Ouch

Well, my boxing workout have come to a head. Literally! I paired off with a female yesterday, who is experienced, to practice our usual combinations. Well, what can I say except that she came in with solid hooks to my dome about half a dozen times. I was furnished with no head gear and no warning. Just hard hooks to jiggle my cerebrum.

Today, I'm a bit fuzzy in the head and my vision is a bit funny. The last time I had a concussion was when Nolan, my brother, put me in a sleeper hold in highschool, by accident. As he had his left arm around my neck and his right behind my head, he walked me through the concept. As he released my arms, my body flopped to the floor and my head with it. I could hear the raucous as mom screamed and scolded him. I could hear everything even as mom ran to get the phone to dial the ambulance, but my body was useless. The ambulance arrived and awoke me with smelling salt.

Anywho, that familiar feeling is presently on me. The dazed and dream like state is up and about deafening any stamina.

Shellie's Proverb: To avoid any surprises brain cells should only be damaged gradually.
I was fine last night. It was this morning that it caught up with me. At first, I was hoping that I was dreaming. Nope. My mom would whap me right now for being so negligent. She's been dissuading me from boxing, since I told her about it. She's right I am too old, but it's so fun and such a better workout than yoga. I just need to rethink things, like not get hit in the head the next time. Ugh. What a dork. Anyway, hopefully my brain will recover from this stupidity and I can get back to normal. I'm not ready to retire to my rocking chair just yet. Smile.

Lesson: A forgetful Grasshopper should remember that you have many opportunities to play, but only one brain.

jack ass

This has worn heavy on my mind. Not that heavy, but mildly enough that it roams in the hallways of my mind. I have been inconsiderate to my single friends. Some of them, I shun, because their personality needs a little tweaking. Others, I aggressively shove on to any man.

Shellie's Proverb: Hyprocrites make a good ottoman.

Considering that there's a few friends that are in the single department, they sit high on my priority list. In comes Erin, hairstylist extrardanaire, very single, very successful and very pretty. For some reason or another, I am compelled to throw her onto any man. Are you single? Hey, have you met my friend Erin? As I shove her to the sharks of scum wads. The all time scuzz was the guy I brought over to a barbecue wearing a kilt. He wasn't hot, but he wasn't cute either. I don't know what my flippin deal is? I could pretend to blame it on the tequila --as I did pick him up at bar during Carnival celebration-- but I was coherent. I thought he was decent, but Shane was simply baffled. Like a bait to a bass, I dragged this stranger to the party for Erin.

Shane, for the most part, is disappointed by my male palette. In fact, he is disgusted. He scolds me constantly for not having high standards, much less any, for my friends. I must admit, my screening process is non-discriminatory, you just need to be single to qualify for the Shellie Kitchen matchmaker program. Sure, I suck, but in a world of atrocities, I mean only good.

What is my deal? I ask myself that everyday. I don't miss being single. Actually, I take that back. Giggle. I miss it a little. I had a lot of fun maybe too much! Chuckle. I just wanted to apologize to Erin for trying to miserably set you up with a bunch of yucks. On the other hand, my potential single male's -will henceforth go unmentioned- personality need a few more dimensions in order to make the cut. That means stop buying those damn expensive helicopter models and buy a damn car already, because we're tired of giving you a ride home damnit.

Lesson: A wary Grasshopper should know the way to shaolin is not on the back of donkey.

Stop!

If you think you've got it bad, imagine being one in ten siblings. To push the blade deeper, try being the ninth sibling of seven brothers and two sisters. Yes, it finally makes sense! That explains my thick skin. My cynicism. My comedy act. My selective hearing. My no tolerance act. This is why I am utterly crazy out of my gourd.

In my great attempt to coordinate my parents 50th Wedding Anniversary along with the crazy nine, it's a flippin' nightmare! Like a bunch of vultures pecking at my brain, everything from invitations, invite list, favors, to paying for the event is complete warfare. Apparently, as it is normal with any family, drama has unveiled it's turdish features. My youngest brother, Nolan, has a newborn along with two other cuties and his wife is finishing her nursing program. Totally excusable. The others, not worth mentioning, are making everyone else's situation difficult than need be.

Shellie's Proverb: An ox is as stubborn as his tail.


Exhale. Take a deep breath. It's just frustrating when we're flippin' trekking our way back home. Siblings forget how expensive it is to fly home, rent a car, rent a place at the same time maintain our monthly bills. I could've invested the cost for this trip to go to Italy or Costa Rica, but I just zip it. Do they forget that this is our parents 50th Wedding Anniversary? Do they give a shit? Seriously, why can't people put aside they're gripes? Our parents busted their asses to raise us and we can't even be cohesive to make this work.

I'm just really sad. Sad is the word. Mom and dad have worked so damn hard to raise us. So what, they weren't the perfect parents. Whose are? I feel as adults that we should put aside our differences and progress. It just sucks. I surrender. My white flag is up for the taking.

Lesson: A grasshopper must learn to play with others before he can play with himself.

Nonsense.

