Craft Porn

Last week, I promised to try a new recipe or craft from Pinterest every week. I have decided to post these attempts on tiddy.com for your inspiration/amusement.

Are you on Pinterest? I am a full-fledged addict. It is porn for crafters. Each night before I go to sleep, I snuggle in bed with my iPad and pin inspirational quotes and low-fat recipes. The effort pretty much ends there as I never follow up and complete the projects.

One of my favorite blogs is Pinstrosity, where readers send in photos of popular pins they tried at home. The blog posts the original pin and the attempt. Here is an example:

Pinterest makes things seem so easy. Five minutes on the site and you’re a regular Martha Stewart. And the ideas are so simple, yet life changing. For example, did you know you could wrap potatoes in tin foil in the morning, put them in a crock pot all day and have baked potatoes for dinner? Pinterest taught me that. Have you ever thought about substituting guacamole for mayonnaise for a healthier chicken salad? What if I told you that you could make the same rustic dining room table in the Pottery Barn catalog with 30 bucks worth of materials from Home Depot?

Some of the ideas are totally lame (Valentine’s Day cannolis, homemade wasp traps) but mostly awesome, which brings me to this week’s Pinterest attempt.

When I saw this pin, I knew it was going to be a winner. What an amazing birthday gift! Instead of merely purchasing a bottle of booze for a friend, you take it one step further and make it FANCY! Although the picture does not do it justice, it really turned out great! The green bottle really sets off all of the colors. Although it is very obvious, I want to point out that the photo on the left is the pin and my bottle is on the right.

Some helpful hints: I bought a shitload of gems at Oriental Trading Company online for about five bucks.When I say shitload, I mean 5,000. Guess what you’re getting for your birthday?

I used my hot glue gun which was extremely messy. Next time, I am going to try some clear craft glue.

You should also outline the labels with gems first and then work out from there. Otherwise, the lines won’t be as precise. I also made this mistake.

If you decide to make this, send me a pic and I will post. You know I’m going to bedazzle a bottle of champagne next!  Also, if there is a pin you want me to attempt, send it to me for my next Pinterest post!  If I don't receive any suggestions, I will be making my own gummy bears using sugar-free Jello next week.  I am dead serious.

Monday Inspiration

All of Our Days Are Nice

Today was fantastic. It was one of those days when you wake up with no expectations. I got up early to write a key email for work. I drank some coffee and ate breakfast with Mister Ferguson and Biddy—Mickey Mouse pancakes!

I got an early text from my buddy Kimmy. She and her husband Dicky (who also happens to be my hairdresser) were coming up to Seven Springs to ski for the day. My in-laws happened to be visiting us this weekend and offered to take Biddy to noon mass. I told them to pray for us and suited up to hit the slopes.

In the winter, we pretty much spend every weekend at Seven Springs. It is a ski resort in Western Pennsylvania with decent skiing and an amazing party scene. It is also an ideal place to check out premier ski fashion on the slopes. Nowhere else in this country would you find such an abundance of Steeler jerseys, camouflage jumpsuits, hunter orange jackets and jeans. These getups and many, many more are always on display for your enjoyment.

When Mister Fergs and I met up with Dicky/Kimmy today, Kimmy was coming off of a mountain meltdown. She had attempted to start her morning with an aggressive run and ended up having a tantrum mid-slope. This has happened to me so many times, I can’t even count. I have beaten my husband with my poles, cried and even hyperventilated when he has taken me out of my comfort zone.

I could care less about skiing aggressive runs, so we all agreed the best course of action was for the girls to cruise around and leave the back diamonds to the boys. We split off and Kimmy and I talked a little, skied a little and laughed a lot. We met as co-workers almost ten years ago. And while we no longer work for the same company, we have remained great friends. Kimmy is one of my favorite people to spend time with. One of the best memories I have of her is when we used to practice the art of ventriloquism when we were bored at work. We would try to have full conversations without moving our lips. We got pretty good at it too!

After a few runs, we met up with our husbands and had a leisurely lunch at Helens, which is a quaint little fancy restaurant on the side of the mountain that allows you to wear your ski boots. We all had crab bisque soup over mashed potatoes and a few bottles of red wine. I have been drinking boxed wine for so long that I am kind of out of the loop when it comes to bottled brands. We left the ordering up to Dicky. He chose Cupcake Pinot Noir and it was delicious. I highly recommend it.

When we got up to pay the bill, a family of four (Mom, Dad, two young kids) was walking out of the restaurant. As they left, the hostess called out, “Have a nice day!”

The mother whipped around, gave her a death stare and replied in the snottiest tone I have ever heard, “All of our days are nice.”

Needless to say, we all had a few glasses of wine so we collapsed in laughter. That lady was a complete and total douche. We went back out on the slopes with good energy and tore it up.

When I think about the day’s events, there isn’t one thing that I can point out that was outstanding. It was a just a day that I didn’t worry about anything, had a good time and laughed a lot. I guess Ice Cube said it best…Today Was a Good Day.

Potty Mouth

This is my daughter. I got a text message from her day care teacher today that said, “I guess the peg game at school really stresses Biddy out. She keeps yelling dammit at it.” By looking at the photo, it is hard to imagine this sweet little girl yelling profanities at a toy. It is also not a mystery where she picked up the word.


It’s situations like these that make me realize how much I have to learn about being a parent. Lately, bloggers everywhere have been posting these great lists with titles like “25 Things to Teach Your Daughter,” and “15 Rules for Raising a Boy.” I have to admit, I was thinking about making my own list and posting it right here on tiddy.com.

The reality is, I am nowhere near qualified to give parenting advice or even make a clever list for you. I gave birth without taking a class or reading a book about it. When Biddy was a baby, a new mommy friend asked me, “At what stage did you introduce green beans?”

What? I was supposed to do that? Did that come in the multi-pack from Sam’s Club? If not, she had not met green beans at that point.

My little bunny is almost three years old and isn’t even remotely interested in being potty trained. And I have no idea what to do about that. I took great comfort when my Mom told me, “It’s not like she will go to kindergarten in diapers.” Do they even make them that size? I blame myself a little for this. I did not want to buy one of those little potties for her because I thought it was gross and couldn’t fathom cleaning it out every time she pooped in it. Instead, I bought her a special seat that fits on the regular toilet and a step stool. Is this what is holding her back from getting out of diapers? If so, I will wait. I’m still not cleaning that thing out.

For all of my shortcomings as a parent, my little girl continues to thrive. She’s fearless. She hops right onto a ski lift without batting an eyelash. She will ride for an hour on the front of her Daddy’s paddleboard and even ski with him behind the boat. She looks people in the eye and speaks with confidence. These are all things she has learned from being a part of our family and I am very proud of that. It’s just the basics we need to work on! We will get there.

Even though I am not going to write a list of 25 ways to parent your daughter, I want to publish one that I read recently. This list is profound, completely doable and not cheesy like the majority of the lists I have read thus far. I even cried a little as a read it. This was published on the blog Diapers and Daisies. You can find the website here.

1. Paint her nails. Then let her scratch it off and dirty them up. Teach her to care about her appearance, and then quickly remind her that living and having fun is most important.

2. Let her put on your makeup, even if it means bright-red-smudged lips and streaked-blue eyes. Let her experiment in her attempts to be like you…then let her be herself.

3. Let her be wild. She may want to stay home and read books on the couch, or she may want to hop on the back of a motorcycle-gasp. She may be a homebody or a traveler. She may fall in love with the wrong boy, or meet Mr. Right at age 5. Try to remember that you were her age once. Everyone makes mistakes, let her make her own.

4. Be present. Be there for her at her Kindergarten performances, her dance recitals, her soccer games…her everyday-little-moments. When she looks through the crowds of people, she will be looking for your smile and pride. Show it to her as often as possible.

