We're having a baby, baby!!!

Pregnancy tests ... I used to hate those things. Seriously, I would pee on them constantly. For 14 months, whenever I felt slight headache (hormonal changes mean baby!), or my boobs were sore (again, BABY!), or when I thought I was late (BABY! BABY! BABY!)! But every test came out negative. It was so frustrating. I began googling "Do some women never get a positive on a pregnancy test, even if they are?!"

I stopped at nothing to get the bottom of my problem. But no one had an answer. It was simple — I. Could. NOT. Get. Pregnant.

Both of my sisters got pregnant so easily. Why me? Why was this an issue I had to deal with?

After month and months...and then a year...and some more months, God finally gave me exactly what I've been praying for.

It was a Monday. I had stayed home from work the Friday before I took the test because I had felt icky.

Through the weekend, I was exhausted and figured I was coming down with the flu. Pregnancy was not even a twinkle in my mind because, after begging God for a little one, I had finally given up. I began looking into joining the Navy so I could develop my photography even further. I just thought, "OK, God. I'm trusting you! You know what's best!"

I told my husband I was going to take a test that week, just in case. But I wanted to put it off because I was so tired of peeing on that stupid stick and having it read back, "No, Valerie, you aren't pregnant, just like yesterday, and the day before, and five minutes before that! NO. The answer is NO!" Seriously, my digital test would say that. I didn't know they could personalize them like that! :)

Monday morning came and I was still dragging. I went to my car and pulled out the Walgreens bag with the devil pee stick in it and walked sl----oooowwww-----ly back into the house.

I wasn't even going to text or call my working hubby to disturb him because I knew it was going to say NO.

I took the devil test out of its evil wrapper and did my business. I remember sitting there watching it, saying, "Hurry up and say no so I can go back to bed."

But something crazy happened...

Holy. TOLEDO! These things work? These things work! THESE THINGS WORK!!!!!!!

I hyperventilated for a minute and then said out loud, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!!!!" I felt a warm sensation come over me, as if He was saying, "I told you to trust me, you stubborn girl!"

I e-mailed the picture above to my husband and text him to tell him I had sent an e-mail.

"I don't have anything," he sent back.

"CHECK AGAIN!!!!!!!" I responded.

"What is it?" he wrote.

Oh for heaven's sake!!! C'MON! Freaking modern technology! So I resent the e-mail ...

Obviously, he got the e-mail. Ignore the cursing ... my hubby was freaking out.

He promptly followed that text up with jewels like, "I have to get another job!!!!!!" and "I'm SO SCARED!" Later, I found out he also threw up — something I have not done at all in my first four month of pregnancy!

It's been about three and a half months since that day. It was such a fun day! We went to my father-in-law's work and told him the good news and I called my mom and sisters and my editor ... and then I posted it on Facebook. I seriously couldn't wait a single second longer! I had thought about how I would announce it for over a year.

I'm nearly four month pregnant and it's been so easy. I feel so wrong in saying that! (Knock on wood!) I see others around me getting super sick and looking miserable. I'm tired and that's about it.

It almost scares me how easy it is. I keep thinking, "Something MUST be wrong! This is way too easy!" I've been able to coach my volleyball team, run practices, exercise, do yoga, and work my full-time job. It hasn't always been easy, but God is sustaining me!

We had our first ultrasound done at 12 weeks ...

It's so unreal. It was like I was in a dream — but this time, I wasn't going to wake up. I can't describe the joy I felt when I watched my hubby watch the screen and when the doctor pointed out the beating heart. He had to fight back the tears. It was a magical moment.

I can't wait to be a mommy, to make everyday an adventure for my child, to play make believe with him/her, to build forts and play in them together. I can't wait to teach my child to pray and read them the same Bible stories I was read growing up. I can't wait to make this world a special place for them — a place where they really feel like they can accomplish anything.

For so many years, while coaching, I've been attempting to inspire other people's children — to teach them to live fearlessly, to teach them to be brave enough to dream big, and to show them how they can accomplish those dreams. And now, I feel so blessed to be able to do that for my own child.

Of course, I have my own dreams for him (I REALLY WANT A BOY!!!!) ...

... but I will be sure that whatever he or she wants to accomplish, I will be there every step of the way to support them.

