We’ve all heard it time and time again: calories in, calories out. (I like to imagine it being said in a high, shrieky voice, like an obnoxious personal fitness trainer is browbeating me to death.) But let me tell you another story: last night, I weighed myself for the first time in months, simply because I had no idea where I was at. Great news: I’d lost five pounds since the last time I’d stepped on the scale o' doom. Excited, I decided to try it again in the morning, because every Weight Watchers lifer knows that you weigh the least first thing in the morning.  For the first time in months, I had something to look forward to in the morning. Imagine my surprise when the scale registered that I'd gained three additional pounds overnight! And my anger! And my despondency! And the reason why I ate half a german chocolate cake for breakfast to make myself feel better!

(Side note: I do not normally keep half a german chocolate cake in my house for emergencies. But Dan Foley brought a whole german chocolate cake to writers' group this week. After we all had a taste, I whined about how I was the birthday girl and should take the rest of the cake home to share with my husband. So I got the cake, and when Jason went to try a piece, I stabbed him with a fork.)

But back to the evidence at hand: If it really is “calories in, calories out,” then please explain to me how I gained three pounds doing nothing but sleeping. Plus, I grind my teeth at night, which could technically constitute exercise. There is NO WAY that by following the traditional model, I could consume zero calories, burn calories with all that tooth-grinding, and still gain weight.

Clearly, we are all being lied to. It’s a conspiracy by the dieting industry and possibly Richard Simmons to keep us all fat, miserable, and shelling out our hard-earned cash for weight loss products that don’t work. I, for one, refuse to stand for it. (In a few months, at this rate, I won’t even be able to stand, in which case, I will refuse to roll for it.) Clearly, eating less and exercising more is just a stupid fairy tale. I am an adult. I demand to know what the secret to weight loss really is. And don’t give me this “calories in, calories out” crap. I would be more likely to believe that magical elves come out at night and use their pretty purple wands to determine who will gain and who will lose weight overnight. Wait? Is that it? Are there magical weight elves?

That’s something to ponder as I drive to the store to buy new batteries for my bathroom scale. It flashed me a low battery alert this morning.

But I really think I’m on to something with these magical elves.

Jason and I rent a lot of movies from the local library. Recently, we discovered the first season of the Smurfs cartoon hiding in the children's section. Being two mature adults with no children, we immediately decided to rent it. I'll chalk it up to a Gen-X nostalgia thing.
We were excited to revisit this favorite cartoon from our childhoods. There was Papa Smurf, Brainy Smurf, and Grouchy Smurf (my personal favorite). We sang along to the theme song (the overcomplicated "la,la, la-la-la-la" came back to us quickly) and tucked in for some quality entertainment.
I'll admit, I chuckled the first few times Grouchy said "I hate Smurfberries!" and "I hate gag gifts that blow up in my face!" I remembered why he was my favorite as a kid--I was a bit of a grouch myself. But after a while, it got a little predictable. Kind of a one-note joke, that Grouchy. I'm sure I found him hilarious when I was a child, especially since up until the age of 8, my only brush with real, honest-to-goodness humor was my cousin Lori, who had the amazing talent of being able to hang a spoon off of her nose. Still cracks me up to this day. But I digress. It turns out that Grouchy wasn't nearly as funny as I remembered.
The Smurfs were cute, for a while, but a few more things came back to me. Like how it was no wonder why Jason and I remembered the theme song, since the stupid Smurfs sang it about sixteen times during every episode. And how Smurfette's voice always reminded me of howling cats clawing a chalkboard. I seem to have forgotten what a little tart she was, toying with the Smurfs' emotions. (Even Papa Smurf was smitten with her, which makes him a dirty old Smurf.) Plus, I'd forgotten what an annoying suck-up Brainy Smurf was. And how stupid, if not borderline malicious, Jokey Smurf's tricks were. 
Jokey's malevolent explosive gifts were only the beginning. I quickly became alarmed at how cruel and violent the Smurfs were, particularly towards Gargamel and Azrael. (Did I say Grouchy Smurf was my favorite? I always loved Azrael as a kid, probably because he was a cat.) Sure, Gargamel was evil and always wanted to eat the Smurfs, but that doesn't give those little blue gremlins the right to try and murder the man and his cat. Within the first three episodes, Azrael was thrown from a tall tree, nearly roasted to death by a dragon, and, of course, had not one, but two presents from Jokey Smurf blow up in his face. It's all fun and games until the cat loses his whiskers, folks, and it happened no less than seventy times in the first season. Those Smurfs owed Azrael an apology and a whole lot of tuna.
I also realized that the show took a lot of liberties substituting the word "smurf" for regular words. At first, it seemed okay, even kind of cute. 
"That's smurf-tastic!"
"Have a smurfy day!"
"Let's get the smurf out of here!"

 Umm . . . what was that last one? 
Apparently, the writers of the show must have thought it was funny to substitute "smurf" for--dare I say it?--vulgarities. Throughout each 23-minute episode, expressions like "He really smurfed us!" and "What the smurf is that?" abounded. Sure, sometimes there were other words that weren't dirty that maybe they might have meant, but substituting "He really scared us!" instead of "He really smurfed us!" doesn't quite work after Gargamel throws a bunch of Smurfs in a cooking pot and sets it to boil. I call shenanigans!
By the time we finished The Smurfs: Season 1, I was feeling a little disillusioned. I didn't know whether to call PETA about the mistreatment of Azrael or call the library and tell them exactly what I thought of their smurfing video. Gone was the innocence of my younger days, when all was happy, innocent, and smurfy. I was left feeling empty, hollow, and totally smurfed.
I decided to make myself some hot chocolate and watch something more innocent, like a Disney movie. Because nothing bad could happen in The Fox and the Hound, right? Right?
Turns out, in the words of Grouchy Smurf, I hate The Fox and the Hound. I was better off with those filthy Smurfs.

