Just Not Ready Yet. . .

Dear Coke Zero --

About getting together on Easter -- I just can't.

I know it's been 2 months already.  But it's too soon.

You ask WHY I won't just be seen with you socially.  Well, my friends say that you aren't good for me.  You cause bloating and sugar cravings and weak bones.  I didn't want to hear it either, but there you go.

The sugar cravings are too your fault.

OK, so they haven't gone away in 2 months.  That is completely beside the point. 

It's not that I don't still love you.  Want you.  Crave you.  I do.  We both know it.

That's why I can't be with you at Easter.  I know everyone else will be around.  But you know what will happen.  It will start out casual, but before you know it, you will be in my mouth and. . . .

STOP.  I am NOT having this conversation with you.

Listen.  If at six months I haven't seen the changes I need, I'll consider coming back to you.

But until then I just can't see you.

Please stop calling out to me when I see you in public. It's embarrassing.

Respect me, OK?

Love

Fondly,

Mary

It Rhymes With Floor

It rhymes with Floor, and Door and Bore. . .and I am one.



I am a blog whoooooore.

I didn't mean to.

It was just one time.  And then it happened again.

I read a blog I like a lot, Annabel Manners, and then I read one of the blogs she follows, The Sweet Tea Diaries, then I saw one that SHE follows, The Loaded Handbag, and then she referenced a great blog and before you know it, my dance card is filled with blogs.  And that's on top of my longtime (several month) favorites Loose Leaf Writing and The Bitchy Waiter.

I think we're a bunch of funny women who love to read other funny women -- I mean, people.So we comment on a blog, then we look each other up & find their blogs, love them then keep going.

This is how I started on Facebook.  Uh oh.

Crushes, Puppy Love and The Real Thing

There are some men that I think are dreamy.   You know what I mean.  They make me sigh.  And swoon.  And giggle.  I guess you could say I have a crush on them.

My boss is dreamy.  He is.  He's about 6'2", slim, with a lantern jaw, bright blue eyes and silver hair.  He is also the consummate southern gentleman.  I've always thought he was very handsome, but now that I really know him, I simply adore him.  He is as beautiful inside as out.

Dr. Mark Escamilla is dreamy.  Yes, he's very nice looking, but his dreaminess is more because he is so innovative, so connected, and so real.  He also has the most beautiful family -- lovely wife and 2 precious littles.  I swear I'd give the man a kidney if he needed it.

Vic is dreamy.  I mean it's obvious.  Incredibly fit, handsome, and so encouraging on my fitness journey. 

I even have a tiny bit of a cougar-crush on Ricky, who is Vic's assistant.  He is just the nicest guy.  Also very handsome, if you think Leonardo De Caprio is handsome -- and I know you do. 

I love these guys.  I do. When I get all swoony over Dr. Mark, or Vic, or any of the many many many men (and women) that I have a crush on, the casual observer may misconstrue my intentions.



Because I don't wanna kiss them or anything. 

I don't want  my children to look like them. 

I don't want to grow old with any of them.  (In fact, I am pretty sure I will be dead by the time Ricky is old)

The man I really love is Greg, my husband.  He's the one I want to kiss, etc.    He's the one my babies look like.  He's the one I want to grow old with.

Greg knows that I think the world of these people.  He also knows that he is my whole world. 

And he knows I think he's super dreamy.