Well, it's New Year's Eve again. Another non resolution year for me as I refuse to make promises that I may or may not keep. 2011 wasn't too bad, but I really think I can do better. I want to leave a year not going, "Eh." This year, instead of stating what I will or won't do, I will make a list of things I would like to accomplish, but won't be so sad if I don't. Okay, maybe I would be a little sad, but let's just say, I would not be surprised if they didn't happen. Here we go.
10. I would like to drive to California with my three children to see my grandparents. This won't be so bad, seeing as I live on the East coast and driving with children doesn't suck AT ALL.
9. I would love to take a trip to the Galapagos Islands with my whole family. I am not sure how much this costs, but I am betting that it just might be a little more than we have in savings. Who knows, though? Maybe I could turn a couple of tricks and use that money for our vacay.
8. Hiking the Appalachian Trail would really make the year. Forget the facts that I do not hike, can't carry anything on my back or that I homeschool three young children. I can do it, right?
7. I have always dreamed of singing in a Broadway show. Totally unrealistic, but I don't care. I mean, shit, even Rosie O'Donnel has been on Broadway.
6. This is definitely my year to have an affair with Johnny Depp. STFU. It could totally happen!!
5. I will grow 7 inches and become a super model. Okay, I actually do not desire this, but I would not be sad if I could make it a reality.
4. I want to run a marathon. Oh, wait. I am actually signing up for a marathon, so scratch that. It sounds like an actual resolution. Hmmm...I will replace it with learning to line dance.
3. Plastic surgery. Who cares what for? Just... yes.
2. I will cry when I need to. I am not sure when that is, but I will do my best to figure it out.
1. I want to drive to NY, on a whim, just me and my husband, for Chinese food.
The end.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Meh, They'll Get over it. Hopefully?
So, it's been about a month and I am still getting used to the new, old me. I would say that I am afraid the crazy me will come back, but I am not really. Not that it isn't a possibility, I am just not afraid of it. If she does, she does. If not, GREAT!!! I miss some parts of her, but seriously? I am pretty over her. The only thing that is kind of concerning, at this point, is all the damage that fucking bitch may have done over the past few years.
Now, I know I didn't cause any horrible damage. At least I hope not. I know I didn't rob a bank or anything. And I didn't murder anyone or start workin' the street or anything. But I may have pushed some people away over time and acted a little whacky. Pretty sure I said a lot of stupid shit and I know I picked up some nasty habits like smoking and trying to become a drunk, which never works for me for some reason. I even look back at my early writing on this blog and I was CRAZEEEE. Maybe a person who didn't know me wouldn't see it, but I can. Or, at least, I remember the way I was feeling at the time. And I was feeling out of my mind. In fact, if I met that me, I would stay the fuck away from her. Not because she was psycho, but mainly because she was slightly unstable and a little bit of a wild card.
So what's the point of me rehashing all this? Well, I will tell you. I feel good. Possibly great. I quit smoking 5 months ago (yes, I know that I resolved to quit almost a year ago), I barely drink anymore, I am really concentrating on being a more understanding mom (gotta work on losing the F word, and by F word, I mean Fuck. I should probably lose the S, A, B, C and D words too), joined a new homeschool group and I have been making new goals physically and trying to be realistic about where my body is. I do not even have the Dread of Winter that I usually get. However, I don't really know how to deal with my relationships that I may have ruined, made weird, or just changed forever. Normally, or abnormally, I would be anxiety ridden and pacing and thinking and crying and worrying and trying to apologize and just making it weirder. But now? I am wondering about it, but I kinda don't feel one way or the other. I mean, I kinda don't give a shit. I mean, I do care. I care about those people. But I kind of don't really think I should do anything. Like, there is nothing that I can fix, so I just need to move the fuck on and hope for the best. Also, maybe I didn't seem that crazy to them? Anything is possible.
So, lessons learned? Well, hmmmmm...don't go crazy. If you happen to go crazy, let someone know right away that you are crazy (make sure it is a trusted, long time friend). Try not to let your kids ride with you in the crazy (can be avoided by the telling a friend). Don't start a blog thinking you won't seem crazy. You can start a blog, it might help you. But people will be able to tell you are crazy. Just sayin'. And on a final note, if you find you have gone crazy and then are out of your funk, there is nothing you can do to change the past, you can only move forward. Do that and you will be fine. Peace.
Now, I know I didn't cause any horrible damage. At least I hope not. I know I didn't rob a bank or anything. And I didn't murder anyone or start workin' the street or anything. But I may have pushed some people away over time and acted a little whacky. Pretty sure I said a lot of stupid shit and I know I picked up some nasty habits like smoking and trying to become a drunk, which never works for me for some reason. I even look back at my early writing on this blog and I was CRAZEEEE. Maybe a person who didn't know me wouldn't see it, but I can. Or, at least, I remember the way I was feeling at the time. And I was feeling out of my mind. In fact, if I met that me, I would stay the fuck away from her. Not because she was psycho, but mainly because she was slightly unstable and a little bit of a wild card.
So what's the point of me rehashing all this? Well, I will tell you. I feel good. Possibly great. I quit smoking 5 months ago (yes, I know that I resolved to quit almost a year ago), I barely drink anymore, I am really concentrating on being a more understanding mom (gotta work on losing the F word, and by F word, I mean Fuck. I should probably lose the S, A, B, C and D words too), joined a new homeschool group and I have been making new goals physically and trying to be realistic about where my body is. I do not even have the Dread of Winter that I usually get. However, I don't really know how to deal with my relationships that I may have ruined, made weird, or just changed forever. Normally, or abnormally, I would be anxiety ridden and pacing and thinking and crying and worrying and trying to apologize and just making it weirder. But now? I am wondering about it, but I kinda don't feel one way or the other. I mean, I kinda don't give a shit. I mean, I do care. I care about those people. But I kind of don't really think I should do anything. Like, there is nothing that I can fix, so I just need to move the fuck on and hope for the best. Also, maybe I didn't seem that crazy to them? Anything is possible.
So, lessons learned? Well, hmmmmm...don't go crazy. If you happen to go crazy, let someone know right away that you are crazy (make sure it is a trusted, long time friend). Try not to let your kids ride with you in the crazy (can be avoided by the telling a friend). Don't start a blog thinking you won't seem crazy. You can start a blog, it might help you. But people will be able to tell you are crazy. Just sayin'. And on a final note, if you find you have gone crazy and then are out of your funk, there is nothing you can do to change the past, you can only move forward. Do that and you will be fine. Peace.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Well, Hello My Love!! Where the Fuck have You been?
The strangest thing happened the other day. I mean, it was really quite interesting and awesome. I received a guest that I have not seen in, hmmmmm, how long has it been? Two and a half years? Noooooo!!! Really? Has it been that long? Yep, I haven't seen her in about two and a half years!!
So, anyway, I got this knock at the door and, of course, I was afraid it was Sadness. So what did I do? I hid. For days. But the knocking kept on and I tried to ignore it. Really fucking hard. Of course I had to give in eventually and answer the door. Because my curiosity ALWAYS gets the best of me. This time, though, it totally paid off, because right there in front of me was ME!! Not me from now, well the me now, but not the me I was at that moment, but the OLD ME!! ME!! The me I had been missing for so long. The me that I love so much. The fun me. The me that wants to be happy and not feel beat down all the time. The me that wants people to like her, but can get over it when they don't and moves on. THAT me!!
Me: What the FUUUUuuu...??? HOLY SHIT DUDE!!! Where the fuck have you been??!!
OM: What's UUUUUUUUUP??!!! Sorry for checking out for so long. I had to go on a vacay.
Me: Vacay? I, uh, what? I mean, shit. I've missed you!!!
OM: I know guuuuurrrrllll. I have missed you too. There were many times I wanted to come back and hang out. I even packed to come home a few times.
Me: Well, why didn't you? I was INSANE without you!! Like really. REALLY!!! I could have used your support, your advice, your humor.
OM: I know, I know. I totally deserted you, but seriously. Shit got too real up in this bitch. I had to bail. You were always letting Sadness visit and you know how much I hate that bitch. But I am here for you now. Do you forgive me? Will you have me back.
ME: OMFFSMWTFBBQ?? YES!!! I have been lost without you! I had no idea where you were or if I had lost you forever. Are you here for good? Or just a visit? Please say for good. I don't know if I can handle you leaving again.
OM: Well, that kinda depends on you. I want to stay. I love you. But not this mess you have become. I can't be around all that weirdness. You need to get a grip.
Me: On reality? Yes, yes I do. I promise. Oh how I promise! I will try so hard.
OM: Okay, but honey, don't do that shit again. Nothing ever gets so bad that you need to let Sadness take over. That stupid busybody bitch needs to stick her nose somewhere else. As for your anxiety, stop it. Seriously. Stop it. We can work it out together, whatever it is. And I know winter is coming. We can work through that too. We'll figure something out.
Me: <SOB> These are not tears of sorrow, I promise. Thank you. Thank you for coming home.
OM: <Stroking my hair and holding me close> You are welcome. I will try not to let you down again.
And that is how the Old Me came home. She just sort of appeared one day. It's not to say that we haven't had a few bumps here and there, but she has been my voice of reason and always knows the right thing to say. What a shitty few years. But all I can do now is look forward and hope that the Old Me and the Current Me can just become the New Me. Here's to having fun, here's to not taking life too seriously, here's to weathering the storm, and here's to change. Huzzah!!
So, anyway, I got this knock at the door and, of course, I was afraid it was Sadness. So what did I do? I hid. For days. But the knocking kept on and I tried to ignore it. Really fucking hard. Of course I had to give in eventually and answer the door. Because my curiosity ALWAYS gets the best of me. This time, though, it totally paid off, because right there in front of me was ME!! Not me from now, well the me now, but not the me I was at that moment, but the OLD ME!! ME!! The me I had been missing for so long. The me that I love so much. The fun me. The me that wants to be happy and not feel beat down all the time. The me that wants people to like her, but can get over it when they don't and moves on. THAT me!!
Me: What the FUUUUuuu...??? HOLY SHIT DUDE!!! Where the fuck have you been??!!
OM: What's UUUUUUUUUP??!!! Sorry for checking out for so long. I had to go on a vacay.