Yesterday, I experienced the disturbing, yet reoccurring discussion of children. The no brain cell moderator -Hope- wishes to introduce the redundant parenting discussions that range from names, schools and philosophies. Yes, backrow you are permitted to propel rotten cabbage at moderator immediately. I insist. Hope, I love her, but her existence is the complete antonym of her name. Despair is more fitting. She is fixated on children, and dreams desperately to one day have them. Until than, she's in a ten year relationship that been plummeting in a downward spiral for the past six years. She's always on some tangent about relationships or parenting. Toss alcohol in the mix and it's a full wreck of a circus.

It's a gorgeous day in San Francisco. I'm at the ramp enjoying the company of wonderful friends. As I sip from my margarita, I hear an annoying jabber of sorts. Ugh. It was her. The jabberwocky had enough alcohol in her blood to fuel her tirade. I deliberately sat on the opposite end of the table of fifteen people to avoid such menacing contact. The fact remains that I was not far enough to avoid the pang. As Maxine, an Asian woman who is a fantastic mother to two children, explains to Hope that it's difficult to raise her children in other parts of the country, due to their ethnicity. Hope, of Caucasian decent, begs to differ and dribbles alcohol on her pink seersucker dress. This went on for a while as Hope insisted to insist that the countryside was more appropriate. Jesus, Christ and Mary, is the sunny weather not suffice? Is the company of friends that dull? Piss in my drink and charge me seven bucks already?

Shellie's Proverb: Sometimes loneliness and selfishness come in the same Ziploc.

Alright, this is my pain. My pain stains from her self-righteous perspective of life. We all have or know of these parasites. She's as irritating as a tick on a dog! She just won't stop sucking. She's obnoxious and obtrusively pushy. She is not open to debate. A very narrow-minded preacher who preaches hypocrisy. Hope means well, but all conversations hem boyfriends or children related. It's truly annoying. Besides that, she's generous and means well. When she's sober. There's nothing more insulting than a person is so mentally damaged to serve advice like deep fried Prozac poppers on a plastic tray. Who the bleep are you? Who does that? It's quite annoying and for as much as I try to sweep it under the rug, the rug is not large enough.

I had come to my wits end a couple months ago. After an all out shout fest, I have decided to give up on this lost soul. I can't help someone who is unable to invest in herself. That was it. The last straw. My life is too valuable to sit there and listen to her pine over her relationship that is utterly vacuous. Life is too short. I can not and I will not. Some friends are not just toxic, they're ridiculous. Yesterday, I invited her into my home, but I did not welcome her advice. This is the word according to Shellie.

Lesson: A veracious grasshopper must snip the rope when the bundle begins to drag in the mud.

Friday Fun!

Besides my hemoglobin buddies surprise visit, Friday night was a jumble of sorts. It started very gradually with KJ, Angela, and Tim for dinner at NOPA. The food was the bomb! The rarity of a restaurant's dishes being consistently off the hinges, is like a nun and a priest getting it on. A normal dining experience, usually involves a few dishes that crash. You can see my enthusiasm with this restaurant. It is was a treat!

After dinner, we walked over to Madrone, for one last cocktail. One drink is usually code for let's get wasted, yet that was not my intention. My attempts in being responsible was delusional, but worth the thought. I was looking foward to spending time with my two neices on Saturday. Nine o'clock am was another story.

Shellie's Proverb: An artist can paint a beautiful canvas, but an artist can never design fate.

To add fuel to fun, Kurt, Sofia, Zachilla and Toni showed up at the bar. That, in itself, means danger. The menacing salsa music was disrupting my stalwart ways. Each time I looked down, my hand cozied a fresh cocktail. No conflicts here. As Shane, tried to poop on my party, I would not have it. Well, we were the first to leave, but I can't say that I did not enjoy myself.

I appreciate Shane for pulling me out when he did. Nine o'clock am bantered on my brain, but I was glad that my nieces did not have to experience a hungover aunt.

Lesson: No matter Grasshopper have strong will sometimes you must give in to the force of nature.

De-Bloating Device

As I welcome June with open arms, I welcome bloating with the middle finger. Bloating of the PMS kind. Argh. The absolute worse.

Shellie's Proverb: A woman with stiff forehead will never be happy with herself.

In the past day or two, my stomach has taken a turn for the worse, it's bulged. It's a bit discouraging with all the progress. I was afraid to weigh in on Wednesday as the restriction in my waist was very telling. Instead, at the gym, Kurt and Shane bullied and insisted that I jump on the scale. Peer pressure anyone? I jumped on the scale and quick-like made haste and jumped off. Not bad, but no progress.

Break it down for a sistah, scientifically:
When blood breaks down progesterone, the identical chemical structure to the substance made in a woman's body by the ovarian corpus luteum (some gland), --as it does a week before your period-- kidneys are prompted to retain both water and sodium. At the same time, a powerful water-retaining substance called anti-diuretic hormone may also be released, further influencing your body to hold onto fluids.

Leroy's term:
Yo beeotch! Lay off the crack. Dat stuff is like whack diggity double stack.

