So, I have to be honest…for the last 44 days, I have been on my very serious “going to Mexico and don’t want to be a lard-ass” diet. I have lost 20 pounds in 40 days, and as a sidenote, prior to yesterday, NOT ONE PERSON NOTICED. Not one. If that doesn’t piss you off as you basically have had next-to-zero alcohol, sugar, fat, carbs for 44 days…nothing will.

No, I am not going to talk about what I am doing. I have several reasons for this. First, I have 10,567 friends who sell various health supplements, shakes, workout programs, wraps, etc. If I endorse one, I piss off the 10,566 friends who I DIDN’T buy their program from. Second, I don’t want lectures from people on why what I am doing “won’t work”, “isn’t healthy” or is a bad idea. Generally these comments come from my friends who are not slender themselves, don’t work in the health industry, yet are experts in (criticizing others) weight loss programs. It might be mean, but you all know what I am talking about. And it’s true. So don’t ask, because it’s not a conversation I am having.

So, anyway, last week, Pat had a hair appointment up the road from Costco. Two staples in my “don’t want to be a lard-ass” diet have been langostinos (Spanish for baby lobster, despite not being a lobster) and organic spinach cakes. I asked Pat to please pick me up TWO packages of each to get me through the next two weeks.

He came home with my food, and I commented that I forgot to have him pick up a bag of frozen berries for my spinach/berry/protein smoothies. He said “This crap already cost $180” and grumbled some more, but I tuned him out. I mentioned that MY stuff didn’t cost $180. He pointed out the langostinos were $15 a bag.

I got pissed and replied that *I* think I am worth the $30 in food money for two weeks.

Pat then replied, “They don’t have $15 bags of langostinos in Ethiopia and they are really skinny.”

I am sure you all can guess my reaction to THAT gem.

Thanksgiving is Pat’s favorite time of the year. I think first, he’s a great cook, and likes to show off. And he likes to eat…and he LOVES pumpkin pie. About ten years ago, he just kept going on and on about how he couldn’t wait to make his pumpkin pies. I really didn’t give a shit, because I detest pumpkin pie.

Pat does NOTHING from a can or a mix. Everything is from scratch. So, he made several pumpkin pies one Saturday, taking hours to do whatever one does to make one from scratch, like an Amish weirdo.

He finished the pies, and kept talking about the damned pies like he found a cure for cancer while making them, and these pies were going to save mankind. He put them on the top of the stove to cool, while we went to run a quick errand.

We started off, and Pat forgot something and had to run home quickly. I sat in the car, waiting for him to grab whatever and come back out. He came running out to the car, yelling like a maniac, with his face bright red and veins popping out of his forehead.

“YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT THAT FUCKING WHORE DID THIS TIME!!!!” he yelled.

Oh my God…the only thing that went thru my mind is “What did his ex do this time?!?!?!”–assuming said “fucking whore” was his ex. Before anyone gets bent out of shape about that…yes, we talked like that, no, not in front of Andy, and yes, she was a fucking whore and I stand by that. Hell, after all the crap she did, honestly, it evolved from “whore” to “cunt”…and I stand by that. You can think that’s horrible. I can write a dissertation why it’s legit and an earned title, but I digress.

“WHAT?????”, I yelled back.

“SHE ATE ALL MY FUCKING PUMPKIN PIES! Right off the back of the stove when they were cooling! She even turned the pie tins inside out to get every last fucking crumb! THAT FUCKING WHOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!!!”

Um, I knew that said ex was not in our house, gorging on three pumpkin pies.

At this point, I started laughing hysterically. That “fucking whore” was my prima donna princess dog, Ava.

For the record, Pat got ingredients for three more pies, RE-MADE THEM that night…insisted on putting them on the back of the stove AGAIN…I told him not to…he said it’s his God-damned house and the dog needs to realize that.

Um, Pat, it’s AVA. Ava doesn’t give a shit. Ava gave less shits than a honey badger gave….

It goes without saying that Pat came home from church the next day to ZERO FUCKING PIES.

Okay, this happened last week at our house, and I debated blogging about it. Well, actually, I wanted to blog about it right away, but Pat told me I better not. He said I would offend people, and named a couple friends in specific. First, when do I *NOT* offend people?

I then recounted the story to Andy this week–he thought it was hilarious in typical Foy Shit-Show fashion. After some discussion, we decided it was okay to post.