Me: Vacay? I, uh, what? I mean, shit. I've missed you!!!
OM: I know guuuuurrrrllll. I have missed you too. There were many times I wanted to come back and hang out. I even packed to come home a few times.
Me: Well, why didn't you? I was INSANE without you!! Like really. REALLY!!! I could have used your support, your advice, your humor.
OM: I know, I know. I totally deserted you, but seriously. Shit got too real up in this bitch. I had to bail. You were always letting Sadness visit and you know how much I hate that bitch. But I am here for you now. Do you forgive me? Will you have me back.
ME: OMFFSMWTFBBQ?? YES!!! I have been lost without you! I had no idea where you were or if I had lost you forever. Are you here for good? Or just a visit? Please say for good. I don't know if I can handle you leaving again.
OM: Well, that kinda depends on you. I want to stay. I love you. But not this mess you have become. I can't be around all that weirdness. You need to get a grip.
Me: On reality? Yes, yes I do. I promise. Oh how I promise! I will try so hard.
OM: Okay, but honey, don't do that shit again. Nothing ever gets so bad that you need to let Sadness take over. That stupid busybody bitch needs to stick her nose somewhere else. As for your anxiety, stop it. Seriously. Stop it. We can work it out together, whatever it is. And I know winter is coming. We can work through that too. We'll figure something out.
Me: <SOB> These are not tears of sorrow, I promise. Thank you. Thank you for coming home.
OM: <Stroking my hair and holding me close> You are welcome. I will try not to let you down again.
And that is how the Old Me came home. She just sort of appeared one day. It's not to say that we haven't had a few bumps here and there, but she has been my voice of reason and always knows the right thing to say. What a shitty few years. But all I can do now is look forward and hope that the Old Me and the Current Me can just become the New Me. Here's to having fun, here's to not taking life too seriously, here's to weathering the storm, and here's to change. Huzzah!!
Monday, July 25, 2011
A Love Letter
Dear 37 Year Old Body,
When I first sat down to write this, I was totally prepared to bitch you out for failing me. My leg hurts, my back hurts, I feel exhausted and depressed. But, then something hit me and made me think differently. If I blame you for the way I feel, then I am refusing to take responsibility for my actions and choices that have led to your deterioration. So, really, I need to thank you.
Thank you so much for allowing me to be overweight for so many years and then lose the weight quickly with very little issue.
Thank you for not being overly upset for smoking and drinking for so long and thank you for being patient with me while I kicked smoking, not once, but twice. That was really kind of you.
Thank you for being able to carry my three children to term and recovering so well after two cesareans. And awesome job pushing the third one out after 3 days of labor. I was in total awe of your power. I didn't know you had it in you.
Thank you so much for helping me get two half marathons and one full marathon under my belt, despite the fact that I was old to start a new sport, probably pushed you way too hard during training and did not always listen to you when you were telling me to slow down.
Thank you for still being able to walk, see and hear. I know that some people can not and I am grateful to have those abilities.
Thank you for not (so far) having some type of cancer, even though I have given you every reason to do so. I will try harder to not raise my chances.
Finally, thank you for just being you. You never complain about me, even though I complain plenty about you and you always seem to bounce back from most trials I throw at you.
Body, you rock and I love you. I will try not to blame you for all of my shortcomings from now on. I want to do right by you and give you back all that you have given me. Oh, one more thing. Please don't die. I am not ready for that.
Yours Forever,
ApparentlyATotalB
When I first sat down to write this, I was totally prepared to bitch you out for failing me. My leg hurts, my back hurts, I feel exhausted and depressed. But, then something hit me and made me think differently. If I blame you for the way I feel, then I am refusing to take responsibility for my actions and choices that have led to your deterioration. So, really, I need to thank you.
Thank you so much for allowing me to be overweight for so many years and then lose the weight quickly with very little issue.
Thank you for not being overly upset for smoking and drinking for so long and thank you for being patient with me while I kicked smoking, not once, but twice. That was really kind of you.
Thank you for being able to carry my three children to term and recovering so well after two cesareans. And awesome job pushing the third one out after 3 days of labor. I was in total awe of your power. I didn't know you had it in you.
Thank you so much for helping me get two half marathons and one full marathon under my belt, despite the fact that I was old to start a new sport, probably pushed you way too hard during training and did not always listen to you when you were telling me to slow down.
Thank you for still being able to walk, see and hear. I know that some people can not and I am grateful to have those abilities.
Thank you for not (so far) having some type of cancer, even though I have given you every reason to do so. I will try harder to not raise my chances.
Finally, thank you for just being you. You never complain about me, even though I complain plenty about you and you always seem to bounce back from most trials I throw at you.
Body, you rock and I love you. I will try not to blame you for all of my shortcomings from now on. I want to do right by you and give you back all that you have given me. Oh, one more thing. Please don't die. I am not ready for that.
Yours Forever,
ApparentlyATotalB
Friday, July 1, 2011
What?
<ringring>
Me: Hello?
Hubby: Um, where the hell are you?
Me: Uuuuuhhhh, getting dinner? Hellllooooo.
Hubby: <clearing throat> Since when does dinner take 3 hours to go get??
Me: 4. 4 hours, honey. <out the window> PICK A FUCKING LANE, YOU COCKSUCKING DOUCHE!! Sorry, babe. 4 hours. I am not there yet.
Hubby: Huh? Okaaaaayyyyyy...would you mind telling me where the hell you are going? The kids have been waiting for over THREE HOURS FOR THEIR DINNER!!
Me: Dude, chill out! I am on 78. I will be in NYC in a little over an hour.
Hubby: ...
Hubby: I...what?...What.THE.FUCK???
Me: What?
Hubby: NYC?? As in New York FUCKING City?? What? Huh? WHY??!!
Me: What is wrong with you? Everyone knows that the best Chinese food comes from New York. Jesus. Do I have to explain everything?
Hubby: WE HAVE A CHINESE RESTAURANT IN TOWN!!!
Me: I know, but I have become bored of that place. The food is always kind of bland. Have you noticed that? The blandness? I just thought we needed a change. Something exciting. And really, we should be taking advantage of the fact that New York is so close.
Hubby: CLOSE? Close to visit, maybe, but not for TAKE OUT!!!
Me: Could you please stop yelling. I am totally trying to pay attention to the road. You know loud noises distract me and make me feel all crazy inside.
Hubby: Okay, okay. <exhaling slowly> I KNOW that every once in awhile people need to buy the farm. I get it. BUT, there are like 1, 2, 3....Oh about SIX MILLION CHINESE RESTAURANTS BETWEEN HERE AND NEW YORK!! Could you have NOT PICKED ONE OF THOSE????!!!! MOTHERFUCK!
Me: Seriously? Are you really going to keep yelling at me like that while I am driving? Because it could really cause me to get into an accident and die. So, since it is clear that you can not see past the end of your nose, I will have to call you when I am on the way back. Give the kids a little snacky and I will see you in about 6. Peace!
Hubby: GODDAMNIT, MOTHERF...
<click>
Me: Hello?
Hubby: Um, where the hell are you?
Me: Uuuuuhhhh, getting dinner? Hellllooooo.
Hubby: <clearing throat> Since when does dinner take 3 hours to go get??
Me: 4. 4 hours, honey. <out the window> PICK A FUCKING LANE, YOU COCKSUCKING DOUCHE!! Sorry, babe. 4 hours. I am not there yet.
Hubby: Huh? Okaaaaayyyyyy...would you mind telling me where the hell you are going? The kids have been waiting for over THREE HOURS FOR THEIR DINNER!!
Me: Dude, chill out! I am on 78. I will be in NYC in a little over an hour.
Hubby: ...
Hubby: I...what?...What.THE.FUCK???
Me: What?
Hubby: NYC?? As in New York FUCKING City?? What? Huh? WHY??!!
Me: What is wrong with you? Everyone knows that the best Chinese food comes from New York. Jesus. Do I have to explain everything?
Hubby: WE HAVE A CHINESE RESTAURANT IN TOWN!!!
Me: I know, but I have become bored of that place. The food is always kind of bland. Have you noticed that? The blandness? I just thought we needed a change. Something exciting. And really, we should be taking advantage of the fact that New York is so close.
Hubby: CLOSE? Close to visit, maybe, but not for TAKE OUT!!!
Me: Could you please stop yelling. I am totally trying to pay attention to the road. You know loud noises distract me and make me feel all crazy inside.
Hubby: Okay, okay. <exhaling slowly> I KNOW that every once in awhile people need to buy the farm. I get it. BUT, there are like 1, 2, 3....Oh about SIX MILLION CHINESE RESTAURANTS BETWEEN HERE AND NEW YORK!! Could you have NOT PICKED ONE OF THOSE????!!!! MOTHERFUCK!
Me: Seriously? Are you really going to keep yelling at me like that while I am driving? Because it could really cause me to get into an accident and die. So, since it is clear that you can not see past the end of your nose, I will have to call you when I am on the way back. Give the kids a little snacky and I will see you in about 6. Peace!
Hubby: GODDAMNIT, MOTHERF...
<click>
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Oh Fuckin' Hell, Really, Can't You Just Get The Fuck Out?
<knock knock knock>
Me: <mumbling> Who the fuck is knocking on my door? Fuck it. I am not expecting anyone. Maybe they will leave.
<knockknockknock>
Me: <whispering> justleavejustleavejustleave
<KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK>
Me: <hissing> what the fuck? <sliding across floor, peeking through blinds> FOR FUCK'S SAKE!
Sadness: YOOHOO!!! <knockityknockknock> Hellllooooooo!! Darling Dear?
Me: Shitshitshitshit <opening door>
Sadness: OH!! Here you are!! Look at you, my little pigeon! It has been too long!!
Me: Really? It feels like you were just here yesterday.
Sadness: Well, no dear. It has been a whole 6 months!! That seems like forever and a day! What are you doing with yourself? <barges in, nearly knocking my eye out with her garment bag>
Me: Um, let's see...I guess the usual. Moving things around making it seem like I am cleaning, taking a shower only when I start to offend myself, thinking of taking up a meth habit. You?
Sadness: Thinking about you, of course!! I just felt this force calling me here. You need me!!
Me: No, really I don't. I am fine on my own. Do you think we could do this some other time?