5. Encourage her to try on your shoes and play dress-up. If she would rather wear her brother’s superman cape with high heels, allow it. If she wants to wear a tutu or dinosaur costume to the grocery store, why stop her? She needs to decide who she is and be confident in her decision.

6. Teach her to be independent. Show her by example that woman can be strong. Find and follow your own passions. Search for outlets of expression and enjoyment for yourself- not just your husband or children. Define yourself by your own attributes, not by what others expect you to be. Know who you are as a person, and help your daughter find out who she is.

7. Pick flowers with her. Put them in her hair. There is nothing more beautiful than a girl and a flower.

8. Let her get messy. Get messy with her, no matter how much it makes you cringe inside. Splash in the puddles, throw snowballs, make mud pies, finger paint the walls: just let it happen. The most wonderful of memories are often the messy ones.

9. Give her good role models- you being one of them. Introduce her to successful woman- friends, co-workers, doctors, astronauts, or authors. Read to her about influential woman- Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Marie Curie. Read her the words of inspirational woman- Jane Austen, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson. She should know that anything is possible.

10. Show her affection. Daughters will mimic the compassion of their mother. “I love yous” and Eskimo kisses go a long way.

11. Hold her hand. Whether she is 3 years-old in the parking lot or sixteen years old in the mall, hold on to her always- this will teach her to be confident in herself and proud of her family.

12. Believe in her. It is the moments that she does not believe in herself that she will need you to believe enough for both of you. Whether it is a spelling test in the first grade, a big game or recital, a first date, or the first day of college…remind her of the independent and capable woman you have taught her to be

13. Tell her how beautiful she is. Whether it is her first day of Kindergarten, immediately after a soccer game where she is grass-stained and sweaty, or her wedding day. She needs your reminders. She needs your pride. She needs your reassurance. She is only human.

14. Love her father. Teach her to love a good man, like him. One who lets her be herself…she is after all wonderful

15. Make forts with boxes and blankets. Help her to find magic in the ordinary, to imagine, to create and to believe in fairy tales. Someday she will make her 5 by 5 dorm-room her home with magic touches and inspiration. And she will fall in love with a boy and believe him to be Prince Charming.

16. Read to her. Read her Dr. Seuss and Eric Carle. But also remember the power of Sylvia Plath and Robert Frost. Show her the beauty of words on a page and let her see you enjoy them. Words can be simply written and simply spoken, yet can harvest so much meaning. Help her to find their meaning.

17. Teach her how to love- with passion and kisses. Love her passionately. Love her father passionately and her siblings passionately. Express your love. Show her how to love with no restraint. Let her get her heart broken and try again. Let her cry, and gush, giggle and scream. She will love like you love or hate like you hate. So, choose love for both you and her.

18. Encourage her to dance and sing. Dance and sing with her- even if it sounds or looks horrible. Let her wiggle to nursery rhymes. Let her dance on her daddy's feet and spin in your arms. Then later, let her blast noise and headbang in her bedroom with her door shut if she wants. Or karaoke to Tom Petty in the living room if she would rather. Introduce her to the classics- like The Beatles- and listen to her latest favorite- like Taylor Swift. Share the magic of music together, it will bring you closer- or at least create a soundtrack to your life together.

19. Share secrets together. Communicate. Talk. Talk about anything. Let her tell you about boys, friends, school. Listen. Ask questions. Share dreams, hopes, concerns. She is not only your daughter, you are not only her mother. Be her friend too.

20. Teach her manners. Because sometimes you have to be her mother, not just her friend. The world is a happier place when made up of polite words and smiles.

21. Teach her when to stand-up and when to walk away. Whether she has classmates who tease her because of her glasses, or a boyfriend who tells her she is too fat- let her know she does not have to listen. Make sure she knows how to demand respect- she is worthy of it. It does not mean she has to fight back with fists or words, because sometimes you say more with silence. Also make sure she knows which battles are worth fighting. Remind her that some people can be mean and nasty because of jealousy, or other personal reasons. Help her to understand when to shut her mouth and walk-away. Teach her to be the bigger -the better- person.

22. Let her choose who she loves. Even when you see through the charming boy she thinks he is, let her love him without your disapproving words: she will anyway. When he breaks her heart, be there for her with words of support rather than I told-you-so. Let her mess up again and again until she finds the one. And when she finds the one, tell her.

23. Mother her. Being a mother—to her—is undoubtedly one of your greatest accomplishments. Share with her the joys of motherhood, so one day she will want to be a mother too. Remind her over and over again with words and kisses that no one will ever love her like you love her. No one can replace or replicate a mother’s love for their children.

24. Comfort her. Because sometimes you just need your mommy. When she is sick, rub her back, make her soup and cover her in blankets- no matter how old she is. Someday, if she is giving birth to her own child, push her hair out of her face, encourage her, and tell her how beautiful she is. These are the moments she will remember you for. And someday when her husband rubs her back in attempt to comfort her...she may just whisper, "I need my mommy."

25. Be home. When she is sick with a cold or broken heart, she will come to you: welcome her. When she is engaged or pregnant, she will run to you to share her news: embrace her. When she is lost or confused, she will search for you: find her. When she needs advice on boys, schools, friends or an outfit: tell her. She is your daughter and will always need a safe harbor- where she can turn a key to see comforting eyes and a familiar smile: be home.


Well tonight here at home it looks like we need to wash this little girl's mouth out with soap...and probably our own while we are at it!

123 Present Street

I recently read an article that stated the following:

If you’re depressed, you’re living in the past.

If you’re anxious, you’re living in the future.

If you’re content, you’re living in the present.

Anyone who knows me personally will agree that most of my anxiety issues are a direct result of me living in the future; worrying about what is going to happen tomorrow. What’s going to happen at work? Will I have enough time to complete tasks A, B and C? What will happen if I don’t? What’s going to happen this weekend? What if I forget to do X, Y and Z?

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with the unknown. I hate surprises—whether they are good or bad. I have always found a way to open my Christmas presents prior to the 25th and if there is a secret, I will sniff it out. I even skip to the end of books before I finish them.

If you really want to make me crazy, leave me a message on my voicemail telling me you need to talk to me about “something” and be unavailable when I try to call you back. I will drive to your house to find out what that “something” is. You might just want to know what I’m wearing to the party on Friday night. However, while I’m waiting for you to call me back, I’m thinking the worst. You have melanoma. You have fallen and you can’t get up. You’re stranded in a snowstorm and you need help and I was your last call and now your cell phone is out of batteries. You get the idea.

It’s this “worst-case scenario” type of thinking that keeps me from living in the moment and truly enjoying my surroundings. I’m so busy worrying about my future life that I don’t always appreciate the one I have right now. Instead of obsessing over the meeting I have tomorrow, I should be focused on painting my daughter’s fingernails. The meeting is going to take place whether I think about it or not. Why am I still thinking about it?

I suppose recognizing I have a problem is the first step. But how do I completely change my way of thinking? I’ve been living in the future but I want a new address. I know it is impossible to live in the moment all of the time. Unwittingly, our minds will always skip ahead to tomorrow. There’s too much to do, too much to know.

The only person I know who truly lives in the moment is my three year old daughter. Her little mind is never worried about what craft she is going to make tomorrow at day care or whether she has milk in her sippy cup. She just has fun doing what she’s doing at any given moment. I know she won’t be this carefree forever. One day she will start thinking and fretting about tomorrow. It will start small—who will she sit with at lunch? Will a boy notice her in the hallway? Eventually, her world and her tomorrows will get bigger and she will have more to think about—college, marriage, career, her own kids. And while some amount of planning and thinking about the future is healthy, I don’t want it to consume her like it does me. So I’m going to set a better example.