Double gulp. Sodium the unfriendly drug. The habit that I can't kick. I'm hooked on the junk. Chef Quinn Hatfield (the disciple of Wolf Gang, Rocco Dispirito, Jean Georges, David Bouley) has strictly trained me that salt resuscitates life into dishes. Salt is the fuse in fusion. Without it, food is dead. Boring. Bla·sé. I take from my culinary career, the power to salt. As I drown my dishes with mad salt, my taste buds scream in delight, but my body moans, frets, and plans vindiction. I curse you salt for betraying me. Sob. Sodium, I can't seem to quit you!

Lesson: A young Grasshopper must learn to not lick a salt stick when the sound of running creek is absent.

*The content of this entry should only be taken with a grain of salt*

Pap Swear

My annual pap was a super thrill! My female doctor had a moustache that gave Magnum P.I. a run for his money. I booked a P2, a pap and a physical. Instead, I was swiftly jabbed with a cold and unfriendly instrument, swabbed, and tossed out to dry. Talk about physical. Further mortified, Dr. She-mister Moustache was not thorough. Her medical assessment was pedestrian. Over the years, I know a sprint from a marathon, and she overlooked the polyp sector of my galaxy. What doctor does that? Talk about half ass.

Shellie's Proverb: A donkey who doesn't mind being called an ass is a genuine ass.

Foremost, I advised that I was planning on pregnancy this year. I wanted to hear about eggs. Cervix. Uterus. Healthy. Percentage. Fertility. Cycles. Sperminating. Irrational behavior. Something? Instead, she came at me with the sharpest dagger, "...with your age, I shouldn't put it off any longer." Gee, tact much? My most private of parts has been probed, I'm not talking the good probe either, and this flunky wanted to give hard advice? Smirk. Ehck! I felt jipped. Duped. Double crossed. Tew, I wish I could spit on her now!

On the other hand, my physical was thoroughly comedy. No check for ear mites. No testing my reflex. No pulse check. It happened so fast that I was out of there in ten minutes. I said P2 not drive thru?

In need for a good female OBGYN, instead of LESBIAN. Know of any? Please call 415.PAP.NICE.

Lesson: A healthy grasshopper must never take spinach for granted.

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.

Happy! Happy! Perfect! Joy! Joy!

I popped out of bed as the sunshine creeped onto our bedside. I looked over, as much as I wanted to jab my husband like a pesky insect to wake up and enjoy the day, I decided to leave him be. Plus, it was seven thirty in the morning. I lounged on our bedroom deck as the glee began to take its toll. From where I sat, the San Francisco bay was as calm as my soul. I felt special. I was happy! I am blessed. I am grateful for the love and aloha that burns inside me and surrounds me everyday.

Life was simple and my mind was clear. I do not find the need for a pair of shoes, or to pork out on double dutch strawberry chocolate chip pancakes, or a glass of bubbly, or to feel that I have to travel the globe. I am content. It is a good day to be alive.

I wanted to share this goodness with friends by inviting them over for a barbecue. It was the perfect day for it! Our backyard awaited good company, good conversation to this carefree life.

Shellie's Proverb: Best eat rice porridge when hot.
Shane perked out of bed and was business as usual. He slipped on his garden gloves and began to deweed the backyard. He made certain that our home was in tip top shape to welcome loved ones. In his obsessive compulsive madness, he proceeds to saw down a dead tree in our front yard. My man was on a sweaty rampage, but I like it!

We sat in the backyard relishing every moment of the heat. We chased the sun until the sun created more shadows. After a marvelously radiant day surrounded by friends and delicious food, Sunday gently came to an end. We went to bed with the sliding door open and allowed the warm wind to seep into our bedroom. Today was a perfect day.

Lesson: A blessed Grasshopper is one with limbs in tact, brain in check, and a heart of love.

Weight a minute!

My bed habit remains dire, but definitely not a damper in my diaper. Please note that bed habit should not be mistaken for "bed prowess". If you must ask, bed prowess is 100 beats per minute.

In the meantime, spring has not peeked it's dewey head into my life, but I guess it's time to turn over a new leaf. I signed up for weight watchers today. I know, have a half a grape on a triscuit for dinner! Alright cackle club, keep it down in the back row. In fact, I signed up online, and it's a decent barometer. Jill, my sister in law, swears by it. She is a true testament to weight loss, she dropped 16 pounds in a few months. Of course, her weight loss could contribute to being on her feet all day as a nurse and walking home. Unlike my laggard narcoleptic buns that hunkers in front of a computer all day.

I just need to switch it up. A reassessment. In fact, I just realized how many points my damn Wullaby yogurt is! A whole 4 points. Why has my yogurt forsaken me? Gulp and double gulp. Good fat or bad fat, it's still fat.

So embarassment aside, I am excited to be a member of weight watchers. I mean, I thought it was a whiny cult consisting of individuals with thyroid dysfunction seeking pity from peers. I thought it was a gimmick like Richard Simmons and his short shorts. I was sorely wrong! On behalf of my judgemental mind, I apologize for my prejudice. Hey back row! Keep your cackles to yourself.

Today's mantra: Must not eat evil creamy yummy wonderful organic Wullaby. Whah!

Queen Turd

I am a five star turd nerd. The true crap master. The wife that holds the septic septor. God save this Queen!

