Not Barbie, Not Married to Ken...

But Something Much Better: ME

It was something Monique Marvez, author of Not Skinny, Not Blonde, said that got me going on this Not Barbie: Not Married to Ken kick.

It was so true. Just like Monique, I always wanted to be skinny. I always wanted to be blonde.

The real truth: I always wanted to be Barbie! Barbie had it all. She was beautiful, skinny, blonde and rich. She had a great house, great clothes, great car and always attended fabulous parties—at the beach, at the hotel.

And I’m sure I’m not the ONLY girl who had this dream.

But even better…Barbie had Ken. Ken. Ken the most handsome doll in all the land. I can’t tell you how many times Ken and I walked down the aisle in my imagination. I spent hours envisioning life with a perfect husband like Ken. There had to be a picket fence and 2.5 kids somewhere in that picture.

And then it happened. Being Barbie and Ken didn’t seem idyllic anymore. Barbie and Ken broke up. The break-up happened right before Valentine’s Day (can you imagine) in 2004. Supposedly Barbie—the most admired doll in the world—did the dumping (at least according to the AP wire). The two had been a pair for 43 years and without warning they were kaput, splitsville, finished.

A Mattel spokesperson told reporters, “They had grown apart." "Needed some time alone." "Were going their separate ways." "They would remain friends."

I couldn’t believe the news. Barbie. Ken. The end. But those two had ridden off into the sunset in their pink convertible. Not Barbie and Ken. No.

To make matters worse within a few months Barbie hooked up with a boy-toy surfer dude named Blaine.

I’m not sure who started the gay rumor. Poor Ken.

But reportedly, Ken took it like a doll—er man.

Instead of lashing out or seeking revenge, he sought to improve himself.

In 2006 (again I totally missed this announcement) the new Ken stepped out at a Manhattan news conference. The AP wire buzzed again, “The new and improved Ken sported a more rugged jaw line, wore cargo pants and listened to Norah Jones.”

Some reporter mentioned Barbie’s ex now rode a motorcycle while another claimed that Ken “dabbles in Buddhism.” Yet another reporter told her viewers the doll had taken cooking lessons and might help in the kitchen. But there was more. Ken, no longer content with being perfect, regularly worked out. Ken Doll returned to the scene buffed. Ken was now toting a six-pack.

Yet Barbie still hasn’t taken him back. She even tweated about it. “For the hundredth time, I promise I'm not with Ken! I'm very much single and actually talking to a new boy right now...”

What appeared to be a match made in heaven—two perfect people living two perfect lives—is all pretend. Finally I have seen the light.

Forget it Barbie. You may be beautiful, skinny, blonde and rich, but now I see who you really are—fake, fickle and hungry. No thank you. And Ken, sweet adorable Ken. I no longer pine for you, for what women in her right mind wants to be with a doll more beautiful than she? Oh yes. I now regularly shout my new mantra, “I am not Barbie and not married to Ken.”

Allyn Evans
Email me!
www.liveapowerfullife.com

I decided to re-publish one of my favorites. Enjoy.

Hocus Pocus. Abracadabra. Remind you a little of Practical Magic? Witchcraft. Trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Forgive the drama, but unfortunately it’s true. Spells exist. Big spells. Little spells. We live in a world where spells are cast and someone falls prey.

You are probably right now under the influence of more than one spell.

Take a breath—it’s not life threatening. But it is serious. According to Caroline Myss a spell is a mental lock-in. She explained to her Hay House radio listening audience: “What if someone says, ‘You look terrible today?’ You accept the spell. Voilà. You feel terrible all day.”

Mrs. Middleton taught me speech and typing in high school. One day I wore a black t-shirt with jeans to school. She pulled me aside. “Allyn, I must tell you. You look sick when you wear black. Never wear black near your face.” Do I wear black against my face now? Do I have to tell you the answer to that question?

A spell is like a superstition:
“I can’t lose weight.”
“I can’t succeed.”
“I’m stupid.”

Here’s the deal. You have locked into a false belief. FALSE. A superstition. Did a black cat just walk underneath the ladder? Did you break a mirror? You now have seven years of bad luck.

I cringed as I listened to Caroline. Thinking I don’t look good in black. Spell. Believing women over 40 can’t lose weight. Spell.

Here’s what is not a spell: I am five feet, three inches tall. Here’s another … I was born in New Orleans.

