Cardiogirl: 19% body fat 100% fun

The Spam Mash-Up started a while ago when I discovered that some spammers are pretty clever and sometimes even witty. If you make me laugh you will get my attention, that’s a fact.

So now I peruse my spam folder in search of a good nugget. Last time those crazy kids were extolling my virtues and laying it on thick. Yeah, I enjoy the accolades even if they are false.

Today’s batch of spam is philosophical and each one reads like a fortune cookie. Feel free to add the phrase “in bed” after each fortune if you feel the need.

It is the best time to make a few plans for the longer term and it’s time to be happy.

- Naida

You know what, Naida? It really is time to turn that frown upside down. Come on get happy!

May your hair, your teeth, your face-lift, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your blood pressure, your triglycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise.

- Scutece

Snaps Scutece! By the way, how do you pronounce that name — soo-teece? Regardless, nice job wishing me good health while slipping in some financial stuff. It’s like a subliminal message.

Is it necessary to be the lifetime of the party to have fun? Being yourself is usually the simplest policy.

- Lawrence

I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary to be the lifetime of the party, but when you add “in bed” to this equation the answer might differ.

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure but I don’t know many of them.

- Robb

I’m not much of a bath person, but I think this axiom could hold true for me if we substitute hot tub for hot bath.

Keep the smile, Leave the tear, Think of joy, Forget the fear, Hold the laugh, Leave the pain, Be joyous, Coz it’s new year! Happy New Year!

- Scutece

Look at my friend Scutece sliding in with a New Year’s greeting! Thanks, pal. I’ll be sure to leave the tears at the door.

Okay, I think most of my VIPers know I desperately want a cat. And if you know that much, you know I can’t have one anymore since my oldest kid is allergic to cats and has asthma.

*Falls to her knees with her arms outstretched and screams to the sky, “Why Lord? WHY?!”*

However, I’ve recently discovered a loophole. For the last two summers I’ve been pet sitting for my neighbor. He has two dogs and a cat and I let them out twice a day. As you may have guessed, it didn’t take long to win the dogs over. Dogs are so easy they’ll give it up to anyone.

But the cat is one tough monkey. He goes outside and then returns after a while to sit patiently by the back door until I come back to let him in.

It took
almost
two years
but I am
proud to
say that I
finally made my neighbor’s
cat my bitch.

I have been wooing him, on and off, for two years and finally back in September my hard work paid off. I can seriously make him purr on command, gingah. He follows me around the house and will hop up next to me when I sit down so I can pet him. It’s an awesome super power I have acquired and I cherish it. But summer is over so I can no longer see my boyfriend, Boo.

And if you think I’m kidding, you can ask my kids and my husband about my boyfriend.

Anyway, I haven’t had a hook up for about two weeks now and I miss him. So that’s why Emily said, “Your boyfriend is on our porch,” when we getting ready to leave for school yesterday. I was in the middle of making lunches when I dropped the bread and said, “Where is he?!”

“He just left to go next door.”

So I ran outside to the neighbor’s house and got on my hands and knees so I could reach under the bushes to pet him. And he sat there just out of my grasp. I cajoled him, I begged him; I even used my special little cat noise to woo him. Finally, he came out of the bushes and sat on the porch steps while I rubbed his ears and he meowed to go inside.

And then the front door opened and I saw my neighbor’s shoes as the cat scurried inside.

I felt like Jack Tripper getting busted by Mr. Roper as I slowly rose to my feet and raced through my mental Rolodex for something — anything — to say. Finally I said, “Hey, um, those address numbers on your house are really cool. I just thought you should know that.”

Back at my house, I grunted when I opened the cupboard for the peanut butter because I strained a muscle in my lower back trying to reach the cat.

“Seriously, Mom?” Allison said. “You pulled a muscle in your back chasing your boyfriend?”

“Yes. I. Did,” I said full of self righteousness. “I love him.”

And then I realized I had just showed my girls how to be a needy, black sucking hole of a girlfriend.

So I gathered them up in the kitchen, wincing from the pain in my back, while I tried to spin some damage control.

“Hey, you know how I ran out there to see the cat?”

“You mean how you ran out to see your boyfriend?” Katie said.

“Yeah. Don’t do that when you start dating. You should never run after a guy like I just did. It’s really desperate and you shouldn’t do that. Okay?”

They just smiled and Katie said, “Whatever, Mom. We’re gonna be late for school.”

I had an interesting chat with my six-year-old this morning. I was sitting on the floor trying to decide which pair of shoes to wear, when she struck up this conversation.

Emily: “You have a lot Converse.”

Me: “Yep, I do.”

Emily: “You have like 101 pairs of Converse.”

Me: “I wish I had that many pairs.”

Emily: “Which pair will you wear to Heaven?”

Me: “Hmm. I need to think about that.”

I did think about it for a few minutes until I remembered that I’ve already written about this.

So I’ve already picked the pair I’ll wear to Heaven; see for yourself.

And just in case you wondered: yeah, it’s gonna be an open casket.