It’s me. The end.

I hereby declare Sunday, June 22, 2008 as The Day Dianna Went Out In Public With Bare Legs On Full Display.  That’s right, ya’ll.  I went to the city pool.  In a bathing suit.  And people saw me.

Well!  If it wasn’t for darling Bristol needing a cool Auntie to send him down slippy slides, I probably wouldn’t have gone.  Because for one … it be nigh on 190 degrees and I don’t look pretty in sweat … and two … there be teenagers in tiny swimsuits walking around, and quite honestly, that causes stomach cramping anxiety, and I no likee.

Cuz I used to be a teenager in a tiny swimsuit.  But now look.  I have double knees.

Poo.

But Brad and I went, took Jaylon and Jadyn with us as well, and as soon as we got there, I headed straight for the portico where sunlight dareth not be.  Made the day slightly more manageable as far as heat goes.  But the fleshiness of the rest of situation was left to its own devices.  Urgh.

Then Autumn’s 15-year-old guy friend caught me in my tankini.  Erlack!  There went that hot mom exterior I was trying so hard to cultivate.  Even Bristol in his 500-pound diaper looked better than me.  Totally unfair.  This is one more reason to believe the balance of the universe is completely off kilter.

However, on the upside, Brad and I are still together.  Despite the hideousness of his girlfriend in a two-piece.  So either he really truly does love me or he doesn’t look forward to countless nights of bologna sammiches and back to sitting on the tiny plaid loveseat.  In my mind, though, I’m pretty sure it’s a little bit of both.  Cuz I come with gourmet food AND microsuede sectional.

(But also extra large bikini, so… )

The Wii Golf has come back to haunt me.

Brad and I decide to go to the driving range on Saturday night for some big people golf.  After the Great Father’s Day Massacre, as well as the wicked swing talent demonstrated on the Wii, I figure shooting a bucket of balls off the green should be equally successful.

Oh, how do I hate being wrong.

Turns out, big people golf is nothing like the mini golf.  I mean, have you actually done big people golfing?  It’s some serious business.  So serious, in fact, that it officially get CAPITAL LETTERS.  And that takes some  focused typing, and I no likee.

But anyhoo.

Prior to all this knowledge, on Saturday night I was thinking Happy Gilmore here I come.  I just knew I had it in me.  I could do this.  I could send golf balls flying into outer space.  I could, because the dadgum Wii Golf told me so.  And we just don’t argue with that kind of rationalization, now do we?

So in my best golf television sportscaster announcer voice, I will proceed to interpret the actions of the Saturday Night BIG PEOPLE golf showdown.  Here we go:

First up is Dianna.  A novice in the competition arena, but in recent training events, has shown a remarkable natural talent for the sport.  Her Wii Golf swing is on-the-mark, easily sending practice shots into the 100 point bulls eye ring.  Upsetting the competition is one thing that comes easily to Dianna.  And that, coupled with the overwhelming victory at the Father’s Day Massacre … well, I have no doubt as to what to expect here this evening.  Genius, pure genius.

The crowd falls to a deafening hush.  Dianna places the ball on the tee.  Her caddy … I believe his name is Bruce or Brent or maybe it’s Brad … don’t know exactly.  He must not travel amongst the important in BIG PEOPLE golf circles.  In fact, I think his resume shows no other details besides handyman, sugar daddy and love slave.  And, well, I guess we can add caddy to that list as well.  Impressive!

So Bruce/Brent/Brad has handed Dianna a driver.  Dianna takes position behind the ball, arms outstretched, fingers locked in hold.  And here comes the deep breath … the lift … the arch … the SWING … and it’s … it’s … well, where’d the damn ball go?  Holy smokes!  It’s completely disappeared into the outer reaches of the atmosphere!  The crowd’s gone wild!  Dianna and Bruce/Brent/Brad have their hands up to their eyes, looking off into the distance for signs of the ball.  This is madness, I tell you!  Complete madness!  What we have witnessed here today is one for the record books, not to be matched by anyone ever in the history of BIG PEOPLE golf.  And I am lucky to be alive for this moment.  Wow … I am speechless.  Breathless.  I am actually sweating with exhilaration.

Wait.  What?  There’s a murmur in the crowd.  What are they saying?  Something about the ball … it’s here.  They’ve found it!  But where?  Hold on, I’m waiting for the exact details to come through.  Huh … oh, really?  That far?  Oh, dear lord.

The world has fallen out from beneath our feet.  Dianna, Wii Golf extraordinaire, has not only NOT launched the ball into oblivion as previously stated, but the ball is, in fact, still sitting on the tee where it’s been all along.  Dianna has done nothing more than sliced through air.  Even a two-year-old can do that.