I am not one to make the bed. I never was. Well. I go through phases. Just like my menstrual, it comes once a month give or take three to four days. I must admit, I try my best. I'm the first to jump out of bed, therefore, the last one out is a rotten egg!

There's nothing like sinking in to a comfortable bed, so what is my mini gripe? Well, Shane's beginning to take on my lack of bed making habit. Shucks! My man makes up a bed like nobody's business! There's nothing like slipping into a bed at the end of the day that felt like a four seasons maid went fastidious crazy on. It's like a warm cup of chamomile wrapped in silk, I mean an eight hundred egyptian threadcount loses it's exquisiteness when it's crumpled at the foot of the bed.

Besides having a dreamy husband, I've just been spoiled with Shane's meticulous work. See Shane's a perfectionist, rich in detail and pride, when it comes to anything that he does. Certainly, it's not a trait that makes this marraige cohesive, but it's a rare commodity not to mention a pleasant amenity. Just imagine a world with no toilet paper. Well, I'll retract that, don't. What I'm trying to say is that, this wife refuses to lie in the bed that she made so unkempt.

Today's mantra: Make your bed you lazy b#tch!

I'm Alive!

I was feeling empty. I was feeling low. There was a hole in the third dimension and my lowly soul was being zapped into it's dark vortex.

Just when I was going to call it quits with the dull razor to my wrist, a bright burst of light filled the house. I must admit, I thought I was dead. Through the slats of the curtains the sunburst was at the horizon, my heart skipped a beat. After many ruthless days and nights of ungodly rain, from the gray heavens came the healthy yolk of sunshine! The gods have forgiven the unsightly sinners. My blood began to flow. I could feel my pulse again! I could breathe! I was back in action Jackson! Bipolar anyone?

After years as an A+ loser, in my heart of hearts, I felt like a winner. Thank you sunshine for lighting up my life.

Lesson: A strong grasshopper never falls prey to the shifting climate of oneself.

First new steps

Definitely exciting time for us! Shane is getting ready to launch his own business in a few weeks. He's going for his contractor's license. He has worked with his Uncle John for a decade and some years. I am so proud to see him embark on a new venture. He, on the otherhand, not so confident. His concern skirts many issues - most importantly - change. Personally, I heart change. Change is ace. Change is enriching. A fresh start. New soil. I look foward to taking that plunge into icy water. Chill. Shrinkage. Brrrr.

I would like to put the limelight on the people in our lives and how we are truly blessed. It is unique to have such love and support envelope our lives. A shout out from the Cuccina's to Uncle John and Aunt Nyra for extending great opportunities our way.

Lesson: A short sighted grasshopper is one that sets fire to his bridges and realizes he has no one to drown with.

Drencher

Start building your ark, because it's coming down baby! Yes, it's been raining for straight weeks now and the depression is starting to set it's claws. I don't mind the rain one bit. I mean coming from Hawaii, this is a treat. As a rule of thumb, I brighten my day with a loud piece of wardrobe such as the lime green cashmere cardigan that's keeping me snug.

The rain has been causing a lot of distress on many. I myself would rather live through rain than a drought. Take advantage of this weather and cuddle up to a good book and a warm cup of chamomile tea. If your feeling mighty feisty, grab your snowboard and head up to Tahoe. If you get bored, pick up your needles and knit a nice scarf. Invite a friend over for a game of chess. Host a dinner party with a nice warm stew and wine. There's lots of things you can do besides mourn the absence of sunshine. So hold on to your booties, the forecast for the next two weeks is rain.

Lesson: A carefree grasshopper who cartwheels in fresh filth is always happy.

The real truth...

Can I just say that we experienced our first freak mingling with parental degredation. We attended our next door neighbors two year old birthday party and talk about snobs. Besides our sweet neighbors, the other parents were creepy. Stepford creepy. The first question, "Do you have children?" When we responded with a simple "no" and proud about it. We were given the smug treatment. What's up with that?

I was quite perturbed. Irrirated. My first experience with childless discrimination. Not only is it tacky for parents to showcase their child, but it's so cold. Sure be proud, but don't be a self righteous schmuck. How tall is your child? How many months is your child? Her motor skills are so advanced. Pukarama! The dads looked beat down. The mom's were vainglorious. I tried my best to socialize, but it was a circus.

I made Shane swear that we never turn into these yuppie parents that has lost themselves in the goodness of their children, gutted like a dead fish. Is there a way of avoiding this type of behavior? Are we as individuals making up for what we lacked as a child? If so, when is it too much? Is there a balance? Thus, I do not subscribe to the "give your children what they want" philosphy. You could invest in the best philosphy of childraising, hence it does not guarantee that children will result correct. There is no such thing as perfect. I am especially proud of how Shane and I were raised. We take from our parents the sense and goodness and will make it our own.

Lesson: Grasshopper should allow loved ones to rule hearts, but not the television remote control.

Current Events

Besides boxing, snowboarding and the lousy car incident, married life is nifty. It is free range, organic and uncaged. There is no new business to report thus far.