Another year has passed, and you're probably wondering how my 2013 was. Wonder no more: Here are my highlights from the past year!

January: January 23rd came and went without any injuries to my knees. Since it was January 23, 2011, that I fell while ice skating and tore my MCL and chipped my knee cap, I tend to dread this date now. Also, I turned 40 this month. My family and friends plied me with lots of chocolate cake, so it wasn't so bad.

February: This was the month that I failed miserably at my attempt to follow the Atkins Diet in what will forever be known as "The Great Chocolate Mousse Cake Intervention." After recovering from my sugar withdrawal, I decided it would be healthier and safer for all involved if I ditched the diet and just bought bigger pants.

March: A low point in my year. Yes, I ate chocolate cake on my sister's birthday, but I had a sinus infection for most of the month. This was the month when I discovered home remedies for illness don't work that well. Also, if you chug apple cider vinegar, it will make you vomit.

April: This was the month we filed our taxes. Also, we realized we could no longer afford chocolate cake. I thought March was bad? Hah!

May: My addiction to Downton Abbey began in May. My mother and sister forced me to start watching this series (by mentioning that it was good) and my life was changed forever. Side effects have included talking in a mangled British accent and dressing like the Dowager Countess. Withdrawal symptoms can be easily managed by re-watching seasons over and over again on Netflix.

June: This month, I wrote an introspective letter to my teenage self. Highlights: I still love Duran Duran, and I have turned into my mother.

July: I went to see Stephen King at the Bushnell. He failed to acknowledge my existence. Hack.

August: This month, I listed the top ten sexiest actors ever. People universally hailed my list as "shallow" and "ridiculous."

September: Jason and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary by watching Sharknado and eating chocolate cake. Mmm, cake.

October: My book, Secret Things, came out this month. Hooray! This enabled me to brag that I had a book out, and meant that 3/4 of my Christmas shopping list was done. Didn't get a copy of Secret Things for Christmas? When's your birthday?

November: On November 2nd, I fulfilled a lifelong dream (or at least a dream I've had since the first season of Survivor aired) and met Richard Hatch. Now, besides bragging about having a book out, I could brag about meeting Richard Hatch. Life is good.

December: With every good thing that happens (see: meeting Richard Hatch) life has to throw a few dirty snowballs at you to keep things even. I had to sit through no less than seven crappy holiday specials this month, including Santa Claus is Coming to Town (insipid), Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (wishy-washy), and 'Twas the Night Before Christmas (nauseating). Also, because of all the cookies, there was no chocolate cake. But at least I got to meet Richard Hatch. 

Here's hoping for a fabulous 2014! And more Richard Hatch!

Faithful readers have long heard me lament about my ancestors' inability to settle in warmer climes. Noooo, my stupid forefathers decided to prove they were of heartier stock, and settled smack in the middle of blizzard country. The only decent thing they did was put down roots in Connecticut, which is practically balmy compared to Maine. However, as this past week reminded me, it's still cold in Connecticut for eight months out of the year, and we get a lot of snow.
Fresh off of New Year's Day, the powers that be (yup, I blame God and Scot Haney) decided to dump some more snow on us here in New England. I was not amused. Instead of relaxing on my day off, I now had to make beef stew and bake cookies, because being a good New England girl, that's what I was trained to do when it snows. I spent my day in the kitchen, wishing I lived down South, where surely I would be lounging by the pool and drinking mimosas. Instead, I was trapped in the house with a tub full of water, not for lounging in but just in case the power went out and I needed water to flush the toilet. Also, I couldn't even *pretend* that I was somewhere tropical, because the only mixer I had for the champagne was hot chocolate. Have I mentioned I hate New England?
It snowed into the early hours of Friday, and when we woke up, Jason began shoveling. I had to go into the basement with my hairdryer because a couple of pipes had frozen solid. I sat there in my flannel jammies, aimed the hairdryer at the pipes next to the wall, and read a book. 
Once the water started flowing again, I made myself some coffee, and waited for Jason. He came in and announced that my car battery was dead and one of my tires was nearly flat. Figures. We tried to jump it with his car, failed, and called AAA. We waited for six hours for them to arrive, and in six seconds, they had the car running again. None of this, you realize, would ever have happened if we lived in, say, South Carolina.
I suppose I should count my blessings. For instance, I hear that down south, they have a problem with newts and other various lizards getting into their homes. Seeing as I disturbed a family of mice and no less than sixteen wolf spiders to get to the frozen pipe, I really don't see how a few cute little geckos in the house are a problem. But maybe they are. Maybe Southerners get tired of the lizards trying to sell them insurance all the time. At least the mice in our home mostly just poop and run away.
Also, in the warmer states, they spend a lot of money keeping their homes air conditioned year-round. I'm sure that costs a pretty penny. Although not as much as electric heat, which is what we have, and which we turn on in October and keep running through June. I hate you, Southerners!
I should remember that some people get a lot of enjoyment out of snow. I've actually heard others comment that a blanket of snow is rather beautiful, though I've always chalked that up to crazy talk. Plus, my nephews told me today that they were out sledding and building snowmen. My sister came on the line and told me she couldn't talk long because she was using her hairdryer to combat the frostbite on the boys' fingers and toes, but hey, as long as they had fun.
New England: cold, snowy, and we're a notoriously unfriendly population. Remind me again why I live here?