Friday, March 29, 2013

BYOC!!!


Five little questions we answer to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break!  Come join us and ENJOY!

1. What’s your first reaction when you get really angry?


I’m asking this because I was and still am VERY angry about something (I’ll blog about it later). I remember actually sitting in my car and thinking to myself, “Wow – am I going to cry?” Nope. Too angry to cry. The first thing I did was disprove every accusation and swear like a truck driver. Everything was F this and F that. Then I think of ways and body parts I’d like to shank. In all honesty – usually I over-react. It’s part of my personality. I’ve learned to take a step back before I decide what I’m going to do because my first inclination to shank them in the nutsack isn’t really the best option. It might be the most fun option but it’s not really smart. Or legal.

2. When is the last time you cried in sadness or in joy?

Is it wrong to say that I cried when I got my Michael Kors purse? I’m kidding. Sort of.

Hmmm – honest to God – I have no idea the last time I cried in honest sadness or joy. I do remember that on Valentine’s day I shocked myself and got a little teary-eyed because Banana gave me a card and she wrote in it and it said, “I love you Mom. You are the beast.” She meant best but spelled it beast and for some reason – it struck me.

In sadness? It’s probably been well over a year…unless you count sappy TV shows where my favorite people die.

3. If the stars aligned and everything was perfect from your partner to your job and income and everything – how many kids would you choose to have?

This is a hard question. For the first 4 years of our marriage, Rambo and I had no desire to have kids and then one day we just decided we changed our mind. For 5 years after that – no matter how many times every single human on Earth asked us when we’d have another – we were adamant that we didn’t want any more. One was it for us. It was more me than anyone actually. I think Rambo would have kids all day long and twice on Tuesday “if the stars aligned”.

Then one day – I changed my mind and Banana was born. We sometimes discuss adoption and sometimes I want to be pregnant again literally based on how Rambo treated me during that time. But even if everything was perfect – I’d still only have one or two. I’m too selfish to have any more than that. Duh.

4. If you won the lottery – what is the first purchase you’d make?

If Rambo didn’t know we’d won and only I knew – I’d run my ass down to the local gun store and buy Rambo an M3 (or something like that). I *think* it’s some kind of assault rifle that is big enough to shoot elephants because you know – we have tons of those little stinkers in our backyard we need to get rid of. He’s wanted it forever and last I heard was that the base price was $1600. Reedick.

5. Repeat question. Summarize your week in real life and in blog land.

In blogland, I’ve started following some new blogs and that’s always fun.

In real life – dudes – I’m just trying to keep breathing. The mayoral election is Tuesday and it cannot come soon enough. A shitstorm of drama ensued last night of epic proportions…and I don’t think it’s over. Two Easters to go to this weekend even though Rambo works….and I’m praying I can PUT DOWN THE DAMN CHOCOLATE BUNNIES!

Happy Easter everyone!

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Epic sadness. Seriously. For realz.

Well my dear Skittlebugs…it’s a sad, sad, ultra-sad, extremely over the top, dramatic, weeping, tantrum throwing kind of day over here in Care Bear Land. Even a bath filled with Skittles and a faucet that runs with Mt. Dew can’t make this day better. I ain’t farting any gumdrops. It’s just downright shitastic.

Why?

Ugh. I guess I have to actually go from figuring it out to admitting it in my head to writing down the damn words here.

Are you ready?

I think that chocolate is the cause of my migraines.

Gasp.

Is your mouth wide open because you are shrieking in horror for me?

Last night I started getting a headache. And because I’m stupid and stubborn, I listened to my crazy head and dumbass Drazil who was saying, “It’s not a migraine. You’re just tired. It’s not a migraine.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a stick! I have never ever ever ever had just a headache since Banana was born 7 years ago. Every single headache turns into a migraine. I don’t know why I continue to pretend otherwise.

Anyway – at midnight the pain woke me up. Migraine city. Big shocker, right? I took a triptan and prayed to every God imaginable to let it work. I think I even promised one such God that I’d sacrifice our cat in adoration if they let the meds work. Oopsie.

4am comes around and I’m dying. I’m sure of it. I’d cut my own head off if I had the strength to go and get a knife from the kitchen. I take another triptan.

6am rolls around and I tell myself to suck it up buttercup and get my ass to work.

7am comes and I’m at work and I decide to take a massive dose of prescription naproxen because I’d rather be in a drugged-out coma then let this migraine win. No – I don’t care if they find me convulsing at my desk with drool on my face. No one will notice the drool when they see the snakeskin heels I have on.
I’ve got it covered.

The migraine starts to ease now that I’ve broken every medicinal rule possible.

I start thinking that I should go over my food journals that I’ve meticulously kept since the first of the year – you know – to see if I can find a pattern or trigger.