Spellcasters don’t have to be witches either. It can be Ms. Middleton, my well-intentioned high school teacher, who was only trying to help. It can be your mom. Your best friend. Your spouse. Spellcasters can have your best interest at heart. Really. Or so they think.

Recently my husband and I attended a school event. We ate lunch with our daughter. Her friend’s parents couldn’t come, and we invited the child to join us. We laughed. Joked. Then it was time to leave.

Later that evening my daughter reported, “Sylvia told me some things about you.” “What?” I asked. You know about curiosity and the cat.

“She said dad is bald and you are a little wide in the hips.” Ouch. Cats are part of spell casting magic. And to think I had been feeling pretty good about my appearance. As much as I tried not to let them, the spell of a nine-year-old girl’s words stung. A child speaks, and I ask, “Are my hips that wide?”

The reality is…spells are cast all the time. Ricocheting from parents, friends, teachers, magazines, movies, commercials, the culture itself—you know, groupthink—and most of us are immediately spellbound.



Hollywood casts spells. TV casts spells. Fashion casts spells. Let’s talk about the popular TV reality show What Not To Wear. Hosts Jillian Hamilton and Clinton Kelly grab unsuspecting victims turned in by friends or family who are only trying to help. Jillian and Clinton give it to them about their lack of fashion sense.

And Jillian and Clinton are NOT nice. They put Little Janie in a room with surround mirrors. Talk about my worst nightmare. They have Little Janie try on her awful clothes and tell her why she looks so terrible. They then send spellstung Little Janie off with $5,000 to get her new look.

When she returns, Janie is told why everything she selected using their rules and expert advice works for her. “See Janie. The flared leg is so much more slimming.” Little Janie, who is now smiling and so pleased with her self, nods in agreement. “Remember those slim cut jeans you used to own. You know the ones we threw in the trash? They made you look 10 pounds heavier.”

Scriiiiitch. Slim cut jeans are back! What does Little Janie do now? Little Janie looks fat in slim cut jeans. The spell has been cast. And the spell has been accepted. How can Janie believe anything else? The famous TV Fashion People told her she looked fat in slim cut jeans.

Even though I don’t know a spell to counter a spell, I do know a place to begin—a way to stop at least one spell. It’s black-t-shirt-buying time. That’s what time it is. And after that it’s time to wear my black t-shirt. And you know what? I’m going to look damn good in it too. Poof. Spell be gone.

Allyn Evans
www.liveapowerfullive.com
www.allynevans.com

A Day In My Life

It's unseasonably cold in Oklahoma. It's so cold that our pool has ice it in and we are working day and night to keep the water flowing and skimmer clear.

Enjoy the pictures. The middle one shows some of the ice we removed from the pool yesterday.

Also for fun, there is a YouTube video you might enjoy. It's about correcting a disorder for the annoyingly cheerful. Click here to enjoy!






Allyn Evans
www.allynevans.com
Email me!

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Celebrating The Holidays With Ease

Introducing...our lovely, beautiful tree...a view from the street.

In November, I made a presentation to some employees of Chesapeake Energy. The topic. De-stressing the Holidays.

Wished I had already solved my Christmas tree dilemma by then. It would have made a great slide!

And now for the back story...

It's been a busy two months. So busy in fact that my family and I couldn't schedule a day to buy the tree and pull out the decorations. I decided to put my own advice to work...about de-stressing and cutting back during the holidays, if life was too crazy.

Last weekend, and feeling a little desperate about the situation, we purchased a fake tree.

Since my daughter was about three, we've always had a live tree. We also decorate the house with all the ceramic and related holiday themed trinkets.

This year, we are sort of acting like the Kranks (well...at least in the beginning of the story). Although not actually "skipping Christmas," we aren't doing it up in our usual fashion.

So, this purchasing a fake something is a new thing.

And then I spotted it. The price was reasonable. It actually cost less than our annual live tree purchase.

"I'll take it," I said to the store clerk.

"Oh, that? The Charlie Brown tree?"

"Charlie Brown? Really? But I like it."

"Me too," my daughter said.

And so my daughter and I left the store with our Charlie Brown tree.

We put it up in 10 minutes. Ten minutes. I danced with glee for what seemed like hours!

From the curb at night, it looks like we have the most fabulous tree ever (see picture above). The reality is (in the light of day)...it really is Charlie Brown "ish."

See for yourself what I mean.