First of all, I need to be less available by phone, text and email. These things interrupt and distract me—constantly pulling me away from the moment. I’m constantly hearing phantom email and text notifications. Turning the phone on vibrate only makes me check it more often because I’m afraid I have missed something. This has to stop. When I am away from work, I need to be away from work. I’m going to start leaving the phone behind sometimes.  Just don't get all pissy when I don't return your texts right away!

Also, I need to acknowledge the future when it arrives. When all of the things I wished and worried for actually do happen, do I ever stop to appreciate them? No. I immediately start worrying and wishing for the next big thing. It’s exhausting.

I’m not big into meditating and all of that, but yoga seems to be helpful. I’m going to start going to classes again. Concentrating on movements and balance forces me to be present in the class. Although it’s hard and I’m not always enjoying myself, it is a good mental exercise.  Sometimes I am concentrating on the BO that is coming off of the Hippie next to me who hasn't shaved her armpits EVER.  But at least I'm not thinking about tomorrow.

Running is great for me also. When I start out, my mind is full of things to worry about. When I’m finished, I’m too tired to think about anything! Training for the marathon will give me many, many hours to focus on the poetic genius of Kanye West and Jay-Z instead of a conference call that is happening later.

In the half hour it took me to type this blog, I didn’t worry about tomorrow. I just enjoyed writing out my thoughts. Right now, I am content.



PS—Don’t even think about calling me and leaving a voicemail tomorrow saying you need to talk to me about “something.”

Errrrday is a Holiday

As the holiday season comes to a close, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the new year ahead. How can I make 2013 better than 2012? Like most Americans, I usually make a list of resolutions that include exercise, losing weight, drinking less, etc. I write them all down on a piece of paper and I’m lucky if I make it to Super Bowl Sunday before I’m knee deep in wings and beer. It is an ugly cycle that repeats itself every year.


I sat down to make my little list today and started to feel an overwhelming sense of dread and anxiety. Instead of forging ahead, I decided to take a step back and ponder why I felt this way. This is what I came up with:

I’m 35 years old. I have a full-time (plus plus) job, a husband and a toddler. This means that I wake up at 5:30 am every weekday to send emails before my daughter wakes up. Once she’s up, I get her fed, bathed, dressed and take her to day care. From there, I get myself ready, work all day and before I know it, my husband and daughter are walking through the door and there’s no dinner on the table. Day over. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The last time I checked, it was 2008. WTF has the time gone? How much longer will I continue to live this way until I make a change?

Don’t get me wrong. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my life. We definitely manage to have more fun than the average bear. The only problem is that we cram ALL this fun into the two days at the end of the week and then spend the next five days on autopilot—emailing, making calls, robot parenting and masquerading as adults. And if after reading my daily routine you were wondering when laundry and grocery shopping gets done, the answer is sometimes it doesn’t.

I love my job. When I am at work, I am genuinely engaged and passionate about what I do. I love my daughter and husband. In my very biased opinion, they are the most adorable humans on the planet and there is no one I would rather spend my time with. However, at the end of the day, something is missing.

I simply cannot make New Year’s resolutions for 2013. As much as I want to force myself to exercise and try some freaky new diet that requires me to eat like a caveman, I don’t think that is the answer for me in 2013. Instead, I have decided to make every day of the next year interesting.

Yes, I will be my own little version of “The Most Interesting Woman in the World.” There are so many things I want to try and experience (and in some cases, re-experience), yet I never make time for them. I get so caught up in my lame ass routine that I don’t even entertain adding something new and exciting to the work week. I realized today that has to change. You cannot live for weekends.

Following is a list of things I RESOLVE to accomplish (or at least try) in 2013:

1. Make my own champagne. This will really cut down on expenses.

2. Make a craft or recipe from Pinterest at least once a week.

3. Run the Pittsburgh Marathon (I know I have done this before, but it doesn’t get less difficult)

4. Blog regularly again.

5. Make a fabric covered headboard.

6. Start Pure Barre classes.

7. Flip a house.

8. Spend more time laughing with people I love.

After reading this list, it seems as though I might become “The Most Interesting Crafter in the World,” but this is my list and I’m definitely not normal.

As depressing as it is that the holidays are over, I am truly excited to begin my new year and I hope you are too. Sometimes spending quality time with the people you love helps you to realize that you don’t have to wait until special occasions to enjoy life. You just have to make a plan and make it happen.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

After a long and eventful trip to North Carolina, Biddy and I are back to the cold, gray, rainy reality that is Pittsburgh.

Unfortunately, the conditions down south weren’t much better during our stay. When we arrived, a black cloud immediately settled over the house—in the form of weather and illness. What began as a marginally painful sore throat quickly blossomed into a full-blown strep infection that settled into my sinus cavity. As the rain poured outside, I spent the majority of the first week on the couch with a bloody nose and zero energy or personality. 

There’s no mystery as to where I picked up the infection. My daughter, although seemingly harmless, is a notorious carrier of some of the most miserable cold and flu causing germs in existence. Over the past year, we have all suffered through countless rounds of illness and boxes of Advil Cold and Sinus. She’s definitely worth it, but I’m looking forward to the day when our immune systems finally adjust.

This time, I was not the only lucky recipient. The timing sucked, not only because we were there on vacation, but also to attend my Aunt Willow’s wedding at the end of the trip. Now she was sick, the groom was sick, and so were the bridesmaids and the wedding singer. There was so much pressure in my face. My teeth hurt, my head hurt and the only thing that relieved the pain was alcohol. So we drank and drank. And when we couldn’t drink anymore, we all went on antibiotics.

That finally did the trick. If only we had known sooner! Once I was back on my feet, I was able to accomplish the things I had planned during my stay. One of these things was laser hair removal. As it turns out, my Aunt Prissy is a nurse practitioner at a gynecology office that features aesthetics & laser treatments.

I love the idea of permanent hair removal. To me, not having to worry about waxing or shaving again is equivalent to when I had Lasik surgery and no longer had to bother with contacts. It’s that big of a deal. However, the results are not as immediate as Lasik. You have to go about six times, six weeks apart to achieve hairlessness. I’m totally willing to put in the time and energy to accomplish this goal.

I’m not going to come out and say what I had lasered, but it rhymes with cubes. Surprisingly, it was not awkward to get the treatment from Aunt Prissy for several reasons. Number one, she performs countless pelvic exams a day, so she has seen a lot of vaginas. Number two, she’s very cool and not judgmental, which I really like about her. She was professional and didn’t make me feel weird at all. Number three, I’m much less modest about that whole area since I had a baby.

Since you have to wear goggles during the treatment and can’t see a thing, I’m not totally sure whether she was lasering off my hair or shooting me in the crotch with a BB gun. I really couldn’t tell the difference. The procedure is painful, but so is waxing. The pain is temporary (takes about 20 minutes) and the results are permanent. In six weeks I’m going back for more!

Afterwards, my bikini line was red and not anywhere near beach ready, which was fine because it was cool and windy. However, it was nice enough to take Biddy to the park and to the beach and she loved both! From the moment her feet hit the sand, it was very apparent that she is a natural beach bunny. We had to keep her from running into the water! See for yourself below in a video and photo montage Mister Ferguson put together to document her outdoor activity.

Since this post is crazy long and I have a lot to say about the wedding festivities (including the bachelorette party), I’m going to continue with part II tomorrow. Until then, check out some updates I have made to my side bar. You can now get Tiddy delivered to your inbox and also check out some of my favorite blogs!