Lightbulb moment, right?

I go through each day of my journals that correspond to days that I’ve had a migraine.

F*ck a duck and call it Larry.
Every damn day that I got a migraine – I had an over-abundance of chocolate or sugar.

This can’t be happening. Seriously. How can something I love so much create something I hate more than I hate P words? I may or may not have dropped to my knees and screamed WHY at the top of my lungs.

Now listen. The good news is that yours truly usually eats some kind of chocolate or treat every day. I fit it into my 1200 calories a day and the world keeps spinning. Usually I drink ½ a can of Mt. Dew or have a fun size tootsie roll or something like that. Not a lot.

BUT then there are some shitastic days where I can’t control the amount of chocolate that goes in my mouth. I hate it when that happens.

Yesterday I had M&Ms for breakfast. Don’t judge.

I had 2 fun size Milky Ways. I had 1 scoop of Culver’s custard.

I had enough Easter robin eggs to feed Ethiopian kids for 5 years.

Massive overload of chocolate and sugar.
And less than 5 hours later, I’m in the fetal position praying to golden calves
and offering up cats as sacrifices.

Dammit all to Hell.

This is hard to swallow. Like wow.
Could this really be it?
Seven years of searching for a trigger and I never freaking saw a pattern until now?
What is wrong with me?

Live in denial-land much?
Or how about refuse-to-see-what’s-right-in-front-of-you-land?

I was too busy flitting around Care Bear Land like some damn fairy to admit the facts.

So now what?

Well – it’s time to get serious. If I found the trigger, I have to test it. I have to grow some balls as big as basketballs and (wo)man up. I have to stop the excess. I have to see if doing so stops the migraines.

There’s a part of me that wants to scream like a little girl that I’ve found the trigger and what that could mean.

There’s another part of me that wants to do the ugly cry in a corner and suck my thumb.
What a curse this is. Karma can suck my left tit if you ask me.

My body can handle small quantities just fine.
Go overboard and death will greet you in a few hours.

Cripes.

What’s a girl to do when faced with a crisis of this magnitude?

I made a nail appointment. That should help, right?

I also shot the Easter Bunny. Tell your kids I’m sorry.

The robin eggs made me do it.

Or blame Drazil.  That always works for me.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Hugs and Shanks!


I bought a pair of jeans this weekend that – no lie – have a pink and black skull on the right thigh. It’s a BIG skull and it’s perfection. Seriously – to whomever made these jeans – IWTHU. I have shitloads of Harley shirts with skulls on them and these pants are perfect to match them when we go riding! They are BAD-ASS. Never mind that they are 2 sizes too big. I have blinged out Harley belts that can fix that right up.

To all the YouTube women who do hair and makeup tutorials and say, “You can do this too.” Shut up. Um no, I can’t. IWTSU. You have the hair of a Goddess and your face is a flawless canvas. You make me want to shank myself.

To Easter – IWTSU right after I hug you. My God – Easter candy! In my opinion, it kicks Halloween candy’s ass in a basket. Robin eggs – aka those colored nuggets of bliss that are really just Whoppers in disguise? Reeses shaped eggs? Mini Cadbury eggs with the hard shell? Butterfinger eggs? I mean it never ends. The damn pastel colors get me EVERY damn time.

Let’s talk about the dreaded P word that I hate for a teeny sec. The one that rhymes with whoop. There’s a stomach flu going around and the only symptom seems to be “the runs”. What the what? Runs? Who on God’s green Earth said it was okay to tell the people you professionally work with that you have the runs or the squirts??? I can’t wrap my head around this. If I have the runs – I sure as hell want to keep it a secret in the same way a hooker keeps her STDs a secret. I don’t want anyone to imagine me having “the runs”….much less co-workers. Run is a thing I do on the treadmill – not the toilet. To those of you who tell me your toilet issues – IWTSU.

To the weather guy who says that the weather may actually start feeling like spring – IWTHU. It is nearly April and I’m still wearing boots with most of my outfits. Es no bueno. I mean it’s just downright inappropriate. By now I should have gotten my first pedicure and my toes should be showing in every shoe I wear.

The mayoral election is next week and I’d like to say to my nerves and my anxiety about that – IWTSU. Rambo should win but one never knows. I just want it over with. Like yesterday.

To this morning – IWTHU. Rambo didn’t have to go in to work at his usual time this morning. He has to take an inmate to the hospital for surgery all day today so he didn’t have to be to work until 8am. Normally he gets up at 4am and is gone before the girls and I even get up. Today though he got up with us and helped us get ready and kissed and hugged us all goodbye and left the same time we did. I want that every day. My day starts better if I get to talk to and see Rambo first. For the girls too. We can’t get enough of that boy.