So, many of you may not know that one of my jobs is that of an artist. It’s something I always wanted to do, but this thing called “making a living” didn’t jive with the typical “starving artist” reality. In fact, Pat often reminds me that over 15 years ago, I said to him that if I was fortunate enough to be married to a guy who made enough money that I could stay home and create art all day, I’d greet said husband at the door with a blowjob and a home-cooked meal every night. His bad for not getting that in writing, and notarized.

Fast forward to October 2014. I was working for a totally crappy, crooked company and miserable. Pat told me to quit and do art full-time. I jumped at the chance.

A year later, I am still fortunate enough to be able to do my artwork, and pay my bills from said art.

Recently, I had a request from a local gallery owner to create a series of iconic Madison paintings for her gallery. I proudly worked on them for two weeks, and one night, Pat came over and asked what I was painting. I showed him my series of Madison buildings that I had in progress.

Pat made his usual “huh…” comment, the one he makes any time he looks at my art (he never gives feedback, just says “huh”.)

About five minutes later, he came back into my “studio” (Glorified art corner in the big living room–I love the natural light there and took it over. I’d take over the whole room if I could, but Pat’s made it clear I am pushing the envelope with just the corner).

“Hey, I found some watercolor paintings that this guy does of buildings that might be interesting to you. You should check them out,” Pat said, as he handed me his phone.

I looked and saw this:

“Wow, those are actually really good,” I said. I frankly was shocked Pat googled any art, but thought maybe he was taking my “good marriage advice” and expressing interest in something I was doing.

I looked at a couple of the images in more detail, and then asked who the artist was.

OMFG. Yep, THE Adolph Hitler. Pat laughed and told me he once saw some feature on Hitler and his paintings on the History Channel and my paintings reminded him of it. I yelled at him to shut up, but then started laughing about it myself. Who knew Hitler was actually a watercolor artist–and really didn’t suck? And for the record, *I* think my paintings are BETTER than Hitlers.

*****************************************************************************************

DISCLAIMER–I am NOT a fan of HITLER, nor do I endorse his paintings.

Just have to make that abundantly clear.

Okay, so a month ago, I posted on Facebook and asked my friends what were their best solutions for losing weight and getting in shape. Since I have been in direct sales for over 12 years, of course, I was told about every shake, pill, and magic bean I could buy from them to do so. A handful of my friends suggested the WORSE plan–working out and eating healthy foods.

I did some research, and did some reflection. Three years ago, I lost 60 pounds by staying on a 500 calorie a day diet. Don’t lecture me how unhealthy it is, I looked amazing, so that’s all that counts, right? It didn’t matter that I wanted to gnaw my own bunions off and snack on them, and was a total bitch because I was starving. But when you get off that diet and eat like a normal person, BAM. Let’s just say a lot of it came back. Not all, but more than enough to make me pretty bitchy. I get bitchy when I am starving, and bitchy when I look like shit. So, basically…well, you can fill in the rest of that thought.

So, I am huge on addressing excuses and taking them away. Why CAN’T I work out? Well, because I hate sweating, and I need to be in some class to pace myself against someone, My competitive nature kicks in and I have to be “the best”. So, logically, a class would be great. We have belonged to the Y for over 13 years, at $81 a month. Go there, take some classes.

Uh, NO. I was not going to be the fattest/oldest/most out-of-shape person in the class. Not happening.

Then I had an epiphany…

WATER AEROBICS!!!!

It’s perfect!! I would certainly NOT be the oldest…and NOT be the fattest…and I am sure those 75 year old women were in worse shape then *I* was. That HAD to be the case.

Great. Now, what to do about the eating? Suck it up cupcake, and just stop eating processed crap. Okay. Can try that…

I decided to do shakes in the morning, after class. Ohhhhhhhhhhh, I sense all my direct-selling friends leaning forward, pissed, wanting to know WHOSE shakes I am buying, because I didn’t order from THEM. Well, guess what? Here’s my shake recipe…I throw some FRESH FRUIT, almond milk and chia seeds in my Nutri-Bullet, mix that sucker up–and that is my shake. Sometimes I throw in a spoonful of Greek yogurt or all-natural, organic, fresh-ground peanut butter.

I posted on FB that I was trying something new, and I would let everyone know the results in two weeks. My “something new” was water aerobics at LEAST one class a day, five days a week. Several days, I do multiple classes. And I drink my shakes. Great game plan. I was ready to inform everyone that I discovered this novel concept–WORKING OUT and eating healthy makes you lose weight. I was so damned excited.

So, I went to class…first, let me tell you something…the old ladies who work out in the class, as opposed to the old ladies who stand in the shallow and have their kaffeeklatsch time in the pool, kick some serious ass. I mean, they come every day, have their own gear, and actually swim laps afterwards, They are hardcore, and not to be messed with. And, the old ladies in the front row yick-yacking the whole time will shank your ass if you accidentally splash them because they “get their hair do done once a week and it has to last.” Yes, I splashed them–by accident. And heard about it. Loudly.

