Visitors

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Fitness Crazy

Enjoying a late dinner with My Mister tonight, I was trying to eat a rice dish with chopsticks. Which is frankly a ridiculous feat, Reader. 

I was trying to be fancy.

Instead, my rice dish was tasting like wood. 

That is, the teensy small mouthfuls I could shovel into my cakehole. 

Me: "Ya know, the Chinese are awfully smart."

Him: "Yep."

Me: "So why couldn't they invent chopscoops?? Why work so hard to grasp a teensy piece of rice? I've got things to do, I can't sit here and drink eat all night."

I mean, it would have been nice to be able to sit there all night, I was enjoying my Butterfinger Martini, but I had to get home and finish up my job, which is in progress right now on another screen.

I'm a true multi-tasker, Reader. I'm petting a cat with my foot, too. So now don't you feel one-dimensional? 

You probably don't, and actually shouldn't, because this is really nothing to brag about.  But I did commit to writing every dern night here and I'll be dag-nabbed if I fail so soon into the month. 

Hey, I never said it was going to be quality, Reader. Quantity is all I promised. 

A wholelotta me. You're welcome.

In other news, I booked my yearly girlie-friendie trip yesterday and so I began my workout routine last night. 

I did some suck-ins.  

It's a new routine I am going to patent, which I'm certain will evolve into an entire franchise complete with my starring in fitness videos and designing workout clothing, which will all basically double as pajamas.  Watch out, Lululemon. MooMooTrixie is fast on your heals. I just need to find a few more routines to add to the suck-ins and it will be set for launch. 

If you want to begin trying them at home yourself, it goes a little something like this:

Basically, you suck in your stomach to the count of ten (or three, whatever you can do, we are a safe zone, no judging) while you're brushing your teeth or laying in bed watching t.v., and count it as exercise. Do a few reps. Count and hold. 

This morning I stepped up my suck-in routine since last night's was so successful and I actually sucked in, held to a count of ten (or something, I sort of lost count, it was BC*) while bending over to feed the cats. So it's practically like I did a Crossfit workout right here at home. 

In fact, I'm doing my suck-ins RIGHT NOW, so add that to my multi-tasking routine.  Whew! 

I'll keep you posted as I add additional routines to the mix. We may need to start a workout cycle together, and we can motivate each other with YOU SUCK badges, with the more YOU SUCK badges you collect earning you a slice of cake at the end of the week.  

I haven't worked out the specifics, because frankly I'm making up the rules RIGHT NOW (more multi-tasking!), but you had better believe when I really sit down and drink think, this is going to be EPIC. 

Or I will suck myself into a herniated something in my innards. 

That's a clear possibility. I think. I'm not an official doctor, unless you count self-diagnosing Web MD. I mean, I almost diagnosed my skin cancer that was just a rash. I'm practically certified (crazy). 

And on that note, my day here is done. Sleep tight. And by tight, I mean from doing your suck-ins. Get started or you'll be envying my bikini body this summer and wishing you had sucked along with me. 

*Before Coffee

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

It's Not Just About Glass

In my job, which I don't talk about here in any length because boundaries, I get to do some cool-to-me stuff. I get to find products and offer them up to my customers and sometimes I make really cool connections with things that I love. 

Basically anything that does a little good in the world gets to me. Because there is so so much that can be bad (ISIS, anyone?), that I love the daily reminders that there is good things and good people around every corner, and not just bad people who want to chop you up. Thanks for all the mistrust, Forensic Files. 

In my Dream Life, I'd love to create something that gave back to people/the world/the earth/the animals.  I'd love to be the founder of something awesome. 

But the reality is I can barely keep up with keeping my clowder of cats in check and poop off the floor (from said clowder, not from me), so I think this is part of the Dream Life in which I am also an early riser, a healthy eater who can say, "No, thank you" to cake, and someone who just loves to exercise and can't wait to get out of bed to do it.  You know, that Dream Me which just doesn't exist at all, but likes to think about it a lot because it's aspirational, but not probable. 

