Wednesday, February 25, 2009

A Few Projects

I've been feeling a little crafty lately, partly because I'm trapped inside due to arctic temperatures, and partly because I miss the Captain and need something to keep me busy that doesn't involve my Visa and the internet.
Here are a few of my recent creations:

I've been on a bit of a crochet kick, and after making a well-received Barbie outfit for my niece, I decided my own Sindy doll from 1982 needed a little something new, so I made these (obviously hoping to usher in spring) and had fun dressing her up and having her join us here in the 21st century (bouffant-style hairdo notwithstanding). I will choose one as the final outfit and send the rest to one of the little girls in my life. Really.

Sometimes a girl just needs a little bling. Does anyone even SAY bling anymore?! Earrings are so quick and easy to make and I keep a handy supply of sterling ear wires and other necessities in one of those sets of miniature plastic drawers you can buy at the hardware store for nails and screws and bolts and nuts and washers and all those other things we women should never have to think about. The drawers were actually a Valentine's Day gift from the Captain a decade or so ago. He's such a romantic. Anyway, as a result, I have a ridiculously large collection of earrings. One day my poor boys will have to sift through it all after they ship me off to the old folks' home. But I see it as payback for the poo murals.

I didn't intend to end up with a back-cover-of-my-bestselling-novel shot, but it turns out my camera takes a pretty decent picture of me, all things considered. Or maybe it's the hat. Here, I am wearing a chunky beret I knit using a pattern I found on this very excellent blog, which I now follow, and so should you. The woman is a hoot! I used some yarn Sister #1 bought me from a real, honest-to-goodness yarn shop in the big city, and it took no time at all. Now, every time I go to the bank, I have to resist the urge stop dead on the street, look around with wide-eyed healthy optimism, and throw my beret in the air Mary Tyler Moore style. In Booming Metropolis, that kind of thing gets you mugged.

And, of course, we have cards. The top two have pretty embossed "happy birthday"s all over them, but I just couldn't get my camera to pick that up. The three white flowers (thanks, Janine!) took a bit of figuring out, but once the lightbulb went off in my head, I realized they were sticky on both sides so I could glitter them up and make them sparkly. Again, the camera hasn't picked this up. I think in future I'll need to take one big picture of each. The bottom right is a small box I recycled into a gift box for the next time I want to give away jewellery or a beaded ornament or something.

Truly, I could craft 24/7 if it wasn't for all that pesky, inconvenient housework. Speaking of which...

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Ahhh, The Good Ol' Days

As you may or may not know, I came of age in the 80's.

Today I had a chance to look back at that shoulder-padded, fluorescent, big-haired era when a blog I love featured some 80's-inspired cakes. To see them (and you really should), please look at this.
It got me thinking about why I'm so nostalgic for that most embarrassing period in time, aside, I suppose, from the obvious. Everyone is nostalgic for their childhood. Still, it was a time like no other, so here are the highlights as I see them, but be warned. I'm barely going to scratch the surface:

Music: Let's be honest here, most of the time we were turning the knob on our flip-number clock radio trying to find anything worth listening to. The crap we had to wade through to get to the good stuff warranted a sturdy pair of boots. Luckily for us, those were available too. In green suede. And they were slouchy. But I digress. For every thoughtful, authentic Crowded House song, there was a synthesized, saxophone-riddled disaster by the likes of Paula Abdul. But even though Elvis Costello, The Smiths and The Police (among others) serve as a reminder that not all the music was terrifying, some of the cheesier stuff still stands the test of time for me as well. As I've mentioned before, I've been enjoying Sirius for a while now, and this allows me to give the music I never thought I'd want to hear again another listen. It turns out that when REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling" or Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" starts playing, I am powerless to resist. I drop everything (including Rosemary's Baby) and start singing at the top of my lungs. Thank god my nearest neighbours are over a mile away.

Stickers: Puffy stickers. Scratch and sniff. Rainbows and ponies. Need I say more?!

TV: Does anyone remember that sitcom someone tried to make about a family who had come to life from a storybook to live in modern times? The dad, played by that handsome devil from Another World, was Prince Charming. I think it lasted one episode. Only in the 80's. Also only in the 80's could a show like ALF actually be considered a good idea. But there was Cosby and Family Ties, and all those excessive prime-time soaps. I still secretly dream of living at Southfork, dressing like Sue-Ellen and occasionally throwing a glass of scotch in someone's face.