I feel so blessed and so excited to start my family. After so many years of heartbreak and pain in the relationship department with lame men who said a lot but never followed through, I got my prince charming in Brandis. He's not perfect, but I know I'm blessed to have him.

And now, we get to bring this perfect little person into the world and we get to guide him or her through their lives.

I know I haven't blogged in awhile! But, first, I was busy trying to make a baby! Now, I'm busy trying to get ready for baby!

All I know is that there isn't a timing better than the Lords. This is the perfect time for us to be parents and we are so excited to begin out journey.

I'll try to keep the blog updated about the pregnancy! I felt him/her move for the first time today! But I'll blog about that tomorrow!

For now, I'll leave you with the song I've been singing to me baby since the moment I found out about him/her.



Always remember, God's timing is perfect

Money can't buy love ... right?

My husband would kill me if he knew I was blogging right now. But he'll soon find out because he's an avid reader of this blog.

I've just spent 11 hours at work and he's sitting on the couch waiting for me to come home and make dinner. Of course I guess he could make his own ... HAHAHAHA .... right. I just woke up from that fantasy!

Yes, that's more like it! Except my hubby is WAY hotter than that guy. And I'd like to think I'm not that pale. Gees, she almost looks dead, doesn't she? Maybe it's just the evil look on her face? Hmm.

Sorry, ADD moment. I'm good now.

Actually my husband has cooked for me and it's been wonderful. So that wasn't really fair of me. He's a great husband and I am very blessed to have him. Which is the reason for this blog.

In the past, I've been in some pretty decent financial situations. Not because I have ever made a ton of money. Rather, because I am used to working two and three jobs at a time. Hey, I'm a girl who likes her shoes! Actually, that's not entirely accurate either — I simply cannot relax. If I'm not working or cleaning or cooking or doing laundry than I feel an immense amount of guilt — like I'm cheating at the game of life. It's pretty horrible and not at all right. But it's me.

I keep getting off subject. I hate that. So, back to the story.

Summary: I worked a lot, therefore, I usually had money.

I've always been the type of girl who has spoiled the men she is with. Consequently, I've always had the kind of boy (the word "man" not used here on purpose) who only cared about what I could buy them and how often — the kind that thought work was optional and it was only something they had to do every now and then and only until I wrote my bestselling novel that would be made into a chick flick starring Sandra Bullock and make us millions! The kind of man who, on our first Christmas as a married couple, bought me sheets ($12 on clearance at J.C. Penny ... I know because he left the price tag on) when I had gotten him a video iPod (when they first came out, valued at $600.)

Yes. That kind. Except I'm not in the picture — because I'm upstairs doing laundry and paying bills online ... at the same time.

So now, I'm broke. After a horrible first marriage to the man described in the paragraph above, I was ruined. When I first met him, I felt like I could own world. After he left me for a stripper, I owned nothing and the world was calling me telling them I owed them everything I had, plus $592,864.67 for collection costs. 

Awesome.

Then I meet my husband — the good one, not the crappy one. He knows how much I hate my job and he talks often about the day when he'll be able to make enough money to replace my income (he's five years younger than me and just out of college (I know, I'm a cougar. It's something I take pride in)

"Just hang in there, Baby. I'm going to take care of you! I promise!" he says.

And you know what? I believe him.

He truly is my Prince Charming (usually) and all I want to be able to do is give him everything he wants. I want to be able to get him new golf clubs for his birthday and a membership to a golf club at Christmas. I want to lift his truck for him, just because it's Thursday!

But that can't happen. On his last birthday, I could barely afford a card. Stupid.

I felt like such a jerk! Here I have this man, who, the other night, comes in the house, sits next to me on the couch, grabs a bottle of lotion next to him, and starts rubbing my feet. Holy. Crap. Never mind the fact that he asked me to do his next ... it's simply the fact that I didn't have to ask him to do it. It was so nice! And I can't get him anything! It's completely frustrating.

I've been thinking — I know that God is showing me that money isn't everything. He gave me this wonderful blessing of a man and that, in itself, is such a gift! It's true success when you find a soul mate that cares about you so deeply — that is WAYYYYYY better than money! No amount can buy the happiness that comes with that! RIGHT?! I know, I have a hard time with it too. I thought writing that would solidify it in my mind. But no. I still like money. A lot.