All those ideals are things I embrace wholeheartedly. In my mind. Then I have another bite of cake, settle in for reruns of tv, and cuddle up with my kittehs thinking about the good we might do one day. 

So basically, you have to recognize your limits, Reader. Know what you're good at and do more of that, instead of trying to always change your weaker points.  

I'm good at finding some cool stuff. And sharing that cool stuff. And talking about that cool stuff. And getting excited about that cool stuff. And telling my friends about that cool stuff, where my voice gets high-pitched and even squeakier because I'm so excited, and then they catch my excitement, too. And hopefully that is how I contribute, by getting others excited about it, and we all support the programs and it's basically a win-win-win and I didn't have to get up at 5 a.m. to do sit-ups, like in that ridiculous Dream Life. 

Here's what I'm sharing with you tonight, Reader. I'm launching this product on my work website, to bring awareness to this cool product, inspire people to gift it for themselves or someone they heart, people get happy and say, "That Trixie, she's something else!" and not in the bad way,  with the shameful, embarrassed headshake that I'm accustomed to.

This is what I love today:



Maybe you will, too. 

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Some Things Change

So February. 

I created some goals for myself and ol' February.  

Hung a calendar on the pantry door so my progress was in my face from where I sit at the table and eff off on the computer, aka writing nonsense here, checking Facebook incessantly, checking email incessantly, reading news, reading non-news....just generally entertaining myself instead of doing active things. 

Now the calendar's in my face, reminding me that I said a goal out loud to go to the gym sometimes this month. I wasn't more specific than that, so I'm not falling behind at all, and it did inspire me to consider it after eating dinner tonight (which just ended). Instead I sit here meeting my other February goal of blogging every single day this month, to get my rusty brain some exercise since the rest of me is falling to shit. 

I thought maybe just maybe I could do the "get up early" thing, but so far that has not been met with success. FYI, Reader, it's cold at Chez Bang Bang in the morning, because the homeowner keeps the house at 62 degrees throughout the night. Because she she has a clowder to keep her warm. And possibly the beginning stages of hot flashes, but that really seems ridiculously early at 39. Ahem.

Anyway, I've got some other goals on my to-do list this month, and one of it includes a little revamp of this site.  Big-a things are a-happening.  Maybe. If I can get it together. And make time to learn some stuff. And regain some creativity. It's touch-and-go sometimes. What I'm saying is, I'm not making any guarantees. But I do have a big creative brain on my side, so there's a strong possibility something will take place here. 

So Reader, while this is a rather blah entry, I still get to count it and I'll leave you with this smooch, since it's Valentine's Day month.  

Love is Love, after all. 

I




Monday, February 1, 2016

Shame on Me.

Pinterest is, once again, a lying asshole.  

When will I learn, Reader? Overlooking the bajillion other times I've tried and failed at an easy-peasy Pinterest project, the most recent one is still fresh enough in my memory that one would think I would steer clear. One would think. 

Just a month or so ago I had Big Plans to create this for a baby shower I was hosting for my nephew's little bambino that's due to arrive this month:




Pretty, huh? 

Yes, it is. 

Really pretty.

I had no doubt I could achieve this very same effect at Chez Bang Bang with enough tissue paper and elevated food stands. 

I spent don't-even-ask-how-much, as well as hours off of my lifespan from trips to Walmart, for tissue paper to create these little hanging poms of festive.  

And then I worked til the WEE HOURS of the morn, Reader, accordion-folding and cutting and taping string, to the point that it was just flat-out ridiculous and I finally wised up and realized I was going to have to supplement my pom's with some pre-mades from Amazon if I was going to get these made before the babies tenth birthday.

So yeah. More money spent. Thanks again, Pinterest.  

All that effort and several blisters later, and tah-dah! 

Chez Bang Bang looked EXACTLY LIKE the Pinterest photo.  




So when something as simple as taco night presented the opportunity to show off yet another little life hack learned on Pinterest, it's no wonder I latched right on. 

I had recalled the most easy, makes-sense-outta-the-world way to fill your taco shell, a little tip I'd seen on my friend Pinterest. 

