Friday, September 25, 2015

Reading Challenge

   At the beginning of the year, I made a goal to read 52 books by the end of the year. I checked my status-I'm at 37. To reach my goal, I'd have to read 12 books each month for the remaining year (sadly, I had to do this math on a calculator). The irony is that I work in a bookstore. I'm physically around books more than I can read them. After an 8 hour day, feeding my child & doing homework, there's little time for reading. Well, I watch Inside Edition and peruse Buzzfeed immediately after getting inside the apartment. Then, comes the homework. After that, I barely have time for anything. Plus, I try to give my child my undivided attention. When he's telling me about his modifications to his latest Transformer he made with Sharpies, he gets my rapt gaze. Admittedly, I sometimes ask if we can talk about something other than Transformers and, if not, I definitely think about something else. Anyway, time is not on my side. I have to rush about and then it's time for bed. 
  I'd love to be one of these people that read on their lunch break. Again, I blame Buzzfeed. Instead, I take a quiz to find out what Hollywood hunk is my soulmate ( Its generally Tom Hardy or Ryan Gosling, in case you're wondering). I, also, have this horrible habit of falling asleep when I read. Many factors against me. 
  I did read one book that was well over 700 pages. That is like reading two or three. I could read a ton of very short books for the remaining duration. Would that be cheating? This is what happens when you try to set goals. 

Monday, September 21, 2015


  I was shopping & noticed this really chubby kid wearing a t-shirt. It said some enthusiastic shit like "Do it! Burn it!", or something to the effect of a rallying cry to an avid exerciser. It's right on par with me wearing my Crunch fitness t-shirt to take V to school. Me & this kid could be considered frauds. We're not models of the fitness our shirts represent. We just slapped some shirts on our bodies, laughing in the face of their messages. I feel like a bad representative when I wear that shirt. Not only is it covered in cat hair, but I haven't stepped foot in that gym on two weeks. Who knows about the kid. He may grow up to be a Jerry O'Connell (chubby kid in Stand By Me). Regardless, we should both pick different attire.
  Some people think lots of things that you can do is like fraud. I remember texting with a guy from Tinder, who thought the only time you saw a "real" version of someone was when they first woke up in the morning. Bullshit. I may do many things, such as color my hair and wear makeup, but it's me. The real me. Waking up Erin is some nightmare bear hybrid that's close to mauling someone, only to be soothed by coffee. I was miffed that he insinuated that women were deceiving men by all the things they do for and to their looks. He was upset because I wouldn't send him a picture of myself. I said I had taken off my makeup and was ready for bed. He went into a rant about how women didn't show their "true" selves by all the steps they took throughout their daily ritual. If halitosis, crusty eye and insane hair are the real me, I'd rather be fake. I'm not a natural beauty like some girls. I can't roll out of bed & go to work. Everything I do in the morning is to get away from being who I am when I wake up. I love the makeup, Spanx, eyeliner, red lipstick, underwire bra, curlers, etc. I love doing the transformation. What is wrong with that? Just putting on clothes could be considered fraud. We're born naked. Granted, I wear as many layers as Marie Antoinette, but who gives a shit? I feel most like "myself" wearing a dress and makeup. If I wear pants and go with the natural look, then, I feel like a fake. But, to prove that I can, I've posted a picture sans makeup, with the ever-fabulous, Harrison. 

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Uncle Jerry

  My Uncle Jerry died the week before last. I say died rather than passed away. Passed away indicates that you were sick or old. He was neither. A sudden stroke took his life, robbing the world of a great man.
  My uncle was many things, but the two that stick out are intelligent and funny. At his funeral, the pastor that gave his eulogy mentioned these two things. He knew my uncle and it came through in his words. It was a very good service. I normally hate weddings and funerals because the person speaking usually has no idea of the people they're speaking of. This time, it was done very well. My uncle was very smart. One of the smartest people I've had the pleasure of knowing. But, if you knew him, you knew about his sense of humor. It was dry and methodical. A joke was a story with meaning:not just a one liner. He had a way of telling a story. There was no rush. He had thoughtful pauses and a sense of cadence. When the end of the joke or story was revealed, it had more impact. This also made him a good preacher. People felt comfortable with him. He was a great listener as well as a great speaker. If he knew you were troubled, he always lent a shoulder and an ear.
  I always remember my mom talking about when my uncle first started dating my Aunt Sally. "He was so weird," she said. "He had these huge blowup pictures of rats on his wall." How funny is that? I thought that was the coolest. He walked his own beat. He was a great dad and husband. My heart is broken for my aunt. Watching her say goodbye to him at the funeral was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. They were married for well over forty years. They were always a model for me of what a good relationship is. The last time I saw him was at Bob's funeral. His presence was enough to comfort me. But, he went above and beyond by talking to me and trying to provide some solace. My aunt gave me an envelope with money. Money that kept me and V afloat and on our feet until we got things figured out. That's something I'll never forget. That's my aunt and uncle- huge hearts. They raised two tough kids. It's hard seeing them in pain. I know neither of them want to show it. They're very strong. I would give anything to take away the pain for them. My poor aunt. This is such a devastating blow. I worry so much about how they're all doing everyday. I'll never process my own grief because I'm too worried about them. However, when my cousin, Jeri, called and told me he died, I cried so hard. V comforted me. "Mom, you were there for me, I'm here for you." he said. It was so sweet. A child should never have any idea about grief, but he does.
  I can't put into words what a cool guy he was. He was a lifetime father figure to me. He was the rock to the McClure family. Their beautiful hearts are shattered without him. If you had the pleasure of knowing him, you are blessed. Miss you, Uncle Jerry.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Genie Hour Glass

  I'm normally not one to make rash purchases, but I purchased something before the commercial was even finished- the Genie Hour Glass waist training belt. It's basically a poor man's corset. Waist training corsets run from $200 and up, so this was a steal. As of now, I have very mixed feelings about the GHG. 
  Of course it's not comfortable, but it's not supposed to be. The beauty of it is that you can get it really tight, looking like you've lost ten pounds instantly. The downside is your decreased mobility. You can't bend over. If something falls onto the floor, you're picking it up like you're doing the teapot move in the I'm a Little Teapot song. I think the Tinman in Wizard of Oz had more flexibility. My main problem is my major fat isn't on my waist but closer to my stomach and hips. So, I had to crazily adjust my GHG. If not, I have this sleek hourglass with a bump at the bottom. The adjustment left me with severe red marks on my body and a crinkling noise when I moved. But, damn, my waist gets thin. 
  The first day I wore it, my child was in stitches. I sat down in the car and it sounded like I was opening a bag of chips. This is only due to my attempt to cover my belly fat. I've had better success in more recent attempts at wearing it. Today, I made no attempt to cover my little pouch and it wasn't bad at all.