Something Old, Something New

Despite the fact that tiddyferguson.com only has two public followers and zero of you mofos comment on my posts (READ please start commenting on my posts), I am continually shocked to see that an average of 900 people read my blog monthly. The beauty of blogger.com (the program I use to create this Web site) is that I can see exactly how many readers I have, if they entered the site from a referring URL or what they searched for on Google that led them to Tiddy.

Sadly (or not), the top Google searches are the following:

big tiddys
girls tiddys and but
girls tiddys
tiddy

If you were looking for porn on Google and you somehow found this site because you can’t spell “titty” correctly, WELCOME! I’m not judging—I’m happy to have you.

Since I’ve started blogging again, I’ve started following other blogs by people who share my common interests—running, mommy-ing, clothes and drinking. I also follow a blog by a very dear high school friend who was both my neighbor and homecoming date. He is a triathlon competitor and the posts detailing his workouts make my marathon training seem like a very pathetic joke. You can find his blog here. Read it when you want to feel like a total lard ass. I’m proud of you, Millhouse.

A blog I have followed for years is skippyhaha, which I stumbled upon through a now defunct site called vintagevantage.com which sold incredible t-shirts, both new and vintage. Over the years, I have learned fascinating tidbits of info from skippyhaha. For example, did you ever notice that there is a white arrow pointing right between the e & the x in the FedEx logo? Now you know.

In addition to providing entertaining trivia and insights, skippyhaha sells vintage t-shirts on the Internets. Not the poser vintage t-shirts you can find at virtually any store in the mall, but kick-ass shirts that were actually made back in the day. She sent me an AMAZING “Wilderness Waterski” shirt from 1981. They just don’t make them like this anymore. I cannot wait to wear this at the lake this summer while I watch Mister Ferguson wakeboard--from the back of the boat with a beer in my hand.

Thank you skippyhaha for my new favorite shirt! Check out skippy’s blog here and her vintage t-shirt store here.

I also want to send out a humongous thank-you to my girl (and adorable mommy-to-be) AR for sending me a fun surprise in the mail when I returned home from North Carolina this week. I love, love, love these New Balance shoes! I feel like they were made just for me.

More on my trip to North Carolina in the next blog. For now (back by popular demand) I’m going to leave you with another round of actual status updates from my Facebook news feed. My Facebook friends never disappoint!

1. Finding an all natural girl in OC is like spotting sasquatch. It’s either terribly dyed hair, covered in terrible tattoos, have random jewels staple gunned into her face or other body parts or a fantastic combo of all 3. To each their own but I'd rather date pinhead from Hellraiser than some of the talent out here.

2. Lady on the treadmill wearing shades would be pretty lame if she didn't just run like 20 miles.

3. I’m looking for a small, blue, Hello Kitty hair bow... not a blue one with Hello Kitty on it, but one that looks like the one Hello Kitty wears. If you have seen it for sale somewhere please let me know :-) Thank you!

4. Been hunting a racoon(s) most of the weekend...so far not winning the battle, but..."the only good varmint is a dead varmint, and to beat the varmint you have to think like a varmint...." I will remove the unwanted houseguests, oh yes, I will remove them!!!

5. My nice peaceful neighborhood has been compromised by what appear to be about 10 college freshmen on spring break. It looks like Akon, Young Jeezy and Chris Brown formed a band with Panic at the Disco and are using my neighbors house as a recording studio. If that's todays college man I fear for Americas future.

6. You’re invited to my birthday at Chocolate City. There will b a photograher on site so please Glam up for my party. I will send out the password the day before the party...letz keep it sexy.

7. When you make it difficult for me to stalk your Facebook page, I can't gather enough information to talk about you with others. Work with me, people.

8. Ran into a former co-worker last night. She said I was still pretty but gained weight. Ummm... thanks?

The Unfriendly Skies

I have been dreading my two-week trip to North Carolina for weeks. Not the actual vacation, but the journey—the journey I was taking solo with a 13-month-old child. Since Mister Ferguson decided to go on a ski “mancation” to Whistler, my baby friend and I decided to head south for a visit with my family. The prospect of warm weather and Carolina BBQ excited us both, so we booked a plane ticket and packed our daisy dukes, flip flops and sippy cups.

Checking in and getting through security was not as bad as I thought it would be—although folding up a stroller, taking off my shoes and feeding both items through the conveyor belt while holding a toddler on my hip was quite a feat. Luckily, Mister Ferguson was flying out roughly the same time we were, so he was there to assist me through that whole process. Unfortunately, we were headed in different directions. Once he boarded his plane destined for blue skies and fresh powder, I was on my own.

I treated both of us to McDonald’s breakfast because when you have an early flight, you have to have a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit. It’s the law. Biddy enjoyed an Egg McMuffin and half of my hash brown. We sat and talked about what was going on in day care—who was biting who, who was getting ready to walk and who just couldn’t get off the bottle. Just kidding. Our mother-daughter breakfast consisted of Biddy throwing her food on the floor, laughing hysterically and randomly shouting at other travelers while waving her sippy cup full of milk in the air like a tiny drunk person.

When I realized that I was actually getting ready to take this pint-sized heckler on a crowded plane, I started looking around for the duty-free store so I could find some Bailey’s for my coffee or vodka for my orange juice—just a little something for Mommy’s sippy cup. No such luck. I’m a nervous flyer to begin with, so at this point my anxiety level was at an all-time high.

Neither one of us is accustomed to waking up at 3 am, so by the time we boarded the first plane to Charlotte, we were both a little glassy eyed. Our seat was in the next to last row so we kept walking, walking, walking to the back—the whole time Biddy was reaching out and petting the lady in front of us.

Children under the age of 2 fly for free on US Airways, but they have to sit on your lap. Surprisingly, the airline does not count them as a carry-on item. You can buy your baby a seat on the plane and bring a car seat, which initially sounded ridiculous but is now looking like a better option for the next trip. She’s used to sitting in a car seat. She’s not used to sitting in my lap for an hour and a half.

As a mother, it’s impossible to imagine that someone would not find your child as adorable/smart/entertaining as you do, but those people are out there. I know this because we sat right next to them on the plane.

Before the flight, I had Googled “tips for flying with a baby” and had also asked several friends for advice. I was told to have snacks and several new little SILENT toys to keep introducing throughout the flight. So I crammed Goldfish, animal crackers, squishy balls, keys, stuffed animals and binkies galore into a backpack and actually threw in my Kindle (wishful thinking).

I was as prepared as a mother could be. I had anticipated everything except for being seated next to the two biggest assholes flying from Pittsburgh to Charlotte. I have been on the receiving end of many, many stink eyes in my lifetime, but nothing compares to the look our seat mate gave us when we sat down. Staring straight ahead and pretending not to notice, I put Biddy on my lap and went about my business. I got out the first toy, buckled my belt and hoped for the best. Apparently not satisfied that her dirty look had adequately conveyed her displeasure of being seated next to an infant, our seat mate loudly exclaimed to her companion, “Next time I will specify that I would like to be seated as far away as possible from any kids.”

My daughter, who likes everyone, decides this would be a great time to grab at the lady’s magazine. Now I am really freaking out because Biddy has no idea what the word “no” means and it really is impossible/pointless to discipline a one year old (no matter what her pediatrician says). The lady gets really agitated and says, “It’s going to be a looong flight” to her friend. I am apparently deaf/non-existent at this point.

To add to my little nightmare, the pilot comes over the loudspeaker and announces that we will have to sit on the runway an additional 15 minutes while the plane is de-iced. Yay. Biddy is beyond exhausted and is acting out like I have never seen. I’m trying to rock her, hold her still, sing in her ear. She is bucking like a wild horse, arms and legs akimbo. I am dangerously close to tears but somehow hold it together long enough to hear another sigh and “It’s going to be a looong flight.”