Sadness: Silly girl! There is no time like the present!! Let's get to it.
Me: No, really. I don't want to get to anything except maybe living a little. I really, REALLY can't do this now. Now about that meth habit...I need to do some research on the internetz.
Sadness: You don't want me here? But we have always had lovely visits! Remember last time? We did everything together!!
Me: Yeah, um, well...that's kinda the problem. See, you bring me the fuck down. I don't really like you. You never let me get anything done and you are such a fucking narcissist. I can't stand it. The worst thing is, you embarrass me in public and I don't want to be seen with you. How can I make you go away?
Sadness: Bwahahahahahaha!!! Make me go away? You really are so cute!! You can't MAKE me go away!! I come and go as I please! Showing up unannounced is part of the fun and adds an element of surprise! Aren't you surprised?? Alarmed even? See how FUN that is?
Me: Only if FUN is an acronym for Fucking Unbelievably Narcissistic.
Sadness: Hahahaha!! I love you! You make me laugh!
Me: ...
Me: Look, I hate you. How much more clear can I be? I.HATE.YOU. So, stay if you like, but I am going to pretend like you are not here. I will ignore you. I will block you out. I have a force field around me, protecting me from you. And don't even think about asking me to go running or to join me in any other activity I enjoy. No you may not. Are we clear??
Sadness: This sounds pretty important to you. But I can't leave. I have nowhere else to be at the present, so I can't leave until my time is up. I promise, you won't even know I am here. I will just sit in this corner here. See?
Me: You need to shut the fuck up, too. No talking. At all.
Sadness: <makes a zipping lip motion>
Me: Uh huh. Okay, I am going to clean up toys. <sideways glance> Leave me alone.
Sadness: <nodding> Mmhmm. Mkay.
Me: <pointing> I got both eyes on you, fucker. One false move...and I will cut your ass.
Sadness: <blank stare>
Me: Okay, sit there. I'll be back...
Me: <mumbling> Who the fuck is knocking on my door? Fuck it. I am not expecting anyone. Maybe they will leave.
<knockknockknock>
Me: <whispering> justleavejustleavejustleave
<KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK>
Me: <hissing> what the fuck? <sliding across floor, peeking through blinds> FOR FUCK'S SAKE!
Sadness: YOOHOO!!! <knockityknockknock> Hellllooooooo!! Darling Dear?
Me: Shitshitshitshit <opening door>
Sadness: OH!! Here you are!! Look at you, my little pigeon! It has been too long!!
Me: Really? It feels like you were just here yesterday.
Sadness: Well, no dear. It has been a whole 6 months!! That seems like forever and a day! What are you doing with yourself? <barges in, nearly knocking my eye out with her garment bag>
Me: Um, let's see...I guess the usual. Moving things around making it seem like I am cleaning, taking a shower only when I start to offend myself, thinking of taking up a meth habit. You?
Sadness: Thinking about you, of course!! I just felt this force calling me here. You need me!!
Me: No, really I don't. I am fine on my own. Do you think we could do this some other time?
Sadness: Silly girl! There is no time like the present!! Let's get to it.
Me: No, really. I don't want to get to anything except maybe living a little. I really, REALLY can't do this now. Now about that meth habit...I need to do some research on the internetz.
Sadness: You don't want me here? But we have always had lovely visits! Remember last time? We did everything together!!
Me: Yeah, um, well...that's kinda the problem. See, you bring me the fuck down. I don't really like you. You never let me get anything done and you are such a fucking narcissist. I can't stand it. The worst thing is, you embarrass me in public and I don't want to be seen with you. How can I make you go away?
Sadness: Bwahahahahahaha!!! Make me go away? You really are so cute!! You can't MAKE me go away!! I come and go as I please! Showing up unannounced is part of the fun and adds an element of surprise! Aren't you surprised?? Alarmed even? See how FUN that is?
Me: Only if FUN is an acronym for Fucking Unbelievably Narcissistic.
Sadness: Hahahaha!! I love you! You make me laugh!
Me: ...
Me: Look, I hate you. How much more clear can I be? I.HATE.YOU. So, stay if you like, but I am going to pretend like you are not here. I will ignore you. I will block you out. I have a force field around me, protecting me from you. And don't even think about asking me to go running or to join me in any other activity I enjoy. No you may not. Are we clear??
Sadness: This sounds pretty important to you. But I can't leave. I have nowhere else to be at the present, so I can't leave until my time is up. I promise, you won't even know I am here. I will just sit in this corner here. See?
Me: You need to shut the fuck up, too. No talking. At all.
Sadness: <makes a zipping lip motion>
Me: Uh huh. Okay, I am going to clean up toys. <sideways glance> Leave me alone.
Sadness: <nodding> Mmhmm. Mkay.
Me: <pointing> I got both eyes on you, fucker. One false move...and I will cut your ass.
Sadness: <blank stare>
Me: Okay, sit there. I'll be back...
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Thanks For Your Help, Douchebag
I am making some new rules for people to live by. Why? Because I think that there are some things people do that they shouldn't. These are things that anyone with common sense would automatically NOT do, but apparently, some people need a rule. And because they bother me. And I count more than anyone in the world because I am the most important.
1. If you have a hairy back and you feel that it is necessary to wear a tank top, for whatever reason, please, I beg of you, shave or wax your back. Just do it. Seriously. Also, think about doing the legs too if you are wearing running shorts that show most of your ass. Thank you, and America thanks you.
2. When you are shopping for cologne or perfume, make sure that the scent you pick out can not in any way, shape or form be mistaken for the scent that is used in a Porta Potty to mask the smell of piss and shit. If you think that there is even a tiny possibility that it could, walk on by. There are plenty of other colognes out there that do not.
3. If someone asks you a question, like let's say, "Is that coffee place open across the street?", and you think their question is stupid because it is 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday, keep it to your fucking self. Maybe they live in the country where everything opens at 2 on Sundays and they aren't used to the fancy, big city. Also, maybe they are not used to getting up at 4:30 in the morning and didn't think about the fact that it was Sunday or so early. And hey, if you are going to make fun of their idiocy, could you at least have the decency to tell them what IS open, because there were plenty of other places that were, you fucking DOUCHE. But thank you to the nice lady who DID offer me some information. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful.
Anyway...moving on.
4. If you do work in said coffee shop and have to be there on a Sunday at some redonkulous time, try to have a smile on your face. Try to be helpful. And seriously? Move the fuck out of the way so the customers can see what kind of bagels you are offering. "What kind of bagel do you want? Oh, I am not going to move. I am just going to STAND HERE IN YOUR WAY." Look, no one wants to be up at that hour. Even me, and I was doing something fun!! So just...yeah. Get it together and be happy to have a job. Many people do not.
So, that's all I got right now, but I am sure I will be adding to my list. It's not hard to find new rules when you are so easily irritated by people. And by people, I mean others. To be continued...
1. If you have a hairy back and you feel that it is necessary to wear a tank top, for whatever reason, please, I beg of you, shave or wax your back. Just do it. Seriously. Also, think about doing the legs too if you are wearing running shorts that show most of your ass. Thank you, and America thanks you.
2. When you are shopping for cologne or perfume, make sure that the scent you pick out can not in any way, shape or form be mistaken for the scent that is used in a Porta Potty to mask the smell of piss and shit. If you think that there is even a tiny possibility that it could, walk on by. There are plenty of other colognes out there that do not.
3. If someone asks you a question, like let's say, "Is that coffee place open across the street?", and you think their question is stupid because it is 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday, keep it to your fucking self. Maybe they live in the country where everything opens at 2 on Sundays and they aren't used to the fancy, big city. Also, maybe they are not used to getting up at 4:30 in the morning and didn't think about the fact that it was Sunday or so early. And hey, if you are going to make fun of their idiocy, could you at least have the decency to tell them what IS open, because there were plenty of other places that were, you fucking DOUCHE. But thank you to the nice lady who DID offer me some information. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful.
Anyway...moving on.
4. If you do work in said coffee shop and have to be there on a Sunday at some redonkulous time, try to have a smile on your face. Try to be helpful. And seriously? Move the fuck out of the way so the customers can see what kind of bagels you are offering. "What kind of bagel do you want? Oh, I am not going to move. I am just going to STAND HERE IN YOUR WAY." Look, no one wants to be up at that hour. Even me, and I was doing something fun!! So just...yeah. Get it together and be happy to have a job. Many people do not.
So, that's all I got right now, but I am sure I will be adding to my list. It's not hard to find new rules when you are so easily irritated by people. And by people, I mean others. To be continued...
Friday, May 13, 2011
5 Things I Hate More Than Pinkeye
I hate pinkeye. It is seriously so disgusting and whenever my kids get it, I want to run away. So, when my son's eyes swelled from his allergies, I immediately rushed him to Urgent Care to get him some drops. Not dealing with the doo doo eye.
On my way, I was trying to decide what could possibly be worse than Poopy Eye. Not much, but I came up with a list of five.
5. Christine McVie. That bitch is annoying. Her voice makes me want to stick broken glass in my eye just to hear myself scream. However, "Songbird" is an exception to the rule, but not a big enough one to make her better than Shitty Eye.
4. Stepping on a thumbtack. I struggled with this one because pinkeye lasts longer than the stick of a tack. But, feeling the metal of a thumbtack enter your foot and then having to pull it out again, only to feel that metal hit the same spots, really smarts and leaves a forever memory. Especially if it has happened more than once.
3. Being in a full body cast. This has never happened to me, but I would definitely rather have pinkeye than have to endure one day in a full body cast. Pretty self explanatory.
2. All of The Supremes, but mostly Diana Ross. I don't need to elaborate. I just hate them. Sue me, fuckers.
And finally...
1. Strep. I wish we had Pinkeye.
On my way, I was trying to decide what could possibly be worse than Poopy Eye. Not much, but I came up with a list of five.
5. Christine McVie. That bitch is annoying. Her voice makes me want to stick broken glass in my eye just to hear myself scream. However, "Songbird" is an exception to the rule, but not a big enough one to make her better than Shitty Eye.
4. Stepping on a thumbtack. I struggled with this one because pinkeye lasts longer than the stick of a tack. But, feeling the metal of a thumbtack enter your foot and then having to pull it out again, only to feel that metal hit the same spots, really smarts and leaves a forever memory. Especially if it has happened more than once.