This unprecedented night in history has gone from the highest high to the lowest low.  How can she rebound from this career-ending nightmare?  Let’s get a statement:

Announcer:  Dianna, so what happened out there?

Dianna:  Well, I’ll be quite honest with you.  I expected a lot more out of that swing.  I mean, when I do it with the Wii, golf balls go flying.  So I truly don’t know what went wrong.

Announcer:  I’d have to agree.  Your displays at the Wii have been absolutely amazing.  Can you now say that perhaps fake golf or even golf of the mini kind would be more your type of sport?

Dianna:  Sadly, I think you may be right.  In fact, my arms got more sore playing Wii Golf than actually competing in BIG PEOPLE golf.  That leads me to believe that either I am extremely out of shape and can’t hold anything heavier than a plastic controller, or else BIG PEOPLE golf is simply a challenge I haven’t quite worked up to yet.

Announcer:  So is it safe to say that your career is over at this point?

Dianna:  Well, I’m sure I’ll be out practicing again soon.  Until then, it’s back to the Wii.  And probably some DVR and couch-laying.  I’ve very very good at those two things.  And sometimes it’s just best to stick with something you know, right?  The way I lounge across sofa cushions is remarkable.

Announcer:  I have no doubt about that, Dianna.  No doubt at all.

Well there you have it, folks.  BIG PEOPLE golf history has been made, but not in the way we expected.  Perhaps, Dianna’s caddy, Bruce/Brent/Brad might have better luck.  That is, if the 9-hole is out in front then sharply to the right about 90 degrees.

Stay tuned next time when we host the 2008 Indoor Games.  Events include Marathon Sleeping, Elegant Remote Controlling, and Bossing Boyfriends.  Hey, sounds like something Dianna might actually win!

Stay tuned.

I think I might have an addiction. Well, a sub category of an already established addiction, the DVR:

Reality TV.

Can you believe I just said that? Who gets addicted to reality TV, I ask you?

Girls whose fat jeans have now become just their jean jeans, that’s who.

Blah.

Anyway, after careful review of the record listings on the DVR, I offer you the following shows and a brief description in my defense:

Next Food Network Star This one is self-explanatory. How else can I be so good at the cooking if I can’t keep up-to-date? Plus, I find nothing wrong with pretending I have my own show while I mince up some garlic. Seriously, that is not bordering on crazy, at all.

Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List I love comedy. And dirty words. Kathy Griffin verges slightly on the uncomfortable, especially when she talks about penises to Anderson Cooper on CNN. How she gets away with that, I’ll never know. I can barely read the word ‘penis’ without twitching my eye a little bit.

But regardless, Kathy is funny. Funny leads to laughter. Laughter makes you live longer. Therefore, a little Kathy Griffin = fundamental to the sustainment of life.

Try arguing with that kind of mathematics.

Design Star Cuz anything can be art. Even plastic flowers and lampshades covered in chicken feathers. (Who knew?) I do enjoy seeing the before and afters, the hearty competition between the contestants. And the crying. Oh my gracious, the CRYING! Is it weird that I get giddy with excitement when the crying starts? Or when the gays start in on that “ahhh, no you diiii-unt” business? I’m serious, some dude gets all snarky on someone else’s design, and the gay one pops up and is like, beeeee-yotch, with the pointing and the hair flipping. It’s hilarious.

Top Chef This season finished it’s run last night, but technically it’s still on the DVR because I haven’t deleted it yet. I love Top Chef, for the same reasons as I love Next Food Network Star. However, Top Chef has a lot more egotistical people competing, and let’s face it … it’s fun to hate! I spend a lot of time during episodes telling them how stupid they are, that no one likes a jicama salad, there is no such thing as a banana scallop, and hahahahahaha, you are in the bottom three this week! Weeeeeeee!

Don’t ask. I just need to get my aggression out somewhere. Better Top Chef than my kitchen. Cuz Brad says if I go messing with his food, he be withholding a certain thing from me. And I have to seriously sit and think about that, cuz I just don’t know if I can survive without the shopping.

Flipping Out Who doesn’t love a show about a real estate house flipper with obsessive compulsive disorder? I mean, Jeff Lewis is my brethren and no doubt a fellow Virgo, which is why I understand his desire for a non-fat, half-caf, extra foam latte steamed to 150 degrees with two Splendas on the side. He is an insane perfectionist who debates the perfect shade of white to an intensity not known by anyone else besides another OCD-er. He likes things his way, sorted and filed and properly tended. If there be anything in disarray, by god, the world is over. And I understand this.

Brad understand this too. That is why we can watch Flipping Out together and equally have a good time. You know, instead of the usual stink eye I get while watching Dancing With the Stars. Although, at first sign of gigantic boobie, Brad perks up instantly. His attention, that is.

But I digress.