Current events:
Fashion paraphernalia – 50%
Neatness – 30%
Cigarettes – 0%
Smiling – 110%
Laughing – 110%
Hugs and kisses – 110%
Whoopie – none of your business
Happiness - Infinity

Lesson: A feisty Grasshopper must learn to slice with dull chopstick before gaining the respect of sensei ginsu.

cUrsed! Rats!!!!

It was the night afore, when I made the big mistake of jumping on the scale. Why? I thought that I was making progress. I mean with my loose fit clothes and all. Not to mention, working out 4 to 5 times a week like a schizy on meds. Well, the scale tells no lie. I am now 131 as opposed to 115. What the phhhhh!!!!!!!!!! Currently, I am scraping the hallways of my mind like a lost lunatic.

Listen, I know that muscle is heavier than fat, but come the flippin’ on. Not only that, I’ve completely cut down on my alcohol intake to a complete null, a worthless zero. Furthermore, after reading up on sugar content of champagne is complete potty, I kicked my bubbly consort to the curb. Finally, I’ve been eating small meals a day which entail raw greens, fish and crap. Boggled minds are scrambling searching for a scientific reason...no, I’m not a closet saccharine shyster, I despise the sin. I drink so much water that I give the can more play than a bulimic. And, this is how my body repays me? Rats! I have crucified my lifestyle just to see myself gain? It’s discouraging to know that I’ve busted my ass to see that I have digressed. I mean does weight really matter when it comes to muscle? Hell effen yes, it certainly does.

I am driven, drive, drive, drive to switch it up! It's called attacking Potrero hills by storm at sunrise. At my age, metabolism needs a fine kick in the rear. I have the next six months before it’s go time for a baby and gosh darnit I just wanna be in the best shape.

Lesson: A strapping grasshopper can not live on lawn and bugs alone.

Blood n Guts

We went to the first night of the San Francisco Golden Gloves on Tuesday, and I tell you what? It was so electric, that I went on Wednesday! If I had it my way, I would have gone the consecutive five days. Subsequent to my first experience with a live knockout, I'm like an addict longing for more rock. I was certain that it was a brainless sport, considering that constant brain shaking. But, I have been proven wrong once more. There is more medulla oblongata than meets the eye. Although it’s amateur boxing, still it fleas any sport. I wish I discovered this sport a long time ago. I feel like I’ve been asleep all my life. Once again, I've been shafted.

Flashback: September 29, 1977, world heavyweight Ali vs. Shavers dad ate, drank, crapped, spat boxing. No one was allowed to speak, much less breath, during the fights on television. I awoken the wrath of dad fueled by disobedience, he utilized his fists to silence my silly plight with my sibling. I understand that it was the only outlet he had away from his ten children and mom. It was his only pleasure that brought him happiness well next to mom, of course. Because of his outlet, it fused a hatred for boxing for decades.

I have never felt such a sense of satisfaction. It is my nucleus to my all. I’m happy that my form of meditation and serenity allows such raw exertion. Perhaps, Shane is ecstatic he has had to avoid dealing with a wife that needs much minding (not that there was any problem in that department to start off with).

Lesson: A witless grasshopper is one that resurrects his plastic spoonful of aspect before burying the golden spurn.

Merely a scratch

In two days, Shane was back at the boxing gym. The back of his head decorated with staples it ached me to look at them. He found that the staples contributed to his fresh and found “rugged” demeanor. As long as he is healthy and normal, than let there be staples and grit.

Still at night as he sleeps, I can’t help to think that somewhere in his head there’s a piece the doctor’s missed. I am paranoid that he may not awake from sleep. Yes, of course, I’m paranoid! Blatantly and outrageously paranoid! It’s difficult when my love grows every day and I just can’t fathom being without him. Crap, I've just stumbled on my newfound wife worry. Good lord what next, picking up the dry cleaning and a grocery list? Smile. It could be worse.

Lesson: A grasshopper with no guts does not deserve a tv dinner.

Luck vs. Fate

I received a phone call from Shane. He had just been rear ended on Bay and Larkin and the back of his head was bleeding. As I sat at my desk, my eyes swelled with tears, and my head swirled with all sorts of horrific tantrums. All I wanted to do is breakdown and cry, I prayed that he would be okay. I hoped and prayed that he would be the same person that sang to me that same morning. The same man that tries to grab my attention by dancing in the middle of the living room during my favorite show. Please, let him be okay. I prayed to the ears that had the right to his destiny.

Fortunately, he suffered minimum damage to the back of his head. He walked away from the wreck absent of concussion and headache. I thanked the angel that was responsible for this strike of luck.

There is a daily ritual that I practice. I make sure I tell him how much I love him. In that way, I will not live in regret of what we have no control over. The future holds the upper hand to our fate. I am greatful and certainly thankful for the richness of our love and happiness.

Lesson: Grasshopper should always remember that luck shadows humbleness.

Snow Day

Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It’s off to the mountains we go. La-la-la-la la-la-la-. This season has been terrible for snow. Fortunately, all of you can stop your chanting and praying for snow. Hey! You over there, slowly put your rosary down and go easy on the hail marys.