3. Being in a full body cast. This has never happened to me, but I would definitely rather have pinkeye than have to endure one day in a full body cast. Pretty self explanatory.
2. All of The Supremes, but mostly Diana Ross. I don't need to elaborate. I just hate them. Sue me, fuckers.
And finally...
1. Strep. I wish we had Pinkeye.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
You Scared The CRAP Outta Me!!
Dear Retail Therapy,
Today I went on a journey. A journey to find that thing that I saw at the mall two weeks ago. You know, that perfect thing to make me feel better about myself and lift me up. A little boost. A nice fuzzy blanket to keep me warm and cozy. A fluffy cloud to lay on. Yep, that thing.
Unfortunately, when I found that thing and tried it on, it did not make me feel better. It was ill fitting and did not flatter my body in the least. No matter. I knew you wouldn't let me down, seeing what a faithful friend you have been all these years. You would never let me down. Right?
Well, you almost did. You allowed me to wander aimlessly around the mall, searching for that perfect little something, didn't you? You let me think that I would never find something, anything, to give me a little pep in my step. You laughed as I was near tears, rifling through the racks, trying to locate a token of your appreciation for me. And then, while I was down, you kicked me a couple of times.
But, miraculously, you pulled it together and came through. There on that last rack, right next to the exit, I found it. A sale item that was pretty enough to pull me out of my shit. It was flattering, feminine and only $13.00. It was proof that you hadn't lost your touch.
However, if you ever do that to me again, I will FUCK YOU UP! No, bitch. I don't want to hear your excuses. You acted like a cunt and I swear to HOLY CHRIST, if you ever, EVER treat me that way again, I will cut your ass!! I will pull your Goddamn hair out strand by strand. Then I will make you eat that shit after I have pummeled your smug, little, pig face. Ever seen Fight Club? Yeah, bitch, that'll be you.
In closing, I would like you to know that I still love you. I kinda want to beat your ass a little still, but I do love you. You have pulled me out of some rough spots and I will never forget that. I hope that we will always be the best of friends.
Your Forever Lover,
ApparentlyATotalB
Today I went on a journey. A journey to find that thing that I saw at the mall two weeks ago. You know, that perfect thing to make me feel better about myself and lift me up. A little boost. A nice fuzzy blanket to keep me warm and cozy. A fluffy cloud to lay on. Yep, that thing.
Unfortunately, when I found that thing and tried it on, it did not make me feel better. It was ill fitting and did not flatter my body in the least. No matter. I knew you wouldn't let me down, seeing what a faithful friend you have been all these years. You would never let me down. Right?
Well, you almost did. You allowed me to wander aimlessly around the mall, searching for that perfect little something, didn't you? You let me think that I would never find something, anything, to give me a little pep in my step. You laughed as I was near tears, rifling through the racks, trying to locate a token of your appreciation for me. And then, while I was down, you kicked me a couple of times.
But, miraculously, you pulled it together and came through. There on that last rack, right next to the exit, I found it. A sale item that was pretty enough to pull me out of my shit. It was flattering, feminine and only $13.00. It was proof that you hadn't lost your touch.
However, if you ever do that to me again, I will FUCK YOU UP! No, bitch. I don't want to hear your excuses. You acted like a cunt and I swear to HOLY CHRIST, if you ever, EVER treat me that way again, I will cut your ass!! I will pull your Goddamn hair out strand by strand. Then I will make you eat that shit after I have pummeled your smug, little, pig face. Ever seen Fight Club? Yeah, bitch, that'll be you.
In closing, I would like you to know that I still love you. I kinda want to beat your ass a little still, but I do love you. You have pulled me out of some rough spots and I will never forget that. I hope that we will always be the best of friends.
Your Forever Lover,
ApparentlyATotalB
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Attention Shoppers
My birthday was a couple of weeks ago and instead of having my husband try to figure out what I want, I just ask for money. At first I thought I would buy some new running clothes, but soon realized that I had already combed through the Outlet center and bought everything that I had wanted. Then I thought I would use the money to buy a cool running jacket from a race I will be doing in a couple of weeks, only to find that the shirt they are giving to the entrants is a half-zip pullover with the race emblem on the front. Yeah, I don't really need to waste anymore money on a running jacket if I am already getting one.
So, yesterday I decided to order a new purse. Not that I actually need one, I have plenty, but this one is so fucking COOL! It is made from recycled rubber tires and it is just the right size for a few essentials. It is a little clutch with a wrist strap and the prettiest, blue lining. I am so excited to get it this week, I can hardly stand it.
Now, the burning question that is on everyone's mind (or not) is, did this purchase satisfy me? HELLZ NO!! I mean, I am happy with my purchase and grateful that I am able to spend money on necessities AND splurge a little. I know I will get much use out of this little clutch and not everyone will have the same purse. However, after I entered my credit card info. and received my confirmation, I found myself searching through the website, drooling over the next items I will buy. Please see below for the Top 10 ways to know if you are addicted to shopping.
10. After you make a purchase, you feel the need for a cigarette and a snuggle.
9. The smell of floor wax causes a desire to run to the nearest department store.
8. No matter how many of an item you own, it is never enough. You always need "just one more".
7. You know your credit card number and CVV2 code by heart.
6. The sales associates at Calvin Klein carry pictures of your kids in their wallets.
5. You have gone without eating to save money for a much needed purchase. You can always eat later.
4. You will buy anything. Even from the Dollar Store.
3. Food does not count as a purchase, even when it is from a fancy restaurant.
2. You are upset by child labor laws. Your children could be contributing to your shopping fund.
1. You have seriously considered stripping, hooking or pimping to support your habit. Or, you have already done one or more of these things.
There you have it. Addicted.
So, yesterday I decided to order a new purse. Not that I actually need one, I have plenty, but this one is so fucking COOL! It is made from recycled rubber tires and it is just the right size for a few essentials. It is a little clutch with a wrist strap and the prettiest, blue lining. I am so excited to get it this week, I can hardly stand it.
Now, the burning question that is on everyone's mind (or not) is, did this purchase satisfy me? HELLZ NO!! I mean, I am happy with my purchase and grateful that I am able to spend money on necessities AND splurge a little. I know I will get much use out of this little clutch and not everyone will have the same purse. However, after I entered my credit card info. and received my confirmation, I found myself searching through the website, drooling over the next items I will buy. Please see below for the Top 10 ways to know if you are addicted to shopping.
10. After you make a purchase, you feel the need for a cigarette and a snuggle.
9. The smell of floor wax causes a desire to run to the nearest department store.
8. No matter how many of an item you own, it is never enough. You always need "just one more".
7. You know your credit card number and CVV2 code by heart.
6. The sales associates at Calvin Klein carry pictures of your kids in their wallets.
5. You have gone without eating to save money for a much needed purchase. You can always eat later.
4. You will buy anything. Even from the Dollar Store.
3. Food does not count as a purchase, even when it is from a fancy restaurant.
2. You are upset by child labor laws. Your children could be contributing to your shopping fund.
1. You have seriously considered stripping, hooking or pimping to support your habit. Or, you have already done one or more of these things.
There you have it. Addicted.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I Am NOT A Pack Rat!! Okay, Maybe I Am, But I Am A Fancy Pack Rat.
I just realized something today. I have a really bad habit of saving things that are not worth saving. Well, okay, I didn't just realize it today. I have always known that I had a little problem throwing shit away. It used to be stuff like papers. Just weird, random pieces of paper with numbers written on them, or old bills, envelopes, Christmas cards. You name it. If it once came from a tree, I kept it.
I also kept a bunch of old crap from high school in a box. Pictures, my tassel from graduation, my letter, some pins. I used to have a fanny pack (yes, I said fanny pack) stuffed with old notes I had received from friends during school. I know there were at least 50 notes in that thing, all folded into some fucked up geometric shape. I finally got rid of them all, only to regret it and wish I still had them to reread and laugh at how dumb I was. Hopefully I got rid of the fanny pack, though. Not only because fanny packs are the biggest fashion crime ever, but also because it was red with fake, suede tassels on it. I think I still have the box somewhere under my stairs with the intention of revisiting my childhood.
As an adult, the main thing I have a problem with is reading and deleting e-mails. If I see an e-mail that I don't need, instead of just throwing it away, I leave it right there in the inbox. I pretend like I don't know why I do this, but that is a lie. Somehow, I think I may need it. Like it just might have something I will need to reference down the road or something. I am afraid to get rid of it because my life may just depend on that obscure e-mail that I don't even really need to open. The saddest thing is, I have a tendency to delete e-mails that I really should save. It is totally fucked up, but whatever. I eventually go through and clean up to start over with a blank slate.
Anyway, back to today's realization. I was putting clothes away, thinking how badly I needed to purge some of my kids' clothes, when I came upon a pair of my pajama pants. No big deal, right? Well, my husband bought me the pajamas 5 years ago for Christmas. They were somewhere around 50 bucks, which I find ridiculous for a pair of PJs, but they were a gift. Not long after I was given these pajamas, they ripped a little on the seam in the ass. I was not bothered by this and continued to wear them. Over time, the tear became bigger and bigger, eventually becoming a gaping hole, exposing most of my ass and a good part of my leg. How do I know this? Because I continued to wear them. I continued to wear a piece of raggedy, trashy piece of cloth that completely showed my whole ass. Who the fuck does that?? Apparently, I do.
So, what did I do when I found these horribly shredded pajamas today? Did I throw them out? Did I cut them up to use as dusting cloths? Did I place them in my craft box to use for something? NO!! I neatly folded them up and put them in my closet to be worn later. That makes me a sick bitch.
I also kept a bunch of old crap from high school in a box. Pictures, my tassel from graduation, my letter, some pins. I used to have a fanny pack (yes, I said fanny pack) stuffed with old notes I had received from friends during school. I know there were at least 50 notes in that thing, all folded into some fucked up geometric shape. I finally got rid of them all, only to regret it and wish I still had them to reread and laugh at how dumb I was. Hopefully I got rid of the fanny pack, though. Not only because fanny packs are the biggest fashion crime ever, but also because it was red with fake, suede tassels on it. I think I still have the box somewhere under my stairs with the intention of revisiting my childhood.