The fact is, I have none. And I most likely won't until Sandra Bullock stumbles across my blog and loves my voice so much she stops at NOTHING to track me down and asks me to write her a screenplay in which she can star. But Jesse ruined everything and now she's busy being a single mom. So I don't think I'll hold my breath waiting for that one.

Thanks a lot,  Jesse. Maybe you and my ex could get together and go bowling.

Because of Mr. James' indiscretions, I must make peace with my broke self and come up with some alternatives to show my husband how much I love him without spending a dime.

Here's a list of things I've come up with:
1. Do a chore that I usually force him to do that he hates.
2. Leave him love notes on the bathroom mirror in dry erase marker.
3. Mail him a letter from my work to home telling him how great he is.
4. Record his favorite shows so that next time he sits down the queue will be full of the NFL's greatest moments, plays, quarterbacks, fields ...
5. Write a bunch of reasons why I love him on pieces of paper and tuck them into his pockets as I fold his laundry.

I think these will be just great! It's kind of fun not having a boat load of money at my disposal. It forces me to be creative! Nope. That still didn't work. I still don't think being poor is fun. Thought I'd try that whole writing it down to trick my mind thing once again. But no. I still like money. A lot.

Oh you sweet pile of green happiness ...

I'm going to go make my wonderful husband dinner now. And then slip some notes in his jeans.

How to be a gem at the gym

This morning, I started writing a blog post and it made me sad — so I stopped. I'm really tired today. I am "can't-keep-my-eyes-open-even-if-I-was-being-chased-by-a-serial-killer-with-a-bloody-axe" type of tired. If today was a scene in a horror movie, I'd be the girl in the beginning. You know that one that trips. Five times. And then, instead of getting into the cab waiting with a driver out in front of her house to escape, she runs back into the house and runs upstairs into the closet where she will be safe.

Yes, that girl.

So I decided that I needed a blog that would make me laugh instead of cry.

This morning's trip to L.A. Fitness to workout inspired me. Some of the things I saw were pretty freaking laughable. My sister and I were running on the treadmills. No, that wasn't the laughable part. Anyone who has been to L.A. Fitness knows they have all of their cardio equipment on the second floor. The floor overlooks the rest of the gym. This is helpful because if you aren't good at running while looking up (at the televisions they have mounted to the ceiling), you can look down and be entertained by the freak show that is the weight room. That gave me the idea for the rant.

I'm all down for looking cute at the gym. My husband makes fun of me for putting on makeup before I work out. But honestly, I need it. Unfortunately, I have a pretty public job in a retardedly (Yes, I know that's not in my spell check dictionary, Mr. iMac, it's because I just made the word up. So kindly remove that annoying red line from underneath it!) small town and if I look like crap out in public, people, literally, will talk about it for days. I'm dead serious. It's crazy. Plus, I firmly believe that you MUST feel good about how your face looks when you go to the gym. I mean, if I'm lifting and I look in the mirror and see Shrek staring back at me — I will immediately drop the weight and go grab a double-double from In-and-Out. WHY, you ask?

Because if my face is effed up then who cares if I'm thin?! It's not like it's going to help! See, so I have to put on makeup. Not a lot. I'm not sporting blue eye shadow and smokey eyes or anything. Just enough to make it look like I just woke up — without a black head, a wrinkle, a zit, or a spot of dry skin.

I say all that to get to the point of this blog post.

Some people are very intimidated of the gym for a number of reasons. My mother, for instance, doesn't like people watching her work out. It freaks her out. Some women are scared to look dumb so they avoid lifting weights. Others hate the feeling of their butts bouncing up and down when they run and they don't want other people to watch their rear ends defy gravity. I HATE that feeling. I just do more squats to tone the J-E-L-L-O.

I have decided to establish some ground rules for behavior when at the gym. That way, when you go, and you see me, you can avoid ticking me off. So really this is more like a public service announcement.