Ya just take a fork, and hold the shell with the tines, like so, and fill your taco like a pro:



Of course I tried this. Or course I did! Because I'm Pinterest's bitch.

Guess what actually happens with this little method, Reader?  Hard crunchy shell being forced between some tines? 

Taco Shell Sandwich is what happens, Reader. 

Because it breaks right in two, pretty quickly in fact, and actually made the taco easier to eat in sandwich format. 

But the important part of this whole question is this: Why? Why would 

#1/ Anyone think that filling a taco is so difficult that a "hack" had to be created for the process and 
#2/ Why would a mediumly-educated grown woman (ahem. Me.) feel the need to improve on the taco filling process to the extent that I a.) read about it, b.) took up space in my brain remembering it and c:) actually put it into practice?  

These are the questions that will haunt me at night.  

And oh, by the way, Pinterest, but NOBODY wants to color with them. No one is excited about their box of broken crayons. Everyone wants the new 152 piece set, perfectly sharpened tips in their little box - we're all reaching for unbroken Cerulean Blue.  So if you're going to try to motivate me, try a little harder. 

Fucker. 



Sunday, January 31, 2016

Code Word: Trampoline

The following conversation took place yesterday on the way to the mall, where I was headed to buy my very first grown-up set of cookware. 

One would think that with a couple of marriages under my belt I, at some point, would have owned nice pots & pans, but you'd be wrong, Reader.  My first brief marriage netted me very little other than a nice picture of my parents and some general mistrust. Not enough mistrust, apparently, because see marriage two. 

Marriage two netted me even less, since we eloped to Vegas, and the only thing I really have left of that is a set of 20-year old Corelle dinnerware that just won't break no matter how badly I'd like to have a reason to get rid of it and a heaping dose of "never again." And the sad collection of mish-mash cookware that I've been using for those same twenty-plus years.

Part of my sad set began burning everything on the bottom of the pot and I was getting the reputation of Bad Cook, and I don't need any more reputations, Reader.  I recently threw it right in the garbage rather than try to scour out the shame of bad cooking one more time. 

That left me with a couple of fry pans with hooped-up middles, to which all the food in the pan would fall to the edges, and a second pot that I'm sure has been leaching cancers into my boobies because of the scratched up Teflon bottom. 

So for the sake of my boobies and my reputation, it was time to own the fact that I'm not going to have an occasion to create a fancy gift registry any time soon, wherein YOU could be buying my fancy cookware for me, Reader, and instead I saved myself. 

I considered creating a Go Fund Me page*, because that seems to be what everyone does nowadays. It's apparently the polite way to be a panhandler, without the shame associated with asking other people for their money to fund your wants and needs. It's sort of magical, and I wish I had thought of it when I needed gutters to wick away excessive moisture from Chez Bang Bang, but I did that the old fashioned way and bought them myself on a credit card. Silly Trixie.

I have bigger dreams, though, and I'm going to save my Go Fund Me ask for a backyard makeover, I believe, and ask everyone I know and complete strangers to donate for a pool and a hot tub because I suffer from arthritis, so I need both for medical reasons, not just so I have some place to float around while I swig Jack & Cokes and generate more freckles. Feel free to send me twenties whenever you wish, Reader, and I will happily stash them in my Arthritis Fun. d. 

But that's not the point of this. I can't keep me on track some days, Reader. But maybe that is the point of this, because the whole question I pondered with My Mister was sort of driven from my aching knees, both of which were really acting like assholes yesterday and made me say "ouchie" a few times, so send your checks to Chez Bang Bang stat. They still hurt today, by the way, if that hastens your check sending at all. 

Okay, Reader,  I've jump tracked enough already. Sheesh. 

So the conversation started like this:

TrixieBB: "Now, I fully expect you to say NO and in fact it's your job to say NO, but I need to put the question out there anyway, it's my way of working through the feasibility of the scenario." 

MM: "NO." 

TBB: "But I didn't pose the question yet."

MM: "Let's skip the rhetoric and get right to the answer. NO." 

TBB: "That's not how this works. You're going to entertain my question and act attentive and give me some valid rationale for the NO."

