Wii Fit can go to hell.

This holiday weekend is one of the first of which I have become extremely weight conscious. I am a very short person. I also have really strong legs and used to be  skinny. That is, until I surrendered to my taste buds and gave in to the goodness that is ethnic foods, Pringles, and Baskin Robbins. (Not my fault that they have buy one get one free sundaes every Tuesday. Wednesday for Carvel btw) Anyway- I used to be able to eat WHATEVER I wanted and it would never affect me. 

Now that I'm well past my quarter century birthday, I see that my body reacts a little differently. There is fat distributed where it was never distributed before. My butt seems HUMONGOUS, and finding jeans simply sucks. I thought I had a pretty good handle on it lately, eating better, going to the gym, jogging around the park, blah blah blah.

I went so far as to order an omelette with egg whites. I eat vegetables and frozen yogurt. You'd think that doing this for the past month would give me some sort of progress?

Enter Wii Fit.

I don't understand why I wanted the damn thing in the first place. I remember when it was coming out I was thinking "YES!!! I can work out in my living room! So freaking sweet. Peace out New York Sports Club!!!" Then I heard the abuse that the Wii Fit gives to the person getting ready to play.... telling you you're overweight... that your BMI is far exceeding the normal range, that your real age is significantly older than how old you actually are... etc.

My aunt has recently become a proud owner of the Wii. She also owns the Wii Fit apparatus. I was excited to try it because I figured since people have noticed I lost weight that the Wii would applaud me for my efforts this past month.... Not so much.

My Facebook post to my good friend Cindy speaks VOLUMES:

"So I was at my aunt's house upstate. Like WAYYY upstate to the point where Verizon must SEARCH for service. Anyway... so she has the Wii Fit for my cuz's... and I get on it and get a little avatar and a little profile going...

Tell me how this stupid piece of garbage A) tells me my REAL age is 36, B) That I have no sense of balance and C) that I'm overweight. 

That stupid Wii Fit can go to hell. Along with the idiots who thought it would be good to incorporate EXERCISE with FUN. Because it SUCKS."

Wii Fit can stay on the shelf in Toys R Us where it belongs. Rock Band 2? So much cooler.

Happy Memorial Day :)

Mama Didn't Raise No Fool!

So I'm pretty sure I'm taking this blog thing a little too seriously. Most people write once a day, or once a week. But no, not I. I, Amanda, have made it my own personal requirement to write when I find something funny. Because every time something funny happens to me, I usually tell someone. Usually that someone will laugh, probably at the way I describe it. Believe me, I've had it all happen to me... from running out of gas outside my apartment and having to ride my bike to the nearest gas station to fill a gas can to falling UP the stairs going into work (with a Hazelnut coffee in my hands. Needless to say, the stairs were proof of my stumble, so much so that my co-worker jokingly called me out on it. This WAS an office building consisting of several companies. Whatever.)

Well anyway, in case you haven't noticed, I do tend to go off topic when I write. It may be part of my English minor for my first degree. (There is a second already in progress, which adds to my stress. More on that later. Maybe.)  But something funny did happen today.

If you have parents like mine, they wanted to capture every moment of your childhood. Ah, the School Years book. The book where your parents keep every report card, every dreaded school picture, and a record of what occupation you wished to pursue from age 4 on. (Funny, as I look back, for the majority of my childhood I wanted to be a nurse. This then moved onto a hairdresser. Note I am, and never will be, any of the above)

I guess the best part about this is my report cards. First of all, I was extremely bright. A+'s adorned my report cards all quarters. I made honor roll every quarter as well. And this is no easy task. Learning cursive, long division and proper use of adverbs. Blechhh never again.

But that's not what's funny. I think what's funny are the optional comments my teachers left. I'm sure you'll agree. So... without further ado.... enjoy!

Kindergarten: January 1989:

"Amanda is making very good progress. She is learning to be self-reliant and developing a good deal of confidence in a room full of boys. Her friendliness and sense of humor have made her well-liked."

(HA! I was one of two girls with SIXTEEN boys. I had to learn pretty quickly to be confident. And today?! Good luck catching me walking up to someone to make conversation first. What the hell happened to the confident 5 year old I used to be?!)

And the BEST part.... I couldn't write my name and had weak small muscle control. 

1st Grade: January 1990:

"Amanda's excellent work is a reflection of her fine attitude and effort. She is a joy to work with. Her "bubbly" personality really brightens my day.

(Past and future employers.... please take note. I have always been awesome :))

2nd Grade: November 1990:

"Amanda is doing a beautiful job. I'd like to hear more from her during class discussions. I'm sure she has a lot to offer."

(Pardon moi? Is this where my confidence plummeted? Perhaps it was the turn of unfortunate events on the playground... aka.... wetting your pants? Come on.... I was 7. I had to go. The bathroom was far. Boys don't like girls who can't hold their bladder. Strike one.)

...and then... that's it. That's all we have on record. So apparently, in my younger days, I was a confident funny little girl with a bubbly personality. Then.... I got shy. Maybe I was just waiting to burst onto the scene of awesomeness. Either way... those of you who know me know I'm no shy girl... and seriously, I take after my mama. And Mama Didn't Raise No Fool!

Until neeexxxt time :)

Who Says You Can't Go Home?.... and Welcome!