So, after a week, I decided to get my own gear. I get skeeved out by wearing things other people work out in. So, I bought my own water shoes, webbed gloves, water barbells and best of all, a flotation belt. Why the flotation belt? I can’t swim. And you get a better workout in the deep when you have to use your core to help stay afloat.

I came to class the following Monday all decked out in my own stuff, looking like a pro. I put my barbells on the edge of the pool, in the deep, and jumped in with my new shoes, gloves, and flotation belt. I was going to kick ass, and make this the best workout ever.

Five minutes into the workout, I felt like I was sinking. Then I realized I was not up to my shoulders like usual, in the 10 feet deep water, but actually up to my chin and fighting to keep my mouth above water. What the ffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck? Let me point out at the time that my flotation belt comprised of six large black foam blocks  spread around a blue mesh belt. As I was sinking, I noticed a bunch of black things floating around me, and the old lady behind me says, “Hey, I think your belt is breaking.” I look around, and the damned thing literally fell apart, I have two blocks still around my waist, and I can assure you, that is not enough to keep one flabby bat-wing above water, much less my whole body….

I am in 10 feet deep water, can’t swim, with black blocks floating all around me, and still trying to look somewhat cool, which was a challenge. The blocks had split in half, so I had 8 pieces to gather up, get to the side, all while attempting to not drown and keep doing my rocking horses and jumping jacks.

Apparently, the genius child labor in China grabbed the wrong glue and used water soluble glue on my aqua belt. UGHHHHHHHHH.

Okay. Back to using the Y’s flotation belts and working out.

End of two weeks…and I gained SEVEN POUNDS. Gained seven GD pounds. I was so pissed. Don’t tell me it’s muscle. That doesn’t make me feel any better. Nonetheless, I am going to stick to it, because MAYBE it’s muscle and I will see a difference soon. Okay.

In the meantime, I did some math. We have had the membership for 13 years, at $81 a month. I did 10 days of classes and gained seven pounds. That’s $1263.60 per class…$1805.14 per pound I gained. If I wasn’t depressed enough.

Okay, so again, I am sticking with it. This morning, I decided to take the bananas that had fruit flies circling them on the counter, put them in my Nutri-Bullet, along with a cup of blueberries, a whole bunch of chia seeds and some almond milk. I turned that sucker on, and (because I always multi-task), I ran to fill the dog bowls with their breakfast.

I came back to a purple sludge coming out of the bottom of the Nutri-Bullet, running along my counter. UGH. This happened once before when the gasket seal-thinigie wasn’t in right.

I unscrewed the cup from the beater thing and started rinsing off the beater thing off. I noticed the Nutri-Bullet thing was full of purple sludge as well, so on auto-pilot, I stuck that under the running water.

Did you know, if you are holding onto an electrical appliance that is plugged in, and you stick it under running water, it LITERALLY will knock you on your ass with a shock a million times worse than licking a 9 volt battery? Truth.

HOLY SHIZNIT. Uh, let me tell you, it hurts…and then you might also, when being knocked to the ground, knock over your breakfast as well.

So, upon reflection, I am thinking God is giving me a sign that I am fine just the way I am, and maybe to cut my losses while I am still alive.

By the way, Pat was at church when this all happened. He barely batted an eye when I told him what all went down. I am kind of insulted he wasn’t shocked that I was so stupid to stick that thing plugged in under running water. He just started making his own breakfast and then said, “Hey Joyce, the toaster needs cleaning–want to run it under some water?”

This morning started off with the home phone ringing around 5 AM. Thankfully, Pat was thinking–I would have ignored it, thinking it was some idiot with a wrong number. Pat, however, jumped out of bed and ran faster than I have seen him move in… EVER.

I was half-asleep, but heard him say, “Are you okay? I will be right there.” He hung up and said that Andy had been in a motorcycle accident and was laying in the middle of the road and we needed to get there right away.

I jumped out of bed, and ran to the bathroom to grab yesterday’s clothes and throw them on (it was the fastest option). I heard Pat getting ready, so I started brushing my teeth.

Pat ran back into my dressing room and yelled, “WE HAVE TO GO NOW. He’s in the middle of the road–you don’t have time to brush your teeth.”

I spit out my glob of toothpaste and ran to the car with him.

