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So the past couple of weeks, I discovered that Netflix has placed the entire compendium of Ally McBeal seasons on Instant. I watched Ally McBeal back in the day for a few months, I found her vacuous, irritating, and the show itself to be completely nonsensical.

I haven’t really changed my mind. The show is irritating, vacuous, and irritating.

And yet, I’ve been watching the HAY-EL out of it the past two weeks. I write for a living, and lately, my writing tasks have been quite, erm, monotonous. So I’ve been watching Ally have nervous breakdowns several times a day while re-vamping meta titles. LIVING THE DREAM.

Here’s the deal, though. I want to totally slap Ally at least a couple times per episode. WHY does she have to fall down all the time? Didn’t the show’s writers think about how stupid that looks? It’s hard to take someone seriously who falls down after being startled, to get out of something, to avoid a confrontation. She falls down ALL THE TIME.

Most people who fall down all the time at the drop of a hat come to understand that maybe, just maybe, they have a medical problem and should go to the doctor and get checked out. They don’t ignore it and think to themselves “oh look how ADORABLE I am, falling flat on my face for what – the third time today? I’m so cute I just want to dunk myself in my coffee! TRA LA LA LA!”

Maybe I’m just not getting something about the whole falling down thing. Maybe it’s a metaphor for something more meaningful, like Ally is falling because she’s just making her way through life today takes everything you got…..wait, is that the theme from Cheers? Damn you Netflix and your instant 90′s TV crack! DAMN YOU TO HELL.

My mind starts wandering, unfortunately, and of course, I’m thinking about the actress who plays Ally McBeal, Calista Flockhart, who is now married to my secret husband Indiana Jones, aka Harrison Ford. If I were Harrison, not only would I entwine my fingers in the naughty chest hairs all the live-long day, I would also ask Calista how in the world she was able to trip and fall and generally make a complete ass of herself for that many years without being too embarrassed to get out of bed in the morning. Then I would make myself wear a fedora, leather jacket, and khakis, throw her over my shoulder, and say at least once “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” before hopping into a puddle-jumper and following the dotted lines across 1940′s maps as I made my way to my next archaeology dig. BECAUSE THAT’S HOW INDY WOULD ROLL.

However, instead of choosing this oh-so-appealing option, I decided that THIS was the year I was going to get in shape, lose the weight, and….you know. Stop having chest pains when I eat.

(just kidding about the chest pains. Seriously. Please don’t call me with that concerned voice. But if you want to, you can bring me a casserole.)

I’ve been working out like a MUTHA, people. Five days a week, at least an hour at a time. I do the stair stepper thingy, dripping with sweat by the time I’m done. I do the treadmill, set on Surprise! You’re Running Uphill! Intervals. I do the stationary bike thing, which looks like the lazy man’s road to fitness but it is definitely NOT. I also lift weights three times a week.

I’m starting to see results. My pants are all way too loose. I’m fitting into things I haven’t fit into for years. So that’s good. Probably would be seeing faster results if, oh, I don’t know, I could STOP SHOVING FOOD INTO MY MOUTH.

Like last night. Yesterday, I did 125 flights of stairs on the Stair thingy. 125 FLIGHTS. Dear Gott im Himmel. That is a BUTTLOAD OF STAIRS.

As the day went on, and I got more tired, and I started doing that little voice in my head that told me “you already worked them off go ahead”. You know, the Little Voice? The one that completely lies to you when it tells you that skinny jeans paired with a tube top when you weigh more than Mike Tyson are a good idea for church? With thong underwears? UH HUH.

So I basically pigged out all night, completely nullifying all that good work I did at the Y, and went to sleep with an upset stomach. I was so ANGRY with myself. Which is a good thing, because I guess I have to get completely pissed off to do anything. Want me to vote? Cut in front of me at Safeway. Donate blood? Leave your socks all over the living room floor. Teach Sunday School? RUN ME OVER WITH YOUR CAR AND LEAVE ME FOR DEAD.

(Actually, there’s no way I’m going to teach Sunday School no matter what you do to me, so let’s not have any “incidents”, shall we? Thank you.)

Anyway, long story short, I found out the secret to losing weight, Internet Friends! Here, lean over and let me whisper it into your ear:

Step 1: Exercise. A lot.

Step 2. Stop Eating So Much Freaking Food.

TA DA! I have solved the age-long mystery, peeps. Please feel free to nominate me for all kinds of awards, because I’m sure that this is something that I deserve some kind of recognition for.

Oh, and P.S.? I’ve lost 38 pounds so far. I deserve a piece of cake…….aw, DAMMIT.

This sounds noble and pure, but it backfired on me (just a bit). Here are three things you MUST NOT DO while you are on hold, and I’ll tell you why for each one:

Read gossipy threads started on your favorite parenting board. Okay, so this particular board can have some doozies, and I don’t usually have the time to browse through all the good stuff, but since I was on hold, I suddenly (at least according to my *%&T& mortgage company) had all the time in the world. Why you shouldn’t do this while you’re on hold: Um, basically, it’s because you get WAY too engrossed, and forget why you were calling, and since you’re already a bit absentminded this isn’t really a good thing.

Take the phone into the bathroom with you. Eventually, everyone needs to visit the bathroom, and taking the phone with you while you’re on hold listening to Lionel Richie songs seems like a good idea until the customer service person comes back onto the line right during, um, a “crucial moment”.

