Archive for January, 2013

Biggest Loser/ My Best Coach

Watching Biggest Loser with the kids and discussing my high school gymnastics coach Mr. Widman and his freaking circuit training AFTER our grueling 2 hour practices where you were afraid to ask to go to the bathroom.

Also, we had no fancy Worthington bouncy spring mats – it was gravity sucking staph infected wrestling mats for us in the inner city/ghetto. We would unroll them and then roll them back after our practice.

Mr. Widman was a very very pale man. And very, very small, but strong. Dude was hard core, and he didn’t really dish out the compliments. When he did, it meant literally everything. I probably remember every one of them.

I worked with his high school class during lunch my senior year. They were all special needs. I remember I taught them greater than/less than by making the sign into a hungry fish. I had read a book about special needs kids. I was a voracious reader, and had picked that up somewhere. Still am when I can be. He was annoyed that it was so simple.

And when he gave life advice, it stuck.  He told me high school boys wouldn’t ask me out because they knew I was too good for them. I believed him. It helped at the time and forever after.

I WILL fault him for the airbrushed MVP sweatshirt you had to wear around school after the meets, and the scores for the weekend said so. DUDE! Just occurred to me that might be why I was always tripped in the halls by upper class men. (every time I tried to type that, it said clansmen. I just have to say…)

It’s funny that he comes to mind. I guess most people who work with physical health and mean it, always consider the entire person. Or maybe I just got really lucky.

Anyway, my kids are getting tons out of this new season. And I am grateful for the coaching I got throughout my life.

Thanks, coaches. We are all pains in your buttocks.




Long time, no see.


I want to tell you something.

Mostly to do with giving your stuff away.

Meaning the things you donate to the charities in your area.

Everything else is your problem.

Not really. Get it?

Never mind.

Just so you know, there are a few giving styles.

1. The shower: pronounced show – er.

This is the donor who brings you a box of stuff. They feel an extreme need to take each item out piece by piece and explain each. This becomes a problem when I know what a sweater or a toothpick is. It comes in handy when the item costs a fortune, and I would never know it, because it’s uglier than Satan.

Mostly, it’s toothpicks, or worse, toothpick art.

2. The dumper:

This is the donor who pretty much decided between you and the dumpster. This is the dude who waits for no one to be seen, runs in and shoves things onto the counter (zero eye contact) and then jumps into the get away car. And then I haul their nasty doodoo immediately to the trash so no one gets scabies.

3. The Hoverer.

They want to wait and watch. No dice.  Cause it’s gonna be fine. It’s your freaking rejects.

4. The I Need My Box Back’s:

REALLYYYYYY! You just delivered 7 boxes of records and you want me to give you back 7 boxes in that exact size? And honestly, your boxes full of records are covered with spiderwebs and more scabies.

Again. No dice.

Take 14 small ones.

5. The Dirties:

We politely refuse your less than stellar undies, and whatever else could possibly be in that pocket.

6. The Nervousers.

We won’t speak of this to anyone. Except the Police.

7. The Washers.

We bless you.

8. The Rich Ones.

Keep em coming!!

9. The Homeless.

They get anything we give away. Or I might just bend the rules. Sue me.

10. The Bedazzlers.

Please. Stop.

11. The Ultra Rich.

May I hold the door for you?

12. The Small Toy Donor.

Throw. Them. Away.

13. The Regulars.

We adore you. Especially when you’re a washer.

You would be surprised how much stuff comes through a donation center. And how much work it is to rifle through it.

I am quite literally guilty of so much of this. I repent. I’ve truly learned how to donate through my awesome job.

Just spreading the word that we are here to benefit animals in crisis. And the more organized the donations are, the better.

And no, I ‘m not a loser.

I’m a Saint. Deal.


Well, it’s a new year.

I have some goals.  I’ve never really  had those before.

1. I’m gonna lose the rest of the baby weight.

2. I’m gonna record as many polygamist shows as possible.

3. I’m gonna write more. Aren’t you beside yourself with joy?

4. I’m gonna stop now.

I want this year to be a season of unconditional love. And mental health. And physical health. And dental health.

Which is frankly none of your business.

I also want this year to be full (mostly) of self discipline and business – ness.

And I kind of think this is my year.

All I know is, I can pretty much do whatever I want, to the capacity I want. I can at least try.

My bangs were weird today.

I tried to take a picture of them. My arms are too short.

The rest of me looked awesome.