Archive | October, 2011

10 Things That Scare Us

31 Oct
1. Horror movies that involve demon possession of children.  (Jenn)

Especially now that I have a child living in my house.  Late one night when Lola was a baby, my husband was out-of-town and I was downstairs, alone, watching Pet Cemetery.  As I realized the small child in the movie was possessed, I heard a noise upstairs – I looked at my baby’s video monitor, and at that moment, Lola opened her eyes, sat up, and stared right at the camera! Even creepier, the camera has night vision so she was green and her eyes were black and glowing!!! AHHHHHHHH!

2. Cat Hair (Nic)

To me, cat hair is kinda like a bad rash.  It’s itchy, it migrates, and it always ends up getting in to places it shouldn’t.  I’m getting hives just thinking about it!  And no matter how fierce the outfit, sprinkle a little cat hair on it, and you may as well be wearing a Snuggie to a cocktail party.  Cats don’t scare me, it’s just what they leave behind that gives me the chills.

3. Undercooked Chicken (Jenn)

I am always examining chicken, asking people, “Does that look a bit pink to you?”  I‘ve never had food poisoning from chicken, so I’m not sure why I am so weird about it. I just am. Let’s move on to number four, shall we?

4. Vibram Five Finger Running Sock (Nic)

I’m all for working with your body’s natural mechanics, but the Five Finger Running Socks, scare the shit outta me!  First of all, they’re toes, not fingers.  The fact that we can’t keep that straight, is scary enough.  Secondly, when wearing them, you look like some kind of human-sloth inbred.  Makes me think you can do things with your toes, that you shouldn’t be able to do.

5.  Fat free, dairy free coffee creamer. (Jenn)

Coffee cream consists of two elements: dairy and fat. So if you aren’t either of those….what ARE you?  The answer is: mostly vegetable oil and corn syrup. Powdered coffee creamer has also been used to whiten clothes, clean dry erase boards and when you ignite it, it makes beautiful, pleasant smelling, fireballs.

6. Food past it’s expiry. (Nic)

Even if it’s only an hour passed the recommended expiry date, I can’t eat it. No matter what.  The expired food immediately tastes sour, forms a pungent odor, and an offensive texture.  I simultaneously develop a serious gag reflex, and consume nothing but rice cakes for the rest of the day.

7. Parents who say “Good job!” to their children every five seconds. (Jenn)

I seriously want to tell them to shut it. And I AM a parent! Don’t say “Good job” when your child goes down the slide. That’s not a JOB! It’s recreational fun! Over-praising your children for activities that take minimal effort may result in your child growing up to be a huge douche-bag.

8. Bees (Nic)

Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of bees, and know the world wouln’t continue to exist, blah, blah, blah…  However, I have yet to be stung by a bee, so it is not uncommon to hear me yell such phrases as, “Watch your skin!” or “Is it in my hair,” at random passer-byers.  Or to see me jump out of my car, at the intersection of Hollywood Bld. and Highland, spastically remove my shirt and then beating it against the pavement, screaming “Die bee, Die!”  Thankfully it was a red light.  And the tourists loved it. PS. Jenn does not respect this fear. She says “bees are very smart and good, wasps are A-holes.”

9. How much I love Neil Diamond. (Jenn)

When I was a young kid and didn’t know any “official dance moves”, my brother and I used to run in circles around the living room when my mom put “ Sweet Caroline” on the turntable. To this day, hearing a Neil Diamond song puts a smile on my face, and song in my heart.

10. How much I love Phil Collins  (Nic)

As an adult, I do know some official dance moves, yet I still prefer to run in circles around my living room, while listening to Phil Collins or Genesis on my itunes – always making sure to include a wildly impressive air drum solo to ‘In The Air Tonight.’

Get Your Sweat On

25 Oct

I’m a strong believer in exercise.  It’s a great way to blow off steam, cope with stress, and manage the guilt that comes with eating an entire cheese cake.  I’ve had fantasies about becoming a runner, but that’ll never happen.  I have bad ankles and despise the feeling of my wobbly bits bouncing around and making a scene in public.  I give full props to anyone getting their butt to the gym and ‘pumping iron,’ because personally, I find weights boring as hell and hate the fact that my hands are left smelling like a combination of wet metal and protein powder.  If I wanted that, I’d add whey powder to a margarita, and drink it out of a tin can.

I had basically come to the conclusion that I had serious fitness commitment issues, until I made a discovery five years ago.  Title of my upcoming New York bestseller – “How Hot Yoga Saved My Life.”

For those of you that are unfamiliar with this type of yoga, each class is 60 to 90 minutes and practiced in a room heated to one hundred and five degrees fahrenheit, with forty percent humidity.