We only needed to drive a little less than a mile when we saw all the lights. It was foggy, so all the police lights were glowing and made everything look extra ominous. Knowing your son is laying in the middle of that is the scariest feeling in the world.

Pat and I ran to Andy. A good Samaritan was with him–telling him not to move, and helping him. The police sergeant told us the ambulance was on the way, and discussed the possibility of getting the motorcycle out of the road and back home. Thankfully, Pat thought ahead, brought his helmet, and was able to drive it home quickly while I followed him. We got back as they were loading Andy into the ambulance.

After a CT scan, ultrasound and an x-ray, Andy was sent home with a possible concussion and some road rash. His armored jacket and helmet is pretty beat up, so we are thrilled he had that gear on and it prevented something much worse.

Once we got home, and Andy went to bed, Pat came up to me and said, “Did you hear all the EMTs talking about how white your teeth were? Yeah, me neither.”

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd…there it was. Everything is all right in our world when Pat is back to being a smart ass.

My lack of math skills has been a constant source of entertainment for my family, going way back to one of my first dates with Pat.

“I suck at math,” I told him, while driving out to dinner the first month we were dating. “In fact, I literally have to stop and think that eight plus five is twelve.”

“Uh, it’s thirteen, actually,” Pat replied.

“Really?!”…as I proceeded to count it off on my fingers. Back then, Pat did not do the eye roll, as he would have done now. He was in the phase of trying to impress me with his wonderful gentleman skills…AND trying to get me to sleep with him. Well, I take that back–we SLEPT together our first date–we didn’t “fornicate” for two months, and he was in the stage where he was trying to close the sale yet.

So, Pat is on some cross-country motorcycle trip, and not here to share today’s “Math with Joyce” episode with, so I will share it with all of you instead.

Yesterday I bought this HUGE water bottle and a cool sling thing to carry it in on my long walks with the dogs. I can clip their collapsible bowl to it, and make sure to have a lot of water for Max when he acts like he is dying on the walks, but is fine the second we get home and he chases squirrels and chipmunks.

I filled the 48 ounce bottle with ice and water, put it in the sling, slung it over my shoulder, and started hiking with the pups. About five minutes into our hike, my shoulder was aching and I switched sides with the water bottle slingy-thing.

At that point, I thought, “Jesus, this thing weighs a ton. I wonder how much it weighs? When I get home, I will re-fill it, and weigh it.”

About five minutes later, it crossed my mind again, and thought, “I wonder how much 48 ounces of water weighs?”

I got home and weighed it–um…anyone guess around FOUR POUNDS?

Okay, I am NOT a techie. I barely use any apps.

However, that all changed recently, and I have an app that I will be torturing my family with by posting screenshots of, and they will be dying of embarrassment and asking why I have to share such things. Um, hello…it’s been almost 13 years, and you are asking that NOW?

So, a couple weeks ago, I was very moody and crying for no reason. Well, there MIGHT be a reason– it’s called someone being a sore loser and harassing me and being litigious, but I can’t talk about THAT.

So, instead of thinking THAT could be the cause of my moods, I turned to Pat and said, “When am I supposed to get my period?!?!? Maybe it’s my period!”

Pat replied, “I have no idea when you are supposed to get your period.”

My first thought was, “IF HE EFFING LOVED ME, HE’D KNOW THAT!!!” (Irrational moody Joyce coming out to play).

Pat then followed up with “Is there some period app on your phone that you can track that shit with?”.

Hmmmm…let’s check! Why yes, there are a LOT of period apps! Score.

I downloaded this gem:

Check it out–I just tap a bar when my period starts, and the FUN begins!

So, check out the calendar–FUN TIMES! So, I just showed it to Pat and announced I am going to be ovulating tomorrow, and very fertile on the 12th. So, I quote, “No fucking on Tuesday unless you double bag that thing.” I am so romantic.

The next screen is kind of boring. I mean, my life is not so pathetic that I will track if I am spotting or the speed of my flow. Come on. Although, it could be fun to go to the gyno with such an abundance of info and open up the app and give WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY more info than they need.

The Symptom screen made my day. Um, the constipation one is PRICELESS!

Let’s not fool myself here–the MOODS screen is going to be my most fun. I am black and white. I need two icons, that it is–“turning cartwheels” happy, or ” I am fucking going to kill someone” livid. That is me. (And again, in reference to any litigious assholes out there–the previous sentence is no way a specific threat against anyone. If it was, Pat would be the first in line filing TRO’s, so save yourself the legal fees.)

