Hmmm...the weight loss ticker I created yesterday (or thought I created) is not showing up anymore.  Technical difficulties, people...I'll try again tonight and see what happens.

I came to work on Thursday to see my phone message light illuminated. I was unprepared for the news on the other end. My beloved hairdresser and friend of four years, John Street, was killed in a motorcycle accident on December 12th. He was 36 years old.

I knew the motorcycle he was driving. It was a bike he'd been working on. Not because he loved motorcycles so much...but because he was a husband and father of four children and wanted his wife to drive the family car.

I had dinner with him a couple of months ago...soon after hair appointment #1. And then I got a text from him sometime in early December...his usual friendly hello. I returned the text but never heard back from him.

John Street was a great friend and a wonderful father. I will miss him so.

The church that John attended with his family has started a fund for his children. If you would like to see his family or make a contribution, here is the link:

http://lightonthecorner.org/474234.ihtml

My mother wants me to date a guy who owns 25 food processors. Twenty. Five. The nephew of my dentist. A man I've never met in person (He lives in Dallas), we've spoken on the phone just long enough for me to find out he lives in a self-described "museum of clutter." Don't get me wrong. He sounds like a very nice guy. But he actually used the words Sanford and Son. I think I felt my reproductive organs detach. Perhaps the woman who bore me and who has known me for 36 years has somehow forgotten that I put the "A" in anal-retentive. She just watched me organize my lip gloss alphabetically, then by color. And has not worn her shoes on my carpet in almost 10 years. I take that back. She wore her shoes on my carpet last week "by accident." 10 seconds after she realized the crime she was committing, she turned into Neo from The Matrix as she tried to make it back to the linoleum before I caught her. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it. But it is true.

As it is the first day of the new year, can we regroup and talk stats? I have shed 15 pounds in four months (down one size). I'd love to tell you I'm losing slowly so my skin will be able to keep up and look amazing at the end of this, but I would be LYING! I have succumbed to the temptations of Thanksgiving and Christmas. BUT...as my friend Kara says, tomorrow (January 2nd) is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm refocusing and regrouping. And looking for a hair stylist for Hair Appointment #3. Do you think it would be crazy to advertise for "a hot and hilarious gay man who will talk Golden Girls and Real Housewives with me, be my personal stylist and BBFF (Boy Best Friend Forever)?

Hey y'all!

I had to squeeze a y'all in. The mamahla and papahla are visiting from Texas. So the accent is in full swing. Being a West-Texas-turned-Los-Angeles girl, there are days when people tell me I'm losing my accent. :( Other days, I say things like "It's Shayke and Bayke, and ah halped." 

In other news, I have been visited by a Christmas angel. Now, I know I have a w-i-d-e variety of readers. Some who don't celebrate Christmas and some who do. Some who don't believe in angels and some who have every tchotchke cherub ever made. But bear with me, please. I was visited by a Christmas angel. The Christmas Angel of Calories Past. Despite my genuine and best intentions to remain sugar and junk-food-free, the truth is, I don't know how to hang out with my family without eating. And if food=love (According to the Nestle Tollhouse advertising department), Christmas is an especially loving time for us. I abandoned all inhibition and partook of every naughty food that came my way over the Christmas holiday (while continuing to work out everyday). I was dreading...DREADING...this week's weigh in. I swear I heard the theme song to Jaws in the distance as I approached the scale. And then...my Christmas Angel of Calories Past swooped down and erased all the calories I'd consumed over the week. The great news is...I didn't gain a pound. The bad news is...I didn't lose a pound. Thank you, Christmas Angel!  

Anyone else want to make a confession?

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and New Year, everyone!

Down a pound this week! More importantly, I worked out today. I dragged myself upstairs to the spare bedroom turned home gym this morning to get my workout in before I ran 133 Christmas Eve errands. Ok, ok...I skipped the 72 pushups that Cathe Friedrich wanted me to do before the dozens of bench presses and flys she cranked out. What can I say? It was early. I had bed head and zero motivation to do pushups. I RUE the day I met you, push-ups...just so you know. We are not friends.

Speaking of working out, I've been waxing sentimental about workouts past. I've always loved working out at home and, over the years, have invested more and more money into home gym equipment. It's my goal one day to have a home with black granite countertops, exposed brick, a steam shower...and a MAJOR home gym. And a kickboxing instructor named Francisco who comes to my house three times a week to make me sweat, punch and jump rope like Rocky Balboa. Someone I can pay to make me cry. It's on the horizon. I'm optimistic. 

BUT...20 years ago, it was Jane Fonda. When I was 15, after being a chubby kid all my life, I was determined...determined...to lose 50 pounds. I did this workout everyday. Every single day. For five months. Take a look. 

LOL! But wait. That's not the funniest part. On more than one occasion, if we were visiting family or friends and I hadn't had the time to work out earlier in the day, I would show up with Jane in my hand and hijack the host's living room and VCR. Imagine...dinner party in foreground...people talking, glasses clinking...and me, in the background. On the floor. Doing this: 

What can I say? I was 15 years old.