Rule No. 1: Strap 'em up.
You'd think with all of the running and bouncing going on, women would be inclined to strap their puppies down, no matter their size. You'd be surprised. There is a reason that this is the first rule. I completely GET the fact that you've worked hard for your abs and you want to show them off. Cool. Kudos to you. However, JUST because you have silicone boobs does NOT make it OK to only wear a thin sports bra to work out. And no, if you wear a sports bra as a shirt, you are NOT wearing a bra — you are actually just wearing a mini-shirt. If you do not have fake boobs, the rule is even more applicable. Also, if you do wear a whole shirt, just because its tight, doesn't mean it supports. There are many reasons for this rule. First, when you run on the treadmill, it has to hurt. I mean, really, it hurts me looking at you. Second, my husband works out with me, and although there are MANY single men (but most are married or hiding girlfriends. Trust me, check their pockets, or the ash trays in their lifted trucks and I will BET $4 there is a wedding ring just chillin' there) who want to see that, my husband doesn't want to see it. Or maybe he does. Which is even more of a reason for you to go stop at Ross and pick up that over the should boulder holder. Just. Wear. A. Bra. Comprende? OK.

Rule No. 2: Machines aren't leased by the week.
I know, I know! You got an uber important text message and you HAVE to sit on the abductor and write back and you MUST sit there until he writes you back and then you MUST respond regardless of if I am camping out five feet away from the machine giving you the death stare. I get it. Now get the heck off the machine before I cut you. Look, I'm a busy girl. I go to the gym with one intention — to stop being chunky. I usually know exactly how long it will take each day for me to accomplish what I have planned. But if Malibu Barbie and her BFF are chatting it up with Ken on steroids and they are on or surrounding the only machine I have left to conquer — the only machine that stands in the way of me and dinner — I will not be held responsible for the measures I must take to kindly remove them. I'm not saying to hurry your workout. If you're using it, I'm completely OK with waiting. But if you're not, or you insist on doing a set, waiting, eighteen minutes, and then doing your next set, I'm going to be annoyed and so are the others who came to workout. Some girls (and guys for that matter) only go to the gym to pick up Friday's date. That's fine if that's what you want to do. But don't pretend like you're working out. Trust me, it's wayyyyyyy hotter if you're ACTUALLY working out.

Rule No. 3: If it stinks, sniff your pit.

Another rule that really should not have to be pointed out. It should be pretty obvious as to why this is important. But, again, you'd be surprised. There is NOTHING worse than being on the elliptical ... downwind from Mr. Doesn't Wear Deodorant as he's huffing and puffing along on the treadmill. Really. Nothing. Worse. Look, I'm already short on oxygen over here and the LAST thing I need is a nostril full of your day's toil. I need to conserve these precious puffs of oxygen because I already feel like I'm dying from the extra cardio I have to do today for the Crunch bar I ate yesterday. If something smells and it follows you around the gym, lift your arm and sniff the pit. And then fix it. Because it's most likely YOU! If you don't smell anything, it could be that you have been so smelly your whole life, that you've now grown immune to it. If this happens, ask a friend to sniff it. Real friends tell you when you smell. It may surprise you, but even I, seemingly infallible I, have been known to forget to swipe Secret on before I leave my house for the gym. Thank goodness for the travel-size deodorant I have in my gym bag. That thing has saved many-a lives from a smelly grave! AND they are only a buck. Better to be safe than smelly, that's what I always say. Pick one up at your local Wal-Mart and you may end up winning more friends ... or killing less friends.

Rule No. 4: Just wrap it up!

Gym locker rooms can be comfortable places. L.A. Fitness has a great one! It's clean and has pretty carpet and it rarely smells like feet. It really can feel like a home away from home. But even though it may feel like you're home, you're not. So please avoid walking around butt naked. No, really, I understand you are 65 and it's getting harder to stabilize yourself to dress and hold a towel and you had group showers when you were in high school so it seems totally OK — but it's not. Just wrap a towel around yourself. It is EXTREMELY uncomfortable when I am tying my shoes on the locker room bench and I look up to see your butt crack right in my face as you bend down to get into your locker. My first inclination is always to kick it because I legitimately am terrified. It's like a fight or flight reaction I have to naked strangers. And being that I've been training to fight, I will most likely go straight for the fight and take your naked ass out. I don't know how it is in men's locker rooms, in fact, I don't even WANT to think about that. Simply put: Be a pal, cover your ass with a towel. Unless you are featured in the book in the picture — if you are, you are more than welcome to be nude in the women's locker room at the L.A. Fitness at 220 N. Sanderson Ave. in Hemet, California. Locker room is down the hall on your right after you pass the pool. Come between the hours of 6:30 and 8:30 a.m. OK? Thanks.