Wash the dishes. You would think that this would be a good idea, since most people would understand that a)you can put the phone on speaker and b)you can then place the phone in a safe place away from hot water. I didn’t drop the phone IN the sink, per se, but I did drop it on the floor. Twice.

I do need to add that it’s also not a good idea to keep your neck cocked in that special “holding the phone to my shoulder causing permanent injury to my spine” position, mostly because of the whole pesky blinding muscle pain thing, but also because you can accidentally press too hard against your super duper advanced phone that comes with everything but the kitchen sink, causing it to hang up OR go mute, right when you finally get somebody who speaks English and isn’t silently deleting your account.

You get to snuggle in your Nana’s afghan that she made for you when you were 12 from your favorite colors at the time: yellow, purple, and oh yes! More purple.

You get to drink a LOT OF COFFEE.

You can go to the bathroom whenever you want (see above).

You can watch your complete DVD set of “Sex and the City” while you are typing very serious things about technology and Web 2.0.

Cons!

All those candy bars? That are in the cupboard? Uh huh.

You talk to your cats. A lot. Hello, kitties!

You kind of entertain the thought of napping way too much. Because, you know, YOU TOTALLY CAN.

Although I haven’t gotten it as bad as Henry, who after a full week of coughing up a lung is STILL sounding like a 3 pack a day smoker, and is probably going to have to visit the doctor, who will tell me that it’s a virus and he can’t have anything, so I will continue to dose him up with children’s Robitussin, which doesn’t work, except to make him drowsy. And at this point, I’ll take drowsy.

One thing though, that I’m wrestling with, and I’m sure you moms can help me out with this. If your kid is hacking up some serious lung butter, but doesn’t have any other symptoms (other than a stuffy nose), do you send him or her to school? He’s fine except he coughs CONSTANTLY. I would personally be ticked if a parent sent their kid to school sounding like this, but it’s a fine line. What do you think?

I mean, it’s not because I’m not friendly, I’m not psycho. I’m a great listener; in fact, when people have a crisis I usually get to hear all about it. I’m encouraging, open, warm, all the things you would want in a friend. And yet, I don’t have anyone. Not one person.

I thought that I used to have a friend, until I finally figured out that she was just using me to complain about her husband. Did I waste so much energy on her that now I’m no good for anyone else?

I have to confess: I watch shows like “The L Word” and I’m horrifyingly jealous of the easy way they weave in and out of each other’s lives. I wish I had that. The only person I talk to on a regular basis is my husband, and while he’s a nice guy he is also so opposite of me in pretty much anything that it gets very tiresome, since he loves to debate and I do not (it’s an election year, and that’s all I’m going to say).

So what is it about me that says “don’t bother”? I’ve got a few theories. First, it’s because I’m about 100 pounds overweight. That’s the first time I’ve put that into writing. I am obese. Which leads me into my next theory – because of this fat, I am also tremendously introverted. People, quite frankly, scare the shit out of me. I go out of my way to avoid having to talk to people, which, when you read what I already wrote about having no friends, is kind of a “duh” moment, but there it is. Last theory: I’ve got a tremendously obnoxious husband and a kid with special needs that take up a LOT of my energy, and so by the time I’m done with working 60 hours a week and dealing with the two of them, the thought of having to muster up some sparkling conversation quite honestly exhausts me.

So what’s a lonely girl to do? I don’t know. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, although I do have times (like last night) where I do. I’ve become a very solitary person, mostly because of the reasons I’ve mentioned. I know that getting this weight off will free me of a lot of stuff I’ve been hanging on to, it’s just a matter of sticking with something. Food is my drug, it’s my friendship that I don’t have.

Well, one thing at a time, I guess. This post won’t win any awards for being well-written, but it certainly helps to get stuff down on virtual paper.

Go upstairs and put bathrobe on.
Make more coffee. Drink coffee.
Possibly put large snow hat on as well.
Turn heat up.

That’s it.

The phrase that keeps running through my head is this: “I dwell in possibility.”

I discovered this last week that many of my actions are dictated by fear.

FEAR!

I’m scared of being extremely poor again…so poor that we had to dig in the dumpster behind Albertson’s for leftover food. So I work way too much.

I’m scared of not being included. In any group. ANY group.

I’m scared everytime I get in the car with my whole family and go further then five miles that we will get in a horrific accident. In fact, that’s something I’ve struggled with for literally years and I’m starting to become kind of a hermit.

I’m scared that I will be alone.

I’m terrified that my Henry will never have a chance to get out of the 22q deletion shell that he’s in, and live a productive life.

I’m scared that my children will look back and only remember Momma saying “no” or “not right now.”

But here’s the thing:

I’m really, really, tired of being scared. I don’t want to live like this anymore. And so here are a few of the changes I’m going to make:

I’m going to say “yes” a LOT more often.

I’m going to be more outgoing and make a conscious effort to connect with people. This is very, very hard for me. I have friends, but I need to gather these people closer to me.

I’m going to stop being so scared. Somehow.

It’s house-cleaning day at the MomSpeak Ranch, and do we have some fun times planned. There will be:

Mopping!
Vacumming!
Dusting!
Whining!
Surreptitious Napping!
Avoidance!
More Whining!

And then by about 3 PM I’ll probably poop out and sit down and read my current book, “nothing much just chillin”, a look into the hidden world of middle-schoolers. It’s actually one of the better books I’ve read on this age group, if you have a 12-14 year old, I HIGHLY recommend it. It’s absolutely riveting.