As an adult, the main thing I have a problem with is reading and deleting e-mails. If I see an e-mail that I don't need, instead of just throwing it away, I leave it right there in the inbox. I pretend like I don't know why I do this, but that is a lie. Somehow, I think I may need it. Like it just might have something I will need to reference down the road or something. I am afraid to get rid of it because my life may just depend on that obscure e-mail that I don't even really need to open. The saddest thing is, I have a tendency to delete e-mails that I really should save. It is totally fucked up, but whatever. I eventually go through and clean up to start over with a blank slate.
Anyway, back to today's realization. I was putting clothes away, thinking how badly I needed to purge some of my kids' clothes, when I came upon a pair of my pajama pants. No big deal, right? Well, my husband bought me the pajamas 5 years ago for Christmas. They were somewhere around 50 bucks, which I find ridiculous for a pair of PJs, but they were a gift. Not long after I was given these pajamas, they ripped a little on the seam in the ass. I was not bothered by this and continued to wear them. Over time, the tear became bigger and bigger, eventually becoming a gaping hole, exposing most of my ass and a good part of my leg. How do I know this? Because I continued to wear them. I continued to wear a piece of raggedy, trashy piece of cloth that completely showed my whole ass. Who the fuck does that?? Apparently, I do.
So, what did I do when I found these horribly shredded pajamas today? Did I throw them out? Did I cut them up to use as dusting cloths? Did I place them in my craft box to use for something? NO!! I neatly folded them up and put them in my closet to be worn later. That makes me a sick bitch.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Mindless And Incessant Rambling With A Touch Of Gushing
Okay, so, wow. Really embarrassing. I am totally addicted to a show. And not just any show. Probably a show that has the worst premise EVAH!! Maybe you have heard of it. It's called 21 Jump Street.
If you haven't heard of this show (which would mean you have been living under some large object your entire life, or you're old, or you're really young, in which case, you should probably not be reading my blog), it is about a group of cops who go into high schools, undercover, to bust teenage criminals. And it is progressive. The first couple of seasons were really shitty. Acting kinda shitty, script REALLY shitty, plot lines EXTRA ULTRA shitty. But it gets better. I said better, it's not Shakespeare.
Yes, it is pretty silly for a 36 year old woman to be addicted to 21 Jump Street when it has now been off the air for, what is it, going on twenty years? But I can't help myself. I watched it when I was a kid and I guess I needed a little mindless release while I have a little adventure with the 15 year old girl I used to be.
I didn't start with the first season. I watched that a few years back after I had my 2nd baby. I felt this need to see Johnny Depp in his younger years and try to remind myself of what all the fuss is about. You know how when you are little and you are in love with some actor on TV and then you get old and they aren't nearly as cute as you thought they would be? You know, like Ponch from Chips? Yeah, no. Johnny Depp is nothing like that. That dude was (and still is) H.O.T. Ponch, not so much. Okay, maybe a little, as Ponch. Not Eric Estrada himself. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY is as white hot as J.D.
I remember waiting for the show to come on, hoping to see Officer Tom Hanson (Johnny Depp) kiss some girl or just look at someone with a longing expression or just go tell a deep story that showed a glimpse of who his character was. I truly believed that I could see into that guy's soul. And when he would cuss, or chew gum and talk, or smile and show his ridiculously perfect teeth. OMG, my world was complete.
But now, now as I am in the middle of the third season of this preposterous show, now as I waste my life experiencing this show as an adult, I realize. I realize that he is still hot. Still sexy. And not aging because he really doesn't look much different. I am starting to believe that he has a portrait hidden somewhere in his house in Paris. A picture of him, but haggard and old, showing all the damage he has done to his body and mind. The warped, twisted version of himself that displays his sins and wrongdoings. A picture so frightening and gut wrenching that you would have to burn your eyes out for fear that you might catch a glimpse of it again. There has to be because nobody looks that fucking good. Nobody. Especially when they drink and smoke and are going on 50. 50. That guy is gonna be 50 soon and his real name is Dorian Gray. Yeah. I don't really know where I was going with this but, that is all.
If you haven't heard of this show (which would mean you have been living under some large object your entire life, or you're old, or you're really young, in which case, you should probably not be reading my blog), it is about a group of cops who go into high schools, undercover, to bust teenage criminals. And it is progressive. The first couple of seasons were really shitty. Acting kinda shitty, script REALLY shitty, plot lines EXTRA ULTRA shitty. But it gets better. I said better, it's not Shakespeare.
Yes, it is pretty silly for a 36 year old woman to be addicted to 21 Jump Street when it has now been off the air for, what is it, going on twenty years? But I can't help myself. I watched it when I was a kid and I guess I needed a little mindless release while I have a little adventure with the 15 year old girl I used to be.
I didn't start with the first season. I watched that a few years back after I had my 2nd baby. I felt this need to see Johnny Depp in his younger years and try to remind myself of what all the fuss is about. You know how when you are little and you are in love with some actor on TV and then you get old and they aren't nearly as cute as you thought they would be? You know, like Ponch from Chips? Yeah, no. Johnny Depp is nothing like that. That dude was (and still is) H.O.T. Ponch, not so much. Okay, maybe a little, as Ponch. Not Eric Estrada himself. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY is as white hot as J.D.
I remember waiting for the show to come on, hoping to see Officer Tom Hanson (Johnny Depp) kiss some girl or just look at someone with a longing expression or just go tell a deep story that showed a glimpse of who his character was. I truly believed that I could see into that guy's soul. And when he would cuss, or chew gum and talk, or smile and show his ridiculously perfect teeth. OMG, my world was complete.
But now, now as I am in the middle of the third season of this preposterous show, now as I waste my life experiencing this show as an adult, I realize. I realize that he is still hot. Still sexy. And not aging because he really doesn't look much different. I am starting to believe that he has a portrait hidden somewhere in his house in Paris. A picture of him, but haggard and old, showing all the damage he has done to his body and mind. The warped, twisted version of himself that displays his sins and wrongdoings. A picture so frightening and gut wrenching that you would have to burn your eyes out for fear that you might catch a glimpse of it again. There has to be because nobody looks that fucking good. Nobody. Especially when they drink and smoke and are going on 50. 50. That guy is gonna be 50 soon and his real name is Dorian Gray. Yeah. I don't really know where I was going with this but, that is all.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Just Gross
Last night my husband and I took the kids to Friendly's for dinner. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to go out to eat, but my son seemed so excited about it and somehow, in our minds, we thought that it would be fun.
There was a time in my life when Friendly's would have seemed AMAZING. Cheese sticks, cheese quesadillas, crappy tuna melt, a HUGE ice cream sundae. But I don't normally eat like that anymore, so the thought of their food is vile. And guess what? It was just as awesome as I thought it would be.
I, of course, thought I was going to get everything on the menu as an appetizer. This was the "fat me" trying to make an appearance. Luckily, we live on a pretty strict budget, so I couldn't go too crazy. I decided on the mini cheese sticks. And then "fat me" tried to kick the mother in me outta the picture. I actually did NOT want to share my appetizer with my kids. I even considered telling them no and keeping the fried yumminess all to myself. This did not happen, but I was a little asshole about it, dishing out only as many as I was willing to give up. I watched in disbelief as my 5 year old removed the yummy cheese food and only ate the breading. What a waste.
Then came my entree'. I gave myself two choices. The fried chicken salad or the fried chicken wrap. I don't know why in my mind these seemed like the most "healthy" options, but I really thought that they would be the lesser of the evils on the menu. I went with the wrap. I have to say, I really didn't think a flour tortilla could be any worse than the white flour ones you buy at the store, but this one tasted like...Jeebus, I don't even know. Like at some point in the process it had been fried in fake butter and then dried, and then fried again, and then ironed maybe. I really started to wonder how it was made to be so soft and pliable. Also, how do you get iceberg lettuce to taste any shittier than it already does? Blaaarrrgggh. And don't even get me started on the tomatoes. So goddamn gross. I smothered this wretched concoction in watery ranch dressing because the honey mustard that was already on it was clearly not enough. I was good though. I only ate a small portion of my cardboard fries and gave the rest away.
At least my kids had fun. While completely unappetizing to me, their food looked fun. My son's sliders came on little chopstick like skewers which the kids promptly removed and began to use as swords. Mandarin oranges came on the side of my girls' hotdogs and I have decided that those have to be the most disgusting excuse for fruit EVER. My 3 year old made me eat one and I thought I was going to have to spit it on the floor.
Dessert came with the kids' meals and due to the fact that my wrap was slowly making it's way through my bloodstream, I was able to resist getting the Reese's Pieces sundae. My son got this sundae that had an upside down cone and when my husband asked how he was going to eat it, I thought of all the inappropriate ways I could get us kicked out of the restaurant and banned for all eternity. "Sorry guys, mommy's not allowed at Friendly's anymore. Apparently they don't like it when adults simulate fellatio on the desserts. I guess they don't appreciate the art of deep throating."
Oh joy!!! To top the night off the waitress brought each of the kids balloons, a strange toy that I have never liked and find a little dangerous. Everyone always tries to put them in their mouths or beat each other with them. The best is when they hold them up in the back seat so that I can't see out of the rearview mirror. "Woops!! The wind just carried them away!! I'm sorry, babies. <snicker, snort>"
So, once again, I have been reminded of why I don't eat at places as awesome as Friendly's anymore. I will remember for awhile and then in about a year we will decide to go there again, forgetting how truly disgusting it is and then wishing we had gone and eaten something more exotic. Of course, I wouldn't mind going and sampling their phallic desserts...
There was a time in my life when Friendly's would have seemed AMAZING. Cheese sticks, cheese quesadillas, crappy tuna melt, a HUGE ice cream sundae. But I don't normally eat like that anymore, so the thought of their food is vile. And guess what? It was just as awesome as I thought it would be.
I, of course, thought I was going to get everything on the menu as an appetizer. This was the "fat me" trying to make an appearance. Luckily, we live on a pretty strict budget, so I couldn't go too crazy. I decided on the mini cheese sticks. And then "fat me" tried to kick the mother in me outta the picture. I actually did NOT want to share my appetizer with my kids. I even considered telling them no and keeping the fried yumminess all to myself. This did not happen, but I was a little asshole about it, dishing out only as many as I was willing to give up. I watched in disbelief as my 5 year old removed the yummy cheese food and only ate the breading. What a waste.