I get it. The lady paid a lot of money for the ticket and would rather sit next to someone more Wall Street than Sesame Street. Not the warm and fuzzy grandmother type I was hoping for. In a perfect world, there would be a separate plane for people travelling with children where they could all laugh, cry, kick and scream together. But I don’t own US Airways and I don’t make the rules. I was obviously struggling to maintain my composure and keep my child from running down the aisle. If I could talk to her and tell her to behave I would, but she DOESN’T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH or any other language for that matter.

Biddy is not a cuddler. She has never fallen asleep in my arms and she rarely sits on my lap for more than a minute. She likes action and is constantly on the move. The more I tried to restrain her in our seat, the more she struggled to get free. Despite my best efforts, her foot lightly grazed our surly seatmate’s knee during one of the more intense moments of our grappling session. This prompted a third, “It’s going to be a looong flight.” No shit, lady.

By the fifth time she said it, I had had enough. This woman was a bully. She didn’t have the balls to tell me to my face that my child was being annoying, but had no problem announcing it to the entire plane. The last time she said “It’s going to be a looong flight,” I looked her right in the eyes and said “It sure is!” She didn’t say it again.

That’s the thing about bullies. When you stand up to them, they don’t know what to do with themselves.

Mercifully, when the plane took off five minutes later, Biddy fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the wheels touched the ground. My arm asleep from the weight of her head, I sat in silence, grateful for a quiet moment to think up meaner comebacks to my seatmate’s insults. I caught her sneaking glances at my sleeping baby several times during the flight, making sure she wasn’t going to wake up and disturb her again.

When we got off the plane, we had to wait for our stroller along with everyone else who had to check bags at the gate. It was still all folded up when they handed it to me, so I had to balance Biddy and wrangle it open at the same time. Although it is a simple process, my first two attempts failed. There were no less than 15 people standing there waiting for their bags watching the whole thing. Amazingly, not one person even attempted to help. I eventually got it open and we made our way through the Charlotte airport to our connecting flight.

We had a row to ourselves for the 30 minute flight to Wilmington, so Biddy was free to flop around like a fish out of water the whole time. I was SO happy and relieved to see my parents waiting for us at baggage claim. Although it was only 11:00 am, I felt like I had been going at it for 24 hours.

When we got to the house, I gladly handed Biddy over to my parents so I could decompress for a while. While I cooled off my nervous energy with a bottle of Chardonnay, Biddy was more productive and decided to walk for the VERY FIRST TIME! No kidding, we were there for less than 20 minutes and she just took off. You know what they say, you can’t keep a good woman (or toddler) down!

Moral of this WHOLE LONG STORY: If you happen to see someone at the airport travelling alone with a toddler—DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE! If you’re seated next to them and don’t want to be, keep your mouth shut. I promise that however uncomfortable the child is making you feel, the mother is going through hell. I have been on both sides of the fence, and given the choice, I would gladly be the inconvenienced traveler. It’s not that I don’t love Biddy—it’s just that I love her SO much that I am willing to buy her an airline ticket that entitles her to a seat all to herself!

Tiddy Robbins

The one thing I really like about running long distances (and there really is only one thing) is that it gives me time and clarity to sort out any issues in my life and put them into perspective. And this past Saturday from roughly 8 to 10 am, in rolling farmlands in the middle of nowhere, I was doing just that.

Mister Ferguson and I woke up around 5:45 am, picked up my running partner Julia Goolia and headed to the Shamrock Shuffle, a ten mile race that is held in Harmony, PA (about 45 minutes away from Pittsburgh). It was cold but clear when we huddled in the barn to get instructions from the race leader. She told us good luck and where to locate the starting line. Almost as an afterthought she added, “Oh yeah, the township police have forbidden the use of ipods on the race course. Anyone caught using an ipod will be disqualified from the race. You need to learn how to run without help, anyway.”

Um, hello? WTF was I supposed to do with that? I can’t run a mile without my ipod, let alone ten. I need Girl Talk, Kanye and Jay-Z to get me up those hills! Panic set in and my heart started racing. I opened my mouth to protest, but the lady meant business. She made it sound like she was going to do a body cavity search on each and every one of us.

It took me all of five seconds to decide the rule was meant to be broken. As I took my place in the back of the pack, a girl asked me what I planned to do about the ipod ban situation. I told her, “I don’t give a shit, I’m wearing it. They’ve already given me my t-shirt and it’s in my car. I’m not going to win the race, so they can disqualify me if they want.” In a show of solidarity, the girl and her friend also strapped on their ipods. We weren’t going down without a fight.

Turns out, it wasn’t as big of a deal as we thought it was going to be. I high-fived several policemen on the course and they didn’t say a word about my headphones. I wasted precious energy worrying about this nonsense—precious energy I desperately needed to complete the race.

The course was impossible. One steep hill after the next, the miles dragged on as I tried to concentrate on my music. It’s amazing how you can focus on the words of rap songs when you have nothing to distract you. In an effort to change things up, I had downloaded some new songs from itunes, including “ET” by Katy Perry and Kanye West. The song is either about having an out-of-body sexual experience or sex with an actual alien. I can’t decide. There are some truly bizarre lyrics, including my favorite line by Kanye, “I’m going to disrobe you, then I’m going to probe you.” Classic love song. Wish it had come out around the time of my wedding.

Distance running is definitely physically demanding. However, you also have to be mentally tough and/or bat shit crazy to take on a marathon. There is a point when the physical part fades somewhere into the background and it’s just you and your thoughts out there. That’s when you really get to know yourself. At mile six, I was obsessing over the interviews I had completed for my dream job the previous week. Had I said the right things? What could I have done differently? Why hadn’t they called me yet? Maybe I wasn’t qualified. Self doubt and fear crept into my mind and began to affect my race. What was I doing out there? This race was full of hills. Would I even finish?

As if on cue, Puff Daddy’s new song, “Coming Home” came on my ipod. You know you’re in bad shape when you’re drawing inspiration from Sean Combs, but at this point I was grasping at anything to help me finish the race. The line that got me moving?

Ain’t No Stopping Us Now… I love that song

whenever it comes on it makes me feel strong

I thought I told y’all that we won’t stop

Looking at it on the page right now it makes me laugh that these words had such a profound effect on me last Saturday morning, but they did. At that point I knew that I was going to finish the race. I knew that I would get the job if it was meant to be and if I didn’t, I would get another one and it would be just as great. I spent the last four miles thinking about all of the things that have happened to me over the past year and how I could apply my new wisdom from Puff Daddy to other areas of my life. A little over a year ago I was afraid of childbirth, afraid of becoming a mother, afraid of starting to run again. Yet, here I was, completing a ten mile race, with a happy and healthy 13-month-old little girl waiting for me at the finish line. And I realized that as long as I believe in myself, the best is yet to come.

We were all pretty beat when we climbed into the car to go home. Mister Ferguson announced to us, “If we’re going to keep running these races, I’m going to have to get a pair of tighty-whities.” We all cracked up and I told everyone about a running thong I had seen in a catalog that week. I don’t know about you, but unsightly panty lines are the last thing I’m worried about during a long run.  I can't think of anything more uncomfortable.

It’s Tuesday morning and I still haven’t heard anything about the job, but my positive attitude hasn’t waned!  I will keep you posted.  Wish me luck. 

What's Your Status?

My 13 mile long run was cancelled today because my running partner Julia Goolia is under the weather. She sounds terrible. And although I wanted to get it over with, I can't say I'm disappointed. Seriously--long runs suck the life out of me. Instead, I spent the morning with Tony Horton getting my P90X on. We own the whole set, but I only like the plyometrics video because it is super hard and makes my legs stronger for running. The rest of the videos are full of push-ups and pull-ups which I am not ashamed to admit that I cannot do.