– you sweat your ass off,
– struggle to breathe, and
– fight to maintain consciousness while an instructor melodically guides you though a set of poses that cause your body to violently shake and make you wish you were never born.

Yet somehow, it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever done!

This week, Jenn got us a month’s pass for Moksha Yoga LA, a new hot yoga studio in her area.  I was completely thrilled with the opportunity, as I was once an avid practitioner, but let’s be honest, it’s been about a year since my ‘avid’ days.  Needless to say, my first experience back was… enlightening?

First of all, it was hot.

Like, I’m sporting a parka while power walking through the Gobi desert, hot.  Like, I’m wearing a full length mink coat while participating in a triathlon on the fucking sun, hot.

Within the first five minutes I became brutally aware that I did not drink enough water that day, and the waffles I had for breakfast? Poor choice.  I was completely soaked, sweating like a beast by the ten minute mark, and my thighs and entire core were on fire and threatening to call it quits, by minute fifteen.  I found it next to impossible to ‘find my focus,’ with sweat dripping into my ears, and almost gagged when it crept  its way into my nose and eyes during downward dog.   There I was, blind and choking in a sea of my own filth, far too mindful of the garlic I ingested the night before.  And friends, I don’t care how waterproof your mascara says it is, it’s lying to you, so don’t even bother.  You’ll never look cute leaving a hot yoga class.  Never.

Now, I know yoga is supposed to be anything but competitive, but when there’s a sixty-year-old woman next to you in a swim suit, no cellulite, and a sticker in the middle of her forehead, bending in half like she’s a fifteen-year-old from Cirque Du Soliel,  I start to feel a little competitive.  I yoga’d  hard.  Shit got real.

The consequence of my ego?  An inability to use stairs for three days, raise my right arm above my chest, or stand fully erect without muttering such obscenities you’d only hear in women’s correctional facility, while the inmates are PMS-ing.

That said, even though Jenn and I left the studio looking like ass, we both felt like a million bucks! We’ve decided to drink more water, accepting that a third cup of coffee does not apply as a substitution, and I will be practicing at home between classes, to improve my form.  Either that or sitting on my mat in yoga gear— while watching The Food Network.  Feeling fit is sometimes equally as important.

A Week Without Facebook

17 Oct

Starting tonight at 8pm, I Jenn Robertson, will NOT be using Facebook for 7 days. Yes, that’s an entire week, people.  It’s not because I’m worried about security, or sad that I FB people instead of calling them on the phone.  No, I want to see how many hours of my life I can get back this week, by not scrolling through my home page, looking at random pictures of people’s cottages, babies, or babies at cottages.

I figure I waste at least 3 hours a week on Facebook.  Allow me clarify that when I say “waste,” I mean aimless wandering in a bumbling, social media induced fog. Basically the online equivalent to 12 year old boys, throwing dirt balls. What I am doing, serves no purpose other than to waste time, and destroy brain cells. As a mother, I don’t have the time I used to, to just F around.  Seriously, I barely have time to play Angry Birds.

Most of my wasted FB time is spent judging other people’s status. Why do I do that? This is Facebook not the New Yorker Magazine. People should be able to post their feelings without having to be witty or profound. OR SHOULD THEY?

Should I have had to endure this status?

“I just cut my nails. They were getting really long. Now I feel awesome!” 

No I shouldn’t have.  And I certainly shouldn’t have wasted another 2 minutes of my life reading the 10, count them 10, comments that followed.

How long were they?
I love cutting my nails!
Good for you!
I hope they’re not too short. I hate it when I cut them too short 😦
I have a hangnail right now!
Hangnails are the worst!
Try putting olive oil on them.
I will thanks for the tip!

Initially I was angry at these people for wasting 3 min of my life, on the most banal conversation of all time. Then the anger turned on myself, as I realized I chose to read that!

OMG I cannot believe that people just “popped a boner” about some dude cutting his nails.  WTF!

How long were they?

Why is that even relevant?

Just curious….

Don’t be curious about how long some guy’s nails are! Be curious about why there is so much injustice in the world! Be curious about what the we’re going to do when we run out of oil! Also, I don’t even think his nails were that long.

So tonight I begin my 7 days of no FB.  Light a candle everyday and think of me. I’ll be journaling my feelings, listing withdrawal symptoms, and noting all the things I’m doing ’cause I’m not on Facebook.  Nic will be playing the role of enabler by sending me texts every hour, detailing only those FB updates of great importance.  Like when your cousin posts “My hamster just did the funniest thing ever!” Funniest thing ever? I doubt it, cousin Melanie. Talk to you next week!

“Cheers to you, Assholes!”

10 Oct

A $40, ooo backpack?  Really…

Vlog it off.

3 Oct

We’ve boldly entered the world of “Vlogging!”


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