I don't know about you, but I love our Charlie Brown tree.

http://www.allynevans.com/
Email

The Things We Do

I can see it now. One hundred years into the future, there will be a woman who decides to write about the tortures women of the early 21st century endured.

She would be writing about what they did. "They literally punched holes in odd places. They punched holes in their earlobes. Not only this, needles were used. How crazy is that?"

She would also report that she discovered pictures of women with bellybutton, nose, lip and tongue rings.

"Some of them had multiple puncture wounds. Men did it too." She would report how interesting the diary entries were.

"I can find no medical reason for someone to do this. It appears to be purely a vanity issue."

She would also report on the body art. "Some people allowed tattoo artists, as they were called, to paint pictures on them, again with needles. Many seemed to take the subtle approach, but some covered themselves with body art."

As I thought about this woman who would write about us so many years in the future, I was pulling off my Solar nails. This made me think of corsets. Wasn't that about hundred years ago? And wasn't it crazy that women wore them?

Okay, so the corset deal was a lot worse. Right? You should see my nails! Oops. I just pulled off the top layer.

And then I start thinking about my week.

"I have an event to attend. I have to get my nails done. I’m serious."

These thoughts are running through my head. "I shouldn’t get my nails done on Monday. I need to allow more time to heal. Ouch! My nails are tender to the touch."

I'm still thinking, but now I'm talking out loud: "Gotta do them. Gotta get them done. I can’t go without the nails. Look at these nails. It will not hurt too badly. I’ll tell them to go easy. Gotta have my nails."

And then it hits me. "Oh no. The roots are showing."

Allyn Evans

http://www.allynevans.com/

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Seeking Inspiration from a Little Artificial Intelligence

Ever heard of Jabberwacky's Cleverbot? My daughter offered an introduction. Cleverbot is different. Doing my typical thing, I googled to get answers. When I didn't find anything there (okay, so I am not the most patient person), I moved to http://www.dogpile.com./

Of course, I didn't look far...meaning I didn't research enough to find answers. Let's face it...I simply don't care that much. Here's what I found: "Jabberwacky is an artificial intelligence (AI)-a chat robot, often known as a 'chatbot' or 'chatterbot'. It aims to simulate natural human chat in an interesting, entertaining and humorous manner."

My daughter and I played with it for a little while and had a few good laughs. Enough laughing that my husband wanted to know what was so funny! We also believe we discovered the secret behind Cleverbot. I'll not reveal that, though, unless you email me privately. But, we really had fun with it after that. :)

Yesterday, I decided to revisit Cleverbot to help me come up with a new post for this blog. This week the well was running a little dry. And I thought...what the heck!

So I visited Cleverbot and typed the following.

Allyn: I need material for my blog. Any ideas?

Cleverbot: What do you need to know for school?

Allyn: No, not school. I need an idea for my next blog post.

Cleverbot: Those motives sound questionable.

Allyn: Interesting. Really, I promise my motives are pure. I am just looking for inspiration.

Cleverbot: You won't make friends by inferring that I'm not interesting enough to care about.

Allyn: Hmmm. That's not what I had in mind. I need to write something thoughtful or meaningful.

Cleverbot: What is your favorite song?

Allyn: No. That's not going to work either.

Cleverbot: You aren't into inversion.

Allyn: Nope. No good. Doesn't fit with the theme of my blog.

Cleverbot: You seem very wise. (Exact words, pinky swear. At this point, I'm thinking AI is a good thing.)

Allyn: That's why I write a blog!

Cleverbot: Want to hear another?

Allyn: What? Oh never mind... (At this point, I shut her down. We weren't getting anywhere and I still had a post to write.)

Turns out Cleverbot didn't help me at all. Let's just say I'm not that impressed with this version of AI. But not all was lost because maybe, just maybe, I've introduced something new to you. And, you can go check it out for yourself when you are in between tasks or projects, or simply killing time.

Would love to know what you think about the experience. And if you want to know what I really think about Cleverbot, email me!

Allyn Evans
http://www.allynevans.com/
info at allynevans.com
P.S. I caught a few inappropriate references (adult content). So caution is advised to parents. I have asked my daughter to only visit Cleverbot when I am with her.

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Automated Voice Madness: The Day I Disconnected

Today I talked to Mechanical Lady. This Mechanical Lady was new to me. Oh yes, I've talked to her kin folks both male and female over the years. Most times, I end up frustrated and mad. Today's Mechanical Lady was even a bit tricky.