Then came my entree'. I gave myself two choices. The fried chicken salad or the fried chicken wrap. I don't know why in my mind these seemed like the most "healthy" options, but I really thought that they would be the lesser of the evils on the menu. I went with the wrap. I have to say, I really didn't think a flour tortilla could be any worse than the white flour ones you buy at the store, but this one tasted like...Jeebus, I don't even know. Like at some point in the process it had been fried in fake butter and then dried, and then fried again, and then ironed maybe. I really started to wonder how it was made to be so soft and pliable. Also, how do you get iceberg lettuce to taste any shittier than it already does? Blaaarrrgggh. And don't even get me started on the tomatoes. So goddamn gross. I smothered this wretched concoction in watery ranch dressing because the honey mustard that was already on it was clearly not enough. I was good though. I only ate a small portion of my cardboard fries and gave the rest away.
At least my kids had fun. While completely unappetizing to me, their food looked fun. My son's sliders came on little chopstick like skewers which the kids promptly removed and began to use as swords. Mandarin oranges came on the side of my girls' hotdogs and I have decided that those have to be the most disgusting excuse for fruit EVER. My 3 year old made me eat one and I thought I was going to have to spit it on the floor.
Dessert came with the kids' meals and due to the fact that my wrap was slowly making it's way through my bloodstream, I was able to resist getting the Reese's Pieces sundae. My son got this sundae that had an upside down cone and when my husband asked how he was going to eat it, I thought of all the inappropriate ways I could get us kicked out of the restaurant and banned for all eternity. "Sorry guys, mommy's not allowed at Friendly's anymore. Apparently they don't like it when adults simulate fellatio on the desserts. I guess they don't appreciate the art of deep throating."
Oh joy!!! To top the night off the waitress brought each of the kids balloons, a strange toy that I have never liked and find a little dangerous. Everyone always tries to put them in their mouths or beat each other with them. The best is when they hold them up in the back seat so that I can't see out of the rearview mirror. "Woops!! The wind just carried them away!! I'm sorry, babies. <snicker, snort>"
So, once again, I have been reminded of why I don't eat at places as awesome as Friendly's anymore. I will remember for awhile and then in about a year we will decide to go there again, forgetting how truly disgusting it is and then wishing we had gone and eaten something more exotic. Of course, I wouldn't mind going and sampling their phallic desserts...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
That Would Be Filed Under F For Fuck My Life.
Sometimes I wish I could have some sort of disease that worked like Alzheimer's. Not in the horrific way that Alzheimer's destroys every part of your brain and leaves you unrecognizable and rips your family to pieces. But if I could have some of the bad memories taken away, I wouldn't mind. Not all of them, of course, because some of them have been very important in my growth as a person. But seriously? Many of them can just go away. I usually don't dwell on most of these thoughts, but they will just creep in when I have been thinking about something else that may be related in some obscure way.
It's like I have drawers of memories filed away under different categories, written on cards to be looked at every once in awhile. But sometimes when I am looking at one, I drop the drawer and the cards become a jumbled mess, so I have to look at each one and put them back in their place. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just go through and hand pick the ones I don't want and burn them in a nice little pile?
Take this little gem for example:
Year: 1985
Place: Elementary School
Description: While preparing to give a demonstration of how to make pancakes and heating up the griddle, cockroaches that had been living in said griddle began running for their lives.
I wish this did not actually happen to me. But it did. And every time I think of it, my cheeks still burn with the shame and humiliation that I felt that day. It is like I am 11 years old again, crying to my teacher. But the best part of that memory <insert sarcasm> is that now, as an adult, I can only dream of all the things she must have been thinking.
How about this one:
Year: 1987
Place: The shopping center across from my house.
Description: While walking with a more popular girl that I did not find very attractive (I still don't know why we were hanging out), she told me, "It's not your fault that I am prettier than you.".
Yeah, I don't like to remember that one either. I don't actually think she was prettier than me and honestly, that shows some insecurity on her part. But the way I felt about that statement at 13, considering the way I already felt about myself and my life at the time, so not cool. And so not worth rehashing, but there it is. Cataloged away to make an appearance when I least expect it.
This one is similar, but worse on so many levels:
Year: 1990
Place: The neighborhood next to mine
Description: Walking home from school, a younger child that I did not know told me I was fat and ugly.
Again, not really worth rehashing, so why can't it just go away?
This one, wow. This one is one I would totally love to forget. No, this one I wish would have never happened, but forgetting it would be nice too:
Year: 1992
Place: My best friends car
Description: After getting ripped on Purple Passion wine coolers and calling my friend to come and rescue me from a party, I suddenly puked Purple Passion and the contents of everything I had eaten that day all over the passenger side of her front seat.
Do I even need to explain why I would not want to remember this? No, I didn't think so.
So, yeah. I wouldn't mind having a few memories erased. Again, nothing overly important, just ones that have no business hanging around and taking up my sweet ass time.
It's like I have drawers of memories filed away under different categories, written on cards to be looked at every once in awhile. But sometimes when I am looking at one, I drop the drawer and the cards become a jumbled mess, so I have to look at each one and put them back in their place. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just go through and hand pick the ones I don't want and burn them in a nice little pile?
Take this little gem for example:
Year: 1985
Place: Elementary School
Description: While preparing to give a demonstration of how to make pancakes and heating up the griddle, cockroaches that had been living in said griddle began running for their lives.
I wish this did not actually happen to me. But it did. And every time I think of it, my cheeks still burn with the shame and humiliation that I felt that day. It is like I am 11 years old again, crying to my teacher. But the best part of that memory <insert sarcasm> is that now, as an adult, I can only dream of all the things she must have been thinking.
How about this one:
Year: 1987
Place: The shopping center across from my house.
Description: While walking with a more popular girl that I did not find very attractive (I still don't know why we were hanging out), she told me, "It's not your fault that I am prettier than you.".
Yeah, I don't like to remember that one either. I don't actually think she was prettier than me and honestly, that shows some insecurity on her part. But the way I felt about that statement at 13, considering the way I already felt about myself and my life at the time, so not cool. And so not worth rehashing, but there it is. Cataloged away to make an appearance when I least expect it.
This one is similar, but worse on so many levels:
Year: 1990
Place: The neighborhood next to mine
Description: Walking home from school, a younger child that I did not know told me I was fat and ugly.
Again, not really worth rehashing, so why can't it just go away?
This one, wow. This one is one I would totally love to forget. No, this one I wish would have never happened, but forgetting it would be nice too:
Year: 1992
Place: My best friends car
Description: After getting ripped on Purple Passion wine coolers and calling my friend to come and rescue me from a party, I suddenly puked Purple Passion and the contents of everything I had eaten that day all over the passenger side of her front seat.
Do I even need to explain why I would not want to remember this? No, I didn't think so.
So, yeah. I wouldn't mind having a few memories erased. Again, nothing overly important, just ones that have no business hanging around and taking up my sweet ass time.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
I've Fallen Flat On My Back. Could You Help Me Up?
So, I am a total fucking dummass. An awesome fucking dummass, but a fucking dummass all the same. Up until recently, I was not a beer drinker. I always drank liquor, rum mostly, but after I had kids I lost the taste for most liquors. So, naturally, I switched to beer. Not ultra shitty beer, but not great beer either. Of course, that didn't really matter to me because I only really drank it when I wanted to get drunk. :)
This past summer, my husband helped me become a little more adventurous (hah!) in my beer choices based on the beers I would generally choose. To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the different flavors of beer and not just wanting it to get drunk. Don't get me wrong, I still wanted to get high, but why not like what you are drinking while doing it, right?
At Christmas, my husband convinced me to try a beer called Raging Bitch. I have to say, I would never choose to buy this beer just by looking at the bottle. The colors are obnoxious, the letters on the label are frightening and there is a picture of a huge, rabid dog on the front. No, I was scared. I thought it would taste like dog shit. But, I trust his knowledge of beer, so I gave it a whirl. Ummmmmm, YUM!!! I never knew beer could taste like that!! You know, drinkable!! I don't even think I made any kind of face with my first sip, even though I was all prepared to pucker my lips and do the sour lemon jolt.
While we were drinking the so called Bitch, my brother and husband tried to explain why beer, having a lower Alcohol By Volume than liquor, could still get you drunk. Yeah, I didn't get it. It didn't click at all. It was like someone trying to explain how you turn the TV on and a picture comes out. I.Don't.Care. It just does. Period.
Fast forward. This past week, we have been trying beer that I like even more than the Raging Bitch. Beer with higher alcohol content. Beer that you only need a few of to have a nice, even buzz. AWESOME!! The first couple of nights were great because I didn't get Stinko in the Sinko, I just stayed nice and happy. Almost like I had smoked a bowl, but legal!! The third night, my hubby bought three different beers. A Little Sumpin' Wild, Double Bastard and Dogfish Fort. The first, YUMM-O. Citrusy, like pineapples and oranges. The second, not my type of beer, but still pretty good. Tasted a little like Whoppers. High end Whoppers, of course. By the third, which was a raspberry beer, I was feeling pretty warm and this little bell was going off in my head like, "Hey, you stupid bitch, don't drink that. You feel good, just stop. Now." Did I listen? HELLZ NO!! I went right on down the road, wanting to enjoy the beer with my husband. Also, maybe not wanting him to think I couldn't hang with the big boys. So I plowed ahead. Fort tastes like raspberry soda. Like a fizzy soda you would get from some pretentious health food store. It went down quick and smooth. It is also 18% alcohol.
Suddenly, I felt drunk. Not tipsy, not heavily buzzed, drunk. Falling down, breaking shit, waking up in your own vomit, drunk. And I am telling my husband, "Oh my fucking gawd, I am DRUNK!". And, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. I had an epiphany the way you would have one smoking a joint and suddenly understanding the meaning of the universe and why you are in it. "Holy shit!! This whole glass was 18% alcohol!! Like the WHOLE GLASS!! A shot of liquor mixed with coke in the same glass DOES NOT equal 18% alcohol!! I get it! I get it!! I was blind!! Now I see!!! JEEBUS F. CHRISTMAS!!! I am POH-LOOTED!!!" And with that, my husband tucked me into bed before I could go running through the neighborhood wearing nothing but my running shoes.
