The Shoe Fits

As I waited for the elevator, some nosy woman rambles, "How many shoes did you buy?" Soon followed by another snoop, "Geeze is there like ten pairs of shoes in there?"

If blushing was evident on my dark skin, my cheeks would be on fire. I rebutted that the sale was outlandish. Personally, I was pleased of my thrifty sense! Two hundred fifty for five pairs of boots. Are you kidding? One pair of beautifully hand crafted boots usually go for that price. Why was I embarrassed? Was it because I could feed twenty towns in India with the amount spent? Was it one boot too many? Was it because the box was the size of Oprah's salary?

Meanwhile, the elevator was a roller coaster ride. A business man blurted in astonishment, "Now, that's a big box of shoes! I thought my wife had a problem." A remark of Imelda Marcos came from the back corner. All of a sudden, I was the size of an ant and shrinking. I was curious, "How do you guys know it's shoes?"

In unison they said, "Zappos? Everyone knows Zappos."

Than conversations began to mingle about past purchases, wives addiction to fashion, and bargains. I couldn't wait for the elevator to touch down to the first floor so I could inobtrusively slither out.

Shellie's Proverb: Judge a shoe not by it's designer, but it's sole.

"Wow that is the largest Zappos box I've ever seen!" The UPS lady exclaimed as she scanned my box.
"Yep, boot sale." I handed her my box full of shame.

As I endured everyone's bewildered remarks, I had two beautiful pairs of italian boots waiting for me at home. This is the word according to Shellie. Amen.

Lesson: A nimble grasshopper must listen to silence before he can speak.

My pignic is Over!

After mounds of alcohol intake and gorging my face with meaningless calories and countless points, Tuesday greets me with strict discipline. Memorial day weekend was astounding! I enjoyed every second from the drunken stupor of Shane and friends in Sonoma to my tequila spectacle, befriended a San Francisco newbian in a kilt to a friend's gathering gone awry, to a sober picnic in Golden Gate park.

Shellie's Proverb: Cat with no whiskers has no balance in life.
As I wanted to incorporate some exercise to my holiday, vacation mode was in full press. My sloth like behavior was paramount. At the picnic yesterday, my picnic blanket was my best friend. I occasionally nibbled on food, but it's heavy magnetism lured me into the narcoleptic kingdom. Get out the smelling salt, because this sloth was in hibernation.

This morning my heart raced with excitement as the alarm clock blared 6:00am. The sunshine blatantly warmed my cheeks, triggering a pulse. Alive. I jumped out of bed and headed straight for the shower. I couldn't wait to start the day on the right foot! Should I bike to work? Should I catch the Fillmore bus? Should I take Third Street bus? Should I walk? All of these options, skipped around my head. For as much as I wanted to bike to work, the bike station (free parking for bicycle dorks) did not open till 7:30am. I wanted to be punctual to the office. Instead, I treaded the waters of the Third Street bus in my brown power suit and flip flops. Gulp. The flip flops did generate a few awkward stares, and I wasn't sure if it was the flip flops or the ward of warts on my toe.

I am relieved that my world is back in full axis. This lazy bag of bones, needs order in her life.

Lesson: An amiable grasshopper does not require the sparkling luxuries of the likes of champagne, but rather partake in the bubbling company of friends.

Oinker!

The three day weekend is chomping at my heels! A fiesta of tequila, wine and cocktails are doing the irish jig in my head. I am privy to falling off the WeiWat wagon over the weekend, going above and beyond the point system. I will attempt the way of the Master WeiWat, but I am afraid that I will steer off the clear path into the weeds of dispair. Light up that barbecue folks, cause here I come!

The weather forecasts wind whipping this weekend, so there goes my biking. God only knows, that I am in no shape to be coarsing my way through the wind. Now, riding with the wind, that's another story! I might as well not pedal! We both know that that is few and far between opportunities. Where will I find my inner strength? Where will I find the urge to be fit? The tip of my tongue is screaming paaartaaay!!! Woo hoo! I must refrain from such behavior for that is not the way of Master Weiwat.

Lesson: Grasshopper must always remember to feed the clowns at the circus.