I called to cancel a magazine subscription I didn't authorize and Mechanical Lady answered. Instead of giving me the option to cancel and get a refund, she said, "Today is your lucky day! You have qualified to receive our magazine for only $5 a year."

That's good news because they charged me $33 to renew.

She continued, "Will you give me approval to refund your money and sign you up for the new subscription to the same magazine for $5?"

I stammered, "Refund only."

"Pardon," she said back.

She patiently repeated the question and I couldn't decide what to do. Saying no might mean starting this conversation from scratch. (If you read the article below, you'll see why I was a bit leery of repeated calling to get my task accomplished.) And I had no intention of saying yes!

So, I did the only thing I could.

I said, "No."

"Hmmmmm," she said. "Well, okay," trying to sound more human. "I have another offer. What if I refund your money and then give you a $5 subscription to a sister magazine. Yes?"

In the end, I was promised almost 100% back. There was some $1.50 processing fee. And I have no new subscription. After our transaction ended, Mechanical Lady kept talking..."I have another offer for you."

I hung up.

A fews years back, I wrote a story about a similar experience. If you want a good laugh, keep reading. Would LOVE to hear your automated madness stories. I bet there are some good ones out there.

More Automated Madness

“All right,” says Mechanical Man in a cheery halting voice. “To get started please say or enter the number you are talking about.”

I say my number.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. Please….” I repeat the number. We do it a third time.

Then I punch in the numbers.

“Tell me the purpose of your call in a few words. Like I need to change my phone service. Or I want new phone service.”

“Change order.”

“Would you like to cancel, change or review your order?”

“Change.”

“I’m sorry first you must pay your overdue bill.”

“I don’t owe any money.”

“Pardon.” Silence. “Let me access your records. Yes, your account is paid in full.”

“I know.” I am screaming at Mechanical Man.

“Pardon? I did not understand. Would you like to speak to a customer service representative about your account?”

“Yes.”

“Please hold.”

I hold. I hear nothing. I cuss under my breath just hoping those friendly little recording devices are recording my customer dissatisfaction. Then I hear beep, beep, beep, beep.

I slam down the phone and try again. I do this six times. Six times. Mechanical Man tells me I have called many times before. “Is this about an unresolved issue?”

You bet your sweet….

Finally, after going through the can’t-help-you-till-you-pay-your-bill-and-yep-your-bill-is-paid-in-full cycle again (now we’re on call number seven), I finally get through. “Hello, Collections. How may I help you?”

Agggghhhhh!

“I don’t owe money. The system says I owe money and then says I don’t owe money and then transfers me to you.”

“You don’t owe money.”

“I know!”

“I’ll transfer you to customer service.”

Fast forward ten minutes later—yes, ten minutes! “Hello, how may I help you?” says Rude Phone Guy.

“I need to cancel a work order I made yesterday.”

“Sorry, ma’am. You can’t do that. You have to let them come out and install and then cancel. You will not be charged.”

Was I hearing this right? “Are you sure,” I kept asking. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m sure. Call us after it’s installed.” Eventually I consent. I tell Rude Phone Guy to transfer me. (Maybe I should call him Saving Your Company Lots of Money Guy instead.) He does.

I have more than one piece of business to handle with this conglomerate.

“May I help you?” Sweet Internet Lady says.

Finally, a nice person of good cheer who seems interested in being helpful. She cancels my order and goes so far as to give me special tips so that I wouldn’t be penalized later. How nice. Then she says, “Have I done everything possible to serve you in the best way?”

I mumble “Yes” in a grumpy, irritated voice. I’m thinking to myself if she ONLY knew. She doesn’t because I don’t tell her. I am tired of talking.

“You may be called later and asked about your experience. Please let them know how pleased you are.”

Sure.

I have one more step to complete this day before being fully disentangled from my worst nightmare. What the hell had I been thinking? The Sign Up Guy I had talked to the previous day was GOOD. Even though he couldn’t see me, he knew I had sucker written all over my face. I am wondering why I have to talk to three different people when smooth Sign Up Guy did it all for me with one magic press of a key.

I call the final number. Surprisingly, a real person comes on line quickly. No Mechanical Guy for this bunch. I only have to wait about three minutes. Talk about excitement! I start talking. I start explaining. I want to disconnect! Yes, disconnect.

“What’s your name?”

“Allyn.”

“You’re not Greg?”