It’s Angela and KJ’s birthday this Sunday so we’re heading to North Shore for a weekend in the powder. I’m so excited to get out of the city with a bunch of my peeps. I feel that everyone and their dawg are heading there as well, so I must be prepared for the weighty drive. I suck at snowboarding. Shane and his crew are shredmeisters. Me, I'm just a slopmeister. There was a boxing match that I wanted to catch over at our gym. I guess it's only healthy to tear myself away from my passion for a couple days. Snow, here I come! Boxing withdrawals, keep your distance!

Lesson: A Grasshopper can not live on grass and monotony alone.

Splice of Life

So for now, the baby train has been derailed for another year. Gasp. Did the room just go silent? Did someone just drop a dish in the kitchen? Did a woman’s water just break? Quickly, grab a paper bag and breath. Listen, I’m not getting any younger, but for once, my body is in the best shape ever! I’m shedding more weight than a pig in a sauna. I can hear my mom, “shame, tsk, shame, tsk.” Selfish is what I like to call it. I can’t help it, I love being healthy aka not to be mistaken with slender. If I have a child now, it’ll always be about the child and I’m just damn frightful. Certainly, I’ll love our child, but I’m just apprehensive of making that move that will forever switch my way of life. I think to be a parent is to be selfless. Damnit, I’m just feeling like 2006 is a year of self improvement; the bondo of the mind and the body.

Positively, most of my friends with kids have definitely bounced back to slim, but unfortunately my genetics are -to put it lightly- ghastly. I just pray subsequent to baby that I am able to return to the gym and fight the good fight against fat. I want to be all about the baby, but I want to look good too. I guess the older I get, the less resilient this body grows. I had no idea that my vanity was so strident. It’s all a blunder. On a sour note, I would like to digress that I can’t believe all the money I invested in a personal trainer last year. Indeed, I got extremely strong, but my pouch was always there to break me down. That pouch began to seed the thought that maybe I was part marsupial. Gals, if you wanna get nice and fit quickly, one word, box.

Lesson: A doltish Grasshopper is one that preaches about his enlightenment.

My new love

Since boxing, the flames have consumed every aspect of our lives. Who would have thunk? Not I. That’s all we squawk about. We love it so much that we’ve recruited Kurt, Darren and Sophia in hopes that they too will fall in love. Irritating right? Pathetic. It’s so pathetic that we practice our combinations in our living room. Oops, did I let the frog just jump out of the pond? Giggle. It’s such a gritty sport. It’s violent, but so eloquent. What is it about the jab, cross, upper, hook, double jab and concussions? I don’t know, but I scream, “give me more goshdarnit!” We head towards Third Street Gym for the 5:45pm class. First of all, we stopped pairing off with each other, because that is just plain mental and retarded. Just ‘cause we’re married, doesn’t mean we have to do everything together. Kidding. Not really, giggle. By the way, we’re not doing this as a marriage counseling gig. Not yet. Smile.

I purchased my first pair of boxing shoes! I am psyched! We’ve been going four to five days a week, like psychotic animals, we just keep going back for more pain. I have fallen in love. Blush. It has curved my way of life. It has added this “oomph” in my soul. We cut down on drinking and we’re watching what we eat. I’ve incorporated healthy greens like kale (my fav), swiss chard, hydrocress into our daily diet. I even cut champagne, my little bubbly sidekick, from my repertoire. I know, what pathetic people we’ve become, but it doesn’t mean that we’ve stopped living. Haha. On the contrary, that’s what weekend brunch is for. Yeeha! I’ve heard a few snarls from family members questioning our marriage, because of the alcohol intake at our wedding. Pointy fingers, we know who you are. Ahem, it was our wedding. I guess the bride and groom are supposed to sip mineral water instead. Well you sober minded people can sit back down and take a chill pill. By the way, alcohol gets such a bad rap. Whassup? Prohibition much? Sorry for the tangent.

Lesson: A grasshopper that sits in silence while prey attacks is one that does not use his brain.

Smile

We’ve reached our half year mark. Six months. The point five. If only I could pluck the wings from time. We have yet to finish our thank you cards. We’ve done most of them, except that we’ve lost our check off list and can’t remember who we’ve sent them to. We have not weeded through our wedding photos. I have not boxed my wedding dress. We’re just terrible, terrible newlyweds. Honeymoon date undecided, but the destination is Paris and Rome.

We’ve come a long way since our wedding. A new job. A new name. A new home. A new neighborhood. A new lifestyle. A new car. Anew.

It was a normal day. We were sticky and dirty from boxing. I made a fresh pear mache salad to start and followed with roasted perch and garlic kale. He wished me a happy six month anniversary with a smile. I couldn’t believe that he remembered. That’s why he’s my sweetest of the sweets.

So step off you feeble minded skeptics and pessimists, all is in bliss in Kitchenville.

LESSON: Little grasshopper must remember there is big meaning when preserving small words in a glass jar.

Cough. Hack. Spit.