Boxing Rules

If you need a reason to celebrate, well I'm still boxing like a fiend. I can't get enough of it. As you all know, I am infamous for not sticking to things. Such as my bitch n' stitch knitting spree, or my hip hop dance fest, cooking in the top restaurants phase. All of this is a blurry line towards my commitment.

Third Street Gym

Shellie's Proverb: Donkey with no carrot has no direction.

Boxing has given me something to look towards to. Even when skipping rope has become as mundane as the mullet, it's mind over matter. Even when my knees are shot and my calves are stiff and tight, I take a deep breath and continue. Everyday differs and being able to exert the days frustrations is exulting.

Occasionally, I'll giggle in class, because I just want to bust out in some hip hop freak boombahlah moves. The boxing shuffle bob in, bob out, left hook, uppercut, straight, hook, triple jab, switch. It's a riot! Laughing is not condoned. It's a rough environment. It's a man's world. Laughter is frowned upon. Believe me, I've gotten in trouble for my usual chuckles. Unfortunately, I come with a million laughing gadgets so you see where my problems lie.

I'm content! Sure, I could step it up incorporate medicine balls and weights, but it's all good! Yoga, pilates, bar method, or personal trainer could never fulfill the satisfaction that I get from the theory of boxing.

Lesson: Young grasshopper must learn the way of the wind in order to find his way through grass.

I like to ride my bicycle

Gone are the days of clothes that dangled from my waistline. Gone are the days of tight racy mid riffs. Gone are the days of tight spandex hoochie mama dresses. Gone are the days when apparel swayed on my body. I bid you adieu my fair weather friend. It has been pleasant, so I'll see you in my dreams. Yeh right! Put up your dukes fat cells! Shellie Kitchen is coming at you with a one two combo sprinkled with some plain and simple crazy!

For the past three days, I've been biking to work. I was not trying to be green and be considerate of the environment. I didn't take up the bike, because of the price gouging on gas. Perhaps, a little had to do with catching the Third Street bus and all the germ infested public transportation snuff. I thought why not?

I thought I was a guru in the cardio department. Smirk. Not until the grand Potrero Hills put a tight hold on my hamstrings and lungs. To make it worse, I look like a total geek, parading in my suit pants with my make shift Prada backpack and my white helmet. Nerd alert! Moreover, I have a white hair tie that cuffs my left leg to prevent myself from getting caught in the crank. Super fashion to the rescue. Honestly, I am happy as a clam being a dork when friends are not evident, it's fun. If a culinary dish symbolized my mental state, I would be spawn of spam.

Shellie's Proverb: Man with rotten teeth always has a dazzling smile.


On the other hand, my biking skills are horrid. I am the the flat route seeker. I would rather ride ten extra blocks to avoid a smidge of a hill. Since we live on this hellcat hill, my ride home is a beast. Not only is the wind my foe, but I have to push the darn bike up two steep hills. I'm sweaty. It's awkward. My thighs are a quivering mess as I hyperventilate. Push you say? Yes, push, ear dome! As I fumble around trying to establish the appropriate gear, I'm just out of effort. Yes, I'm on the most wanted list with the retard patrol. The sirens are blaring!

Lesson: A celebrated Grasshopper teaches himself how to swim.

Golden Egg

It's dilemma after disaster after dilemma. So to add to my true spirit of weddings, my parents are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in July. Each sibling is handling one task. I have the simple task of the invitations. What a dream come true. It’s easy, simple and once it’s done, my deed is complete.
The theme is gold. Do I dare venture to insert attire: Come with your best gold attire. Gold shoes. I mean I'm talking Filipino, so naturally, there is no need to take it to the next level, because we are loud and colorful. I will address the invitation to read Come in your best gold intentions: gold shoes, gold lame blouse, gold belt, gold bow in your hair. Come covered in golden poop!

Shellie's Proverb: A mind that is spacious just needs a good interior decorator.