Movies: I've noticed that when I want to make one of my friends laugh in the face of misery, referencing Return of the Jedi or Back to the Future is a big hit. I, of course, loved anything with a brat-packer in it. And remember Flashdance? How could a film that made teenage girls secretly dream of becoming strippers seem so right?!

Toys: I think Rainbow Brite should be the official mascot for the 1980's. All those insane colours working against each other should've sent us running for the toilet in a fit of vertigo-induced nausea. And yet we bought in. And how. Brother #1 carried a smurf everywhere he went until it started to get weird and he had to leave it at home. Go-Bots, My Little Pony, and the ultimate...Cabbage Patch Kids! My mother had to go to a toy store at 8AM on a Wednesday, line up and fight the crowds to get her hands on one. People stampeded stores all over North America for those ugly things! Truly, the 80's displayed us at our worst. I blame Reagan.

Fashion: Remember wearing three Swatch watches and an armload of jelly bracelets? My grade seven school photo shows me with a fluorescent pink sweatshirt, purple feather earrings and my hair pulled back in a plastic hair band. I remember wearing this with blue-and-white pinstripe capri pants and silver flats with no socks. Actually, this doesn't sound much different than what people are wearing right now. I guess everything old is new again. Except for the feather earrings. If there's any good in this world, those things will never come back.

I'm quite sure I've forgotten things (the Rubik's Cube and Pac-Man are iconic enough not to need a mention), but I really must dash. A 1980 repeat of Casey Kasem's American Top 40 has just come on Sirius, and I have some crooning to do.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


I have to say, my weekend could've been better.

The Captain headed out on Saturday morning for a two-week exercise in France, so I spent my Valentine's Day playing Monopoly with Firstborn and his favourite stuffed animal, and generally feeling sorry for myself. Incidentally, the stuffed animal beat the pants off of me.

And then that blue feeling kind of spilled over to Sunday. I lamented being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, my lack of a social life (I've recently lost two babysitters, both of whom have moved onto other things, so my rare night out is now no night out at all until I find another one) and the ongoing cold weather, which always makes it worse. In short, I was content this weekend to wallow in my own misery.

Then Monday came, and the sun was out and the fog on my brain started to lift. Yesterday, I dropped the kids off at the casual daycare on base and met my friend, the Lawyer, for lunch.
I know how that sounds. Right now you're probably picturing two Sex and the City types in spike heels sipping sangria at a trendy downtown restaurant while comparing designer handbags and discussing our impending time-share vacations in Puerto Vallarta.
I wish.

The Lawyer is actually in the last semester of her final year of law school, so she's a broke student. She's married to the military, just like me, and is currently in town to spend a little married time with her husband during her spring break. We met up at the best restaurant on base, which is to say, the only place with food that's fit for human consumption. They serve the usual burgers and appetizers, salads and pasta. And they have free pop refills, which is great for us because all that talking really works up a thirst.

And we talked about what military wives always talk about. The military. How it affects us, our kids, our pets and our morale. And guess what? It turns out I'm not the only one complaining about all that stuff I was moaning about this weekend.

We're both sick of the constant, ongoing separation. We long for a normal life with a normal husband who does a normal 9 to 5 day and then comes home and complains about our meatloaf. We are scared silly about the dangers of his job and what on earth we're going to do if, god forbid, something happens to him over there. We worry about the affect of this instability on our kids (or, in the Lawyer's case, future kids), and most of all we worry that we don't have all the answers to all these worries.

But, oddly, after an hour of hashing all this stuff out (for the umpteenth time, I might add), I did not walk out of that restaurant feeling downtrodden. I picked up the kids and drove home feeling like a weight had been lifted off of me. Suddenly, I was back to being happy with my life, and where I live and what I'm doing with my time. All that self-pity had vanished.

Then, this morning I went to the post office. Because I live in the middle of nowhere, mail does not get delivered here and garbage doesn't get picked-up. We have to take care of that stuff ourselves. And so, sometimes those things get thrown by the wayside, especially in winter when it just isn't any fun to go outside for any reason. So, my mail had been piling up for about a week. But what was waiting for me? A package from Janine!!