What have I learned from this experience? Well, for starters, math is not my strong suit. Two, when you have had three beers in a rocks glass and don't think it is that much, remember that the rocks glass holds 12 oz. and the lowest percentage of alcohol you are drinking is just under 9%. And C, I am a huge, drunk, fucking dummass.
This past summer, my husband helped me become a little more adventurous (hah!) in my beer choices based on the beers I would generally choose. To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the different flavors of beer and not just wanting it to get drunk. Don't get me wrong, I still wanted to get high, but why not like what you are drinking while doing it, right?
At Christmas, my husband convinced me to try a beer called Raging Bitch. I have to say, I would never choose to buy this beer just by looking at the bottle. The colors are obnoxious, the letters on the label are frightening and there is a picture of a huge, rabid dog on the front. No, I was scared. I thought it would taste like dog shit. But, I trust his knowledge of beer, so I gave it a whirl. Ummmmmm, YUM!!! I never knew beer could taste like that!! You know, drinkable!! I don't even think I made any kind of face with my first sip, even though I was all prepared to pucker my lips and do the sour lemon jolt.
While we were drinking the so called Bitch, my brother and husband tried to explain why beer, having a lower Alcohol By Volume than liquor, could still get you drunk. Yeah, I didn't get it. It didn't click at all. It was like someone trying to explain how you turn the TV on and a picture comes out. I.Don't.Care. It just does. Period.
Fast forward. This past week, we have been trying beer that I like even more than the Raging Bitch. Beer with higher alcohol content. Beer that you only need a few of to have a nice, even buzz. AWESOME!! The first couple of nights were great because I didn't get Stinko in the Sinko, I just stayed nice and happy. Almost like I had smoked a bowl, but legal!! The third night, my hubby bought three different beers. A Little Sumpin' Wild, Double Bastard and Dogfish Fort. The first, YUMM-O. Citrusy, like pineapples and oranges. The second, not my type of beer, but still pretty good. Tasted a little like Whoppers. High end Whoppers, of course. By the third, which was a raspberry beer, I was feeling pretty warm and this little bell was going off in my head like, "Hey, you stupid bitch, don't drink that. You feel good, just stop. Now." Did I listen? HELLZ NO!! I went right on down the road, wanting to enjoy the beer with my husband. Also, maybe not wanting him to think I couldn't hang with the big boys. So I plowed ahead. Fort tastes like raspberry soda. Like a fizzy soda you would get from some pretentious health food store. It went down quick and smooth. It is also 18% alcohol.
Suddenly, I felt drunk. Not tipsy, not heavily buzzed, drunk. Falling down, breaking shit, waking up in your own vomit, drunk. And I am telling my husband, "Oh my fucking gawd, I am DRUNK!". And, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. I had an epiphany the way you would have one smoking a joint and suddenly understanding the meaning of the universe and why you are in it. "Holy shit!! This whole glass was 18% alcohol!! Like the WHOLE GLASS!! A shot of liquor mixed with coke in the same glass DOES NOT equal 18% alcohol!! I get it! I get it!! I was blind!! Now I see!!! JEEBUS F. CHRISTMAS!!! I am POH-LOOTED!!!" And with that, my husband tucked me into bed before I could go running through the neighborhood wearing nothing but my running shoes.
What have I learned from this experience? Well, for starters, math is not my strong suit. Two, when you have had three beers in a rocks glass and don't think it is that much, remember that the rocks glass holds 12 oz. and the lowest percentage of alcohol you are drinking is just under 9%. And C, I am a huge, drunk, fucking dummass.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
You Should Never Work With People, Ever.
Today started off to be a pretty good day. Had an awesomely, cold run this morning. Went to pick up my new glasses, which I LOVE. Took the kids to Jerry's Subs for lunch. Disgusting. Kinda tasted like a mixture of sweat, dog shit, and mayo, but it made them happy. Then met up with an old friend at Borders and let the kids play around in the children's section. This is where my black heart turned just the tiniest bit blacker and my ass kicking self wanted to make an appearance.
Between my friend and me there were 4 kids, 3 of which were mine. All of them were playing with the stuffed animals and puppets, making a little bit of a mess, but it was contained and they were peaceful. Oh, and did I mention we were in the Children's section? So, an employee walks by and looks at some of the toys on the floor, but doesn't seem to mind stepping over them. My friend, we will call her MF, apologizes and promises we will clean it up. Okay, cool. The employee seems satisfied. A couple minutes later a different employee walks up, looking annoyed, and takes an exaggerated step over the toys.
MF: We promise we will pick those up before we leave.
Employee: (In an "I'm joking, but not really" tone) Well, you better!!!!
Alright whatever. I was annoyed, but not too bad. The kids weren't doing anything wrong and, again, we were in the Children's Section. So we continued to let them play and go about their business. Oh, and by the way, at this time there were maybe two other people milling behind one of the other shelves in that part of the store.
Another few minutes go by and the same employee walks up. And I know I am a bitch, but she looked like an ogre (please see very first post).
Ogre Lady: (Directed towards MF and me in the most ogrey tone imaginable) Okay, this is turning into a problem. It would probably be best if you cleaned as you go. Someone could trip.
MF: Okay, yes. Baby boy, please pick up those toys and put them away.
Me: ...
Ogre Lady: (to my 3 year old in the most snappy way as she was trying to stack a boxed toy) Just, just put it here! <insert annoyed sigh>
Me: ...
Me: (to MF as Ogre Lady walked away) Aren't we in the Children's Section?????
As the kids were picking up the toys, I imagined the way I wished the conversation had gone.
Ogre Lady: Okay, this is turning into a problem. It would probably be best if you cleaned as you go. Someone could trip.
Me: A problem for who? You? The two people who can be heard over here, but not seen? Did someone complain? Can you not see where the kids are playing?
Ogre Lady: Look Ma'am...
Me: Oh no you di'n't!!! I will Ma'am your ass all the way to next Tuesday, Bitch!
Ogre Lady: No, I just meant...
Me: No, I know what you meant you skank! You meant that you think we don't know how to CONTROL our children!! You meant you hate our children and wish we would beat the shit out of them so they wouldn't make such messes. You meant that you hate ALL little kids and wish they would follow the seen but not heard rule! I know what you fuckin' meant!
Ogre Lady: No, I...I'm sorry.
Me: I know you're sorry, now apologize, Scag, before I kut ur ass!! (I produce kitchen shears at this point)
MF: Yeah, Ho. You best be steppin'!! (pulls brass knuckles out of her purse and puts them on)
Ogre Lady: <runs away, weeping>
Did this happen? No, of course not. It never does. I always sit there with an expression of disbelief, knowing that if I open my mouth the venom might escape. Then I just talk behind their back with my friends about what assholes they are.
I just don't get it. Why did she have to be so snippity? Why couldn't I think of anything to say to her that would not have been combative but still put her in her place? Why would you work somewhere like that if you clearly thought all kids should rot in Hell? I just made that up, but she seemed like the type. And why, oh why, for the love of of JEEBUS, WHY does Border's have a CHILDREN'S SECTION built for CHILDREN if they do not want kids to come there to PLAY???? Just sayin'.
Between my friend and me there were 4 kids, 3 of which were mine. All of them were playing with the stuffed animals and puppets, making a little bit of a mess, but it was contained and they were peaceful. Oh, and did I mention we were in the Children's section? So, an employee walks by and looks at some of the toys on the floor, but doesn't seem to mind stepping over them. My friend, we will call her MF, apologizes and promises we will clean it up. Okay, cool. The employee seems satisfied. A couple minutes later a different employee walks up, looking annoyed, and takes an exaggerated step over the toys.
MF: We promise we will pick those up before we leave.
Employee: (In an "I'm joking, but not really" tone) Well, you better!!!!
Alright whatever. I was annoyed, but not too bad. The kids weren't doing anything wrong and, again, we were in the Children's Section. So we continued to let them play and go about their business. Oh, and by the way, at this time there were maybe two other people milling behind one of the other shelves in that part of the store.
Another few minutes go by and the same employee walks up. And I know I am a bitch, but she looked like an ogre (please see very first post).
Ogre Lady: (Directed towards MF and me in the most ogrey tone imaginable) Okay, this is turning into a problem. It would probably be best if you cleaned as you go. Someone could trip.
MF: Okay, yes. Baby boy, please pick up those toys and put them away.
Me: ...
Ogre Lady: (to my 3 year old in the most snappy way as she was trying to stack a boxed toy) Just, just put it here! <insert annoyed sigh>
Me: ...
Me: (to MF as Ogre Lady walked away) Aren't we in the Children's Section?????
As the kids were picking up the toys, I imagined the way I wished the conversation had gone.
Ogre Lady: Okay, this is turning into a problem. It would probably be best if you cleaned as you go. Someone could trip.
Me: A problem for who? You? The two people who can be heard over here, but not seen? Did someone complain? Can you not see where the kids are playing?
Ogre Lady: Look Ma'am...
Me: Oh no you di'n't!!! I will Ma'am your ass all the way to next Tuesday, Bitch!
Ogre Lady: No, I just meant...
Me: No, I know what you meant you skank! You meant that you think we don't know how to CONTROL our children!! You meant you hate our children and wish we would beat the shit out of them so they wouldn't make such messes. You meant that you hate ALL little kids and wish they would follow the seen but not heard rule! I know what you fuckin' meant!
Ogre Lady: No, I...I'm sorry.
Me: I know you're sorry, now apologize, Scag, before I kut ur ass!! (I produce kitchen shears at this point)
MF: Yeah, Ho. You best be steppin'!! (pulls brass knuckles out of her purse and puts them on)
Ogre Lady: <runs away, weeping>
Did this happen? No, of course not. It never does. I always sit there with an expression of disbelief, knowing that if I open my mouth the venom might escape. Then I just talk behind their back with my friends about what assholes they are.