In celebration of the theme, mom and dad are requesting that each child and grandchild perform their special talent at the reception. Can I laugh a little harder? Good Lord and his magic wand! I do not come equipped with talent. I could read and deconstruct a haiku poem that I wrote. I can display an array of shoes I purchased in this year alone and explain why they're vital to my survival? I could do a cooking demo for dummies? I am talentlessly talented.

Lesson: A starving Grasshopper must always have an appetite to plead for mercy.

Oops, I did it again...

Pertaining to Shane's golf hoopla last Wednesday, I was advised by Shane's cohort and dear friend, who is a big fan of Kitchenville, to apologize and retract my terse tangent. Shane passed the exam, henceforth, I was counseled that playtime contributed as a remedy to the problem.

Shellie's Proverb: Apologies are admired exquisite only upon it's rarity.

Here goes nothing. Gulp. Sweat. I, Shellie Kitchen, would like to express my deepest apology for my authoritative, immature, and irrational demeanor. In fact, golf may have, perhaps, wheeled Shane's mind to ease. I was only looking out for Shane's best interest. So I flip out once in a while. I am human. A female, at that. I can't help it. I have to allow estrogen to run it's course before the humdrum of normal sets in.

Props out to my homey Kurt Grundman a.k.a. Sensei Gunman for holding up a mirror to the situation.

Lesson: A humble grasshopper is one that can eat his bowl of mistakes free of pride and judgement.

T is for Tequila!

At work, I frantically waited, wondering, talking to myself. Pacing back and forth, like a mental patient in a ward. The scenarios in my head were horrific and terrifying. I kept hoping for the best, but the negative dark lord kept appearing unwelcomed.

Excuse me nurse? I'll have my litheum now? Like a stalker pining for a former lover, I dialed his cell every five seconds. My jaw was tight and my eyes were stern. I couldn't work like this! I had my bosses itinerary to produce minus any errors, and I couldn't see straight. Besides, my stomach kept yelling, "cereal, please. Excuse me? Can I have my cereal now?" I kept silencing that noise with caffeine, but my damn hunger had a two gauge to my stomach, holding it hostage. I just needed to know, has my sweetie passed this darn exam? I required certainty so I can move on. I mean so -we- can move on. Can I get a sign? A flying donkey past my office window will suffice.

Shellie's Proverb: A bird with no sleep can not perch on high branch.


Subsequent to pulling off a perfect vertical 180 stalker air off the top of my brain dome, he finally answered. He calmly replied, "I passed." Phew. Hallelujah, praise Jesus and all his gaggle of winged pals. Be gone you shadows and ghouls from my cell pad of a mind! I bid you begone! Please beam me up! Now. I foresee a happy hour full of beautiful top shelf tequila. They're calling to me.

Congratulations Shane Kitchen! You are the final high bidder to my sane heart! I knew you could do it. Smile. Pitter. Patter.

Lesson: A grounded Grasshopper must learn to jump hurdles and dodge rice bowls as they come.

Good Luck!

Today is the darn day. The day Shane's worked so hard towards. Let's cross our fingers folks and hope for the best.

Yesterday, he hit the books like a fiend does rock. He has scored higher on his practice quizzes yesterday. Hip Hip Hooray for progress! In the meantime, he's been whining about his head hurting. It's called utilizing your brain. Thinking. I'm not privy to whining. I wasn't allowed that luxury as a child.

Since he's been anxious about his exam, he gave birth to a 2 ounce healthy baby crick in his neck. I told him to take it easy and chill. Drink a nice cup of tea or go take a warm bath. Wash away this negative roadblock. All this tension was the core to his headaches and tight spots. He laughed at my absurd suggestion. The number one underlying culprit behind sickness, tumors, constipation, lazy eye, weight gain or loss, blindness, warts, frowns. You name it, stress is behind the curtain pulling all the strings.

Shellie's Proverb: A stooge can never be saved, because his pockets and shoes are full of cement.

The hawaiian culture you must "go wid da flow brah. Whatevah. Anykine. No mattah." Translation: A handful of nails, make a nail gun. Smirk. It is what it is, so just deal. Shane is a chill cat, but at the same time, he has some problemos. For example, leftovers in the fridge makes his brain bubble toil and trouble. The dishes in our kitchen cabinet are stored properly by color, shape, and style. I live in a pottery barn catalog. Eww. For kicks, I'll switch the dishes, wine and champagne glasses, the fork in the spoon section just to see my husband go stir crazy. So he's got a hint of obssessive compulsive disorder, it could be worse. Smile.

