New Year’s Resolutions can Suck It

homer_simpson_angels_and_demons-11209I’ve been on my annual downward spiral into “holy shit…I’ve gained 10 pounds” hell since Halloween that will continue until after Easter, at which point the “holy shit…I have to get into a swim suit” in two months will set in…at which time I will purge the pantry and refrigerator of all things glorious and tasty and replace them all things that taste like cardboard and packing peanuts.

It’s not that I don’t try, it’s just that I have the willpower of a kid in a candy shop. For example, in the beginning of January – when I am supposed to be “eating healthy” – the family decides they want to go to Red Robin (a.k.a. the place where fried is king and cholesterol has is driving the party bus right into your heart arteries). I see the Tower of Onion Rings on the menu. I pause and look to my right shoulder where the skinny-assed “Angel Me” is waving her boney-ass finger in my face and shaking her head saying “No, no Christie…a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips.”

And in that moment…as saliva is pooling in my mouth…I hate “Angel Me.” Frankly, I find her incredibly boring and majorly unfun, with a perpetual pole stuck up her ass (like her sister how sits atop my Christmas tree.)

Then I look to my left shoulder, and there looking phat (no…not “fat”) and happy is “Devil Me,” dancing Gangnam Style…laughing and having a grand old time. She looks at me and says, “Have the damn Tower of Onion Rings girlfriend…you only live once! Life’s too short. We all die someday and no one is going to give a shit if you have an extra ten pounds on while you’re laying stiff in the coffin. But what they WILL remember is that you were FUN! CAREFREE! And not a stick in the mud like Nancy No-Sin over there!”

Of course, all of this happens in a matter of seconds as I wait for the rest of my family to order. I take a quick assessment of the rest of the crowd at the restaurant and realize that my fellow fried food feasters all look incredibly happy! They’re smiling and laughing and trying to get their sulking, salad-eating, carb-starved table buddy to do the same!

And then it hit me…Jesus and his disciples broke bread at the last supper! Jesus ate carbs and asked that his devoted followers do the same! At the moment, my husband pulled me from my reverie and said…

“For the love of God, Christie…will you order already!”

To which I replied excitedly…

“Yes! Yes! Exactly! For it is for the love of God that I will prove my devotion and order the Tower of Onion Rings and bottomless basket of fries! And bring me a glass of wine too!”


(Do you think Jesus had Tums?)


A Morning Job with Under-wear Dog

I am NOT a morning person.

I DO NOT come alive until AT LEAST my second cup of coffee.

I’d say that this 5:30 AM rise time that my kids and I adhere to during the school year is for the birds…but the damn birds are even still asleep! Even my dogs give me a “wtf????” look when I flip the light on in the laundry room where they sleep.

However, with it being a new year and all, I decided (undoubtedly during a well-rested moment over Christmas break) that I, Christie Schmidt, come hell or high water, would become a “morning person!”

On a recent early morning, it was raining…and cold…basically the perfect scenario when “Old Christie” would have curled back under my down comforter to settle in and watch the first hour of Good Morning America. But I thought, “How pathetic would it be if I fell off the “Be a Morning Person” bandwagon in week one?

Then again…who would really know anyway? The dogs?? They sniff each other’s butts and drink from the toilet…they’ve got no room to judge.

But…I digress…

So, there I was, weary-eyed and barely awake at 7:30 (but proud of myself for sticking to the plan for two hours), folding my first load of laundry for the day when the puppy scratched at the back door go out. She does this a million times a day – this time was no different. Or so I thought.

Just as her furry little fanny was just about out the door, I noticed a pair of my underwear hanging from her mouth! I reached down to grab it but she (Izzy), thinking I wanted to play, darted out onto the patio, spun around and got down on her front paws with her butt in the air…taunting me.

Underwear Dog

I was SOOOOOO not in the mood for this. Did I mention it was raining?

“Come here Izzy,” in the sweetest voice I could muster. “Want a treat?” I asked creeping toward her. And just as I was about to grab her…

She took off through the yard, dragging my underwear on the wet grass. “GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SH#T!” She was running circles around the pine trees on the side yard, stopping every so often to let me get just close enough to think I was within reach…and then she’d be off again.

We did this ring-around-the-pine-trees crap for another five minutes before she made a mad dash for the gate that, I realized too late, was left open.

If there was an announcer, we could have been our own horse race:

…”And here they come heading into the homestretch folks…it’s ‘Little White Dog’ rounding the corner and in the lead. And…here comes ‘Scary Lady in Pajamas’ on the inside…it’s ‘Little White Dog’ and ‘Scary Lady in Pajamas’ neck and neck…’Little White Dog’, “Scary Lady in Pajamas’…’Little White Dog’, ‘Scary Lady in Pajamas’…and it’s ‘Little White Dog’ by a nose! Ohhhhh…’Scary Lady’ is down! I repeat…’Scary Lady’ is down!”

Over the river and through the …yards

She was off…down the driveway and into the front yard…my underwear still hanging from her mouth.

“YOU ARE SOOOOOOO GOING TO THE POUND!” I screamed AFTER I picked myself up off of the grass which is where I landed after lunging for the dog before she escaped from the yard.

Now grass-stained, wet and extremely mad, I chased her down the street, through four yards – three of them with dogs of their own who were now all barking. If I could speak dog, I’d swear they were yelling, “You go girl!” to Izzy and laughing at me.


Of course, I contemplated just saying to hell with it and going home. But then I remembered, I’d taken her collar off the night before to give her a bath and never put it back on. My kids would be devasted if anything happened to her.

A replacement dog wasn’t an option either. I tried that once when my son’s goldfish kicked off unexpectedly and I’ll be damned if  he didn’t realize the switcheroo the minute he laid eyes on that stupid fish.

The next thing I knew, she’d circled back around and was headed in my direction. Once again, I lunged to grab her and missed, plunging right into a swampy area of the neighbor’s yard.

It was raining cats and dogs at that point (pun intended) and I was tired, cold (did I mention I was barefoot?) and on the verge of frustration tears.

I trudged back to my house and noticed the UPS man standing on my driveway, holding Izzy…who is happily licking his face – my underwear at his feet where she’d obviously dropped it.

I sheepishly walked up the driveway looking like I’d just come off the set of “Titanic”.

“Good morning Ma’am. Left a package at your door. I assume this little one belongs to you?” he asked, holding Izzy out to me. I swear I heard him snicker. I pretended not to see my underwear lying at his feet as I took her from him and headed for the door.

Then he looked down at them. “Uh…I think she dropped something.”

“It’s just an old rag,” I said, without stopping, “just leave it.”

“Oh,” he said, “it looks more like…”


At least it wasn’t my Spanx.