To my co-worker who said she could totally tell that I’m losing weight – IWTHU. Wait. No. I want to hump your leg. And buy you flowers. And hump your leg again. Mkay?

How about you guys?  Anyone you want to hug or shank??

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Operation Kick Sheniqua's Ass Update!

Hello chickens!

It’s Tuesday so that means it’s another joyous update on Operation Kick Sheniqua’s Ass.

I lost another 1.5 lbs. today.
I’m in week 12 and down 13.5 ELL BEES!
I’m ahead of schedule so far in that my goal was 1 pound per week.

My workout stats are as follows:

52 workouts in this year
41.6 hours of working out
16375.5 calories burned
135 miles gone – with 265 left to get me to my 400 mile yearly goal.

*Side note – Rambo has lost 19 pounds and hopes to get over the 20 pound mark on his Thursday weigh-in day.

As most of you know, last week I started the weight loss program that my work is sponsoring. It is a one hour video a week and a lesson book to take notes in. You take quizzes as you go along too. There are message boards and forums and at any time you can call a health counselor for help. Just basic stuff like that.

I was worried about the new program interfering with the plan I’m currently doing and one week later – I’m still confused but encouraged.

The plan I started on 1/1 was as basic as it gets. Under or below 1200 calories (no food off limits) and work out at least every other day for 60 minutes. Simple. I mean if I wanted to eat 1200 calories worth of Skittles for the day – that was totally on plan – but that’s it. I made no food restrictions – just calories.

This new work plan is heavy, heavy thinking if you ask me. The first thing it tells you to do is literally forget everything you ever learned about dieting. Once you really try to do that – is exactly when you realize diet facts and myths are engraved in your head like your home phone number.

Like this big one – eat 5-6 small meals a day – every few hours to boost your metabolism and never get over-hungry.

The program says bullshit to that. Why the hell are you eating 5-6 meals a day if you aren’t hungry? Just to PREVENT yourself from ever getting hungry? What’s wrong with hungry?

Why are we afraid to feel real hunger?

She says let yourself get to hungry (NOT famished) because THAT is exactly the precise moment that if you eat – your body will burn it. If you eat when you aren’t hungry – it will become fat and won’t be burned.

She says that every single human has a hunger manual that pertains to only them. That a single body will only get actually hungry 1 to 3 times a day. No more. And that those 1 to 3 times – are the SAME or close to each other every single day. She says most people aren’t even hungry until 4 to 6 hours after waking.

That whole “never skip breakfast” thing. She says pretty much – skip it every day – because you’re probably not even hungry then. What you are is dehydrated. We lose 2 pounds in water when we sleep.

I thought I’d put her theory to a test. I literally made a spreadsheet starting at 6am with a block to enter how I felt at each hour of the day in regards to real hunger. She gives you levels of hunger – 1 to 4 – and tells you to only eat when you are between a level 2 and 3 – because at that level your body will burn it.

So I did it. Every single hour for a whole week I charted my level of hunger or non-hunger. I ate between levels 2 and 3. I ate the way she said to – eat for 10 minutes, break for 5 minutes, eat another 10 minutes minimum. I savored my food. Really tasted it – moved it from cheek to cheek AND chewed it good. I didn’t have a limit on what I ate. Just the time. And at which level.

I’ll be damned if she wasn’t right.

She gave an example of a heart surgeon who she knows lives this way. He has figured out that he is only truly hungry once a day. He gets up early and has surgeries, then rounds, then work out and whatever and every day at 6pm he finds himself finally hungry – so he eats. Whatever he wants. Slowly for 10 minutes, breaks for 5, then eats for 10 more. He drinks water and coffee all day but is never hungry until 6pm.

She says most people get hungry 1 to 3 times a day and….

Looking back over a single week’s time , I’m a 3 a day-er. It’s a little weird. You can see on my spreadsheet that just like clockwork I get hungry the same times every single day. How weird is that? So on some other plan I was making myself eat up to 6 times a day – of which 3 I was never even hungry. Shitballs.

This is me and my body manual:

Up at 6am – get ready, kids to school, drive to work, check emails, prepare for work day and am pretty busy first few hours of each day. I don’t even begin to think about food until 10:30. Thinking back – I have “always” been this way. I have skipped breakfast most of my life and it has never bothered me. I’m just not hungry in the mornings. Never have been. I hate most breakfast foods in fact. If I’m at work and busy – food doesn’t even cross my mind for hours.

At 10:30 you can see that I start to “think” about food. Not quite hungry yet but at a level 2. By 11am, I’m planning and thinking about what I want to eat soon. I’m a level 2.5 to a 3. It’s time to eat. I eat. I’m done.

Between 11am and 1:30 – I stay at a Level 1. Not hungry at all.