So my point is, is that he needs to stop stressing the minute things. Sheesh. I mean these aren't life threatening issues. Until his eyeballs spasm and pop out of it's sockets and his neck slits open and spews maggots than I think his dandy. I mean, if he fails than, take it again. Boo Hoo. On the upside, if he passes than it was just unnecessary torture. This is why we work. We are cohesive, because I am cactus and he is coyote. I am his yin.

Lesson: A versatile grasshopper does not rule and control his destiny.

Brain Juice

The countdown has started. This Friday is Shane's GC Exam day. Holy Moly! He has been studying silently upstairs in the bedroom behind closed doors for weeks now. His reading style is out loud. I think it's so he can remember the material better. I offered hints and tricks to tickle his memory, but he refuses my help. So here I am. Driven wild by his stale study style.

Shellie's Proverb: Fingerprints do not lie.

He has been studying so hard that he thinks his brain is going to explode. Literally. He's been complaining of headaches. I’ve caught him popping Advil like it was popcorn. It's probably from grinding his jaw, due to stress. Note to self: must admit Shane into HA (Hypocondriac's Anonymous).

Clarification, Shane is not the studios type. My man does not read. This is why foreign films are so foreign. Subtitles are crossing the international threshold. So here he is, plunging into the bottomless literary pit. He loathes reading. Reading is his kryptonite. To make matters worse, he has to remember the information. Ugh. Ever force feed an anorexic? No skip in the park.

Now that time is limited, he decides to alleviate his brain burn on golf. Yes, golf should do the trick. Oi vay! Are you joking? I don't take the day off, because the kids of menstrual cramp camp are having chainsaw practice in my stomach. I may have used it as a cop out, but not for a day off. Well, maybe in my late teens. But, come on people! This is life, so deal with it!

Let's cut the fat and get to the red meat, I'm just irritated, because he is playing hooky when the exam is in two days. Errr. That's like whacky crazy! But, besides being my husband, he's an adult. Adults are open to make their own decisions and who am I to dissuade? I'm just his wife. Nagging Shellie. As a wife, I should support his decisions and be the nucleus of his decisions. I mean isn’t that what wives are for? Hiss. The dowry days are over sister!

I'm not a control freak. I swear! Pinky swear! Believe me, I've seen some psycho control females and thank the lord almighty. Sorry folks, the control outfit is sold separately from the Shellie action figure. I, on the otherhand, like to meet in the middle. I believe that a fair compromise makes for a healthy relationship. Otherwise, resentment sets in and we don't need any of that resin.

From the bottom of my heart, I don’t think I could bear his failure. He has invested so much time and effort. Sniffle. Tear. I wish him all the best and to pass with aces. I have only pleasant intentions for my sweetest of the sweets. God knows, I can't go through this again. Kidding. Smile.

Lesson: A versatile grasshopper must walk, run, fly, slither, skip, and wiggle and decide which route home is most fun.

My Mentor. My Hero! My Love.

Flashback: 5:30am mom prepared dad’s lunch and filled his canteen with coffee. She kissed dad and wished him a good day and handed him his lunch. She took out a loaf of white bread, put some raw egg in a bowl and threw a pat of margarine in the pan. She went into the den and started a load of laundry. She returned and battered the bread and threw it into the pan. She continued this process until the loaf of bread was done and a pile of French toast sat on a platter. After school, the same platter sat on the dining table with rice krispie treats. Mom was outside hanging a load of wet clothes on the line quickly and proceeded to pluck vegetables from the garden preparing for dinner. Her hands calloused, her clothes stained with soil.

Shellie’s Proverb: A stark cow always finds a way to bear milk.