I have a ton of other rules, but my lunch hour is almost up. Plus, I don't want to overwhelm you with rules. Some of your ladies may just use all of the rules as another excuse NOT to go to the gym! I hope you had a good laugh or two. And if you have any rules of your own you'd like to add, feel free!

Signing off now to go write about dead people — AKA obituaries. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.

Hey ... I DO live in Hemet ...

What motivations move you?

Motivation is a funny thing — actually, it's not funny at all. Its concepts pretty much just piss me off.

For the life of me, I cannot understand why, for months at a time, I fill my days cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, or working longer hours ... anything but work out! I get fat and keep eating and get fatter yet I still keep eating. I complain about my weight and I'm depressed ... but I keep eating and get even more fat.

Then there are the months that I feel so driven that I could easily be classified with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. WHY?! Lucky for me, the past three months, I've been crazy. I obsess and make sure that I do something to burn an obscene amount of calories everyday. And although I'm surrounded by fatty food, I am never tempted.

Why do I do this to myself? Where is the consistency?! I'm driving myself insane and although these huge weight losses are awesome — I've gained it all back every time. WHY?!

I've been thinking a lot about motivation. Who has it? Who doesn't? What does it take to get it? And what is it in itself?

Here's what I've come up with — it's different for everyone. In fact, I'm so crazy (borderline bi-polar?? Who knows! I kid! I kid! Maybe ...) each time I get into my workout "highs," it's for a different reason. But, finally, I think I've come into a place I can exist long term.

There has been four times in my life where I've lost 60 pounds in about three months. No joke. No, really, I'm not kidding.

The first time was the summer before my junior year at University of Redlands. I was always a big girl and I had come to realize that I will never ever ever ever ever ever be "skinny." I'm always going to be thick. And I was OK with that. But something happened before my junior year — competition. I was seemingly being replaced on my volleyball team by a girl who was good. She was really good. She was really good and taller than me. Which, if you play volleyball, freaking sucks! I wouldn't be getting any taller — so I had to beat her out another way. I had to outwork her. When she was sleeping, I was on the track. When she was at sorority parties, I was lifting to increase my vertical. When she was on vacation, I was jumping on park benches. When she was in class, I was ditching and passing freeballs and serves in the gym. (Hey, don't judge! I do what it takes to win! Haha) Hence ... MOTIVATION!

I had found it! I didn't want anyone to be better than me. At least not at volleyball. I was willing to sacrifice everything to beat her out and prove to my coach that I should be on the court.

It worked! I lost a crap ton of weight and came into hell week in shape and ready to dominate. This is what I call the "The hell you are taking my spot!" motivation.

The next time I lost nearly 60 pounds was right before my first wedding — man, what a waste of motivation. But whatever. I did it, I looked fabulous, he was a tool, and we all know how that ended!

The following two times were serious. It was after the douche bag from said weight loss No. 2 had left me — after that, it was on. This is what I like to call "Make the douche bag pay and let him see me skinny" motivation.

There were two of those kinds of motivations in my life ... hey! I saw that! Don't roll your eyes and wonder how I made two horrible judgment calls with men in a row! Bad choices can happen to the best of us. Really! Check out this girl.

 Bad. Choice.

At the tail end of this second "Make the douche bag pay and let him see me skinny" motivation, I met and fell in love with my wonderful husband! Brandis is sweet, LOYAL, caring, and simply put — he downright loves me and all of my personalities. He's seriously amazing and although I complain about how he leaves multiple (yes, like more than three) half-filled cups of gosh knows what on his nightstand each night only to have a nightmare and fling them all over the wall all while staying completely asleep ... I love him completely!

Great. Now what am I supposed to do?! I don't play college sports anymore and I had met my prince charming! What the heck kind of motivation am I supposed to draw from now?!

Well, I found one. It turns out that when you finally meet a GREAT man, you want to get knocked up. I don't know if that's all women or just me? Whatever, it happened to me.