I cannot tell you how exciting it is to receive something unexpected in the mail that doesn't turn out to be a phone bill!! Janine, for no other reason than good old-fashioned kindness and friendship, had sent me a package of what I like to call "stuff". Stickers and papers for cardmaking and a beautiful handmade card! What could be more exciting than that?!

So, I've hit mid-week with a renewed sense that life is fantastic. The snow may not melt for another two months, I will be living far away from civilization for at least another two years, and I will be married to the most anti-social man in the Western Hemisphere forever (I hope!), but regardless of where I live or what the military throws at me, I am thankful for the friendships that continue to form and grow throughout all this craziness.

Without our girlfriends, we are just frazzled balls of stress waiting to explode!

Saturday, February 14, 2009

You Had Me At "Aaargh...Drool..."

On August 29th, 1994, I began a new chapter in my life. I'd graduated from the local university with an English degree and was embarking upon what I expected to be the final year of my education (I was wrong, but that's another story). On this particular day, I was beginning a program designed to teach me how to become a journalist.
I grew up walking a lot, and because of this I still enjoy walking everywhere I can. The community college in my area was a two-hour hike from my house, but this did not deter me. I was 21, and therefore could do anything I wanted, including taking a two-hour walk on nothing but a bowl of Froot Loops. This was my first mistake.

It was a warm, sweaty, stinky day in my hometown, the Armpit of Southwestern Ontario. I hadn't even thought to carry a bottle of water. But when I stepped inside the college doors, my wooziness was counteracted briefly by a blast of heavenly air conditioning. I took a deep breath, hit the water fountain and silently determined that I was going to be fine as I breezed past the vending machine and opted not to get myself a snack. Mistake number two.

When I reached my classroom, I was more than a little relieved to find a seat and kick back for a few moments. But it was only a few moments. Our new instructors had a tour of the entire journalism department planned, and we spent the next hour walking from room to room and being told what would be expected of us in this class or that, how the darkroom worked and finally where we'd eventually be putting the school newspaper together.

It was at this last stop that things started to get a little wiggly, and I tried not to be noticed as I grabbed the nearest chair and sat down on it, praying I wasn't going to puke. But it didn't help. As everything in front of my eyes went green, I remember putting my hand up, apologizing for interrupting and then slurring out that I think my blood sugar may have dipped. Then I probably drooled a little. That's the last thing I remember before being given a sip of orange juice, suddenly springing back to life and realizing that standing next to me was this super-cute guy who looked absolutely horrified and must surely think I was a crazy woman.

When the morning was over, I trudged home feeling utterly humiliated and wishing I could sue those twits at Kelloggs without looking like an even bigger idiot. I debated never going back, but I had no idea what else I was going to do with my life, and I knew my current job in fast food management was simply not an option.

So, I switched to Cheerios (not the honey-nut kind), swallowed my pride and sheepishly slunk back to class the next day, sat down next to Super Cute Guy and tried with everything I had not to make any more of a fool of myself than I already had. And I did that every day for the remainder of the school year.

It was a good move, because Super Cute Guy turned out to be pretty cool. He helped me when I lost a huge chunk of my homework on the college's ancient computers, he made me tea in the mornings when we started carpooling, and he teamed up with me to write a couple of thrilling features on the dangers of carpal tunnel syndrome, and the college's Dental Hygiene program.
In later years, he taught me to cook, and showed me how to change the oil in my car. We're still in pretty frequent touch, in fact. Over the years he's been everything from Super Cute Guy, to Copy Boy, to Office Rat, to Super Dad.

These days, I just call him "the Captain". And occasionally "Valentine".

Happy Love Day!