As a child, I hungered for a relationship with mom. Unfortunately, there was not enough time in the day for her. Instead, I mimmicked her movements in the kitchen, at the clothesline, in the garden, at the flea market. I followed her everywhere, I was her shadow. I was the one at the sidelines always watching and cheering. Next to dad, I am her biggest fan.

Chrispina is a woman that did her best to raise ten children. A loyal wife of 49 years. An honorable woman that scrambled to make our house a home. A mother, a wife, a home maker. Mom is beautiful. She has taught me to fight, to sustain, to believe. I take from her the insight that opportunity camps out on your doorstep, but it is my job to welcome and invite it in. Also, always look on the upside of the situation. Most of all, be content with what you have.

I thought long and hard about getting something special for mom. Considering that I am infamously the forgetful of the family, I sent her a card. I poured my words and slathered it with emotion. There’s not a luxurious box of chocolates, or a bunch of exotic flowers, or a fancy gift that could translate the love that lives rich in my heart. Her soul is bounteous. Happy Mother’s Day momma!

Lesson: A considerate Grasshopper gives bowl of rice to others and grasshopper's soul will be full.

Happy Mother's Day - Colleen!!!!!

Now that I am recently married, I am responsible for two moms. Oh the pain and the pressure is heavy. Lord, oh Lordie, Lord, Lord. The weight bears heavy on my back. Chiropractor por favor? The procastinator has to stop procrastinating and become a non procrastinator.

Shellie's Proverb: A baby that is breast fed never goes hungry.

I searched high and low for an appropriate and special gift for my new mommy. Well, I did find the perfect gift, although I'm not sure it will get there in time. Does it matter? This gift is from the heart and very, very, very special.

Lesson: A gregarious grasshopper is a hugger not a cusser.

Slim Fast

I have crossed the threshold, free from scrapes and damage. It wasn't as difficult, since Shane did not attend boxing with me today. I didn't have to sneak around to get to the scale. Besides, I do not look forward to him jabbing me with questions on whether or not I loss or gained. It's very irksome. I'm a fragile person...sometimes. Smile. All pity aside, make haste and break open the bottle of Voss, because this here baby lost five pounds! Water weight or fat weight, heck I'll take it! Woo hoo!

Shellie's Proverb: Two chopsticks is better than one.
The weight loss is good and all, but I wish I could just gorge crazy whacktastic on 10 pounds of Pierre Robert triple dazzle cream and swamp a medium rare rib eye with black truffle oil and Frescobaldi Laudemio olive oil. WeiWat allows an extra thirty five points a week just in case I decide to freefall of the disciplinary building. Moreover, extra points are accumulated, according to the level of exercise. It just reeks rabbit turd to measure your food.

Off the subject, why is organic so darn expensive? Why does healthy equal highway robbery? Who can afford $99/oz of fresh pressed organic air! Why? Pollution is free! Just give me one logical reason for the heist and I will drop the subject. Everyone wants to be fit, but at what expense?

Lesson: A young Grasshopper must learn that it doesn't matter what you eat, it all comes out the same portal.

Scale Fright!

It's been almost three weeks, since I signed up with Weight Watchers. I have not become accustomed to the scale. I'm actually freaked. My menstrual friend decided to sublet for a week; therefore, monthly bloating would contribute to weight gain. I discreetly jumped on the scale at the gym and my weight was stagnant. Well, I weighed the same as last week alongwith a few extra. I blamed the weight gain on a scale that was improperly calibrated. There should be a law. All gyms should have their scales calibrated so as to avoid clients' dissapointment. I'm writing my fellow congressman. Shane gently inquired on my weight, I growled and said, "I didn't jump on the scale." He accused me of lying.

Shellie's proverb: Never trust a hungry mule to pull your wagon.
I am so proud that Shane and I are doing this together. Shane will never admit it, but he too is on the point system. He actually bellowed when he noticed that his dinner portion out massed mine. Our meals are very well pointed based. He'll ask me smart questions like, "what did I eat today?" As if I am his shadow. Sometimes I wonder about his brain power, but this is why I absolutely adore him!

