A visit to St Mary's

I recently worked in St. George for a few days. I stayed with my colleague and friend who owns a modest little home down there:

She is a nice woman, but her Diet Coke was expired. Do you know what expired Diet Coke tastes like? Formaldehyde. Not that I ever drank formaldehyde, but some things you just know—like Pepsi tastes like toilet bowl cleaner. Or at least what I would imagine toilet bowl cleaner to taste like if I were to indulge.

I brought my own Diet Coke this trip, so my friend sought to torture me another way. Sunday before I left home, my family and I had a nice dinner consisting of:

Roast beef
Mashed potatoes
Asparagus

A very good dinner. Then on Monday, my friend cooked dinner for me. She made:

Roast beef
Roasted potatoes
Asparagus

She is a nice person—a saint, really. But then on Tuesday:

Roast beef
Warmed up roasted potatoes

I am trying to be a polite house guest, but when I came home Wednesday, her halo became a little more tarnished. She cooked:

Roast beef
Fried, warmed-up roasted potatoes
Asparagus

It’s not that I’m picky. Okay, I am picky, but enough is enough. Especially when I received the following letter in my email. It went like this:

Dear Ms. Ferran,

We are in possession of your food diary for the past four evenings and would like to file a formal protest.

How many of our kindred dead do you plan on eating?

Have you no imagination? What happened to the chocoholic deep within you? Get a grip, get some chocolate and go pig out. Away from us.

We will seek a restraining order if necessary.

                Mr. Potato Head, Junior Asparagus and those cows that paint the signs for Chik-Fil-A.


I didn’t even know cows and vegetables could type, let alone have internet access. I am a little concerned.

Thankfully, I was rescued on Thursday with a dinner of pulled pork, a cinnamon yam, and chocolate pie I saved for Friday morning’s breakfast.

German chocolate pie, washed down with Diet Coke. Ahhhh, the burn.

I don't know when I can ever go back there. Maybe next year, when the nightmares fade...

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished...

Last Sunday I stopped by my friend's house to bring her a little treat because she was feeling down. After saying goodbye and running down the stairs, I had a moment...

Trip! Splat! Swear!

So much for my new, white $3 Walmart shirt--driveway marks all over the sleeve.

My friend couldn't stop laughing--oh, she tried, but she failed. I just wanted to write her a Thank You note and let her know how I am doing:

Dear Karen,


I am doing fine after the nasty trip and fall on your property. I’m glad you liked the cookies.Thank you for your friendship and concern. I have learned many things from you:

1. Your driveway is hard and unforgiving
2. You were too late with the helmet
3. No good deed goes unpunished
4. The brownies were delicious
5. A true friend lies in the driveway with you until you can get up
6. At least I didn’t lose any teeth (which means my super powers are still intact)


P.S. What are the limits on your homeowners’ policy?

A couple of photos for your scrapbook:

Well....I Never!

I had a lunch meeting with a prospective client recently at one of his favorite restaurants—a Thai place. I had to swallow my fear of the food—as well as some of the food, itself. It was tough, because I am the pickiest eater I know. Condiment-free, vinegar free, pepper-free, flavor-free—that’s me!


I confessed to the client that I’d never had Thai food before. Mistake? Maybe.

I also admitted I’d never been skiing before (Yikes! I’ve lived in Colorado or Utah for 40 years). Considering the client is a winter sports equipment retailer, I may have made another mistake.

I feel justified. I can see myself like a 1970s Barbie doll—legs won’t bend, they’re pulled opposite directions, they break off right at the hip. Snap. Duct tape, Velcro, or super glue ain’t gonna fix a problem like that. And I can prevent it—no skiing for me (snow or water).

The client’s expression hinted at pity. No Thai food. No skiing.

Don’t judge me.

There are lots of things I’ve never done. For instance, I never…

Got acrylic nails (I did poke a straight pin through one of my nails to see how tough a finger nail really is. They really aren’t that tough, and there are a lot of nerve endings in the nail bed).

Ate a snail (I caught my son salting snails on my front doorstep one day watching them shrivel. I also paid my daughter a penny a snail to chuck them over the fence out of my back yard. She earned about a dollar that day. I guess I could have added my own butter and saved myself a buck!).

Went to jail (Although multiple family members have multiple times—but they got three square meals a day, a free toothbrush, and the streets were a little safer for awhile).

Had to make bail (I let the afore-mentioned family members wait it out and tell it to the judge).

Was ridden out of town on a rail (However, I was kicked out of the flea market in Cancun because my sister was too cheap, and I look and act a lot like her).

Nails, snails, jail, bail, rail…apparently I’m ail-ing today.

What have you never done?

Shameless promo...Keep reading!

It’s here!