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Toddler for Sale

Here we have a shot of Rosemary's Baby after he ate some red paint a week or two back. I've used this photo because it looks a little nicer than one of him covered in poop. Yes! That's right! Rosemary's Baby has done it again! We have another poo mural!
Things were coming along swimmingly today, when I made the mistake of turning my back for approximately one minute. When I turned back around, Rosemary's Baby had gotten up onto my sewing table and grabbed my box of paper scraps, sending the contents floating all over the room. The box was in the highest possible place and, I thought, out of his reach. Let's just say this wasn't the first time he'd shown interest. I growled, dragged him screeching to his room and told him he was getting a time-out until I'd cleaned up the mess. It took ten minutes. And when I opened his bedroom door to let him out, there he was, grinning from ear to ear and covered in his art medium of choice, his own poop. So were the walls.
This has happened enough times now that I know no good can come of yelling, but I was not happy. First, I plopped him into the bathtub, where I let him sit in lukewarm water until most of it had soaked off. Then, I got to work on the walls.
Cleaning poop off the walls is one of those jobs where, even if you get to it right away, it's still a bit tricky. That stuff dries fast, and it always requires a scrub brush. So, I knelt on his floor scrubbing away at the walls, all the while getting madder and madder at him. He was enjoying hanging around behind me looking longingly at my bucket of brown water and waiting for an opening so he could stick his hands in it. I was not about to give him that opening. When I wiped away the last of the mess, I was so annoyed, I turned around to say one more thing to him in my angry voice, only to find him sitting there quietly reading his little book and looking for all the world like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
This softened me a little and I proceeded up the stairs, where I had a pile of poopy board books and some lego to tackle next. Have you ever tried cleaning poop out of lego?! From now on, I will hang on to those old toothbrushes. At some point in this process, things got a little too quiet and as I realized this, I noticed something else. The plate of raw sausages I had thawing on the counter had disappeared. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I turned around to find my little horror at the table squeezing the meat out of the casings and allowing himself the occasional taste. I snatched them out of his hands, cleaned him up and went back to the poopy books and lego.
And there I was at the sink, simmering in my crankiness, when I heard a familiar thumping sound behind me. Once again, I turned around to catch Rosemary's Baby dumping the last of my cookbooks on the shelf in the dining room onto the floor and then heading to the living room with a positively manic look in his eye. I knew exactly what this one meant. After making a mess of the basement, his bedroom and the dining room, he had one more task to complete in his quest for complete house-destruction. The Captain's record collection.
I managed to grab him before he pulled down all the records, but by this point, I was glad there were no adults here to see me. I looked like a crazy person, hair everywhere, teeth clenched, and smelling of the delightful combination of poop and bleach. I sat him down in front of the TV, sans guilt, finished the cleaning job and then proceeded to make myself a little more presentable.
I came back to the living room with a renewed feeling of irritation. Fully prepared to launch into a lecture he'd barely understand about the importance of not driving me to the mental asylum, all I could do was shake my head and laugh when I saw him. Rosemary's Baby, cuddling his blankie, exhausted from his afternoon of evil, was fast asleep on the big comfy recliner.
Before I had kids, I used to see people at the grocery store swatting their toddlers in frustration and I have to admit I was a little judgemental about it in the privacy of my own head. At this point, I am at a loss to explain how I have not only managed to stick to my own no-spanking rule, but also how I have not abandoned that little monkey at a public park. But I suppose one of the most important things you can learn as a parent is patience.
That, and how to clean up poop.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

25 Things About Me

Today I was tagged on Facebook. I'm supposed to make a list of 25 facts about myself and post them in a note. Since I am far too technologically illiterate to figure out how to post a note on Facebook, I thought I'd post them here instead and kill two birds. Please forgive my excessive self-indulgence.

1. In 2007, two weeks before my 34th birthday, I was caught trespassing at the town dump.

2. I love zesting citrus fruits.

3. I claim to read romance novels for research purposes only, but I secretly love them.

4. I played with Barbie until I was 12. I still knit Barbie clothes.

5. If I could redo my education, I'd skip university and take culinary arts instead.

6. During my last home renovation, I laughed loudly when we found four wear-'em-with-a-belt 1969 maxi pads stuffed behind the living room drywall.

7. I dreamed of owning a "Fame" T-shirt when I was 8, but never got one.

8. I like being the little dog when playing Monopoly.

9. I met my husband in an unusual way. Tune in Saturday for the full story.

10. Having spent a chunk of my childhood in England, I still pronounce the following words the English way, but not with an English accent: mosquito, apricot, hovercraft, tour, buoy.

11. I am the ultimate recycler. I have re-used those twisty things from children's toy packaging, paint chips, the brown tape from inside a chewed-up video, and mesh onion bags, to name a few.

12. As a child I aspired to be a roller derby champion.

13. Dill and shellfish are the only foods I dislike.

14. I haven't had a professional haircut since early 2005.

15. In the controversial toss-up for Most Disgusting Person Ever Associated With The NFL, I choose Michael Vick.

16. I loved Home Ec, but was encouraged by every teacher I ever had to take math and science instead. I still ended up with an English degree, a craft-and-cooking habit, and a hatred of all things science.