Reader, that's the polite way of recounting what actually was said, I'm sure some fuck-yous were in there, too. That's our love language. 

TBB: "I've been thinking about joining that new gym, I heard they have a pool and a sauna and a jacuzzi, and I think that would be good for me to go swim around. I'm told they open early and I could go before work."

MM: well, he couldn't get any words out because of the laughing.

TBB: "Stop the fuck laughing! I think if there was a pool dangling on the stick I could get up in the morning and go!" 

MM: - in between guffaws - "I'll tell you what. Just get up in the morning for a week first."

TBB: "Oh, good idea, so you're saying to just get up in the morning for a week and go to the gym I already belong to and see how that works out first, before spending $30/month on another gym." 

MM: "Nope. I'm saying to just get up early for a week first before even considering joining the gym with the pool."

TBB: "Oh, right, so what you're saying is to get up for a week at home, and go do my pilates machine that I had to buy that's been sitting unused for a year now upstairs, see how that goes before I join another gym. Good thinking." 

MM: "Nope. I'm saying to JUST GET UP EARLY for a week. Don't even try to do anything more than that, other than getting up earlier than you do now. See how Morning Girl likes that."

TBB: "This isn't very supportive of my trying to establish better healthy habits for the new year, and maybe Morning Girl can change her lazy lazy ways!" 

MM: "No? Well, I have one word for you: Trampoline."

Yep, he played the Trampoline Card. 

Wondering what the Trampoline Card is, huh.  

It was the blizzard of 2014. 

I came home one evening and INSISTED, complete with a stomp and a fit, that we drive in the blizzard to the nearest Dicks store so I could buy a personal trampoline, known today by the hoity workout society as "rebounder" so I could get in shape. It was the only thing preventing me from not achieving optimum cardiovascular health, and it would be a way to have fun while getting in shape. 

We trudged out through the sleet and cold, and were the only folks at Dicks that night except for the poor schulb who had to wait on us. I laid out sixty large for a rebounder - all without a Go Fund Me - and brought my trampoline home. 

  • Screwed on the legs. 
  • Took about two hops. 
  • Lost balance.
  • Narrowly missed falling into tv.
  • Reallocated rebounder to basement.
  • Haven't been on it since. 
It made me wobbly, Reader!
I could have killed myself!!
It's basically a legalized death-trap disguised as heathy habits!!!

So yeah. I couldn't say for certain that the early-morning swim idea would fair better than the Trampoline, so I have not pursued the notion further. 

I think a good place to start is to see if Morning Girl actually can get out of bed an hour earlier than normal. 

Which is a good place to start, because as part of my 2016 resolutions, I'm going to use the month of February as a blogging challenge to myself (because it's the shortest month, Reader, and I'm aiming low for better chances of success), to share something here every damn day, whether you like it or not, because my creative brain is rusty.

In case you couldn't tell.

This story was like pulling teeth. And not just so you can't identify the body.*


*That last sentence doesn't really make sense, but I'm leaving it in here anyway, because the last thing I watched on tv last night was a Forensic Files where the man killed his baby mama, skinned her and chopped up her body in the bathtub and pulled out all of her teeth by the roots so the remains couldn't be identified before he casually threw her skull into a pond. Then the skull was caught on some fishing line by two kids trying to catch fish, and the only way it was identified as the missing gal was because the guy removed all of her teeth except for two wisdom teeth which hadn't come down from the gumline yet. So they were able to extract her DNA from the root and nab the bad guy. The moral of this story is that what you don't see will get ya sometimes. And don't chop someone up because you will get caught. Probably.  

**Send your Fund Trixie Bang Bang's Pool & Spa checks to TBB @ chez bang bang.  I may create levels of funding, where if you contribute enough you can come and spa with me and Jack Daniels. Naked. Depending upon the size of the donation. And the amount of Jack Daniels. Trust me, you'll need it. 


















Saturday, January 30, 2016

Eye On The Sky


Good Day, Reader! I was going to say "morning," but it's already 12:45 p.m., and no, I didn't just get up, sheesh.  And then you may be reading this at night, so it wouldn't make sense, so back to the first part, Good Day! 