I have come to discover that Flipping Out is pertinent to our couple time. It keeps us bonded. And that, certainly, is reason enough to watch this show.

The Bachelorette I love the spin on the regular Bachelor. One girl getting her choice out of 25 guys. How awesome is that?! What a dream come true!

Er … um … I mean, dream come true for her. Because I have found my true love. In the traditional way. You know, on the internet.

Some of the guys she gets to choose from are unreal. Especially Twilley, the one from Oklahoma. Who is a complete doofus. I’m wondering if he’s even old enough to have a girlfriend seeing that he’s still in the de-pantsing/noogie giving stage and all. Now, there is nothing wrong with being a little goofy, but I think in Twilley’s case, it’s slightly verging on terminal. As in, the kind he can’t control.

Which, in essense, makes me appreciate what I have in Brad. He who washes his hands 20 times a day is the same he who rocks my world. And who also eats my pretend cooking and allows me to buy $80 cell phones when I don’t really need one.

He = perfect. (Dirty clothes all over the bedroom floor notwithstanding, of course.)

Last Comic Standing Have I mentioned before that I love comedy? Or maybe it’s just laughing I love? Well, either way, Last Comic Standing provides both. Some of these people on here just plain out crack me up. I mean, to the point of guffaw, which, trust me, does not sound so very elegant coming out of my mouth. In fact, it sounds more like walrus. Who was surprised by a swift poke in the backside. With a wet finger.

You get my point.

Anyhoo.

Other Reality Shows Coming Up The new season of Project Runway starts next month and I can’t wait! I always love to see what kind of clothes you can make out of coffee filters and human hair. Then The Two Coreys, starring Corey Haim and Corey Feldman, starts soon, and Brad has made me sign an affidavit that I swear I won’t forget to DVR it like I did on Season 1. He loves him some 80s has-beens, I’d say. Better comply, or there might be something else he be withholding.

Like control of the remote. And I Simply. Can’t. Have. That.

Now for totally unrelated news … Father’s Day Photo Op:

This was pre-mini-golf massacre, of course, as evident by the innocent, unknowing smiles. Cuz you know I totally destroyed them all with my wicked golf swing.

Hmmmm. Maybe Wii Golf was handy for something after all. Bwhahahaha! I’ll be on the lookout for Wii Pilates now. Cuz last time I did the real Pilates, I gave myself a carpet burn in the butt crack. Pretty sure that’s not right.

Wow, this post spiraled all to hell. Should probably stick with safer subjects like DVR and reality TV from now on. Forays into the butt crack can prove to be quite dangerous. Trust me … you do NOT want me to elaborate on that one. Let’s just say some ointment, a Q-Tip and a Brad was involved.

Night, ya’ll.

Last night, in a tribute to Father’s Day, I made a Beef Stroganoff in the crock pot.  Surprisingly, it turned out super delicious considering it had all but 5 ingredients and it took about 3 minutes to toss it together.  But the real trick was trying to feed it to three picky boy eaters plus Brad, who has an unnatural fear of mushrooms.

The boys looked at their plates, small portion steaming and heavenly.  They eat, then begin picking out bits of mushroom and onion.  “What’s this” … eyeing closely … “What about this” … again with the eyeing.  I get exasperated with all the sorting of the pieces, and tell them matter of factly that it’s all just meat.  Every last drop of it.  Meat and noodles.

And because they are boys, boys who will grow up to be men, their eyes glaze over and it’s back to eating.

Man.  That was wayyyyy too easy.

Next up … sour cream is the new butter.

This weekend, Brad and I went to Branson to visit his mom and step-dad. It was pretty late when we arrived because we are horrible packers and can’t plan worth crap. But anyway, we weren’t there 30 minutes, and already we got the addiction. The Wii Addiction.

Brad’s mom started it. She was playing it when we walked through the door. So naturally, the kids wanted a turn. And then of course, Brad and I had to have a go. Lemme just say: I am a Wii Bowling Supastah. I even had the cool bowler stance and everything. It was obvious that I should win.

Then probably like 2 seconds after the big victory, Brad’s old Wii injury starts acting up. You know, the one he got just now. Poor thing couldn’t even bowl properly, nor could he pour his own glass of sweet tea. Good lord, he’s stole my M.O. Cuz I have an old aerobics injury that keeps me on the couch watching TV for hours.

Next day, we all go watch Noah, The Musical at the new Sight & Sound Theater. It was a pretty good show, and the kids had a good time, evident by Jadyn sleeping through the first half. Which always spells a good time for me. Except it’s usually free food, then nap. And probably a new potato scrubber thrown in the middle.

(And despite what I just said, I am an extremely cool person.)