At 1:30 or 2pm, I start thinking about food again. Level 2. At 2:15ish – I’m at a 2.5. I know that I want to eat soon. By 3pm, I have eaten whatever I want – following the time rules. 10 minutes slowly, break for 5, 10 more minutes.

From 3pm to 6pm – I’m finishing up at work, off at 4, drive home, talk to kids, change into workout clothes, feed kids, check emails, little things around the house, work out – busy time again. I’m at a Level 1. Food is not even on my radar.

Between 6pm and 7pm – I start thinking about food and get to a level 3. By 7pm I’ve eaten my third time and that’s it. Until bedtime, I’m not hungry. Another busy time. Baths, bed, homework, PT work, TV, clean, etc. If I eat after this last time – it’s out of habit and my mind feels hungry – but it’s not my stomach.

Every single day these times were the same or within 15 minutes of each other.  For realz.

I’ll tell you one thing – this way of eating – sure tunes you in to how your body really feels. It also makes you understand that I need WAY less food than I ever thought in order to stay completely satisfied. Some days after 10 minutes of eating – I felt full. Why do I have to get 1200 calories if my body is saying it’s satisfied?

Who says supper is always at 5pm?
Your mind? The world? Your family? The clock?

I mean a bunch of times I’d look at the clock and think “Um, I’m *supposed* to eat right now.” Then I’d think – what level am I at? Am I even hungry? Usually it was nope. Other times I could clearly write down that my MIND was dying for food but my stomach was at a Level 1 and not hungry whatsoever.

You have to break the food rules in your head. And there are many. What times to eat. What times not to eat. How many times to eat. The calorie amount to eat. Which foods to eat. All of it….comes from being programmed that way.

How many of us simply eat whatever we want at the precise moment that we are slightly/really hungry?

 Very few.

Except the people on this plan that I work with. She has a ton of other tricks to help you do the 10, 5, 10 rule easier. Other anecdotes and tips on exactly how to figure out which level you are at. Ones about what order she wants you to eat your food in and how to chew it and even how to cut it. Sounds dumb – but no lie – all new to me. All things I’ve never heard of and will probably now use forever.

But so far – in Week 1 – that’s the jist.

She even has a snack list for someone who is at a Level 2.5 and needs to eat but knows they are going out for a fancy dinner later. She tells you how to handle every situation.

I suppose it’s freeing.
She’s basically saying eat what you want – but you have to be between a level 2 and 3.

Now yah, she doesn’t mean ice cream. She says DUH – stay away from only eating sweets for those 10 minutes and break and 10 more. But beyond sweets – there are no limits. Mexican? Yup. Italian? Yup. Whatever. At the right level and for 10, 5, 10.

So – I guess I wrote all that to say – that I’m still using parts of this plan and the one I’ve been following since 1/1. I’m eating my food in the order she says and using the 10, 5,10. I’m not limiting anything. I’m using all of her other tips. I now know my levels and like clockwork – I know what time each day my own body is actually hungry. 

This helps me immensely because if I'm eating at any time other than the 3 times that MY body established - I know it's not because I'm hungry - and for some reason it makes me think why I'm eating and it deters me.

After all - that's a good goal, right?  To ONLY eat when I'm hungry. 
That's something we all want I would think. 

I don't WANT to eat when I'm not hungry...I just have for a long time and weight gain is the result.

I’m still working out though the program says it’s not necessary. (All the people at work who’ve lost and kept off the weight do NOT work out) I’m still tracking my food calories because I’m OCD like that….even though counting and tracking is not necessary. Amount and varieties are not restricted so there’s no need to track she says.

I’m listening to my body. The funny thing is that I’ve figured out it’s actually worth listening to.
It knows how to run efficiently if I’d just let it.

The hardest thing is letting go of all the shit I’ve learned my whole life.

Never skip breakfast. Eat 5-6 small meals. Restrict carbs. Eat protein with every meal. Restrict fats. Only eat veggies. Go vegan. Gluten is evil. Sugar is the devil. Use a tiny plate to trick yourself. Track every bite. Work out every day. Blah blah blah.

I’m content. This is working for me. For the first time in a long time – I’m calm about reaching my goal. It’s not IF I reach my goal, it’s when. I know I’ll get there. Only 17.5 pounds to go.

I don’t feel like I’m white-knuckling anything. Not deprived.
Never starving or wishing I was standing in line at a buffet.

I’m content. It’s weird.

I’m not saying it’s easy. What I am saying at the same time though is that it doesn’t feel hard either.

The journey just is.
I’m no longer afraid that I can’t keep doing this. I have all the tools. I’ve had them all along.

Tonight I get to watch Video #2……we’ll see what she has to say this week!

Thoughts on this? Whaddya think?

