And the day before I was eating things like flax and nuts and veggies and all things rabbit-like. (That means like what rabbits eat, NOT the rabbits themselves…relax PETA.)

NOT. FAIR.

And so, today I will lead healthful existence and try to not scare anyone with the amount of gas buildup from the ingestion of so much fiber.

The good news, I am headed to the pool today and can be my own flotation device.

note to self: consult Crissy on how to manage this, as she is a fiber guru.

So I have been thinking about my very celebrity life…you know, wiping bottoms–or at least keeping markers out of them, laundry, cooking, cleaning, my very glamorous job in the cosmetics industry, blog writing, movie watching, wine drinking (or vodka, or alcohol…who’s picky?), book reading, etc.–and I have come up with a list of actresses who I think should consider playing me in my autobiographical movie, “Is this too much gloss?”.

Here they are, in no specific order:

Drew Barrymore: because she smells good…even Oprah says so!

Jessica Rabbit: because she’s not bad…she’s just drawn that way.

Caroline Rea: because she looks like me.

Kathleen Turner: because she is my kind of mom.

Meg Ryan: because the majority of the 90’s I bleached & cut in her honor.

John Travolta: because she brings out my sparkling personality.

Kathy Griffin: because she is one funny bee-atch.

Wonder Woman: because so much of my days are a balance only worthy of bullet repelling bracelets, a magic lasso, invisible jet, super high jumps, a fantastic 3-turn spinning transformation, and let’s face it…she has my thighs.

You sing: “Go ahead baby!”

It has come to my attention that I have a serious problem.

I jiggle.

Not in the cute 4 year old bouncy way…but in the dreaded lunch lady way. Parts of me are too close to resembling cottage cheese, and for cripes sake, I’m way too cute have the role of Rachel’s thighs being played by Jello.

So it’s Day 1.

And I am surviving.

It’s been a full 16 hours and I have kept things under control.

The goal is for my birthday (in August, btw) to be as totally fabulous on the outside as I feel on the inside.

I just fear that it means a lot less chocolate, carbs, and wine…..

Crap.

Quickly changing my mantra: “I’m fabulous baby!”

You sing: “Go ahead baby!”

I feel better already.

Is it just me, or are there others out there in cyberspace WITHOUT any tattoos? Please make yourself known!

Good Grief.

Here are some of my personal, south of the Bible Belt, favorites:

1. A pair of legs with red high heels–one on the inner arm, one down the body, all leading to some idiot’s hairy armpit…….nice. Can’t you just hear “Sweet Home Alabama” in the background?

2. Picture it: White Guy, both calves, WHITE on one, POWER on the other…as a sidenote, his ASIAN wife walking proudly beside him wearing a strip club tee-shirt and his daughter was a beautiful blend of the 2 morons……there are so many people that want babies, yet these a$%*&!@’s have no problem pro-creating…hmm, because of the irony of the situation, does that make them oxymorons?

3. Looney Tunes……why do people seem to think that Yosemite Sam, the Tasmanian Devil, or Tweety Bird belong on their body forever?

4. Disney Characters……no word of a lie, I JUST saw a 6-8 diameter Holiday Wreath, on yet another calf, with Mickey, Minnie, Donald, & Pluto wishing Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas FOREVER. Maybe it’s a Florida thing.

5. Spiderweb Elbows & Teardrops…..I know that some fool will probably come after me on this one, but SERIOUSLY?!

6. Panthers, with claws, crawling up arms and legs…..ring, ring, clue phone–no one buys this s*&$ for a minute AND it looks like crap.

7. Profanity on your arm or knuckles forever…..I guess the upside is that it is usually spelled correctly.

8. Skulls with vampire teeth and other hellish icons…..perfect for holding your sweet baby in christening photos.

9. Your NAME…..are you honestly so dumb that you need a permanent “Hello, My Name Is” on your BODY?!

10. The tramp stamp…..how many of these uninteresting smears am I going to have to look at–only bettered when accompanied by a whale-tale thong popping out under your muffin top.