After the show, we went to the Landing, which is a downtown shopping/restaurant/cultural area by the lake. I had so much fun there; I was really in my element. Stores were everywhere and I wanted to go in all of them. There were musicians playing for dollars, and a couple of guys drumming on buckets. And I got sucked in by the street vendor who soaked up a two liter off a swatch of carpet with the Super Shammy. Yeah, I totally got two of those.

And then somehow I got sucked into buying a manicure set for natural nails. But I have the fake ones. So really I don’t know what I’m going to do about that. All I’m saying is that lady shouldn’t have come at me with her bottle of scented lotion. It was like, I’m walking, walking, walking, then HELLO! I’m putting lotion on you and you will LIKE IT.

Salesladies are scary.

Sunday was our last day in Branson. And can I just say: That stupid Wii. Disguised playtime as exercise, and now I’m paying for it. Or else, I’ve contracted Brad’s Wii disease. Something, cuz my arms are killing me. How am I supposed to DVR in this condition? It’s a dire situation, believe me.  Plus, it just goes to show you how out of shape I am.  I can’t even Wii bowl without popping a joint.  Blah.

Brad’s mom took me and his sister out shopping for a bit before we headed home. She offered to buy us purses so Sarah and I spent eons trying to pick one. I couldn’t decide between the Vera Wang and the apt. 9. And yes you read that right. I couldn’t decide between the Vera Wang and the apt. 9. What’s apt. 9 you ask? Exactly.

But the apt. 9 was a much better fit for me, strap- and pocket-wise. So, as hard as it was, I put the beautiful Vera Wang back on the shelf.

Mannnnnn. It sucks to grow up sometimes.

So now, back at work, I am nursing the Wii injuries, trying to hold my purse by myself (amazing how many muscles you use for that), and resisting the urge to use my Super Shammy on purpose. Cuz you know I totally want to pour liquids on everything.

And now the phone is ringing. It is a customer needing some travel. And I just stare at it and laugh. This Wii pain is going to work out after all.

Hooray for the Wii!

1) My sister’s done gone to Europe. Which normally wouldn’t be such a horrible thing, but she’s committed a major sisterly faux paus. As in she left me at home in middle America hell, where the humidity will melt your face off, and a trip to Wal-Mart means a damn good time. I wanna go to London and make googly eyes at the Palace guards, fondle a priceless painting or two, maybe get in a crowded subway where I am eye level with a sweaty armpit. (Well, that last thing you can do at Wal-Mart too. Especially on Blue-Light Special Day.)

I swear if she doesn’t bring me back a little plastic Big Ben or something, I may have to slap her in the neck.

2) Sex and the City movie. Mom and I purchased tickets in early May for this Girls Night Out event. It included the movie with red carpet treatment and an after party with free snacks and a goodie bag. Turns out, the online ticket thing had a “snafu” and by the time they fixed it, the dadgum show was sold out. So we get no tickets, and are forced to go to the second showing. And let me tell you what … there be no freebies at the second showing. Just a crowded theater of wanna-bes … who wanna be at that damn party stuffing ourselves with mini-Triscuits and cheese.

Boo.

On the upswing, the movie was fantastic.

3) Prices. As in prices of everything. Gas is about to drive me utterly insane. It cost me $72 to fill up my tank this week, which about made me pass out. Then, there’s the stamps, and the baggage charges on airlines. And my latte went up by 50 cents. Gah! What I wanna know is … where’s my effing raise?

Good news is that minimum wage goes up in July. So that means I got the latte covered. Whew! Now I just need to score myself a little scooter, and I’m all set.

(You make fun, but who be gettin’ 60 mpg? Yeahhhhhhh. Oh, but the hot pink Hello Kitty helmet is fair game. Cuz you totally know I’m buying one.)

4) Walking again. I swear, I don’t know how it’s happening. Last night after family night (which I hosted and make delicious sun-dried tomato marinated chicken breasts on the grill pan), we find ourselves once again exercising after dinner. I should have been tipped off when mom walked through my front door dressed as Fitness Barbie. Dang that mama!

We went on some trail that had loops and hills (which had me thinking what the sam hell is this business), and had little pit stops where you could do some leg lifts or crunches or whatever. I now refer to this as the Torture Track, because … well … have you seen me try to do a chin up?

Okay, that’s enough ranting for today, I think. I’ve exhausted myself. I am hoping for a calm, rant-free evening, one with no cat poop or chicken bits stuck to a grill pan. No screaming children, messy teenage bedrooms, no piles of Brad’s clothes in the bedroom, no missing the studs in the wall while trying to hang a picture. No weather interruptions, no extra pounds on the scale. No hair in the bathroom floor. No sweating or moving off the couch for any reason whatsoever.

Just nice, sweet relaxation …

Dammit! I spilled my latte on the calculator.