Does any of this ring true for you or do you think it’s just another diet plan? Have you ever tracked your hunger times for a week?  Did you find a pattern?

Friday, March 22, 2013

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!!



Remember BYOC???
Well if not – here’s an explanation.

BYOC stands for Bring Your Own Crazy. Copy and paste the 5 little random questions below into your blog and give your own crazy answers! It gives your blogging brain a break every Friday and helps us all get to know each other better too! It’s been a while since I’ve posted one, but I kinda missed it so Ima doing one today. Join me if you want to.

Here we go!! 

1-What was your favorite cartoon as a kid? Is it still on today?

• I can’t believe I’m admitting this but mine was The Smurfs. Hefty Smurf was such a hottie and Papa Smurf was so wise even though he was 80 billion years old….and now that I’m an adult I know that Smurfette was the town whore.

• Yes – it is still on. On one of the cartoon stations, they replay this massively-overkilled-way-too-much-blue series. You gotta remember Gargamel, right?

2-Describe your favorite piece of clothing.

• This is odd of me but I don’t think I have one. I think I have a favorite “kind” of clothing and it is pajamas. I have one entire 5 drawer-ed dresser + ½ of a shelf in my big closet with ONLY pajamas. Overboard much?

Ayup.

I can’t help it. I barely walk in my front door at night before I put my comfy usally over-sized PJs on. On the weekends – sometimes I never get out of them until Monday comes around again. Freaking bliss on a stick, I tell you.

3-In the hopes of convincing Summer to arrive – I’m asking this question. Name a summer tradition you currently have or a tradition you want to start for every summer.

• Instantly – the traditions I think of are on the Harley. Rambo and I have multiple annual rides each year for various charities and we look forward to every one of them. Some day I plan to get my own Harley so that Rambo and I can each have one of our girls on the back and this will become a family tradition then.

Family-wise now – I’d have to say the annual festival every year in August. It’s the biggest day in Podunk. For realz.

4-For all of the newbie bloggers out there getting to know everyone – let’s answer this one. How long have you been blogging, what is your theme and how did you pick your name? Why did you start blogging? What kind of blogs are your favorite to read and follow?

• Um – let me think. I think I started blogging in January of 2010. My theme? Craziness. Delusional fantasies about living in CareBear Land. Skittle-bathing stories. Cripes – I don’t have a theme. Sometimes I’m a health and fitness and weight loss blogger. Other times I’m a family/home blogger. Sometimes I’m a “have too many issues from my childhood so instead of paying a therapist I blog” blogger.

• My name. Hmmm – I have no idea how I picked it. The why is because of a book I read that talked of inner demons as though they are lizards and it said we should all name them. I did just that and named my inner demon Drazil (which is lizard backwards) and then I thought what the hell? I might as well name the fat I’m trying to rid of too. Hence, Sheniqua was born.

The point of the blog was to heal or get rid of my mental and physical baggage. Worked well, didn’t it? 3 years later and I’m still writing. Eeesh.

• My fave blogs are all of them. I follow way over the max limit allowed and they range from diet to running to family to pregnant mamas to new mamas to weight loss to mental illness to physical illness to hair and beauty blogs and everything in between. I love ‘em all. I try really hard to comment on every blog I read.

5-Repeat question: Summarize your week in blogland and in real life for us:

• My week was kinda shitastic. Migraines plagued me for 4 out of the 5 days of this week so far. I’m mentally and physically exhausted. I managed to stay on plan diet-wise though and even worked out in between pain pills.

However, after I read my dear friend Sarah’s blog from yesterday – I’d have to say – suck it up buttercup to myself. None of this means crap when a friend like her is dealing with what she is dealing with. Please – if you would – say a prayer for Sarah – and for her little boy who may be sick again. We got your back Sarah!

There you go!
That’s BYOC for this week!
Join in if you wish!

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Ten Things Thursday!


1-The show Scandal is back on and new tonight and I’m so excited that I could pee my pants (if I weren’t scared to death of getting pee on myself). Do any of you watch it? It’s actually based on a real person named Olivia Pope. I love the show twice as much as I normally would because Rambo loves it too. It’s hard to find shows we both equally love when he’s all about the action and blood and I’m all about unicorns puking rainbows you know?


2-This new weight loss for life plan that I’m doing through work is getting more interesting by the day. So simple but so many things I’ve never even thought of before. After a week in my experiment, I’ll share more deets.

3-Speaking of weight loss. I sort of created a monster. In Rambo. The boy is on a mission. Last night he worked out twice. Like as in two separate times. He went downstairs and did the elliptical and came upstairs drenched. I went downstairs and tanned and did my hour on the treadmill and when I came back upstairs Rambo said, “I’m going back down to do more.” Whatthef*ckever floats your boat dude. Have at it. Weirdo.