Meanwhile, I am livid to learn that my favorite foods are under lock and key. Moderation they say, I say torture! I have failed my culinary world. The final pieces are closing in as to why my pudge is fudge. For instance, cheese of all sorts -more dangerously- triple cream is now my enemy. Foie gras, my favorite mortal sin, is also infernal. How am I to just have a shaving of cheese? No foreplay and no orgasm? Moreover, a tablespoon of olive oil is four points! Four whole points for one tablespoon? I plunge everything in olive oil like my food was on fire! All those years of chef training dwindles slowly. What is the meaning of life? The hissing from mentor chefs are deafening. First, I cut out butter, than salt, now cheese and olive oil? For shame!

In the meantime, I am in the kitchen with my electronic scale measuring and weighing my food intake like some science geek. Who measures food? I purchased that electronic scale to portion items for dinner parties. That's it! Instead, I'm weighing protein to the exact ounce! My family would slap me silly, if they witnessed my retarded habit. They would hold me down and I would be force fed ten bowls of rice, slap me around a couple times and call me stupid.

I put my hands in prayer, St. Peter guide me to find courage in my heart to jump on that scale. One more wish, please help me find the encouragement and motivation, if I have failed.

Lesson: Always offer a grumpy grasshopper a bowl of rice for usually it is suffering from low blood sugar.

The Warrior and The Hero

A dear friend is departing San Francisco leaving for the great coast of Costa Rica, another one bites the dust. I applaud McMurtrie & Minniti (will be known henceforth as M&M) for taking that step foward to venture instead of sinking in this quicksand of a town. I must admit that I am envious of their effort to make way for change. If only I had cajones, I too would make a run for the border!

Shellie's proverb: A bird that flys in a circle goes nowhere in life.
What can I say, except that JMinniti will sorely be missed. From her hour lecture on the history of jeans to the synopsis on this seasons fashion and the team of designers that spine the operation. I adore her intelligence on Iyengar and what to tuck and when to tuck. I admire her boisterous New Jersey Italian demeanor and her power of integrity. My favorite is her repetitive eloquent usage of the literal word mother effer. I can't believe that she was the Dean of the Fashion department at CCAC, but then again I understand why she was the Dean. The girl has balls the size of Jupiter and an attitude to match. My absolute head rush, is her delusional fixation on being a flippin' blimp. Jen, a six pack is not considered a belly so bite me beeotch! Despite her tussle with her monthly cycle, I have to say that I will miss her.

Well, what can I say about Darren except that he is one very cool cat! He is always in the background cold hard chillin' with that pleasant smile on his face like there's a carnival taking place in his head. I mean the man is designing and building a house with water running through it for Pete's sake, he's a man's man. Architect nerd! I'm proud that he too has fallen into the deep pit for boxing.

If I could pick one pose to define Jen it would be Virabhadrasana, fierce warrior and Darren would be Virasana, the hero (Vira: man, hero, chief).

Conclusively, I would like to thank you both for making our lives so vivid. I wish all the love and luck! Alright that's all the crap I can muster for a farewell to friends. This is not goodbye, because Costa Rica New Years 2007 is around the corner. I look foward to mingling with the italians and yoga nerds that inherit Tamarindo. Until than, the baby race is on between Jen and I. I can't wait to see who will cross the finish line first. Namaste. I'm out!

Lesson: A well traveled grasshopper is one that treks the galaxy for friendly aliens.

Home Design

The final house plans were submitted. Hallelujah! Thank the Lord! Praise Jesus and all his dudes! I am truly amazed with the talented individuals that have a keen eye for floor plans such as Uncle John and Fabian. Wow! One walk through the property and "pop" ideas begin to bubble as fast as I lose brain cells. Our version of renovation is not replacing a shower head, changing the tiles in the shower, adding a granite backsplash behind the stove. On the contrary, it is a facelift. A close encounters of the Joan River kind such as boxed out roof, extending out, dropped floors, relocating the fireplace, additional bathrooms and bedrooms, walk in closets, transplant the kitchen. That is just plain phrenetic! I mean I know autocad, but you don't see me whizzing through plans like Mr. T does gold chains.