“I’m his wife.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, you can’t order the disconnect because the account is not in your name,” says Nasty Satellite Guy.

“I made the initial order—just yesterday. What do you mean I can’t cancel it?”

“Sorry. You can’t.”

I argue. It doesn’t help.

Dang, I think. Now I get the pleasure of calling my husband and telling him he gets to call and cancel an order he never made. He’s going to love this. He especially loves being pulled into dramas not of his own making. Don’t we all? So I tell this guy. “He’s going to be so mad about this.” Like Nasty Satellite Guy really cares.

“We’re open 24/7 for your convenience,” he says.

“My convenience would be if you’d let me cancel this service.” And I can’t stop. I have been at this all morning. Mechanical Man, Rude Phone Guy, Sweet Internet Lady and now Nasty Satellite Guy. “My husband’s going to be so mad,” I keep saying. And then I do something I just don’t do. I unleash on Nasty Satellite Guy. Hours and hours of pent-up frustration come pouring out. Heck, I think he even gets a little of the previous week’s anger. At first he argues back, which I find odd. Then he stops. Finally my tirade passes. I have the last word. I hang up.

A few days later, we decide to cancel a program we have with a major credit card company. Again, I am not Greg and again they refuse to talk to me despite the fact that a person named Greg had called in and given them permission to talk to me. It is on record.

“Sorry, ma’am. Canceling the card is not covered under the permission.”

I hold my breath.

This time I refuse to pull my hubby into the drama. I sat down and wrote a letter. I ask for the account to be cancelled and sign it Greg.

Guess what? The notice of cancellation arrived in the mail today. In the note is included the request signed by none other than Greg. NOT. I feel like calling Mechanical Man

Allyn Evans
info at allynevans.com
www.allynevans.com


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Beyond Bad Hair

I love to walk into a bookstore and then wait for a book to find me. And you know, 'it' always does. On this particular trip with hubby and daughter in tow, a book titled The Merry Recluse caught my attention. The book is a compilation of mostly reprints from a weekly Boston Phoenix column written by the late Carolyn Knapp. I first experienced Caroline's work when I read Appetites: Why Women Want.

Caroline, like Anne Lamont of Traveling Mercies shares openly the chapters of her life. I mean, she tells it all—good, bad and the ugly, and everything in-between. Caroline had so many demons, but the ones that plagued her the most were food and alcohol. Eventually, Caroline died of cancer in 2002. She was only 42 years old.

The other day, one essay grabbed my attention. Actually, she intended to make us laugh with this one. But as I read it, I wasn't laughing. The words were laced with pain. In “Beyond Bad Hair: Thin Lips, Square Breasts, and Other Horrors" Caroline shares things that plagues most women. She claims having a bad hair day is the least of our worries.

She shared plenty of other examples with us:

*Why-are-these-pants-pinching-me-around-the-waist Day. (Been there, done that.)
*My-lips-are-too-thin Day. (Can’t say that I own that one.)
*Since-when-have-my-pores-been-so-cavernous Day. (Oh, yes … definitely been there.)

Although I don't have all the same thoughts or moments, I do understand what she's saying. And I bet that most women reading her book or this article do too.

My recent beyond-bad-hair-day moments go something like this...

*My-face-is-swollen-and-my-eyes-are-puffy Day
*Where-did-those-new-wrinkles-come-from Day
*When-did-I-start-growing-gray-hair-on-my-arms Day (That happened yesterday.)

Probably the one that tickled me the most was Caroline’s mention of the: Oh-no-I-missed-a-patch-of-hair-on-my-knee Day. Okay, so I seem to have more of those than I care to mention.

And then it slaps me right in the face ... and Caroline has the perfect ending to it all. "God, it's hard to be a girl!" Amen, Caroline. Amen.

It is hard to be a girl. I'm ready to play another game now. So here's to trying especially hard to put this beyond-bad-hair thinking to rest. Really, I'm not listening anymore. Remember what I wrote last week?

Yep, it’s hard to be a girl, but today it just got a whole lot easier. And I’ll be the first to admit I’m SO not there yet, but baby, I’m getting closer with each passing day. Now, that’s something to celebrate.

Buttered Popcorn, Buttered Sin. Fun or Fattening?

Today's blog is something I wrote last year. But it goes along with the last post. Because although I am in a better place, making better choices about food and nutrition, I still love movie popcorn! If I go to the movies, I can't resist. And let's face it. Movie popcorn isn't my only challenge.