Saturday night before the party we went to, Rambo pulled his jeans down below his butt cheeks just to prove that he didn’t have to unbutton them because they are so loose and he walked around and pretended to be gangsta with his entire ass hanging out. How do kids walk around like that??? My girls thought it was hilarious while they called him PDaddy but he looked redonkulous.

4-Tanning. I’m having an issue with this subject. Not stop the world issue – but an issue just the same. Kinda like my “am I supposed to wash my hair every night when I sweat like a mofo” issue.

If any of you are tanners – when do you do it? Only on days you work out or the opposite? I mean like 50% of me doesn’t want to tan right before I work out because then I start out the workout already super hot then.

The other 50% of me doesn’t want to go near a tanning bed when I’m done working out because I’m dying of heat stroke already. I know I could work out, then shower and then go back downstairs to tan but after I work out it’s like I’m done going downstairs. Done with that part of the night and I never seem to make it down there. Seriously annoying.

5-I have SCS today. Saggy Crotch Syndrome. My pants are too big and so they are hanging off my butt and coochy therefore creating a wind tunnel between the crotch of my pants and my lady parts. It feels a bit breezy down there and feels like I’m hanging out in the open naked so I keep checking myself to see if I forgot to put pants on today.

6-It was officially the first day of Spring here in Podunk and it’s ass cold. I mean like negative temps snow still on the damn ground cold. It sucks massive donkey balls. Frozen, shriveled up massive donkey balls.

7-I stayed home from work on Monday with a raging migraine and when I finally plodded my pain-filled ass up out of bed and into the kitchen I saw a handwritten note that said, “I hope you feel better Mommy. I love you. Banana.” Awww – how sweet. She did that before she got on the school bus.

About an hour later I got a text from Watermelon that said, “Hi Mom. Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and hope you feel better. I love you.” Awww – again – how sweet. I have kind of nice kids, huh? Maybe I haven’t completely ruined them. Yet.

8-9-10- I’m combining since this is a long one.

Watermelon had a class with the school counselor along with all the other girls in her class. The counselor gave them a bunch of random questions.

Questions like: how often do you change your hair, what is your favorite color, what makes you happy and then she asked what makes you sad or brings a tear to your eye?

NOT a real smart question to ask a bunch of hormonal, puberty stricken young girls.

Watermelon said that by the time they were done, nearly every girl was crying. Some a lot. Watermelon said she almost started crying but held it in.

I bet this teacher is rethinking her lesson plan about now.

I asked Watermelon why the other girls were crying. She said:

A was crying because of her parent’s divorce

L was crying because of her parent’s divorce & her Grandpa has died

J was crying because of her parent’s divorce & both her grandparents have died

J was crying because everyone else was crying & she didn’t want to feel left out

O was crying because of her parent’s divorce

M was crying because her parent’s aren’t together (they had never married)

**********************************************

Eeessh – tough crowd, huh? I asked Watermelon what her answer was to the question about what makes her sad.

She said, “I *almost* started crying when I thought about the answer. It makes me sad to think that some day I will lose people like you and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa.”

Ugh…yah. That makes me sad too.

What makes me sadder is all those little girl’s answers. Some of those parents divorced a LONG time ago and have since remarried so I forget they even divorced.

The kids never forget. I think it feels like yesterday to all of them.

They don’t seem to have the ability to recover from it as children. I was shocked to realize it was so many of them who had dealt with divorce in their young lives and how a simple question brought so much pain to them.

I hope some day that pain lessens or they can at least understand their parent’s decisions better.

It’s just sad. No idea why I thought of that. I have pre-weekend brain.



That’s it for my TTT! I was thinking about doing a BYOC (Bring Your Own Crazy) tomorrow again….sometimes I miss it.

Peace out Skittles!

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Never read blogs during a self-pity party.

I finally did it.
I completely caved and let another thing I read about and saw on blogs control and change my world.

That’s right.

I reorganized my closet by color.

What? You don’t think this is big news.
 I’m here to tell you it is. This is what you have to look forward when you’re old and boring like me.

My closet used to be organized as long sleeve shirts on top and short sleeve shirts on the bottom rack. Colors willy nilly everywhere.

Then I kept seeing pictures of closets where women put all the colors together.
I knew it would be quite an undertaking but I did it anyway.

Then the anal OCD freak inside of me had to figure out the order of my colors which took longer than I care to admit. I ended up using the rainbow. You know – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. Then white, black, brown and gray and patterned.

I kid you not – the next day my arms were so sore I could barely move.
I should have counted it as a workout.

Do you want to know what this little exercise taught me?

That I’m way more boring than I thought I was.

The rainbow colored section from red to purple is – hmmm – how shall we say it?
Sparse.
Nearly non-existent.