After the workout, I got out my laptop and logged onto Facebook, which I check before any other site out of habit. There is just so much information available in one place. Some important, some not. For example, I found out Michael Jackson died and what 35% of my Facebook friends had for lunch in the same newsfeed.

My Facebook friends vary. Some post status updates hourly, some monthly, some yearly. What's interesting to me is what one deems important enough to post as a status on Facebook. One of my "friends" is always sick and spares no details about her many ailments. Over the past year, I have been constantly informed about the color of her snot, the consistency of her bowel movements and what medications she is taking. I'm not sure if she's looking for attention or a diagnosis.

Another feels the need to comment about the weather EVERY SINGLE DAY. I'm pretty sure he's not a meteorologist, but he would be perfect for the job. My favorite is when he curses Punxatawney Phil for giving us a false reading on an early spring. That damn groundhog! I don't know about you, but I expect accuracy from my rodent weather predictors.

These two are wedged in between the political commentators (left and right wing), those who "check-in" everywhere they go, the farmers of Farmville and those who simply post song lyrics as their status. I don't want this post to come off as me being judgmental about Facebook status updates, because trust me, I'm not. I find them all fascinating. Yellow snot..Obamacare..barn raisings..dinner at Olive Garden--without all of this, I would have no newsfeed.

The following are five actual status updates from people on my Facebook:

1. Im having a tatoo party at my house tomorrow. My friend is a tat artist and is coming over and doing really good but cheap tats. Txt/call me if you wanna come! It's gonna start at 4pm and run till everyone is done. I need like 5 ppl for me to get mine for free!!

2. Relief! Not only did my abscess break on it's own and give me major relief last night, it just did it again! That means I don't have to drive to Monroeville to see the endo today. Hopefully my tooth cooperates and I stay pain-free this weekend!

3. Its so cold out tonight I wish someone would teach me how to Snuggie.

4. Looking for a place to rifle hunt near kanawha county. Please let me know. Doe, buck, doesn't matter. Let me know. I feel like I am putting an ad in classified section of newspaper. My dad will be with me because I can't drive at this time. Let me know.

5. So my daughter just asked me if she can burn incense in her room during the mummification ceremony she is about to perform for Strawberry Shortcake.

I sure hope she gets that tooth fixed and that guy finds somewhere to hunt. I'm getting ready for the tat party so I've got to get off of here!

Carte Blanche

Yesterday I went to Wal*Mart to pick up some items for dinner. It was “make your own pizza night” at the Ferguson household, a sneaky way for me to put dinner on the table without actually cooking. I simply purchase pizza ingredients at the store and line them up on the counter. Everyone gets what they want and I avoid slaving away in the kitchen. Win-win.

Back to Wal*Mart. As I entered the store and started wrestling a cart away from the chain (they are always stuck together), a girl who looked to be in her early 20s and weighed about 100 pounds walked in. She took one look at me (at this point I have one leg up on the cart for leverage and there is a vein bulging out of my forehead) and announced to no one in particular, “Shoo. I’m too tired for this.” She proceeded to walk to the other side of the entrance, hop on one of the motorized carts and drive off into the store.

There was NOTHING wrong with this young lady, yet there were no signs on the motorized carts specifying that one must be disabled in order to ride. Shoo. I was tired too! And for a fleeting moment I considered jumping on one of those bad boys and picking up my groceries. But I felt bad about possibly taking a cart from someone who needed it and also self-conscious about the stares I would definitely receive, so I freed my cart and pushed on. Out of curiosity I kept an eye out for the girl as I shopped and I spotted her several times—casually browsing through the aisles while happily bullshitting on her cell phone. Poor, worn out little thing just needed a break. I understand. My early 20s were exhausting too.

Speaking of exhausting…my long runs keep getting longer each week. Thinking up new topics to blog about keeps my mind occupied for half the time. The other half needs music to keep going! If you are in need of some new workout tunes, check out Girl Talk. The artist is a guy from Pittsburgh who mashes different songs together in a way that seems impossible and the result is really kick ass and motivational. There is really no way to describe it, so you will have to listen for yourself. The good news is that it is free and you can download it here. Let me know what you think!

The Return of Tiddy

Hello friends. It’s been about two years since my last blog and all I can say is that a lot has gone down here in the Ferguson household since then. Let’s catch up…

When we left off, I was gearing up to run the Pittsburgh Marathon. I am happy to report that I completed the race! It was long, boring and it rained pretty much the whole time. My race time sucked and I am obviously an idiot because I’m preparing to do the whole thing over again this year.

Almost immediately following the race, I got knocked up and ballooned to almost 200 lbs. Not an exaggeration. Last February, I gave birth to a sweet baby girl and named her Biddy Ferguson. Since then, my life has been full of diapers, bottles, footie pajamas and Cheerios. Cheerios are so gross because they kind of smell like urine and they get stuck to everything.

Now Biddy is one! And while not anywhere close to being self-sufficient, I really feel like she is starting to make her way in this world. She doesn’t talk per se, but she grunts and points when she wants something—which is a hell of a lot easier than trying to decipher cries. I remember when I was pregnant and people would tell me I would “just know” what she wanted based on what her cries sounded like. Not true. The only distinction I can make between her cries is when she’s “kind of pissed” and “really pissed.” I have realized over the past year that I am not a mind reader and the sooner this little lady can start communicating her needs and wants, the better! Luckily, she’s a delightful, fun-loving girl who is always ready for a new experience or a snack.

Obviously, having a baby is a major life-changer. I was prepared for that, thanks to everyone who felt the need to tell me, “You have no idea what you’re getting into. Things are really going to be different when the baby comes! Your life will never be your own again.” This is by far the most annoying statement one can make to a person getting ready to have a baby. I mean, I was already freaking out about the fact a BABY was going to COME OUT OF MY VAGINA. I didn’t have the emotional capacity to think beyond what would happen after we brought the baby home. I just figured we would wing it. So far, so good?

I’ve gotten a few lectures from Mister Ferguson on watching my language around Biddy because she is really starting to pick things up. I’m working on it. But recently, I realized it’s not only words she’s absorbing. Last weekend, I was standing in front of a mirror in my ski pants and sports bra. Before I put on my shirt, I started patting my belly and pinching my fat like I always do—bad habit. As I reached for my shirt, I saw Biddy sitting on the floor next to me with her shirt pulled up and patting her belly. It was both hilarious and eye-opening. At that moment, it became very real to me that my words and actions will help shape my little girl’s behavior, personality and self-esteem. And that scares the shit out of me.

So that’s what’s new with Tiddy. As you may have noticed, I redesigned the site and I’m very excited to be internetting again! As usual, I will be here to bitch about my weight (back to pre-baby, but not ideal), talk about new products and services, running, music and whatever else I’ve got going on! If you have any topics you would like me to blog about or questions, please contact me. Talk to you tomorrow!

Race to Your Face

Guest blogger! Guest blogger! Guest blogger!
You know, I beg you mofos all of the time to guest blog and none of you take me seriously. I was elated last night to receive this guest blog in my inbox last night from my buddy D-Dubs, who is as nice as he is good-looking!

D-Dubs and Mister Ferguson recently struck up a friendship over a mutual love of skiing and actually just returned from Whistler on a man-cation (vacation taken by men). How weird is it when your friend circles start overlapping? All of these dudes I went to high school with and have known for years are suddenly calling Mister Ferguson to go skiing! What am I, old news? At any rate, D-Dubs is a good friend to have and I’m happy to share him with my husband.