17. I love it when people celebrate their divorces with cake.

18. When I was little, I called my bum crack my "stripe".

19. I can remember every detail of the route from Basildon to Oxford, and could probably still do it without a map.

20. I find Firstborn's art, which deals mostly with video games and superheroes, very amusing.

21. My sewing machine is a fantastic 1970's-era Janome, and is a hand-me-down from my mother in-law. It is the machine responsible for my husband's yellow tap dancing costume and his purple bell-bottom leisure suit. These days, it is only used for good.

22. I didn't like coffee until I was pregnant with Firstborn and couldn't stop drinking it (decaf, of course).

23. If I had to spend the rest of my life on a deserted island, I'd take the following items with me: How to Be a Domestic Goddess, Sirius Satellite Radio, Hugh Laurie.

24. I paint my toenails in the summer, but I never paint my fingernails.

25. My kids make me scream and laugh, alternately.

Friday, February 6, 2009

It's Just Not Friday Until You've Stood Knee-Deep In Toddler Puke

Today did not turn out as planned.
After a week of mild running-around. I was so looking forward to Friday, and a break from the insanity. Firstborn's kindergarten class is a full day every other day and he had today off, so there was no lunch to be made and no bus to be caught. Rosemary's Baby just has nursery school on Wednesday mornings, so he had nowhere to be. I'd picked up a few necessities at the teeny-tiny small-town overpriced grocery store down the road, so I didn't need to make any day-long trips into Booming Metropolis with kids in tow. And we had leftover pancakes from the weekend still in the freezer, so I anticipated a "cooked" breakfast without any actual cooking having to be done.
And then reality happened.
I made it to bed at a decent hour last night, exhausted from the last few days, but looking forward to a good night's sleep and a lazy morning. Knowing I don't have to set the alarm sometimes justifies staying up well past my bedtime watching trashy TV or reading an even trashier novel, but I didn't do that last night and for this I am thankful. Because at 6AM sharp, I heard little footsteps coming down the hall, and I knew that, regardless of how dark it still was outside, I was done sleeping.
Firstborn used to get into bed with us from time to time, but he only ever wanted to get in between us and go to sleep. Rosemary's Baby is not that kind of kid. When he gets into bed with you, he wants to have a noisy and animated conversation, then do a little jumping. I think they call that "hyperactivity". But this morning was different. He climbed into bed and wanted to snuggle, and I thought this was a pleasant surprise.
Until the smell hit me.
At first I couldn't identify it. Diaper? Not quite gross enough. So, what could it be? I fumbled for the light and put my other hand out toward Rosemary's Baby's pyjama shirt. Wet and sticky. And then I realized what I was dealing with: vomit.
The poor kid has picked up something evil at nursery school, as they always do. Between his sheets from this morning and the numerous pairs of pyjamas I've had to change him into throughout the day(I've literally lost count of how many times he's thrown up on himself), I've had two extra loads of laundry to do today.
But what has bothered me most about all of this is how drastically a little bug can change the behaviour of a three year-old. The child who has to be stopped after his fourth bowl of rice crispies most mornings has eaten exactly one handful of dry cheerios all day and can keep down nothing but the three freezies he's sucked on listlessly while halfheartedly watching Thomas. He's gotten into nothing he shouldn't and he hasn't once made his brother cry or the dogs run away in terror. THIS IS NOT MY KID!
But, lethargic or not, a sick kid is twice as exhausting as a healthy one. I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm ready to see him destroying the Captain's plants again, pouring things into the TV set to see what will happen, and using the treadmill as his own personal jungle gym. I'm hoping after a good night's sleep my little monkey will be back to his energetic, today's-the-day-I-burn-down-the-house self. I long to see him raiding the fridge and emptying the bookshelves.
After all, what's life without a little insanity?