I just don't get it. Why did she have to be so snippity? Why couldn't I think of anything to say to her that would not have been combative but still put her in her place? Why would you work somewhere like that if you clearly thought all kids should rot in Hell? I just made that up, but she seemed like the type. And why, oh why, for the love of of JEEBUS, WHY does Border's have a CHILDREN'S SECTION built for CHILDREN if they do not want kids to come there to PLAY???? Just sayin'.
Isn't 7 Just A Made Up Number?
Saturday mornings I run with a group about 15 minutes away from my house. They start at 7 a.m. Let me be perfectly clear. Getting up early enough to be anywhere by 7 a.m. is like death to me. It is one of the many reasons I chose to homeschool my children. I couldn't imagine trying to get up and get them ready to be at the bus by 7 in the morning. But, once a week isn't so bad and it gets me out running with a group of peeps that have a common goal. However, this morning I was ill prepared. My running clothes were down in the laundry room instead of being on my chair in the bedroom where they should be, I couldn't find a long sleeve shirt to wear under my jacket, I almost left my running hat upstairs and to top it off, I was only able to find one of my running shoes. I had a vague recollection of my 5 year old walking around my living room wearing my shoes, but could not remember where she had taken them, and could not find the match to my one ANYWHERE. It was right then and there that I decided daily beatings are in order. That will teach my kids to play with my shit.
Anyway, after deciding that not going was absolutely NOT an option, I pulled my old pair of shoes out of the closet and set out for my daily dose of cardio. When I got in my car, the temperature read 11 degrees. "That can't be right. 11 fuckin' degrees. No way. Once the air gets moving through the car, it will change." And change it did. It went DOWN. By the time I reached my destination, the temperature had reached 7. 7 degrees. 7? For fuckin' realz? Am I really running in 7 degree weather at 7 in the morning? Who is this crazy ass bitch, and what has she done with the old me? What I found even crazier is that there were 4 other people there waiting to get their run on, one of which had already run 5 miles. Did I mention that I smoke crack on a regular basis? So, after I put my crack pipe back in the car, we started out. I thought that once I started running I would warm up and forget that it was only 7 degrees. Boy, I must be dumber than I thought because no matter what activity you do, cold is fucking cold. Internally I felt okay and all the parts of my body that were covered by my bra, running tank, tech shirt and coat were fine. But every body part that did not have more than one layer felt like it was being stabbed over and over and over again by little needles. Also, I am pretty sure my nose has become permanently frozen as I do not own a face mask. Why would I? It would take thought and planning on my part to purchase such an item. My plan was to run 5 miles. I did actually reach my goal. But only because I was afraid if I slowed down or stopped, my face would break off.
Now I have been home for about an hour and a half and I can not get warm. I immediately stripped off my sweaty ass clothes and changed into pajamas and a sweatshirt, but it didn't make a difference. I allowed freezing cold, 7 degree weather to penetrate my body. I am predicting to not warm up until somewhere around June. Oddly, I know this experience will not make me smarter and will not teach me a lesson. I will continue to run on Saturday mornings without checking the weather and will probably never dress accordingly. Because I am a crack whore who is completely invincible. And don't you forget it.
Anyway, after deciding that not going was absolutely NOT an option, I pulled my old pair of shoes out of the closet and set out for my daily dose of cardio. When I got in my car, the temperature read 11 degrees. "That can't be right. 11 fuckin' degrees. No way. Once the air gets moving through the car, it will change." And change it did. It went DOWN. By the time I reached my destination, the temperature had reached 7. 7 degrees. 7? For fuckin' realz? Am I really running in 7 degree weather at 7 in the morning? Who is this crazy ass bitch, and what has she done with the old me? What I found even crazier is that there were 4 other people there waiting to get their run on, one of which had already run 5 miles. Did I mention that I smoke crack on a regular basis? So, after I put my crack pipe back in the car, we started out. I thought that once I started running I would warm up and forget that it was only 7 degrees. Boy, I must be dumber than I thought because no matter what activity you do, cold is fucking cold. Internally I felt okay and all the parts of my body that were covered by my bra, running tank, tech shirt and coat were fine. But every body part that did not have more than one layer felt like it was being stabbed over and over and over again by little needles. Also, I am pretty sure my nose has become permanently frozen as I do not own a face mask. Why would I? It would take thought and planning on my part to purchase such an item. My plan was to run 5 miles. I did actually reach my goal. But only because I was afraid if I slowed down or stopped, my face would break off.
Now I have been home for about an hour and a half and I can not get warm. I immediately stripped off my sweaty ass clothes and changed into pajamas and a sweatshirt, but it didn't make a difference. I allowed freezing cold, 7 degree weather to penetrate my body. I am predicting to not warm up until somewhere around June. Oddly, I know this experience will not make me smarter and will not teach me a lesson. I will continue to run on Saturday mornings without checking the weather and will probably never dress accordingly. Because I am a crack whore who is completely invincible. And don't you forget it.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Hello, Fatty MacFatterson
I went shopping for running shirts today. Actually, just running shirt as I only bought one. And when I say "shopping" I mean I walked into the Nike store, checked the clearance racks, bought my $5 shirt and left. Anyway, while I was looking through the racks, I realized that I was second guessing my size and thinking the mediums would be WAY too small. So, I held them up to my body to see how tight they would be. Huh. They looked like they would fit. How could that be? Oh yeah!!! Because I am not fat anymore!!! I always do this. Think that I am bigger than I am. Because let's face it, once you have been fat, the fear of being fat again never really goes away. Which is funny because when I was fat I think I thought I was thinner than I actually was. Until I saw pics of myself and was like, "DAMN!! Who's Shamoo?? OMG, that's me isn't it?" But now it is ridiculous to think of myself as fat. Not that their aren't things I would change about myself still. Like the saggy potato sack that used to be my abdomen, or the droopy feather pillows I used to call boobs. But for the most part, I am happy with my body. As happy as one can be after years of mistreating it with booze and fried food. I just wish I could stop having this weird perception of myself. I guess thinking I am fatter is better than thinking I look hot when I don't. I have had that happen before. Struttin' my stuff, thinking all the boys are being brought to the yard with my milkshake. Then I catch a glimpse in the mirror or see a picture of myself (usually in a sitting position so that my skin rolls are bubbling) and my dreams are shattered into a million pieces as I realize my milkshake has found it's way to a different spot and the only boys in my yard are there because they are playing with my 7 year old son.
Just for once I would like to see myself in a realistic light. Thirty something, pretty okay shape for an old fatty with three kids, smells pretty good (usually), dresses decently. These things are true. But they are kind of boring. Maybe that's why I always see myself as an extreme. Big Fatty vs. Total Hottie. I would actually like to see those two duke it out. "In the blue corner, weighing in at 220 pounds, sporting a burrito wrapped around fried chicken and mashed potatoes, Biggie soda in hand, HILDEGARD THE HUUUUUUGGGGE! And in the red corner, weighing in at 125 pounds, wearing the pink hot pants, whore makeup, hooker shoes and drinking her dinner, TRUVY the TRAMP!!!! HH comes out trying to step on TT, but is too slow for that quick slut. She is also way more interested in her chicken friend burrito than fighting. TT throws her liquid meal at HH's head. Oh no!! HH might be down for the count!! TT picks up the burrito filled with fat and goodness. Wait, what's this? She is eyeing it adoringly, licking her chops. She comes in for a bite and WHAMMO!!! HH knocks TT over with her huge ass!!! TT tries to recover, but fails as HH slimes over and covers TT's tiny body!! Now they are both writhing on the floor! It looks like a ham humping a piece of asparagus! OMG!! What's happening? What are they doing? They are melding together to make one average person!!" And there you have it. The description of me. Mediocrity at it's finest. But at least I am not fat anymore. I always have that!
Just for once I would like to see myself in a realistic light. Thirty something, pretty okay shape for an old fatty with three kids, smells pretty good (usually), dresses decently. These things are true. But they are kind of boring. Maybe that's why I always see myself as an extreme. Big Fatty vs. Total Hottie. I would actually like to see those two duke it out. "In the blue corner, weighing in at 220 pounds, sporting a burrito wrapped around fried chicken and mashed potatoes, Biggie soda in hand, HILDEGARD THE HUUUUUUGGGGE! And in the red corner, weighing in at 125 pounds, wearing the pink hot pants, whore makeup, hooker shoes and drinking her dinner, TRUVY the TRAMP!!!! HH comes out trying to step on TT, but is too slow for that quick slut. She is also way more interested in her chicken friend burrito than fighting. TT throws her liquid meal at HH's head. Oh no!! HH might be down for the count!! TT picks up the burrito filled with fat and goodness. Wait, what's this? She is eyeing it adoringly, licking her chops. She comes in for a bite and WHAMMO!!! HH knocks TT over with her huge ass!!! TT tries to recover, but fails as HH slimes over and covers TT's tiny body!! Now they are both writhing on the floor! It looks like a ham humping a piece of asparagus! OMG!! What's happening? What are they doing? They are melding together to make one average person!!" And there you have it. The description of me. Mediocrity at it's finest. But at least I am not fat anymore. I always have that!
Friday, January 14, 2011
Top 10 Things That Are More Fun Than Quitting
Here is a list of the top 10 things I think we would be more fun than quitting an addiction:
10. Stepping on thumb tacks.
9. Having a tooth extracted without novocaine.
8. Pulling each of my toenails and finger nails out one by one with pliers.
7. Being run over the foot by a car. Twice. Then having said foot amputated with a rusty saw.
6. Having each of my fingers broken with a sledgehammer.
5. Being hit in the eye with the edge of a chipped brick.
4. Being shot through the hand by a bullet AND an arrow.
3. Cliff diving and landing on pointy rocks.
2. Sticking an ice pick in my ear.
1. Burning alive.
If you can't tell, I really want a fucking cigarette.
10. Stepping on thumb tacks.
9. Having a tooth extracted without novocaine.
8. Pulling each of my toenails and finger nails out one by one with pliers.
7. Being run over the foot by a car. Twice. Then having said foot amputated with a rusty saw.
6. Having each of my fingers broken with a sledgehammer.
5. Being hit in the eye with the edge of a chipped brick.
4. Being shot through the hand by a bullet AND an arrow.
3. Cliff diving and landing on pointy rocks.
2. Sticking an ice pick in my ear.
1. Burning alive.
If you can't tell, I really want a fucking cigarette.
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