I so look forward to filling out all these little graphs, and being able to track when I should be happy, should be PMSing, and being able to pull out my phone to check and see if today is a good day to have sexy time or not. I highly anticipate anytime Pat wants to start something, I pull out my phone and point out the brown bottle sign for constipation is on today’s calendar, and really, do you want to tap that?!?!?!?

In fact, I might make that my profile picture on Facebook just to make it easier than whipping out my phone and showing him.

I was just going to wrap this up with a witty endutation, and noticed the sign for “tender breasts”…WTF?!?!?

And while I was waiting for the screenshot of the tender breasts to show up in my email, I was still fixating on the “constipation” graphic…and wondered if there was an app to track bowel movements (I am so ladylike…I know).

SWEET JESUS…SCORE!

As you all probably know,

1–If something embarrassing, funny, cool, strange, unbelievable, etc. is going to happen, it is going to probably happen to ME.

2–I am obsessed with kayaking, among other things. (Knitting as well, and I did, one time this summer, bring my knitting along on my kayak–true story.)

Since I kayak on smaller lakes, not rushing rivers, oceans, or anything with a waterfall, there usually is more of a relaxing element to my kayaking, and not much excitement.

For example, THIS would NEVER happen to me:

And I will come clean now…this is “photoshopped”…Anya and I did NOT go over Niagara Falls in my kayak. Just in case you believed we did. ; P

So, yesterday, my sister and I decided to go out on a leisurely kayaking trip, more to float and gossip than to actually kayak. Oh, and to also take a lot of lame selfies like this:

So, we kayaked around the lake, and I am keeping the name of the lake ANONYMOUS since I will die of embarrassment if my name is ever associated with this…and noticed four ducks and a heron or sandhill crane (I am not up on my birds) always ONE PIER ahead of us. My sister likes taking animal pictures (last week, we had to stalk some deer in the kayak), so she would attempt to get pictures of the ducks or large mystery bird at every pier. And they would ALWAYS fly away at the last second.

After attempting to photograph the ducks and mystery large bird numerous times, we ended up in an area of the lake with a lot of tall reeds, cattails, lilypads, and SIX GEESE! The geese were all swimming, so peacefully, all in the same direction…very quiet.

I was very excited and told my sister we should sneak up on the geese and get pictures.

I kept getting closer and closer and they were not flying away. What the heck? As I got even closer, I realized they were fake geese (notice the word DECOY never pops in my brain here?!?!?) Fake geese, just floating along….

I yelled to my sister that they were fake, and we should get some fun pictures with the FAKE GEESE! We should pet them, and kiss them and do fun things with them–taking the pictures far enough away that they’d look real.

I even asked at that point why someone would just leave FAKE GEESE out in the lake… (Most of you probably see where this is headed and think I am the biggest moron.)

So, our photo shoot started:

Then Jen went over in the reeds and took pictures of me being a dork:

AND THEN IT HAPPENED…

I heard a goose HONKING. LOUDLY. From right behind my sister. It freaked me out and I yelled, “OMG, are real geese coming in?!?!?!?”  Just had images of some Alfred Hitchcock movie in the making here…

Then I see movement behind my sister and take a closer look, totally freaking out:

And I paddle closer to see this:

OMFG. And my sister LITERALLY was right against their blind, snapping pictures.

By the way, there was a THIRD GUY, with another gun, RIGHT BEHIND JEN.

I apologized, (I think) and paddled away like I was in the GD Kayak Olympics, laughing my ass off, leaving my sister behind. It was the most mortifying moment EVER. I hope to hell these guys are not one of my friends husbands, or co-workers of Pat.

My sister and I got to shore and could not stop laughing. In fact, I will put it out there…when this picture was snapped, I did pee my pants. Not enough where I need to get Poise Pads. But I’ll put it out there before my sister spreads rumors…I never laughed so hard in my life.

We came home, told Pat and Mike about it, and I just got to the “we saw these geese, and they were just floating there” part…and Pat goes, “Decoys…they were decoys.” I yelled at him for the spoiler , and he was like, “Um hello dumbass–it’s FALL, there are geese NOT MOVING in the lake, you are so lucky you didn’t get shot.”

Didn’t think about that part. Yeah, guess we were lucky the guys were cool about two gals fucking around with their decoys for about 10 minutes. I do recall apologizing for probably scaring all the real birds away–they said they were not having much luck anyway. Thinking back on it–I sure as hell don’t want to be out in the kayak with guys shooting freaking geese out of the air–my next blog post will be about how one ended up hitting me in the face as it fell back out of the sky and breaking my nose or something. Because that shit ONLY HAPPENS TO ME.

The upside of the adventure, as Jen pointed out, “We probably saved some gooses life today.” : )