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Projects for My Nieces

My little niece turns one this month, and I wanted to make her something special and, of course, feminine. I have two boys, and there are no plans for more children, so I need to grab all the girly experiences I can.
I saw some dolls in a fashion magazine this past week that were based on traditional Japanese kokeshi dolls, which are sort of a tourist favourite. They are made of wood, depict little girls, but have no arms or legs. The dolls I saw in the magazine were a more colourful update on the original. I liked the look, so I decided to try to replicate the look in a combination of knitting and crochet, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.
Now, I am simply not able to send my niece a homemade gift without sending her big sister one as well. And, lucky for me, this four year-old is finally old enough to like Barbie! So, I decided to make her a kicky new outfit for winter! I currently have my old Sindy doll modelling the outfit. For those of you not familiar, Sindy is the British version of Barbie. I like to think of her as Barbie's slightly brainier cousin.
The problem here is that I think my Sindy doll looks pretty good in Barbie's new outfit, and I'm contemplating making Sindy her very own updated wardrobe. Would that be weird? I think it might. But dressing her up in the beautiful wedding dresses my Mum and Nanny made her twenty-some years ago would also be a Miss Havisham kind of way.
So, while the Captain is away this week, I may find myself knitting and crocheting Sindy her very own 21st-century wardrobe, then dressing her up and taking pictures.
It may be time to get a job...

Monday, February 2, 2009

It's Just Another Manic Monday

We've gotten through January, and someone-or-other has won the Superbowl! Woo-hoo!
Actually, last year I made a concerted effort to acquaint myself with the ins and outs of football so that the Captain and I could enjoy watching it together. This year, we had no TV antenna. The Captain, ever the brilliant DIY-er, made a valiant attempt at constructing one out of things we had in the workshop, but we live so far out in the sticks, it just wasn't strong enough to pick anything up. So, we morphed into our grandparents circa-1940 and listened to it on the radio. It turns out that if you're not very familiar with how football works, taking away the visual doesn't help in the least.
But I'm not one to let a good Superbowl celebration pass me by just because I can't watch the game, so I went about the process of making us a plate of wings, and some other terribly fattening foods, followed by an incredibly rich tiramisu-like dessert. And you know what happens when you eat crazy at night, right? You dream crazy.
Here, for your perusal, are the three insane dreams I can remember from my feverish, broken night of sleep:

Dream Sequence #1: These are the days when you wish your bed was already made... I dreamed that I went to wake up Rosemary's Baby and when I got to his room, found his bed crawling with bugs. I shrieked and grabbed a can of bug spray (no, I do not really keep a can of poisonous bug spray in Rosemary's Baby's room. We'd all be dead by now.). When I started spraying, bug spray did not come out. Can you guess what did? That's right! More bugs! Gross. I think my subliminal self is trying to tell me it's time to strip down all the beds and vacuum the mattresses for bed bugs, which is what I will be doing today.

Dream Sequence #2: This one was just as disturbing. I was walking through the house looking for the kids. I could hear Firstborn breathing and moving around. I could hear Rosemary's Baby calling "Mommy", but I couldn't find either of them anywhere. Every time I went into the living room, it was as if they were nearby, but I still couldn't see them. That's when it dawned on me. They were trapped inside the walls. I'm thinking this dream was about the fact that the kids have spent entirely too much time inside this winter, and probably also about the nightmare renovations we've had going on here non-stop for the last 18 months or so. We're about to embark on a bathroom reno, which is making me cringe, and apparently it's making my subconscious cringe too.

Dream Sequence #3: This was the only dream I enjoyed having. But let me give you some background information first. There's this guy I'm acquainted with. I barely know him, but he has a nice way about him. I like to think of him as Valentino. It's all perfectly harmless, I promise. The Captain rolls his eyes at my Valentino-lust, but is very good about it, probably because he knows how many mind-numbing loads of laundry I do in a day. So, in my dream, I'm doing dishes in the kitchen of my Barbie Malibu Dream House (FYI, from January to March, most of my dreams take place in Malibu. I think it's a coping mechanism). Suddenly, Valentino grabs me around the waist romance-novel-style, plants one on me and tells me to leave the Captain so we can spend our days lounging by the pool. I don't think this one requires any analysis whatsoever.

And so tonight, in an attempt to get a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep, I'm going to forgo the wings and fatty dips and eat something a little healthier. I'll have a nice cleansing cup of peppermint tea before bed. Maybe I'll even do some yoga. I'll wake up refreshed and renewed, ready to take on another day with no worries that my arteries are clogged.
Of course, that'll also mean no Valentino dreams.
I suppose a little ice cream couldn't hurt.