Dr. Sea Dog, calling Dr. Sea Dog...

There are many many ways to slip antioxidants into your lifestyle. I've read that blueberries, green tea, moderate alcohol consumption, eating fish and exercising are a great way to ramp up your diet. But just because some things are good for you, doesn't mean they can't be fun.

FUN

Blueberry beer, Blueberry pancakes, blueberry schnapps, blueberry pie, having a best friend named Violet Beauregarde, chasing after Ryan Gosling while he's wearing bike shorts and has liberally applied oil to his amazing upper body...sorry, getting off track here....fishing for salmon off the back of the Queen Mary, and hiring Jillian Michaels as your personal trainer.

NOT FUN

Avoiding saturated fats (onion rings), taking statin drugs (side effects include memory loss which can make it difficult to find blueberry beer in the liquor store), balloon angioplasty (anything to do with balloons reminds me of clowns), nitroglycerin (I don't think I could be trusted with anything that sounds like TNT), bypass surgery (the only time I want my heart stopped is when I run into Ryan Gosling getting out of my shower).

I can do this, high cholesterol, see you later...

If only my paycheck multiplied like my dog's fur....

How is it that dogs came to be called dogs. If I was God, and I was naming the animals, I would have called dogs "furs". I'm certainly not second guessing God's skills, but that one could have taken a few more minutes to finalize.

If my dog's name was fur, first of all, we would never lose him. Because all I'd have to say is, "has anyone seen the fur?", and the answer would be yes. No matter where you look in my house, there is fur. There is fur in the coffee grinder, in the crock pot, in the nail polish, in the clean laundry, in the toilet brush and on the bananas. If my husband asks me, "do I have something on my tooth?", you can bet dollars to donuts there is an stray wisp hanging out there for inspection. I have thought of collecting the fur from the vacuum cleaner and making a little wig for "he who shall not be named's" expanding bald spot, but unfortunately it's the wrong color, not to mention a little off kilter in the texture department. There is nothing worse than getting out of the shower and drying off with a 50% cotton/50% fur bath towel. And forget about the corners of my living room. I just vacuumed up a fur clump that a baby squirrel could probably breastfeed from. It's time again to go and brush the fur's dog...

Things you never want to overhear your kids saying....

To their girlfriend, "when were you supposed to get it?"

To their doctor, "what's is called again, A-cyclo-what?"

To their high school guidance counselor, "My mom said if I can get in, I can go wherever I want. It doesn't matter what it costs".

To their best friend, "Sure, you can stay as long as you want. My mom doesn't mind big dogs".

To their 4th year college roommate, "It's awesome we get along so good. Maybe we can be roommates again next year".

To your husband, "Dad, that car was a piece of crap anyway. Now we can go get a new one".

To your parish priest, "Wow, jeez, that's seems like a lot. Have you ever told anyone else they had to say 500 Hail Mary's?"

"Hey Mom, can you look at this? I think it's broken!"

Why this year I won't be called the Little Red Hen....

So, every spring comes my annual quest for a beautiful vegetable garden. It starts with tilling the heavy soil, adding compost bag by aching bag, pulling pesky weeds while pulling my hamstrings, selecting seeds and tending to my seedlings like they were the infant of Prague, digging holes with a shovel whose time is long overdue for the shovel graveyard, fiddling with my husband's watering hose and timer system that makes me wish for a old fashioned well and bucket, thinning the carrots hour after hour, all the while under the watchful eye of not a hawk, not quite a vulture, not Jim Crockett or Martha Stewart, but the nemesis of all little red hens everywhere, Nana. She watches and waits with joyful glee through her back window as I "harvest, thresh, mill and bake". This year will be different though, as I have made a plan of action with my therapist to stop her in her tracks as she unselfishly proffers up my harvest to her friends and relatives while I am off somewhere slaving through a 12 hour shift. Wish me well, and godspeed, my fellow little red hens....

My husband's metabolism should be part of a study

So we just came back from vacation, which for me, is like being lost in a corn maze of calories. At every turn is a temptation. Each day, we would trek off to the beach with a cooler that weighed as much as my kitchen refrigerator. I would say, "Do we need all this food?" and my husband would say, "we should bring enough for everyone". Does he mean everyone on the other side of the Sagamore Bridge? He would cap off each night with "It's time for ice cream", which is a particular weakness for me. But for him, he gets a hot fudge sundae with any food item that can be dumped in it. I love vacation, but if I hung around with him too much I'd be blowing out of my bathing suit in no time at all. After only six days away, I put on 3 pounds. I asked him what he gained, and he looked at me like I was insane. He said "what do you mean by gained, like knowledge, nothing, I was on vacation, I was giving my brain a rest". Jerk...

Is that a love bite on your neck?

So I finally reached the 25 pound mark. It's taken since October 1st, but I have to say it hasn't been very painful at all. I've gone on a cruise, two trips to New York, Aruba, California, skiing with the Wild Women of Winter, and weekly trips to Salsa's Mexican restaurant. How exciting to finally have reached my goal. And what do I get for it? A round piece of metal that looks like it was manufactured under the wheels of a locomotive. I wonder which employee gets to stand at the train station and place the slugs on the tracks. Do they get extra pay for that? Nonetheless, I put it on and raced home to show everyone. My husband said, what's that on your neck? I run in the bathroom and find a black mark that if I squint, looks a little like the full body profile of Winston Churchill. Maybe they should rethink the shape into an oval, so at least when it leaves it's imprint on your skin, it comes out looking like Giselle Bundchen.

Mom, what's that on your thigh?

Immediately, I think I have a wasp on my leg (even though I'm in my bedroom with all the windows closed). I thought I heard buzzing. 

Mom, hello? ...Oh God, where do I have to inject my epipen again? Where's the Benadryl?

Mom, can you hear me?.... I hope my underwear are clean because some of the firefighters in our town are pretty cute. 

Mom, are you ok?...Where's my health insurance card? Do you think they are going to ask me what I weigh for the steroid drip? 

Mom, Dude, hello?...Is it going to take more than two paramedics to lift my gurney into the ambulance?

Mom, mom, what's that on your leg?...Oh, for God's sake Mia, that's just some extra padding that's been there since birth...