Remember me almost exactly two months ago, to the day?

I was the one whose windshield was the recipient of a pebble fart from a passing snowplow, causing it to crack like a plumber’s fanny and I didn’t have glass coverage on my auto policy? And I wound up adding glass coverage for a measly $9 a year but not before I had to pay out the nose for a brand new windshield, which I did by yanking a snot-covered check for $200 out of my left nostril and handing it over to the filthiest, scuzziest garage in western New York because they wouldn’t take credit cards? The same garage from which I almost contracted emphysema because it stuck its tobacco-infested tongue down my throat and french kissed my esophagus without my permission, five minutes before the rest of me was accosted by not one, not two but three drunkards, all while my fallopian tubes almost froze together?

Any of that ring a bell?

Guess what?

I-390 North is a raging, pebble-strewn, assy douche noodle with a shitty sense of humor. And acid reflux.

Later today, I’ll be having my almost brand new, $200 windshield replaced.

After that, I have my yearly appointment to have my boobs squished flat in an x-ray machine.

Guess which one of these appointments I’ll find immensely more enjoyable?

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Directions: Examine the photos carefully, read their descriptions and then answer the question below to the best of your ability

Along with healthy portions of fresh fruits, raw vegetables, grilled chicken, ground turkey, protein fortified pasta and low fat peanut butter, the above photos show what Andy eats and drinks every week to maintain her weight. In addition, she still runs two miles a day several days a week, despite Jack Frost getting drunk on power and heaving his guts up all over western New York for months on end.

Andy has been in the throes of maintenance since she reached goal weight nine months ago at which time she stopped taking up the entire eastern hemisphere of a photo and saw her feet without use of a mirror for the first time since her uterus was a virgin. She has discovered that one throe lasts an eternity plus twenty minutes and while daunted by the task ahead of her, she is determined to persevere and remain a size six and not give in to the temptation to drive to Wegmans and lick their bakery department until it sparkles or sues her for sexual harassment.

It is a struggle every single day to remain focused on her goal and not lose her shit when Valentine’s Day rolls around on ganache-infused, chocolate covered wheels.

Andy has recently gained four pounds.

Along with frozen pizzas, fourteen inch cholesterol-laden subs, Bill Gray’s, McDonalds and enough chocolate chip cookies to make Cookie Monster beg for mercy and become a vegan, the above photos show what Nate eats and drinks every week in an attempt to lose the extra twenty pounds he’s carrying around so that he can win the Biggest Loser competition at work. His exercise regimen consists of talking about exercise, making sure the couch doesn’t run away and playing ONE TWO THREE FOUR, I DECLARE A THUMB WAR with the remote.

Nate has recently lost two pounds.

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Based on the above photos, where do you think Nate’s genitalia will wind up?

1. Not in Andy
2. Buried under the deck
3. Pittsburgh
4. Who cares?
5. All of the above

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I’m still down in North Carolina but only for another day or so. The weather is gorgeous, everyone I meet is outrageously nice and I basically want to pack up Nate, the kids and Oliver and run away from home and move down here. I love everything about this place except the traffic lights. I know that life down here runs at a slower pace but yesterday, I think I could have gestated a small human while waiting to make a left turn. Even with my shitty, enlarged uterus.

I meant that my shitty, enlarged uterus could have gestated a small human being period, not that I could have used it to make a left turn. My shitty, enlarged uterus has no sense of direction and wouldn’t know its left from its right. If it were allowed to navigate, I’d be typing this from the South Pole and crying because hello? WHERE THE HELL IS SANTA AND WHY HASN’T BE BROUGHT ME A GPS FOR CHRIST’S SAKE?

Just a few updates:

• I’m happy to report that my father, who last week suffered a stroke and was *this* close to putting for birdie on that great big manicured green in the sky, is steadily improving. We hope it won’t be long before he’s back home, sitting in his recliner next to Mom and slowly turning deaf by watching TV at 180 decibels. Dancing with the Stars is so much better when the Paso Doblé breaks the sound barrier, isn’t it? I don’t watch that show myself so I couldn’t say. I’d ask my mom but I probably wouldn’t hear her response since my ears were blown off during Glee.

• Nate informed me last night that they might have to resort to doing their first load of laundry. Operative word being “might.” Did I mention I’ve been away from home for eight days? This conversation fell under the category of STOP TALKING. I DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW.

• I tried to relieve some stress by running the other day. I soon discovered that all the roads in my parents’ neighborhood go up hill. Both ways. After one mile, I had to shimmy home on my stomach because my thighs and knees had exploded forty-two  times.

Once again, thank you so much for all your kind thoughts and positive energy during the last week or so. You guys made a huge difference for my family and I am so grateful.

I should be home later this week. If no one hears from me in a couple of days, please check the laundry room and send help.

And a gas mask.

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