Bull

I'm a Taurus (don't pretend to be surprised).

Today, my horoscope said: "Let your hair down a bit. Take time to learn more about an adversary, a client, or an attractive new hook-up."

What my horoscope should have said: "Pull your hair out a bit. Take time to fight with your husband, a coworker or random @$$!&*^. Your PMS will be in overdrive causing you to consider a self-hysterectomy. But you're too squeamish.  Instead, listen to your ovaries scream "I'm melting" like the Wicked Witch of the West as they come closer and closer to shrivelling up."

Or something like that.

Spanks But No Spanx

*WARNING: If you are a guy, stop reading this post right now. Keep reading and women will become slightly less mysterious, and slightly more bizarre.*  Don't say I didn't warn you.

I pride myself on my looks. That's why when Momma wants to look extra special (i.e. less lumpy and more yummy), she pulls out what any other self-respecting woman would...a "slim cognito seamless mid-thigh shaper" ofcourse! (Try saying that 5 times fast). It's better known by its dressing room name - Spanx.

Sure, it takes the coordination of a NASA astronaut docking at the spacestation to cram yourself into one. But just like the advert says, it will make the inches disappear! That's because Spanx pushes your love handles from your hips to somewhere amongst your internal organs. But man, you look good. You could bounce a quarter off that ass. Trust me, I've tried.

Lately I've come to realize that I've been wearing the Spanx just a little too much. My one and only pair, has given out. My Spanx have lost their will to torture contain my womanly overcurves. I didn't even know that was possible. Sigh.

Coincidentally, number of days without jelly beans = 0

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes Boredom?

I haven't been posting as much lately due to a shortage of juicy post-worthy stories. I never expected married life to be so...uneventful. After all, we are talking about me here. Boredom, commonality, these are not words I know. Ok, I do know them (after all I am a master of the English language) but I don't KNOW them know them.

I never thought I'd miss certain parts of my single gal life. The adventureous part. The never knowing what was going to happen next part. The where-will-I-be-in-2 years part. A big piece of my personality was tied to me being single.

I just might be slipping into a matrimonial identity crisis.

Don't get me wrong. I love Paul. I love being married to Paul, and the hunka hunka burning love we have. But there's just something missing. Drama? Definitely. Shopping til I drop? Unfortunately. Quirky Erika? Quite possibly.

I've got to get ME back.

Ho Down

I have a pair of cords (hurrah!). But not just any old pair. They are a cool shade of mint green. When I wear them I feel comfy and slightly like a gay man (not that there's anything wrong with that). Mint green is not a color pulled off by the masses.

The best part - these cords were FREE - a donation courtesy of Katrina (my S-I-L, not the hurricane).

After a particularly rough morning (3 irate hanger uppers and decaf coffee), I decided to head on down to "Sounds like Jim Nortons" for a cup of java (the drink, not the Indonesian island). Being the uber multi-tasker that I am, I dediced to drop off my 5 outstanding library books along the way. [Hey, I said I was a multi-tasker, not a pays-attention-to-due-dates person].

I was 10 steps away from the cross walk when I heard a distint "pop" noise. Not a sound you want to hear at the best of times, unless it involves champagne or your virginity.

Then I remembered the one reason I do not like my cords. The top button (a snap, literally) pops at very inopportune times. Like when I'm walking. Shopping at the grocery store. Sitting in the car/office/dentist chair. Laying down. Actually, that last one is ok. I'd like to think said "popping" is not from the couple of pounds I've added to my hips, but rather, because it's a sin to keep my body under wraps. And the pants know it. Yes, that's it.

*avoids eye contact*

I attempted to ignore the fact my pants had become unhinged. After all, there's the fail safe I'd like to call a zipper, which keeps everything in line. Except, I could feel the zipper start to give way, inching down. Very slowly. And with every zipper tooth, my pants slid slightly farther down my hips.

Not one to panic, I cleverly used my overdue library books to cover up the evidence, holding them stragetically in front of my crotch. Tightly. I increased my walking pace, hoping to reach the safety of the drop-off box inside the library entrance before my pants became leg warmers. Luckily the drop-off box has a piller nearby, so I could put myself back together without too much attention. (Mr. Security Guard, I saw you checking me out BTW. You too, homeless guy).

Happy to have my pants back up where they belonged, I skipped merrily along to "Sounds Like Jim Nortons" for my coffee (now upgraded to a Large single single).

Unfortunately, I can add "skipping" to the list of things not to do when wearing my cords. Luckily, I'd orded that Large coffee.

Crotch Rot

I woke up in the AM and with my eyes still shut tight, asked Paul "Is it Friday yet?" 
"Yes" he replied. Which was cruel because that was yesterday morning, when it was still only Thursday.

But today it really really is Friday. And how can I tell? I was enjoying my second morning coffee until I missed my mouth and spilled coffee all over my crotch. Not once...but twice. Clean up on aisle lap #7

Now instead of looking like the put-together-girl of the office, I resemble the peed-her-pants-girl of the office. No offense Lisa.