So in the past year or so I've read several books and several friends' blogs. I figured that I've got enough stuff to say to start my own! So for those of you who care to read about my semi-charmed life, welcome. I don't have any recipes to post, or celebrities to bitch about. No, I'm just here to post various comical events that occur in my every day life. Because only the funniest things happen to me. And they happen quite often. Especially because I'm witty, I can take a joke, and I'm sarcastic as they come. Even though people don't usually see that until they get to know me. And please, it's an honor to be blessed with my daily dose of sarcasm.

So comes my point "Who Says You Can't Go Home?". I have spent the past few days back home at my parents. It turns out that moving away from home sometimes has the reverse effect. I never anticipated being extremely homesick the day I declared my freedom from upstate New York (really, it's not upstate. I hate how people think anything above the Bronx is considered upstate. Do people not understand that there is about 8 hours worth of land separating Orange County and the Canadian border?)and it's stereotypes. It seems everyone I run into asks, "You're from upstate New York? So does that mean you milk your own cows, and raise pigs for bacon?" To which I laugh outwardly but inside that little Jiminy Cricket-esque person is saying "No asshole. We actually do have pavement Upstate and contrary to popular belief, we even have grocery stores with fully stocked dairy and meat departments. And no, my driving lessons were NOT conducted via a John Deere tractor." In all actuality, I lived a pretty normal life. Sure, there were farms....and cows....and pigs. Just not in MY cul-de-sac. Anyway, I'm getting off the subject.

I declared my independence by moving to New York City. I had convinced myself that I belonged in New York- that I could make it on my own. Very quickly, I noticed a few things. People in New York City are perpetually in a hurry to get absolutely nowhere. Like your toe-tapping, watch-checking, exasperated breath taking is REALLY going to make the F train come any faster?  And like you wailing your horn in the middle of rush-hour traffic on Second Avenue is going to make the light turn green quicker? I may have used my car horn for two things back home: to toot good-bye to whomever I was departing from, or to warn the little squirrel hanging out on 17K to get out of the way. (God forbid I EVER run over an animal. Not only would that wreck HAVOC on my soul, but my mother would never let me hear the end of it. Somehow she would know without me telling her.). Now? I use it for everything. And my middle finger every so often, but that's besides the point. And besides the constant hustle and bustle, people are not very friendly. Seems 95 percent of the people I speak with are not that nice. Like that's going to win points with me. I constantly hear "Amanda, you're not a bitch. Not in the least. But that's because you're not from here." So I suppose being a bitch is a pre-requisite to being a "New Yorker". Oh, AND I remember my track coach, who also happened to be my high school Biology teacher, saying to the class, "blow your nose when you leave the city. The tissue is going to be black because of all the pollution." And he was right! He really was. I don't think city people really appreciate the smell of fresh cut grass, or the wild flowers blooming on the side of the road. Not when they can just go to a stand on the corner of Lexington Avenue and 42nd Street and get some already-picked flowers to adorn their dining room table. But again, I'm going off on a tangent.

Not that it's ALL bad.  Thank God for the chicken and rice vendor, shout out to the Khan cart on 73rd and Broadway in Jackson Heights. And the baseball games, nightlife, and shopping. And Gotta Getta Bagel in Forest Hills :). And thank God for the friends and family that have embraced me in the 6+ years I've been a resident of New York City, namely Queens. Queens is the most diverse, fabulous borough out of all the boroughs. (Sorry Staten Island, no offense, but it's true). There are a lot of wonderful perks about the city.  I worked, played and lived in the city and truly thought I was embracing it totally.

Until the pangs of guilt and homesickness began to plague my soul.  Okay, so maybe I'm over exaggerating. Especially considering I have plenty of friends who have to travel via PLANE to see their families and only get to do so once or twice a year. Or on holidays.  And believe me, it breaks my hearts for those people who have to deal with that. But I guess I have a different situation. I'm an only child (and it's a psychological FACT that only children don't always grow up spoiled or messed up. In fact, they grow up being more mature because they're generally around an older crowd. Sure, they have some issues sharing, but who doesn't? And this only child? Has worked since age 14. So take that.), and my parents are significantly older than most of my friend's parents. Like, over a decade older. And the thought of having to do things without them really creates a knot in my stomach. All the freaking time. I cry over it constantly.  I want to have a family that they can enjoy. And? I want to spend as much time as possible with them. So when this recession hit, I have to admit I was pretty excited. I worked at a mom and pop company that was awesome during the housing boom but slowly succumbed to the recession. And with that, I became a part of the national percentage of dislocated workers.  Again, I'm not complaining.  How many people can get paid to do nothing? Well, I guess 9% of the nation, actually.  Anyway, my stress about my job, and my lack of time with my family began to take a toll on my health, and the way I treated the people around me.  So, here I am. And I have to admit, I wonder why I wanted to declare my freedom from here in the first place.Within an hour of being here, I felt my stress level just... go down. Not that I would change a thing, because I wouldn't be where I am today and I can't imagine my life without the people in it. But... the point is, it's NOT bad to be home. And it's not bad to stay in the town where you grew up. I wouldn't trade the way I was raised for anything in the world. I just know that this is where I want my family to be raised. Not because I have any seriously negative feelings about the city, but I want my family to be remembered by their names, and not just a number in the NYC Public School System. I want them to have a swing set in the back yard of their very own. And that John Deere tractor? It's my favorite memory with my dad,4 years old, sitting on his lap steering the tractor around the yard.

So Bon Jovi did say it best. "You can take the home from the boy,but not the boy from his home."

Welcome to my semi-charmed kind of life.