I know that there are more fine specimens–feel free to comment and enlighten me.

Maybe I’m in a mood today, but seriously–take a picture and build a scrapbook of memories to keep at home. I don’t care that you’re “Born to be Wild” or that you want snakes coming out of eye sockets in skulls on your arm to be the 1st impression of you. If you need to remember names, keep an address book on you or check your cell phone.

While shows like LA Ink might be fun to watch for the freak factor and, to be honest, the talent of the artists, I find the majority of ink on the everyday individual to be mundane and mainstream–and isn’t that the opposite of what it’s supposed to be?

And don’t even get me started on the pathology of the pain of the needle associated with a “Good Memory”…..

Maybe I’m completely wrong.

Maybe my NOT having any tatt’s means I have commitment issues because I can’t think of one picture I want on my body forever.

Maybe I’m just afraid that today’s Betty Boop will be tomorrow’s Betty Droop.

Maybe I’m the freak here……but maybe I’m not.

It is inevitable.  As soon as my daughter gets within the confines of any bedroom with a friend…her clothes come off.  It happens so fast, that I am convinced they remove themselves as she approaches the room in some sort of cosmic toddler/pre-school portal.

How do I know this occurs EVERY time?  The stunning conga-line processional that follows of, “Naked! Naked! NAY-KED!”complete with booty shaking and Carmen Miranda arms.   I imagine it’s exactly what Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden before the unfortunate fruit eating incident.

The sheer joy of it all, the reckless abandon, left me at pique intrigue.  I decided to try it.  I waited patiently until the Dainty Flower went to bed, and the boy was at band practice.  To get the full effect, I threw my clothes on the floor as fast as I could and, ahem, shook my “money maker” for all it’s worth.

I didn’t shout the customary song (see above), but gave the Naked Dance a good go–complete with conga booty thrusts.  I was only missing fruit adorned headgear–but this is the Naked Dance after all.  I was having a great time and thought that my daughter was brilliant…I couldn’t wait for the boy to get home to have him join in the revelry!  This is GREAT! I can’t believe I haven’t done this before!  I’ll start a new sensation!

And then I glanced up and checked myself out in the mirror.

And realized that when my body stops moving, my arms, butt, and stomach…DON’T.

Immediate thought:  “I know what makes an ocean wave, wave” from Boston Museum of Science commercial, circa 1982.

Stunning realization:  What once was a “money maker” I believe, may be reduced to a change machine.

No. More. Naked. Dance.

I’m going to leave it to the professionals.

1. I have to put down my glass of wine.

2. Apparently I now have 2 obsolete wardrobes as spandex is no longer acceptable gear.

3. Cheerful instructors who joyfully announce after the “warm up” (as you, the sweaty pig, attempt to drink water to avoid passing out), “Okay, now we can start!”

4. The fact that my previous night’s debauchery, aka Happy Hour (see #1), starts sweating out of my pores for no reason and everyone stares at me funny.

5. The fact that I have to withstand aforementioned staring, in horribly out of date, mismatched wardrobe (see #2), while looking through my crotch as I bend into position to “warm up.”

6. If attempting at home to avoid previously mentioned humiliation, watching my 4 year old move fluidly while I struggle to get my 2nd stomach out of the way…pranayama to yo’ mama!

7. The instructor, on video or up close and personal, reminds you to breathe (and as you are so intent on NOT looking like a schmuck)–you actually NEED the reminder!

8. Why does anything that gets me “in perfect alignment” have downside of producing the loudest farts?

9. Please explain how balancing on my hands improves my life? Am I trying out for the circus?

10.”Lowering to chatarunga” is actually coherent jargon and not something pornographic.

And, as a 1st time blogging bonus….

11. Vaginal sweat?! Mmmm, attractive!

Namaste!