Blacks, browns and whites? Oh holy shit a brick – way, way, way too many.

How did I let this happen?

That’s right. I got old. Shitballs.

After that strenuous little bit of exercise I did, I decided to read blogs. I have since decided that when you’re feeling old and boring – blog-reading is not advised.
Blogging is terrible for my self esteem when I’m having a pity party.

Case in point:

I get mad at the fashion bloggers because A – they have the patience and intelligence to figure out how to work camera timers and B – they look smashing in their bright RED pants and PURPLE shirt. The only thing white on them is their damn skin.

I get mad at the workout/fitness bloggers because they get to post full faced sweaty pictures after working out. I want to shank them because it’s totally their fault that I’ve chosen to stay anonymous.

I hate the bloggers who show pictures of their houses that are straight out of a Better Homes and Garden magazine. Mostly because I’m too busy playing tag with the dust bunnies to worry about actual cleaning. I didn’t realize that tables were meant to eat meals on.
I thought they were the “catchers of all the shit that has nowhere else to go.”

I want to shank women who give me hair tutorials and say, “Anyone can do this – I promise!” LIAR LIAR pants on FIYAH. Heifer. I’d have to have long, luxurious, thick hair you dildo. In case you haven’t noticed, my hair is as fine as baby ass hair. I have like 36 strands total. Heifer.

I came across a blog where some woman was going on and on about rose petals in bed or something like that left by her husband and how that was true love. I mean really? Who blogs about true love? I mean could you get more lame? I haven’t taken the garbage out in at least 10 years. THAT is true love, chicky-poo.
(um yah – this whole paragraph is being sarcastic in case you didn’t catch that. I never shut up about “true love”. Gag me.)

Next up was a running blog. God love her but the girl just completed her 822nd marathon or something like that. I lost count. I’m jealous. The only thing I’ve ever run was….away. Far, far away from reality and into Care Bear Land. Does that count?

On to the new motherhood blogs. Why do I do this to myself? No stretch marks? Love it. Baby sleeps through the night since birth? Woohooo. You fit in your pre-pregnancy jeans already? Hot damn! Phone is ringing off the hook because people want your child as a baby model? Of course they do. Seems I’m the only woman whose stomach looks like a city road map of stretch marks. Oh and my kid never slept through the night until she was TWO. Pre-pregnancy jeans? How could I know if they fit? I threw them out. And to top it off – my kid looked like a cone-headed alien when she came out. F*cking perfect.

The last straw was when I came across a blog with picture upon picture of a perfect family get together. I had no idea such things existed. It’s just mean to throw that out there to those of us who don’t live with the Brady Bunch with Leave it to Beaver as their neighbors. Extended family?
 What the hell even is that? (that sentence was a grammar nightmare)

And of course there was the usual shit Drazil always says in my head as I read blogs too. Like…

Why can’t you write like that? This girl is ACTUALLY funny unlike some people I know. Ahem…

What a cute blog name. Hmmm – I bet you wished you’d have thought of that.

OMG, she’s gorgeous. Make sure you compare yourself to her constantly, ok?

Awww, this writer changes lives. Too bad you can’t do that. The only thing you’ve ever changed is a diaper (on an alien cone-headed child, remember?).

No one else was dumb enough to make their inner demon the star of their blog.
Bet you’re regretting that about now, huh?

Yes Draz. I am. I hope you die a painful death. Then I’ll turn you into a blue leather coat.

After all – the point of this whole day was learning that I need more color in my boring closet.

Right?

(Disclaimer:  99% of the time I love ALL of the blogs I just dissed.  Calm down, ok?)

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Eating yogurt dressed in leather.

For those of you who think that I’ve come really close to conquering my social anxiety issues…wellll…let me burst your bubble. I ain’t even close.

This weekend Rambo and I had a birthday party to go to. It was with all of our motorcycle club friends. We were going to take a fat, naked nap and then go shopping before the party and I knew we’d also stop and get some frozen yogurt too. We’d sit on the bright orange couches in there like love drunk teenagers while we ate it and life would be perfect for just a moment.

I wasn’t nervous for the party. That’s pretty strange, isn’t it? I have no idea why. I knew that I’d only know just a few people there but I just wasn’t scared. Bikers are some of the strangest and sometimes scariest looking people BUT they are also the most non-judgemental and welcoming people that I know. Probably because they’ve been judged all their lives.

I got ready. Dressed up in my newest Harley duds. Went shopping while people stared at me and Rambo like we were idiots because we kind of looked bad ass.

Rambo didn’t wear a coat and wore one of his tighter HD shirts so he looked especially buff and had just shaved his whole head and had his riding boots on too. His shirt was short sleeved so all his arm tats were visible. He can be intimidating looking if you don’t know him.