I took it easy on Saturday as a mild cold and allergies took homage in my body. I tried to push hard to get to my boxing class, but my friendly cold and allergies were holding a parade in my chest that had me coughing up some fun friends.
In the past, I'd push my deathful body to an hour's worth of exercises than follow with a series of homemade spicy ginger tea, that always resuscitates health back into my frail body. Mind over matter, I keep reminding myself. Most of the time, it works like a charm. Besides, I detest stewing in my germs. It’s foul! Normal people are held hostage to their bed, blanket, tissue box, and television. Yuckee.

Flashback: December 20, 1984, the flu virus had attempted a successful coup on my immune system. As I shivered in hot and cold sweat, my brother Steven swathed me in my comforter and plucked me from bed. He had just finished the Christmas decorations on our house. Across the street, my family waited for me to enjoy the festive decorations. Lights, Santa, Action! As my brother held me on his back, we adored our home that twinkled with the Christmas spirit with "ooohs and aaahs". For a second there, my sickness dwindled into a smile, laughter and glee. Christmas coincidence or a Christmas miracle, either way it was mind over matter.

As my bones shivered and my body fell further prey, I was not going to let it win. I was not going to lay on this couch while the sun blared in my face as I sat pathetically on the couch watching television surrounded by a flurry of dirty tissues! I proceeded to do the nonsensical and drive. As incoherent as possible, I got in the car and drove myself to Pharmeca, my friendly holistic store, to the end all of this ailment nonsense. I drove to Cole Valley picked up my herbal meds and was so excited to get a loaf of brioche from the french bakery on the corner. I was still miserable, but it was nice to get fresh air into this stale body. It felt good. The drive did me well, I could feel the need for a pedicure. In fact, my heart was doing the jump and jive at the idea of shopping.

In case you were wondering, where is Shane through all this? My dear husband had a 10:50am tee time in halfmoon bay.

LESSON: A sagacious grasshopper is one that escapes an army of fire ants by kung fu grip.

Exhausted

I hate squat thrusts!!!!!!! I’d rather stab a bag of rusty nails into my eyeballs!!! Why oh Why? I loathe. Loathe. LOATHE!!! Squat thrusts sucks Godzilla’s buttocks ten times over.

I know the whole point to exercising is for fit and health reasons, but good lord on a popsicle stick does it really have to be that painful? Today, I'm in great pain and I would like to exclaim to everyone, "THANK GOD FOR FRIDAY!" Now butler, bring me my bib and wheelchair quickly.

Lesson: When Grasshopper can walk uphill on rice paper and place no tear, than you may eat from the rice bowl.

Free yourself!

Wondering how my progress with hip hop classes are going? Unfortunately, my fickle heart has moved forward. Boxing. Ah yes, the wonderful world of endurance, punch combinations, fancy foot shuffle and concussions. For as much as I enjoyed dancing, I was missing that “umph” that “kaboom”! Hip hop was like sex without the orgasm. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but never gained anything tangible. It’s been almost a month and I’m noticing differences in my attitude and body. Fit world roll out your red carpet, enters the princess to heed her throne.

Flashback: I was eight in the summer of ’79. Put these gloves on you lazy bums! Dad, a former boxer in the marines, lived and breathed for boxing. Nolan, my younger brother, jumped around as he was convinced this fight was tucked under his belt. I, on the otherhand, was certain that KO was just a few combinations away. My other six brothers bickered and yelled and traded dollar bills as the neighbors took their front row seat on our lawn. I couldn't recall the stupidity behind our argument that occurred fifteen minutes ago! At dad’s command, Nolan’s jabs entered my zone like rapid fire and in my furious, but weak attempt to defend myself, it was always the same fight. I sat in the black corner – consciously subconscious. Dad never coarsed us through the strategy of the sport. We were mere entertainment, and it was a reason for discipline. I forever cursed boxing.

As usual, my life consists of different shades of whims and flights. I was in the search for something different. I was hungry for a direction uncouth and physical. A route that took me away from meditation and the dull "om". There it was Third Street Gym! A mighty gritty world. Raw. Dirty. Voltaic! Can I stick to boxing? Do priests play frisky with their alter boys? Who knows. If I am provided an objective, than I will seek that goal.

I’m just over the idea of trying to heal my body exclusively from the inside out. I’m all about the new age hippy health organic movement, but godamnit! I want to feel my motivation aching through my muscles in pains and jolts. I will never compete as a boxer, because I’m just too much of a chica (well than again I shouldn't say never), but I do enjoy the strategy and the art of boxing like no other I have felt.

This is dedicated to my dad who I have come to respect and understand his passion and love for boxing.

Lesson: A grasshopper is only modest when he does not revel in the height of his jump.

Heart to Heart

It’s that time of year again when the female species expectations shoot through the roof and the males cower to make sure all is as expected. For some, today is a let down, a dissapointment. February 14th, the day the price of a dozen roses is more than my car payment. Where are the lost days of a simple card filled with love and good wishes? Valentines Day has turned into a shoe box of roses, balloons, chocolates, jewelry and pre-fixed dinner menus.

All in vain of St. Valentine, yet who is this mysterious masked villain and why do we celebrate this holiday?

Legend #1: Valentine sent the first "valentine" greeting. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine had the hots for a hotsy totsy -- who was the jailor's daughter, who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed "From your Valentine."