The subject of his guest blog this evening is speed eating, something which I am guilty of myself. I think it is because I usually wait until I’m absolutely starving to eat. When it’s time for lunch, I can’t get it down fast enough. I am always jealous of those “ladies” that are able to show restraint at the lunch table—the ones that order a salad and then appear as though they could care less if it arrives or not. I care. I place my order and then twitch like a crack addict until I get my sandwich. Then, look out! I am aware that if I ate smaller meals though out the day, I wouldn’t get like this. However, I’m my own worst enemy and refuse to diet correctly. Until I get some sense, I will continue to complain on my Web site about not being at my goal weight.

The following is a guest blog by D-Dubs:

I am a notoriously fast eater. It's in my blood. My dad used to eat 6pieces of Sam's Pizza (best pizza in the world, right next to Sarris's in Canonsburg) while driving home from Sam's—approx. 4 miles. My grandfather was known to down a dozen ears of corn no problem. Being a sprinter has its drawbacks. When I was growing up, it was not uncommon for me or my sisters to have to stop in the middle of a feeding and lie on the floor and moan from abdominal distention.

Nowadays, my friends will just be getting started on dinner and my plate will be clean. While this sounds like an exaggeration, today I got quantitative evidence of my problem. At lunchtime, I drove across the hot metal bridge to get lunch at Qdoba. I got lucky and found a metered spot right in front of the door. I threw a quarter in the meter, noticing that it already had 11 minutes. The addition of my quarter made it 41 minutes. Inside there were only two people in line, nice. When it was my turn, I ordered an "Ancho Chili BBQ Burrito,” naked with chips. For those that don't frequent Qdoba, the burritos are huge, especially if you top them like I do. I paid for my food and went to the drink station. Here I have a standard routine—squeeze two lemons into my cup, add ice, then Dr. Pepper. Then I got plastic ware, napkins, and Cholula hot sauce. I sat down, dowsed my food in hot sauce, and ate.

Upon exiting I noticed there were 29 minutes left on the meter. What????? I was not in a rush, I was not late for anything, just a creature of habit. I had mixed feelings—pride for being efficient, shame of being gross. I must look like a hostage while eating.

D-Dubs

PS—Opposites do attract because my wife is a marathon eater with stamina. I have seen her sit down with a wooden mallet in-hand and steadily and methodically consume Maryland crabs for 4 hours without rising from her chair.
For those of you who would like to see a video of D-Dubs at Qdoba, click here.


No surprise, speed eating is bad for weight loss. Some genius scientists set out to prove this by observing diners at 11 different Chinese buffet restaurants across the United States.
Their goal was to find out whether the eating behaviors of people at all-you-can-eat buffets varied based on their body mass.

Trained observers recorded the height, weight, gender, age, and behavior of 213 patrons. The various seating, serving and eating behaviors were then compared across BMI levels.

The heavier (higher BMI) patrons:
ate more quickly
chewed more food per bite
used forks
sat facing the food buffet


The thin (lower BMI) patrons:
ate more slowly
chewed less food per bite
used chopsticks
sat facing away from the food buffet

This study confirms earlier research from the University of Rhode Island published in the journal of the American Dietetic Association which found that eating slowly leads to decreases in energy intake.

Scientists even have a name for this now:
TIME-ENERGY DISPLACEMENT
It means that the more time you take to eat, the less energy (calories) you are likely to consume. The faster you eat, the more energy (calories) you’re likely to consume.

Big shocker. I could have told you that!

Tiddy's Shit List

I have MAJOR PMS this week. As a result, everyone and everything is managing to piss me off. Most days, I am extremely easy going and laid back. But when the red tide rises, nobody can escape Tiddy’s wrath.

In order to get even with those who have wronged me this week, I have decided to publicly shame them on my Web site for your enjoyment.


Verizon Wireless
I will be the first to admit that I am extremely hard on my phones. I don’t believe in fancy protectors and I am constantly dropping my Blackberry on the ground. Pretty much every two months I show up at the Verizon Wireless store with a broken phone. What makes me angry is that each time I have an issue, Verizon does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to resolve it. All they do is tell me no. I have NEVER heard the words, “Yes, I can help you” uttered from the lips of a Verizon sales associate. I even purposely go to different stores each time so I’m not labeled as a “crazy customer.” At this point, I am completely convinced that the company has a training course that teaches employees to only say yes to new customers, and no to existing customers.

For example, this week I showed up with a missing trackball. I dropped my phone the night before. The ball fell out and Nacho ate it (at least I think that’s what happened—I haven’t seen it since). For those of you with a Blackberry, you know that the phone is practically unusable without the trackball. I was desperate for a replacement as I could not imagine spending five minutes without my phone. Don’t judge, it’s the truth. I was confident that my problem was minor and I would finally be satisfied with the outcome of a visit to the Verizon store.

When presented with my dilemma, the sales associated hemmed and hawed for about two minutes and then said, “We don’t really repair phones here anymore. Why don’t you go on the Internet and order the part from an independent dealer?”

“Why would I do that?” I shot back. I bought the phone from you. I pay five bucks a month to you for insurance. It’s your responsibility to fix the phone or replace it. I’m not paying some other company money for a part that you should be able to get out of the back room and pop into the handset. It would take you two seconds. If you give it to me, I will do it myself.”

He just looked at me and said, “Sorry. Can’t help you this time,” and gazed longingly at the new customer checking out phones on the wall. He was getting ready to walk away when I decided to really be a jerk. “Fine,” I said. “The phone is clearly broken, so just give me a new one and I will be on my way.” He said, “Can’t do it. You will have to order one and we will mail it to you. Plus, it will cost you 50 bucks.”

I looked over at the massive pile of new Blackberries and became irate. The guy really had me by the short and curlies. He was seriously not going to do anything for me. I gave him a speech about his shitty customer service and stormed out of the store. I found some random place that repairs phones and they replaced the trackball for 10 bucks and apologized that it was so expensive. What they didn’t know is by that point, I would have paid 30. Verizon Wireless is on my shit list for only accommodating new customers and doing ZERO for existing patrons. I don’t want them to kiss my ass, I just want them to provide a marginal amount of service.

My Dry Cleaner
When it comes to errands, I’m pretty lazy and forgetful. I don’t return movies and library books on time. My dry cleaning would sit at the store for months until I ran out of clothes and had no choice to pick it up. Needless to say, when Model cleaners came knocking at my door with an offer to pick up my clothes and drop them off weekly, I jumped at the chance. Things were great for the first few months. There were clean clothes in my closet! I always had something to wear to work. I felt put together and organized. The clothes would arrive clean and packed nicely. Eventually, however, the quality of service declined dramatically. For one thing, I am missing three sweaters. I have complained about this to customer service, the guy who picks up my clothes and the corporate office. Each attempt I have made to get my sweaters back has been useless. The person on the phone promises to “look into it” and then never gets back to me.

The other problem I have with Model cleaners is that whoever is actually cleaning my clothes is a pussy. I am constantly getting them back with a note saying, “I’m too afraid to take on this stain. I don’t want to ruin the fabric.” What am I supposed to do with that? I can’t wear them with a stain. The only option is to try to get the stain out. I couldn’t do it myself so I sent it to A PROFESSIONAL. If you ruin the fabric, I’m no worse off than I was with the stain. Grow a set. Clean the pants.

My scale
Is a liar. It is spiteful and refuses to give me correct information.

Mall Kiosk WorkersI’m not sure if this only in Pittsburgh, but the kiosk workers in the mall are INSANE. The biggest offenders are the ones that sell the Dead Sea lotion, ceramic flat irons and mineral make-up. You literally cannot walk through the mall without some Latin dude or chick popping around the corner saying, “Excuse me, can I ask you a question?” or “Let me see your make-up!” or “Where do you get your hair done?”