Update: Okay, I'm still a work in progress, but I am maintaining the new weight and keeping up the exercise regime. The most difficult challenge comes at night. But I am working on creating new patterns of behavior to help me avoid those times when I simply want to snack on something crunchy, like...ahem...popcorn, or drink those empty calories. Aaaggghhhh.

On that note read about a movie going experience and an epiphany I had last year.

Buttered Popcorn, Buttered Sin

My cousin and I get a chance to go to a grown-up’s movie, a rare treat for moms. No Cars. No Ice Age 2. No Over the Hedge. We can pick a REAL movie. A movie just for us. We pick "The Devil Wears Prada."

“We’ve got to have popcorn.” Sheryll says. “It’s part of the experience.”

I agree. Popcorn, even at top dollar, is a theater MUST. At the popcorn-ordering counter we debate. Small? Medium? Large? I step up to the plate. “We’ll share a medium-sized popcorn.”

“Butter?” the popcorn guy asks.

Butter? My daughter Addy adds butter. I don’t add butter. Butter is full of bad things. Butter kills. I never eat popcorn with butter. NEVER. Dripping, hot, creamy butter? No. No can do. Don’t do butter. Can’t do butter. Okay, I will not lie. I’ve tasted it. When Addy orders butter, I eat half. Oh, butter. But adult women don’t eat butter. Sheryll wouldn’t want butter. Sheryll wouldn’t even like butter. I am confident. Adult women don’t eat butter.

“No butter,” I say.

“What?” Sheryll sounds horrified.
I think she is appalled at the thought of adding butter. I promise I don’t want butter. No butter. “No butter. No butter.”

We have to do this right,” Sheryll says. “We HAVE to have butter.”

I grin.

“Do you want it layered?” Popcorn Guy says. “You know, popcorn, butter, popcorn, butter, popcorn, butter?”

Sheryll and I smile. Popcorn Guy gets it. He totally gets it. Popcorn. Butter. Popcorn. Butter. Popcorn. Butter. Good. Um. Good. Um. Good.

We watch the movie. We laugh. We eat. We lick our fingers. About halfway through the movie, fashion editor Nigel is disgusted by the excess weight of young, naïve Andy. “You are a size 6. That’s the new 14,” Nigel says. I laugh. I eat more butter. I lick my fingers. I don’t want to think about what size my butter-eating-popcorn-self is.

Later in the movie a character called Emily talks about how she lost weight. “I don’t eat,” she says. “When I feel faint I have a cube of cheese. Works like a charm.” Licking my fingers, I laugh. But deep down inside I don’t laugh.

Emily starves herself. Denies herself. Her level of denial cuts much deeper than anything I could ever muster. She looks good. We would all like to look so good. I bet she wears a size 2. Does that translate into the new size 10? She starves herself because she wants to look great in Paris.

Ah, Paris. The place she yearns to go. Paris of the future. Unreachable Paris. But darn it, despite the self denial, she never makes it to Paris. She sacrifices. She suffers. She gets sidetracked by a head-on car collision. I get it. I finally get it.

All my life I’ve denied myself the butter. The real butter. Why? My trip to Paris comes in other forms. I want to look good. I want others to think I’m in control. I want others to think I have my act together. But for so long I have believed I can only have the happy-ever-after if I’m the right size. So far my Paris hasn’t come. But at the Malco Grandview in Madison, MS, I reach a decision. I don’t need a car crash to totally get it. Whether my over size 6 translates into over the new 14—at this point I don’t really care—my butterless popcorn days are over.

And from now on, it’s not going to be just popcorn with butter. It’s going to be layered.

*****

Do I still eat buttered popcorn? Yep, sometimes I do and sometimes I don't. What saves me is that I rarely go to the movies! :) But that's not the point. This weighing, healthy living thing is not about denial. It's about making good choices 80 percent of time.

Enjoy your holidays. Don't overstress about weight, eating or merriment. Enjoy and do the best you can at the moment you are faced with choice. If you do make what you consider a bad choice, don't beat yourself up. And don't make promises you can't keep. Simply live and enjoy being with those you love.

http://www.allynevans.com/
http://www.queenpower.com/

P.S. The other day the president of a company who sells Stevia sent me a sample of their products to try in my lemonade. I will be testing soon and after Christmas will let you know how it all turned out. I'll give you all the details just in time for all those New Year resolutions we'll be making!