Is it just me, but are Fridays sometimes Mondays in disguise? Oh? Just me then. Damn.

Bean Counter

Current weight = ?
Number of days without jelly beans = 0
Number of jelly beans consumed today = 22
Number of calories per 14 jelly beans = 10
Number of calories consumed from jelly beans today = 172
Number of calories burned during lunch time workout = 104
Number of calories actually burned today = minus 68

Now I remember why I never liked math much.

Calorie [Mis]Count

A coworker brought an elliptical machine into work, one they just had laying around the house [clothing rack]. It was parked it in the office "common area" [vacant cubicle].

It was a noble effort to help our healthy workplace initiative It was the start of our exercise more, eat less crap initiative.

After weeks of admiring the elliptical from afar [stubbed my toe on it once] I decided to get my ass in gear and give it a go. Back when I used to have a gym membership [when blackberries were just really yummy fruit] I used to be quite the exercise machine queen. Well, more of a drama queen who likes to exercise. But who am I to split hairs. If it's one thing I can't stand, it's split ends.

Perhaps some office exhaustion would be just the thing to take my mind off my jelly bean cravings.

It's always good to start off a new exercise plan on a Monday [Monday is the suckiest day of the week, and couldn't possibly suck any more by sweating your ass off followed by sitting around the office stewing in your own sweat juices]. Monday. The day I remembered my workout clothes. But no MP3 player. Ok, meditation it is.

It always takes a couple minutes to get used to swear at the controls on a you've-never-used-it-before exercise machine. Luckily, I'm a natural with gadgets [I just hopped on and started moving my feet]. It was so quiet without my tunes. Let's be honest, working out is just not as inspirational without "Eye of the Tiger" blaring.

I must have been the first one to use the elliptical in a while, it had the tell-tale sign of abandonment [squeaked like a bed during twenty-something marathon sex]. Ok, meditation is out.

I was stunned by how hard it was. Sure, I'd never used an elliptical machine before, but I was no stranger to the treadmill or stepper. Ok, it had been a while since my last mechanical workout but seriously...is it supposed to be this hard? Um, that was a rhetorical question.

After 5 mintues I was drained. But I kept going out of sheer stubborness [I am a natural redhead after all]. I started pressing random buttons, trying to locate the tension [it was on the hardest setting].

Next my focus switched to the calorie count. I couldn't believe it - 263 calories in only 9 minutes! I am woman, hear me roar. Or pant. Panting is all you'll get right about now. My only thought - I might actually burn off that chocolate bar I ate during my coffee break [might = doubted]. Imagine my disappointment when I realized I was reading the wrong screen. I didn't burn 263 calories, I had "traveled" 2.63 kilometers. My calorie burn was only at 62.

I stuck it out for 12 minutes, and 92 calories. It wasn't one of my finer moments. Or one of my firmer moments. But it's a start. And I didn't think of jelly beans once. Until now.

Junkie

Lately, I have realized something. And it's major. *Takes deep breath*

I. Am. A. Junkie.

And my insatiable craving of choice...Jelly beans. Sweet sugary colorful little jelly beans.

Sure, sure laugh it up. I did at first. Personally, I blame "sounds like Toppers Hug Mart", our local drug store. How ironic is that my addiction to Jelly Beans started in a drug store? That was a rhetorical question.

Anyhoo, "sounds like Toppers Hug Mart" was having a sale on Jelly Beans (or as they are known on the street, JB). It was $0.99 CDN for a bag. So I bought one.

It was so good. I savoured every bean (except the black ones, no offense, but I've never cared for the taste of black licorice much). I ate the whole bag in one afternoon. Sure, sure, I shared some with my coworkers. After all, if I'm packing on the pounds, I want them right along with me for the ride. Yeah, I'm thoughtful like that.

I told myself I ate the whole bag because I needed the sugar to get through the rest of the afternoon at work. But the same thing happened the next day. I told myself it's just because they are on sale, once the sale's over, I'll quit the JB, cold turkey.

That was 2 months ago. They're still on sale (now down to $0.79). And they got me hooked. Buying just one bag doesn't do it for me anymore, I have to buy two bags just to get that same sugar rush feeling.

I realized my habit was becoming a problem when I started to feel embarrassed taking a bag of Jelly Beans up to the cash register each and every day. I wondered if the "sounds like Toppers Hug Mart" employees whispered about me behind my back [here she is again boys, the Jelly Bean girl]. Cashiers can be so cruel.

Then I started to see who was working at the cash before taking my purchase up. Was it the same guy as yesterday? Monday? I felt relief when it was someone completely different. They wouldn't judge me. Me and my Jelly Beans.

After a while that stopped working. Every cashier at the store knew my little secret. So, I started buying other things to accompany my JB bag purchase. Sure, I didn't need deodorant that day, but I would need it some day, right? I didn't exactly need that can of tuna, or can of bug spray either (it's 15 C here in Canada right now, all the bugs are dead). But I'd need those items some day, right?

I said right?

