Breakfast of Champions

This lady needs no introduction, but since I've done them for all the other guest posts, please put your hands together for Nancy Padden, aka Nadinski Montbrosis, aka Mom Padden!!!!!

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I was eating my oatmeal on the early morning Amtrak train a few weeks back when the guy across from me comes back from the club car with his breakfast. Two Bud Lights and a cinnamon roll. You can do that? And why the ‘light’ version? Cutting back? The gal three seats up was working her way through a gallon zip lock bag of oreos and a pepsi. No kale or sunscreen for these two. I was in awe.

Bud Light for breakfast? Image by cyclonebill via Flickr

Made me think of Julie in seventh grade. Puberty was not kind to her; she had giant breasts under her brown wool uniform sweater. One hot spring day she opened the window (not allowed) in our sweltering classroom. Sister Seraphina—the old bag who told us earlier that year “Your President has been shot and he’s dead"—said “Julie, close that window right now and take your sweater off if you’re too hot.” Sure sister, and reveal to all my big breasts and wet stains under my arms? Julie stood up, roared, “F (the whole word) YOU” and fled the classroom. I was in awe.

My friend’s husband goes to bed each night with a Häagen-Dazs ice cream bar in each hand. Think he brushes his teeth?

Live each day as if it were your last has different meaning for this group. Are they unaware or just don’t care? No little voice telling them to get their exercise, eat right or care what others think. Bill Murray in Groundhog’s day. Wouldn’t it be great? Why do I have this little voice I thought as I finished up my oatmeal, and how did they get a free pass?

The doctor recently asked my sister if our 95-year-old mother had gas. She could hardly speak. Anywhere and everywhere, long and loud, my mom announces her presence. Rising from a chair, exiting the car, in the middle of TJ Max, in the restaurant bathroom she lets them rip. Big and reverberant. Wouldn’t it be great?

Things I don't really like that much

Yesterday I said I wouldn't talk about myself in tomorrow's post. Tomorrow is now today, so it's time to make good on that promise. Let the great experiment begin!

Wow. This is challenging. I've been sitting here for 30 minutes and all I've managed is a paragraph on Ebola (now deleted and replaced with a funny photo of, who else, ME).

Ebola! Not the light reading people want on a Sunday evening. Well, let's consider it a failed experiment and move on.

And would you look at that. An idea has already popped into my head.

Things I don't really like that much

• 'Awwww look at that cute animal' videos, gifs and memes. You know what I mean. Fluffy kittens tumbling down a staircase. A baby koala bear eating a popsicle. A duck and a dog being friends. Call me blackhearted, but I just can't get into this genre in the same way most people (or at least most people on the Internet) can. 

• Museums. I really want to be someone who likes museums. When the topic comes up, I pretend to love them. "Oh, museums? Yes, I love them," I say. But I don't mean it. The truth is that I can't appreciate art unless it's either really big or really accurate (e.g. a painting of a hand that actually really looks like a hand). And with history museums, I don't have the patience to read the placards. 

• Beer. In my youth, I enjoyed the odd tin of lager. But now, for some odd reason, my tastebuds have regressed. These days, every time I take a sip of beer it's as yucky as the first time I tried it. Not only that, but there's so dang much of it. Unlike a lovely, tasteless vodka soda, beer takes forever to drink and it's warm as urine by time you get to the last sip. 

• The Wolf of Wall Street. Remember that movie? It was all the rage last winter. I was excited to see it, it didn't offend me (I think that's the main reason some people didn't like it) and I am a big Leo fan. Still, I thought it fell short. It claimed to be a black comedy, and yet it relied so heavily on slapstick scenes like Leo trying to get to his car while on drugs and Jonah Hill's schlong. Although I found the part about how he set up the firm really interesting (the bit at the beginning), the story just wasn't that interesting after that. And it was SO LONG. Three bloody hours!

• Rubber gloves. I'd rather my hands get all pruned and dried out from the dish soap than feel a drop of water make its way down an otherwise dry glove. 

• Skirts. They just never work. Long skirts, short skirts, flowy skirts, pencil skirts. Bin the whole lot of 'em! Who knows, maybe you just aren't supposed to cut a 5'4 body in half. For whatever reason, skirts and I just don't get along. However, I did have a skort in 4th grade, and it was awesome.

I'm glad to get those controversial dislikes off my chest, but I feel like this post was a bit negative. To leave you on a high note, watch this:

Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. OK, I kind of take back what I said about museums. Some of them are great. Museums are medium.