After a year of a lot of work (It was TOUGH! PHEW....! Hahaha), I STILL wasn't knocked up. I went to the doctor and he told me I had to lose weight to better my chances of pregnancy. I was diagnosed with fibroids. Yeah, awesome. You're supposed to get that when you're old or fifty (just kidding momma!) but NOOOOOoooooOOOOooooo, I have them at the ripe old age of 28. You know what the cure is? Go run. A lot. Oh yeah, and stop being chubby!

This time, that has been my motivation. It's been ten weeks and I've lost 45 pounds! I'm pretty thrilled and it's a boat load of work. But this time, I feel like it's for something meaningful. This isn't because I want to look hot in a bikini (yes I do) or continue to make my exes lives living hells when they see me because I'm cute and their new chicks are hopefully really nice on the inside (yes I do), it's because I can't wait to have what seems so natural for other women ... a child that loves and adores me even when I'm pounding Big Macs and eating Skinny Cows by the row instead of the sandwich.

Hehehe, just kidding.

I think that is the difference this time because I'm doing this all with raising a family in mind. And suddenly, I have this incredible motivation to make sure my family is healthy. I want to raise my kids to be healthy and make sure they know how to take care of themselves. I want to create in them good habits that will, hopefully, stick with them for the rest of their lives. This has become so important to me that I've decided I needed to find a way to make this weight loss a permanent one. And that's what I've been working on.

When I don't feel like going running, I go anyway. I downloaded Matthew West's "Safe and Sound" on to my iPhone. When I don't have the energy to workout I listen to that song — it's a sweet song from a dad to his newborn child and it makes me remember why I'm doing this. Although, it's a wee bit depressing. I mean, C'MON, I'm getting skinny just to gain baby weight? Oh well, I know it'll be worth it in the end!

It helps that, this time, I'm in a stable relationship with a man who supports me. Support really helps! My little sister has lost 55 pounds and is doing great and my older sister, well, she's always been a skinny biotch. But in a totally awesome way! Hahahaha! I have many, many friends who are really working on becoming healthier and we are all trying to keep each other in check.

The point is — ultimately, YOU are in charge of motivating yourself. Don't wait until you get left by your very own douche bag to decide that NOW is the time. If you're unhappy with yourself, fix it! Find what motivates you and make it work.

I have a few little tricks that help me and I'll let you in on my secrets.

I have found a new home for my scale — the kitchen! It's the perfect place for that little devil machine because I have to walk by it every time I go to the fridge. It talks to me ... "Are you REALLLLLLLY hungry? Because you have to step on me tomorrow, and if you eat that ... I'm NOT going to give you good news!" Really. That's what it says.

I have learned to switch up my workout routines DRASTICALLY! If I'm sick of running, I go swim. If I want to avoid the gym altogether, I go to open gyms and play volleyball. If a gym isn't open, I go to Primetime MMA and take Muay Thai. (Just so you know, Muay Thai is amazing! AND there's a plus. I train with my husband and if he makes me mad that day, I can hold my tongue because I know that I get to kick him in the head later in class. It makes for a great stress reliever! Hahaha! Love ya, Babe!)

Two people are better than one. Make a date for the gym. This morning, I was so tired! I did NOT want to go workout. BUT, I had already told my sister we were going at 6:30 a.m. and she rarely answers her cell. That meant one thing — I WAS going because she wouldn't have gotten the call had I canceled. It's hard to stand up the gym when you know someone is slated to meet you there!

 (The most hilarious thing about this picture — I could pick up that much weight allllll alone...hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!)

Prayer works! I literally have to pray for will power every morning. "Dear sweet baby Jesus, please don't let me eat the office donuts today!" "Dear sweet baby Jesus, please make these fries taste like butt so I never eat them again! I know you did that yesterday, but I think if they taste like butt twice, I won't want them anymore!" Really, try Him. He will listen and it makes it easier.

I know it's been about 45 pounds since I last blogged, but now I feel like I have more to write about. I'm constantly asked what I'm doing to lose weight and I know that so many people struggle with the same thing I do. I'm going to use my blog to try and help all of you who are going through what I'm going through!

If you can't find the motivation, just force it. No one will help you if you don't help yourself first! And keep tuning in to my awesomely well-written and entertaining blog for some more tips on how to turn yourself from a cow to WOW!