Legend #2: This legend contends that Valentine, a priest who served during the third century in Rome during the reign of Emperor Claudius II. The Emperor decided that single men made bad ass soldiers than those with wives and families, hence outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine, realizing that this is whacked, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers on the DL aka Down Low. When Valentine's got the 411 on Valentine's actions, Emporor C ordered a cap in his ass.

Like Christmas and Thanksgiving, today is a very lonely day for many. I have been victimized by this vicious holiday for many years until I realized that it wasn’t the holiday, but me. It is good to feel loved and wanted, not by a lover, boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife, but by friends and family.

If you want to make today special, pick up the phone and call your parents and wish them a Happy St. Valentines day. Perhaps, a dear friend who could use a warm smile today. These are just a few suggestions that are more heroic than a box of chocolates.

I phoned my mom who is thousands of miles away and wished her a Happy St. Valentines day. That, my friends, is what St. Valentine would have done.

Lesson: To become wise grasshopper, one must learn how to give and expect nothing in return.

Get Out of Jail Free Ticket

Shane is on his annual four day golf trip in Arizona and you know what that means? Get your disco outfit on, because it's girls night out…I mean weekend.

That's me. The female that can't help, but lasso a group of girlfriends together for a night of cocktails and laughter. Why should I sit at home with pink rollers in my hair. No ma'am, the Leave it to Beaver days are long gone.

In my attempts to counteract the boys weekend for an annual girls getaway such as Chicago, but that was too chilly willy shrinky dinky doo cold. Los Angeles was too smug with smoggy people like Paris and her geek heirs. New York City, my absolute favorite, was not enough time to explore. As Sofia says, what’s wrong with San Francisco? Home sweet home.

Since we (Sofia and I) are a bunch of scaredy cats, we’ll be alternating sleep overs at our house. Losers! We’ve got a night of Lisa Lampanelli, the Queen of Mean, at the comedy club and a dinner. I’m also feeling like making a nice fire in the fireplace and inviting a few of the girls over for a home cooked meal.

So let them boys hit them balls, I’ve got a soulful of laughter that needs to flutter.

Lesson: When little grasshopper can cast a shadow ten time his minor than he is ready to tango.

Fertile is Futile

Women have babies for different reasons such as religious, bring a marriage closer, tear a marriage apart, mistake, accident, love, hate, naïve, curiousity, age, blackmale and/or money.

I'm racing against time. I can’t see myself at fifty with the susceptibility of breaking my hip, because I might slip a disc while chasing my rugrat around with a broomstick. I would label my situation as “now or never” or “do or die.”

Note to self: stretch marks, saggy breasts, crying baby, husband nagging, head aching; definite baby repercussions.

Having to commit to the safety of a child for the rest of my life? Sounds like a lifetime prison sentence with no chance for parole. Do I have the guts?

On the other hand, I don’t want to be the well traveled couple that’s been everywhere, done everything and have made peace with the demons inside just to come out of the rat race with an empty shopping cart. I think I want all the mayhem, madness to go hand in hand with this demon/angel creation of a child. Nothing is a guarantee in life, but I can guarantee that kids will offer a lifetime of love that will cease my selfish existence as the nucleus.

Lesson #24A: Grasshopper must learn to eat glass before he can swallow kindness.

Happy Birthday!

Wishing my sweetie a happy birthday.

It's Shane's birthday today and for as much as he down plays his birthday every year by advising that I not celebrate it. Personally, I think his attitude is bull crap. I would not dismiss the opportunity of making him feel special. In fact, I would like to throw his parents a party to congratulate them on raising such a golden heart of a soul!

Once again, I have a dinner up my sleeve. Ssssshhh is the word of the day. This is on the down low fo sho. Sure it's not a surprise party like last year, but a surprise. He has surprised me with his compassion, love and generosity and the least I could do is surprise him on his birthday surrounded by his closest buddies.

I already gave him my heart, love and good intentions when I said, "yes, I will love you for the rest of my life." That, my friends, I can not wrap in a golden box, but it something we can keep in that special thought I like to call memory.

Lesson: A keen grasshopper should always meet the sun at rise and set, but play in the day that comes between.

Resolve me from my sins

Dearest Humble New Year,

I have succeeded to greet you free of hangover, hunger and heartbreak. I have a loaded gun full of resolutions as my positive girlfriend Sophia has relabeled them "goals":

1. PMS is an inexcusable excuse.

2. Neat and organized. Specifically, I will pick up after myself, but that does not include scrubbing tubs.

3. Respectful, to get to planned gatherings punctual and on time.

4. Maintain mischievous manner.

5. Since motherhood will be quite strapping, I will live this year like one big disco party.

6. Pamper. Facial, manicure, pedicure and massage.

7. Browse. I will not purchase a one sensationalized celebrity gossip literature, I am allowed to browse through the pages while standing in grocery line.

It's true that the above statement has been recorded, but I still burn in the flames of: apparel, accessories, handbags, shoes and movies.

Lesson: Grasshopper it is wise to set hurdles in your daily life, it doesn't mean you have to attempt to jump over them.