I have come to embrace the oddities of the house. Our peptobismol bathroom or as I like to call it the New York studio. This bathroom is the mothership when it comes to ridiculous. The coral toilet coupled with coral tub faces three large bay windows. The room measures 14 x 16 so you can imagine the awkward spaciousness while sitting on the can. I feel like I'm floundering in the bathroom. It feels like a crime! I am accustomed to a cozy bathroom. Something you can simply slip into, like a silk nightgown. The kitchen is dressed with retro vintage wallpaper. Yes, and the word grandparents always comes to mind. The living room and kitchen ceiling is spined with a reinforcement beam that runs from the front of the house to the back of the house. Although the view from the living room and bed room is in truth, dazzling.

Shane and I are adapters. We have shifted to different shelters and environments in the past five years. From Lucky Street, the crack and fecal lane that homed the individuals that could use some luck, to the peak of Cole Valley on 17th Street. Having to exist in a rhythm from a single family home to a one bedroom back to a single family home is pretty much a deranged experiment. It takes a lot of adjusting to harmonize to this chaos. There's been many times where the thought of rampage have crossed my mind, but even tempered Shane was always there grounded as a tick on a dog.

Shellie's Proverb: A dog's bite happens quicker than his bark.
So once again, I relive the hard work of Shane's back and hands. As he composes our house into a home. So once again, I look foward to the wrath of the future. Picture a whopper of a woman struggling into a size zero prom dress and that is our mortgage. Gulp and double gulp. Yikes. Stay tuned.

Lesson: A humble grasshopper is one that forfeits his house to strangers to fulfill a palatial home in his heart.

The road is wide open!

We're at an amazing peak of our lives as we prepare ourselves for change. Shane is studying hard for his GC license. I am venturing out into the world of chick literature, fiction of course. Alongwith a friend, I am working on a business idea that will hopefully flint success. Plus, looking into starting a family at the end of the year. Since mom instilled the chi of modesty, humbleness, and humility into my existence, discretion would be wise.

Shellie's proverb: Rot is best enjoyed by scavengers.

Flashback: It was the spring of seventy six, I snuck into the storage room adjacent to the patio and dusted off a box that read chemistry set. I unlatched the black velvet box that sheltered a microscope, glass tubes, glass rectangles, magnifying glass, circle plastic containers. I needed a specimen, a cockroach, a spider, a potato bug. Something to smudge and analyze! Mom stood there pinning clothes to the clothes line. I screamed with urgency, "Momma, I'll be a scientist when I grow up!" My exclamation followed a healthy whap to the butt. Mom grabbed my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye, "Anako, you never speak of the future. You don't know what will happen in the future!"

Hence, the closest study to science I practiced was shilly-shally. There is a great deal of goodness to achieve this year and not much to lose. Life has a lot to offer, if your not afraid to go toe to toe with it. We've got nothing to lose, so it's time to shoot for the stars.

Lesson: A solid grasshopper is one that has endured injury to his thorax, yet is not afraid to dismount from a triple McAxel.

Just Weight and See!

My weight watcher stint continues as I failed miserably this past weekend. I'm beginning to be educated on the consumption of food. Just when I thought it was safe to be moderate, oh no sister it's a point warfare out there and it's getting crazy hectic! I've been walking the foodful valley blind and dumb.

Shellie's Proverb: Better to flush the toilet than to clog it.
I've already received gaffled responses by friends and family on my weight watcher membership as they too suffer from prejudice. As the discrimination towards hefty people grow, I become deaf to their noise. I must admit, I do appreciate all the support that it has stirred up amongst friends and family. Frankly, I am appauled! My sister Laurie exclaimed that it was all a scam to purchase their food. Whuh?

Anywho, I am not attending any of those group support meetings. What would I have to complain about? The pudge I have for a stomach? Hi, my name's Shellie and my goal is to exterminate this lard puddle that is obstructing my six pack. Instead of applause, I'd get a rash of rotten tomatoes thrown at me by a vat of people that's dropped 100 plus pounds. No siree, I prefer to enter my daily food intake and exercise in my private world of the internet! My own confession booth, deposit your sins and repent.

Lesson: A confident grasshopper is one who prides to be different.