Letters to inanimate objects

Dear Gladiator sandals,

When I first saw you in last year's fashion magazines, I really liked the concept of you! In high school, my nickname was Xena The Warrior Princess and you made me want to go kick some butt while wearing you. But I just don't like you. It's nothing personal.

I love all things shiny, so I first tried on some silver sandals with all of the strappy loveliness,  but being that I already wear a size 10.5 in women, you made me  feet look freakishly big. My self-esteem just couldn't handle you.

 Last week, my roommate kept stealing my simple black thongs from Wal-Mart (don't judge me!). One day, I had to resort to wearing her Steve Madden gladiator sandals. Once I had them on, I felt as though I were a horse. I began flopping my feet as a Clydesdale would an neighing down my hallway.

I really wish I could like you. But your fate was sealed wqhen my husband, whom I love so dearly, saw you gracing a woman's foot in a grocery store in El Paso, Texas. "What is that lady wearing?!" he said. "Those are hideous!"

Ever since then, I knew I would never own you. And I'm Ok with that...

Forever sorry you suck,

Valerie






Dear Chipotle iPhone Application,

You are my hero. Truly, last week, I would have starved without you. When I first downloaded you, I failed to realize the wonderfulness of your being. Until, that is, I was busy at work and hungry!

I opened up my application to a friendly menu that said "What sounds good?" Everything did, dear iPhone App ... everything did. I chose a burrito bowl, hold the rice, cheese, sour cream, and the meat to save a few calories. I walked into Chipotle and went right up to the register where the amazing Burrito artist (because honestly, that is what they are ...) had just completed my order. I paid by having my card swiped (no need to sign at my favorite buritto joint) and walked out. It was amazing.

I was able to enjoy my veggie burrito bowl from the comfort of my desk. Thank you for making my world brighter and my tummy more full!

Love always and forever,

Valerie

Dear new MAC computer at work,

After six years of having slow and outdated computers, you have entered my life and came to my rescue!!!

Gone are the days that I must use my slow home computer to visit the CIF Website to check on high school playoff updates! Now, I can actually work at work and not have error messages pop up saying my browser didn't support the site I was  trying to visit.

I love your shiny cool, silver, flat screen and the way you offer to many background choices. I can even choose to have pictures change every 30 minutes. It's such a refreshing change from my view of Florida Avenue.

You are deadly fast and, because of you, deadline day is sweeter (and shorter). I look forward to pushing your buttons each and every morning!

Thanks for being awesome!

You user-friendly friend forever,

Valerie


Dear Hemet Healthcare,

Two words only: You suck.

May you die,

Valerie

"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"

Moments of clarity for me are few and far between. It seems as though my mind is bogged down with the stress and worries of day-to-day tasks. So much so that sometimes I just feel overwhelmed.

Last week was a tough week. I felt as though I was going slowly insane. My poor, wonderful husband got to experience the joys of the stressed out me. I had virtually NO patience level and I snapped at everything he did. Actually, I've kind of been like that for three weeks.

I think it's my lack of faith in God that has been rearing its ugly head. I am worrying about the most mundane things!

The most of my frustrations are simply about not being where I thought I'd be in life at 28 years old. I have had the goal of being a managing editor or an award-winning writer by the time I'm 30. But I only have one and a half years to that oh-so-glorious day — and that dream job is no where in sight.

It's hard knowing you have all of this potential, but not having anyone give you the chance to unleash it. It borderline pisses me off. I know it's a horrible economy to try and advance a career, but I've been working SO hard for six years at my job. I've learned an incredible amount from an amazing editor, but I just feel like there is nothing left for me to learn.

Last week, I had a meltdown. Some of you women know the kind I'm talking about — the kind where you crank your radio up and just climb into the shower so you can cry loudly without anyone hearing. I did that. My entire life, I've worked hard to prove myself and I've just about had it.  My husband heard my sobs and asked me what was wrong. Honestly, my brain was SO foggy that I couldn't even explain a real reason to him. I blabbed about some things that bothered me — like the fact he always left cups on his nightstand for me to pick up.

My husband is the most amazing man. After a few failed relationships, including a failed first marriage (And by failed I mean I had married a lying cheater), my husband has seriously been a breath of fresh air.