I even started eating the black jelly beans. I couldn't bare to throw them out anymore. And you know what, now I like them too. Once you go black, you never go back.

Yes, I know, I have a problem. My name is Erika, and I'm a Jelly Bean eater.

Hop, Skip and A Jump

Nothing beats a great pencil skirt, unless ofcourse it's a great pencil skirt which was given to you for free from your stylist S-I-L (sister-in-law).

I went for my usual morning [decaf] coffee run. Not that there was much running. In fact, my pencil skirt was so...form fitting that my normal 10 minute jaunt, took 25 minutes of very small, hip swivelling steps. I felt like a 1950's secretary. It was exhausting.

The rubber necking from the construction workers on the street made it worth the trouble. That is until I returned to my office building, only to learn my skirt was too tight to climb back up the steps to my building.

So, being the crafty do-it-yourself kinda gal, I put my peep-toe heels together and hopped up each and every step. Sure, I probably looked a bit off. After all, hopping isn't exactly sexy unless you're hanging out with Hugh Hefner. But I made it back to my desk. Coffee intact. Pride...not so much.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm

Much like the countdown to Christmas, there was a countdown to the new (and first!) H&M store at the city mall. For two months shoppers got to look longingly at the humungo posters announcing its big reveal date.

Now I had never been in an H&M store before. I had no idea the wonders that awaited me. How many times had I spotted a need-to-have outfit in Glamour only to learn the outfit was available exclusively at H&M? Too many times. Or so my therapist will tell you.

The grand opening was taking place during our honeymoon. But in true Erika-style, I creatively (and carefully) arranged for us to be back in the city by then.

I was giddy when we got to the mall. I had to wait no more. Finally new and exciting fashions were a credit card swipe away. Security was tight. "Guards" were posted at each of the entrances. One of them gave me the twice-over. Sure, I was carrying a bag big enough to stow a small child. But seriously, does this look like the face of a shoplifter? *Gives innocent hot chick look.* Exactly.

I strolled around the store. Real nonchalant like. All the while I was screaming "Yes! Yes! Yes!" like a retail orgasmic Megan Ryan. And then it hit me. Wait a minute. Wait just a @#$*ing minute. This is IT? These are the clothes I've been lusting for? This can't be. I hunkered down, and went hunting. Maybe I just wasn't paying close enough attention. I'm sure the cool clothes were right in front of me.

Then I spotted it. A cute shirt. FINALLY! I casually sauntered up to it. Ran my fingers over the collar and down the sleeve. Now this is more like it. And then I looked up...what the @#$*? I was in the Maternity section. Maybe, just maybe I could pull it off. Not look pregnant or anything, but make a maternity shirt seem less maternity, and more mama mia.

Or not.

Dickless

Hotmail (or Live.com) or whatever catchy name you're calling yourself this week, I have a bone to pick with you. When I created this blog, Life With Dick, I was so excited when I learned that lifewithdick@live.com was an available email name. I filled in your form, I accepted your terms, and what's the thanks I get? You delete my email account. Pricks.

So, I signed up again today. But I added "blog" to the end of the address in hopes that some shmuck who reads these email address requests will catch on that I'm not just some big dick lover. Nay, I am an educated big dick lover, come writer.

While lifewithdickblog@live.com is not as catchy as lifewithdick@live.com, I will have to rise above. Hotmail you suck.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Dear Mother Nature,

Thanks for getting me a wedding present - my period. Although, I don`t remember registering for that at Sears.

So much for having lots of wedding night sex! Luckily my groom got too tipsy and passed out. Like you`re going to be around tomorrow night to help me talk my way out of this one.

I guess what they say about marriage and no sex is true.

Thanks again,

Erika

We Did!

Well, it's official. Paul and I said "I do." It still hasn't sunk in yet. I am Mrs. Paul. Or to be exact, I'm Mrs. Dick. Paul's first name is actually Richard. But he goes by his middle name. Catch up - things are going to get more complicated.

So, where was I? Ah yes, the big day.

Despite getting a very big case of the "oh-my-god-I-am-so-nervous" gitters just before I walked down the isle, things went smoothly. Well, "smoothly" is a nice way of saying it all worked out well in the end. A quick pep talk from my sis, and a bitch slap from my photographer did the trick.

We laughed. We cried. Paul couldn't get the ring on my finger, so I yelled, "push honey, push." Ah memories.

I did not get seasick over the side of the ship. So that was good. Although I drank a wee bit too much wine. Well, "wee bit" is a nice way of saying Lindsay Lohen would have told me to slow down. Not so good. But in my defense, I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Luckily Paul didn't seem to notice. He was too busy looking at me with goo goo eyes.

At the end of the evening, we did something we've never done before (and were saving until our wedding night) - we danced! Geeze, what were you thinking? Sure, it was slightly awkward, and uncoordinated but what can one expect for their first time dancing together? We felt like teenagers.

We didn't get to bed until almost 3am. I didn't want the night to end. It was all so fabulous and amazing. After all of those bad dates with jerks, it was all worth it for this moment. For this man.