It drives me crazy. If I want to peruse the wares in the middle of the mall, I will. I don’t need some overly aggressive cheesy sales rep accosting me during my relaxing time. I am really tired of pretending to be on my phone or taking alternate routes to stores in order to avoid these assholes. This week I got so pisssed off that I reported one of them to guest services. I don’t think they will get kicked out due to my complaint, but something had to be said. If this continues, I am going to have to take my shopping online permanently.

My Period
It was my understanding that as a female, I was to endure one week of PMS and one week of period. However, the older I get, the longer the battle with my period lasts. My PMS has extended itself to almost two weeks of weight gain, mood swings and chocolate eating. This, coupled with a week-long period leaves me with only one good week a month.

That’s enough bitching for one day. I have some cool Web sites for you guys to check out that I will include in my next blog, along with lists of favorite things compiled by my readers.

Urban Dictionary

Most days, I feel like I'm still 21. However, once in a while something happens that reminds me that I'm not as with it as I used to be. The other day, I went out for a run and realized that almost every song on my ipod that was released in the past year has the word "swagger" in it. I even saw a commercial featuring LL Cool J for a deodorant called "Old Spice Swagger." When did this word creep into the scene? Where have I been? Am I not watching enough MTV? I'm cool, right?

A couple of years ago, something happened that made me realize that there is a whole other language that I have not been privy to since I began the third decade of my life. Picture this:

My family spends Christmas in a cabin in the woods. It's awesome. We are in the middle of nowhere. Nobody has cell phone reception, there's no Internet. It's like 1994 out there! We cut down a Christmas tree, make our own ornaments and spend the holidays getting back to the simple joys of life--food, wine, games and family. We also have a lot of time on our hands. When the Soulja Boy dance came out, the whole family dedicated hours to learning all of the moves. I haven't seen such a group effort since we all learned to moonwalk. Souja Boy must have been played 200 hundred times!

We were all swollen with pride when we arrived at my Aunt Prissy's house to show off our skills. My six-year-old niece was even running though the house screaming, "Superman!" At that point, I saw my college age cousin (who I adore) smirking to himself in the corner.

I went over and asked him why he was laughing at us. "Is the Soulja Boy dance already out?" I inquired.

He said, "Do you have any idea what 'Superman' means? I'm not going to tell you. Go look it up at urbandictionary.com."

I went into the den, logged onto the computer and typed "Superman" into the search engine. This is what I read:

"Superman is when a guy ejaculates on a girl's back and sticks the bed sheet to it. When she wakes in the morning and the sheet is stuck to her back, you have officially supermanned that hoe."

How embarrassing. How on Earth did I not know that? The song lyrics clearly state "Superman that hoe."

As soon as I got home from Christmas vacation, I signed up for daily updates from urbandictionary.com so I could keep my finger on the pulse of the English language. Each day, a new word and definition is emailed to me. Most of them are lame, but there was one this week that made me laugh:

Ghetto Upgrade
When you are flying economy on a near empty flight and can lay across an entire row of seats.

Example:

"I got a ghetto upgrade on my flight out west and was able to sleep most of the way."

In other news, I am two weeks away from the marathon and I'm feeling pretty good about the race. So excited Kiddy F. is coming back to the 'Burgh! Thanks so much to everyone who donated to my livestrong.org Web site! Also thank you for all of the great song suggestions!

 

Hopscotch

I’m reading Valley of the Dolls for the third time. Each time I read it, I fall in love with the story all over again. It was written in the 60s, yet it is so scandalous! Drugs! Sex! Entertainment! More drugs! I’ve read every book by Jacqueline Susann and they are all incredible. If you have not yet read Valley of the Dolls, get it ASAP. I check it out of the Mt. Lebanon library every couple of years. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else does, or if it just sits on the shelf and waits for me to return.

Several of you have written to me and asked about my progress with the Resveratrol/Soy Isoflavones experiment. Here’s the lowdown:

I have not lost any weight, yet I have not gained any
I do feel leaner around the spare tire and rotten peaches regions.
I do have natural energy and don’t experience my “tired time” which typically occurred around 2 pm
I’m not that hungry. The combination seems to keep my blood sugar steady all day so I’m not ATTACKING food.

Although I haven’t achieved the results I initially wanted (losing tons of weight while doing absolutely nothing), I think it has definitely helped. You have to be careful about what Resveratrol you order. Since everyone is talking about it, a lot of supplement makers have gotten on the bandwagon and some are offering products that aren’t legit. Through my research, I have found a brand that has been independently tested and the ingredients are actually pretty close to what is listed on the bottle. I have also found the cheapest price for you. To order, click here.

In other news, the marathon training is going as planned. I ran more than 14 miles on Saturday! The hours following the run—not so much fun. I developed debilitating shin splints and a raging case of swamp ass, which I self-diagnosed. The good news is that I followed the rules this time and had a pasta dinner the night before, drank two glasses of wine and went to bed early. I ate a Zone bar and drank two cups of Jet Fuel (available for your Keurig coffee maker) before I left. All of this made a huge difference in my performance. Through my marathon journey, I have tried a lot of different approaches the night before a long run. Here is a list of things NOT to do:

Eat Mexican food. Hot sauce in particular.
Drink Scotch.
Watch movies with your brother-in-law until 3 am.
Smoke cigars.
Do a P90x plyometrics video

All common sense, in retrospect. But what can I say? You have to learn from your mistakes.

I have also gotten some great suggestions from all of you for my running playlist. Not to sound greedy, but I need more. The following is the current playlist I am using. You might laugh out loud at some of the songs, but it is really random what motivates people. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send me some song suggestions. I am getting so bored!

For the first time ever in print—I give you Tiddy Ferguson’s Pittsburgh Marathon Playlist:

Alphabet Aerobics—Blackalicious
American Boy—Kanye West
Bonnie and Shyne—Shyne
The Boys of Summer—The Ataris
Express Yourself—NWA
Fergalicious—Fergie
Google Me—Teyana Taylor
Hustlin—Rick Ross
I’m Me—Lil Wayne
Jesus Walks—Kayne West (this always comes on at a point when I need Jesus)
Just Like Heaven—The Cure
Love Song—Sara Bareilles
Paper Planes—MIA
Nine in the Afternoon—Panic at the Disco
So What—PINK
These Words—Natasha Bedingfield
Till I Collapse—Eminem
Your Love—The Outfield
Nasty Girl—Notorious BIG
Never Wanted Nothing More—Kenny Chesney
King Without a Crown—Matisyahu
That’s Not My Name—The Ting Tings
Rosanna—Toto
Rich Girl—Hall and Oates
Dixieland Delight—Alabama
Swagger Like Us—Kanye, Jay-Z, etc.
Brooklyn Go Hard—Jay-Z
Ain’t No Half Steppin’—Big Daddy Kane
What’s Beef—Biggie Smalls
Love is Blind—EVE
Back in the High Life Again—Steve Winwood
Take it Off—The Donnas
Crazy—Gnarls Barkley
Everywhere—Michelle Branch
Slide—Goo Goo Dolls
Womanizer—Britney Spears
Fresh Azimiz—Bow Wow
Good Life—Kanye West
I Ain’t No Joke—Erik B and Rakim
Positivity—Stevie Wonder
Ain’t No Stopping Sunshine—Yoli
99 Problems—Jay Z

That's it! I'm going for a run and then Mister Ferguson and I are going to the Harp and Fiddle to watch our good friend Eaton Beaver play a live show! I will have a Scotch and water, as that is my new favorite drink. It's not as hardcore as it sounds, although I must admit it makes me feel like a badass when I order one. Mixed with water, it is a low-calorie libation. Also, I don't drink it quickly and one drink lasts a long time. Mister Ferguson claims that I am sharp as a tack when I drink Scotch.