I have my sweaty, chubby fingers gripped around my newest book: Life’s Alphabet Soup: When Your Children Make You Eat Your Words

A glimpse at the back cover blurb:

“Terri Ferran might not be the world’s best mother, but she just might be the mother with the best stories.


For years, Terri balanced a professional career with the demands of raising six kids and almost became completely unbalanced in the process. Now she brings a fresh take on parenting and a double dose of hilarity to Life’s Alphabet Soup: When Your Children Make You Eat Your Words. Inside you’ll find all kinds of motherly wisdom. For example:

HOW TO GET YOUR CHILD TO STOP RAIDING THE COOKING JAR: let her eat all the cookies she wants one day and then see if she can make it through the night without tossing them up.

HOW TO UNITE THE FAMILY IN A COMMON CAUSE: organize a rat-killing party in the backyard.

HOW TO GET YOUR HUSBAND TO PULL WEEDS: become an accidental neighborhood charity case.”

You get all this, and more, in one easy-to-read volume.

Be the first person on your block (or in your mind) to get your signed copy! Come and see me at Barnes & Noble in Sandy, this Saturday from 1-4 pm. Can’t make it then? Come to Costco in West Valley on Saturday, Feb 13th from 11-4 pm. You don’t have to stay the whole time…unless you’re behind in your shopping like I am. Or your idea of lunch out is the samples at Costco. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to entertain you. At least that’s what my children believe…

It's also a great Mother's Day gift...or Valentine's Day gift...or birthday gift...or "Buy a Book for yourself" gift...the list goes on...

Wasting away in iguanaville...

It seems that I have a lot in common with iguanas…


As I read in a recent newspaper article:

When temperatures drop, the iguanas, many up to 6 feet long, go into a stunned, catatonic state, stiffen and fall to the ground from tree branches and other perches.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/weather/01/10/us.cold.weather/index.html

This may be news in Florida and to iguanas, but I’ve had this happen to me several times…except for the perching in a tree branch part (although I am nearly 6 feet long if I lie on the ground—give or take 7 inches).

Just last Friday, as I was in a stunned, catatonic state at 6 a.m., I stiffened and fell to the ground dismounting from the treadmill. Dropped like a stupefied iguana hanging out in a frozen orange juice tree.

I rolled my ankle and caused not insignificant seismic activity.

Did reporters flock to report my plight? No (unless you count that seventh grader who gets email updates from the US Geological Survey doing a science project).

At least I was inside and didn’t risk actually freezing to death.

Don’t feel too badly about the iguanas. Apparently they were simply in a state of suspended animation and came back to life when they lay out in the sun. Once again, in amazing similarity to me.

There’s only one cure for it that I can see—Cancun. It is sure to cure what ails me. I’m thinking I’ll see some of my iguana buddies there. Adios.

Bootcamp with Jess - The End...or is it?

My six-week-self-inflicted-torture-at-a-bargain-price BootcampwithJess has ended.


What, you may ask, are the end results?

Let me share—

1. Tonnage lost--.0045 (a.k.a. 9 lbs)

2. Millimeters lost – 152.4 (6 inches)

3. Times I wet my pants—0 (actually, it Depends)

4. # of pushups for infractions—200 (plus or minus 120)

5. # of actual instructors impaled, blown up, shot, run over, beaten, or disposed of by me during the 6-week period—0

6. # of incidents mentioned in #5 imagined by me during the 6-week period (I plead the 5th, on the grounds it definitely would incriminate me)

7. Number of Diet Cokes I consumed in the first 3 weeks—0

8. Number of Diet Cokes I consumed in the last 3 weeks—more than 10, less than 100

9. Number of man-pushups I can do without stopping—40

10. Insanity factor (on a scale of 1 to 10) of those who sign up for an initial 6-week journey to Helk-and-back and pay for the privilege—9.781564298

Insanity factor (on a scale of 1 to 10) of those who re-sign up for it, knowing what they are getting into—11.29837492

All—or most—kidding aside: It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I am officially insane. I inked up for the next six weeks. I loved it. And hated it. I must have more…

Here’s to my friend, Amy Jo, who has bravely consented to join with me during the next journey to HELK—you can do it!

Dear Diary...

Dear Diary,


This week at bootcampwithjess has been a big blur. I still have a pulse and am not in traction so that is good.

Today I went to the 6 a.m. session. Dear Diary—you know I am allergic to early mornings, but I missed the Tuesday workout to drive to Elk Snout and needed to make it up.

I met a new friend. Her name is Endorphin. She only stopped by for a few minutes, but she is mighty persuasive. She told me I should sign up for the next session and start going at 6 a.m. every day.

My friend Diet Coke is kind of ticked off at me for considering it.

There is a raging battle ensuing—I just know it.

Pre-battle scene:

Endorphin thinks I can do better

Diet Coke thinks I am fine the way I am

I’m not sure who’s right. Maybe my older sister is on target, and I am STUCK ON STUPID!