The cups were NOT the problem. But I just couldn't put my finger on it. So I kept making stuff up. Poor guy!

The next day, my editor had asked me to go up to Diamond Valley Lake and take some pictures of the wildflower trail that had just opened. On Wednesday morning, I drove up there and hiked to the trail. It was about a third of a mile to the trail and I was ill-prepared in flip flops. But after seeing the early morning sun glistening on the lake, I simply forgot about my then-dirtied feet.

I hiked a ways up the trail and began photographing the flowers. It was JUST what I had needed — the beauty of God's creations surrounding me. I had been worried about money, about whether or not my husband and I would ever have a baby (we've been trying since the moment we were married), about my career and if I would ever land the job that paid me what I was worth, about my fatness and how horrible I've been feeling about my, as a new friend Shannon calls them, "happy pounds" — honestly, I worried about every little thing I could. 

My hike to photograph wildflowers took me up above the San Jacinto Valley. I looked down into the Valley and saw the cars speeding here and there. I saw hundreds of homes that I imagined were filled with people going about their business. I felt as though God had granted me a timeout. It was as if he was saying, "Just stop. Just listen. Stop worrying, stop trying to be in full control. Just sit here with me and be."

So I did. I put my camera down, closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and just shut up. (I know what you're all thinking — and I CAN shut up ... occasionally.) Although it was only for about three minutes, I had felt as though I had just taken a week-long vacation.

I thought about the Bible verse where God tells us not to worry. He tells us that He's in control and worrying does not add a single second to our life.

Matthew 6:25-34 says: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? 

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

As I looked out over the Valley and saw the beauty of the wildflowers, I realized that I must stop trying to be in control. I have realized this a thousand times. But it's easy to get caught back up in the rat race. I need to stop worrying about taxes and money and jobs and children and coaching. I need to stop and just let God handle it. 

To a control freak, nut job like me, that's hard.

God used an assignment at work to show me to remember what I'm passionate about: writing, photography, coaching, and fitness. I've been so busy that I keep forgetting to find time to do the things I really enjoy.

Be sure to be still, if only for a moment, and allow the Lord to speak. So many times, the noise of televisions, traffic, radios, and conversations, shut out the whisper of God's voice.

And sorry honey for being the Incredible Hulk, minus the green skin and ripped tiny t-shirt!  I adore you! :)

And for those of you who can't find time to get away to go wander about in wildflowers, you can wander about my blog and look at the pictures I took!

Cheers!

Would a blog by any other name be as interesting?

Choosing a name for your blog is like choosing a name for your first-born child ... it's going to have it FOREVER, so it better not blow.

You've seen them before in grade school — the children who run around the playground, playing teatherball, just minding their own business. And trying to forget about the fact that their name is Vagina Rainbow Gonzales.

My mother, who was a labor and delivery nurse for many, many years, always heard the most ridiculous names. She told me a story about a family that had a daughter and named her Vagina because they thought it pretty.


I don't want this kind of shame for my blog! Poor Vagina. She didn't do anything to deserve a name that would ravage her social life for eternity — but, yet, there she is, trying to get a friend to play marbles with her at recess. But no one wants to be her friend. There she sits, all alone with her cat's eye and galaxy marbles, playing Vagina vs. Vagina. Sad.

And, being that the entire POINT of having a blog is to get people to be your blog's friend and read the rants you post, I needed to make sure my blog name was a great one. I'm not sure if I've accomplished that — but I'm happy with it and the name will never not apply to my hot-mess life.

So there it is — http://myrisiblelife.blogspot.com.

That pretty much sums it up. My life is risible. Not miserable. Risible. What does that mean, you wonder? Here's the dictionary definition that my new MAC computer at work has so graciously provided: "Having the faculty or power of laughing; inclined to laugh." Yes, that is very fitting. My life is laughable for so many reasons.

I'm hoping this blog will make you laugh, cry, yell, hate me, love me, want to hug me, want to hit me, and, in the end, simply understand that every entry helps me keep me sane.

Writing. Expressing myself. These things help keep my sanity intact. If you don't like it, don't read it that day. But tune in the next, because I'm bi-polar. And if you don't agree with me one day, I'll probably have a completely different stance the next. That's just how it is. Like I said, I'm a hot mess. Cheers!