I stepped out on my deck to get a breath of fresh air and look at my pretty pretty backyard and I heard the strangest animal sound coming from the trees.

I was looking all around to find what curious little critter could be making that noise and finally determined that it was actually the tree branches rubbing against each other as they swayed in the breeze.  Then I felt a little dumb for a second, because I almost threw breadcrumbs out there for whatever it was making the cute little chattering sounds. 

Instead I did a little Nell reenactment, from that Jody Foster movie of the same name and stretched my arms out overhead and did a little "tay in the wind." 



Maybe we should all do more tay in the wind, because it made me look up and see the prettiest Cleveland-Winter sky, all blue and white and bright today and that made me happy. When I wasn't feeling a tich like a crazy person, that is. Acting & Crazy Person is really just a fine line definition. 

So basically look up once is a while, is the point of this public service announcement. Because sometimes we get all hunkered down in what's happening at eye-level, with all the screens at our fingertips, and we forget to look up and see the pretty around us. 

On that note, I'm going to grab my sneakies and go for a walk along the towpath. But I will not be doing Nell while out in public because someone will lasso me and have me hospitalized. Or I'll be discovered by a famous movie producer who is also out for a walk at the exact same time as me and I will be whisked away to Hollywood tonight. 

I don't have time for any of that, because I'm making caramel sauce out of condensed milk in my crockpot today. I have a sexy date this evening with myself and a little salted caramel something I will make later this afternoon. 

Come over.

We can have sexy caramel date night sauce together. There's enough for sharing.

Maybe.

Unless it's super-delicious. Then I can't make any promises. 




Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Doctor In the House

This morning while I was putting on my makeup I spilled a half of a weensy container of greenish eye pigment on myself. 

It spilled right out of the container because Smarty Pants Me removed the little plastic powder-holder-inner thingie that has holes in it so you can shake just a tich of it out at a time. Because I couldn't get it to shake out, and then I realized it had a clear cover over the holes, but I couldn't get it off. So I worked like a sumbitch to get that plastic spill-preventer removed with a pair of tweezers and toe-nail clippers. 

I was like a doctor, with all my necessary tools for make-up surgery right at my fingertips in the bathroom cabinet drawer. 

It wasn't until after I had the plastic powder holder thingie removed that I realized the great need for such device. Because that pigment powder is filled quite to the top in that weensy little container, and it doesn't take much of a nudge to get it to slosh out. And if you know anything about pigment makeup, you know that it takes very little to get the color applied, and it lasts and lasts and lasts.

Usually I'm rather careful, but this morning I nudged it with a jerky hand motion for some reason, and the next thing I was wearing greenish pigment from tit to twat.  

"Did I have to change clothes?", you're wondering.  Well, luckily I apply my makeup naked. I know that's a visual you can't un-visualize right now, and for that I apologize a little. Not a full-hearted apology, though, I'm not that sorry. But please in your visual make me look better than the reality. Go with Kate Upton, only less tan. You'll be happier that way.  

So Naked Kate Upton-Me sat on the closed-toilet and looked down at the debacle that had landed all over herself.  There was no time for a re-shower. So I got out a washcloth and started to wipe it all down, but it just became smeary and then looked like I was black & blue all over my torso, twat, and leg.  

And the only thought I had? "I'd better get this off, because if I get in an accident they will spend far far far too much time trying to figure out all this bruising."  

It was a pigment-smeared sight, I tell you.  I grabbed some makeup remover towelettes and re-bathed myself, but it still didn't come off all that well, so I do look bruised-ish in my birthday suit. 

So what we've learned is:


  1. Clean underwear isn't the only thing you have to worry about in a potential car accident
  2. Always apply your makeup naked, because it's better to brush off your twat than have to change an entire outfit
  3. Don't do surgery on your makeup containers, the experts built 'em that way for a reason
  4. Younique makes the hell out of pigment eyeshadow
  5. Naked Kate Upton-Me looks fan-fucking-tastic, even with a bluish-greenish bruise all over her bod


I did not document this morning's mishap in photos. You're welcome.