I was feeling pretty good about myself and my non-hived body until we pulled into the yogurt place’s parking lot.

In the window, I could see that there was a couple from town in there with their daughter.
A nice couple.
 A couple I really like.

I grabbed Rambo’s hand and said, “Forget it – let’s go to Kohl’s first. I’m sorry.”

He was all like WTH? We’re here. I thought you wanted yogurt now.

Um yah. I did. Buuuuttt – I just saw so and so and I don’t want to see them or talk to them. Please.

Ugh. I let social anxiety win that time. I just wasn’t confident enough to walk in there like that and explain myself. Throw me into the party where every single man is wearing leather and tattoos and chaps and boots and I’m good. I FIT IN.

Walk me into a bright, open, family oriented yogurt place filled with kids and families next to my biker husband and we stick out like a sore thumb. We just do. That’s out of my element enough already. Don’t mix in knowing someone there and having to make small talk and be okay.

I can’t do it. I didn’t do it.

I was disappointed in myself that I made Rambo drive away. And relieved at the same time.

I can’t even keep up with my own mood swings. Who the hell knows how Rambo does it?

Beyond that – the weekend was perfect. It’s Rambo’s last literal day off for another 40 some days so Sunday was bittersweet. We didn’t want it to end. We took lots of fat, naked naps and hung out and worked out and just lived like a normal family on a weekend.

Except it’s not normal. It’s rare and it won’t happen again for at least 5 weeks.

One of us needs to win the lottery STAT. Rambo asked if he could stick me in his pocket and take me with him when he went back to work and I told him I’m just not thin enough for that yet. We gotta stick to winning the lottery.

It’s our only shot.

Operation Kick Sheniqua's Ass Update!

Wazzz up chickens?

I can tell you that one thing around these here parts of Podunk that is NOT up is my weight!

It’s time for an update on Operation Kick Sheniqua’s Ass!

I’m down another pound from last week making my total loss to date 12 pounds.
(*Side note – last week Rambo hit 19.5 lbs lost!)

I’ve worked out 49 days this year for a total of 125.8 miles. I have 274.2 miles to go to reach my yearly goal of 400 miles. I’ve burned 15128.5 calories and worked out for 39 hours total.

Still journaling. Still working out almost daily. Still staying at or under 1200 calories.

I had a shit-ton of migraines over the weekend into yesterday and still I worked out hard. I refuse to give up or let migraines win. When my triptan pill kicks in even a little – I take that chance to work out and always feel better afterwards.

Yesterday I started the health program that my work is sponsoring. The point of this plan is LIFELONG weight loss. It’s supposed to be different than any other plan – ever. I’d have to say that it is. Each week you watch a one hour video and there’s a book to follow along and take notes in. There are 2 quick quizzes and you of course, track your weight and measurements.

It’s VERY interesting. VERY. I’ve tried shitloads of diets over the years and this is different. And I have to say that I know MANY co-workers who’ve gone through the program and love it and have totally slimmed down and have KEPT IT OFF.

For me – it’s tough because I’m doing what I’m doing and it’s working and this program kind of asks you to throw everything you know out the window and do this. How do I do both? Or do I stop doing what I’m doing and go gung ho into this program??

I don’t know!

All I know is that one way or another – I’m going to rock a bikini this year and love every second of it.

How are your New Year’s goals coming along?

Thursday, March 14, 2013

It's MY perfect.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived with extra weight on her ass named Sheniqua and a very loud and obnoxious inner demon named Drazil - who called her life perfect if you asked her. Until one day when someone very close to her told her they thought she was a kept woman with no voice about anything in her life.

Well – I call BULLSHIT on that.
I’m documenting this story as proof that it is bullshit
AND for my girls…because I want them to know the kind of husband I married.
Because I want them to have it too.

Mostly because I want them to know that people on the outside will judge your marriage…even if they’ve never spent a moment in the depths of it.

I want them to know that I stopped the cycle of marrying and loving a man who isn’t willing to openly love and co-parent or even have a discussion.

That being said – parenting is the most difficult part of marriage if you ask me. Add in that Rambo disciplines and deals with the state’s worst criminals all day so his consequence system is skewed and the combination is sometimes confusing.

Case in point: I came home the other day to Watermelon standing at the top of the steps with “a face”.
The face that says “something is wrong”.

I asked what was up and Rambo said that he had told her she was going to help out at a church function with him on Friday night. She’s a very mature girl BUT if you throw an event at her without leading into it right – she panics. Then she reverts to about a 5 year old and throws a tantrum, refuses to go and cries.

That’s the worst thing about parenting in my opinion.
The moment when you realize your child picked up one of your worst traits –
and you were powerless to stop it.

She’s like me. She craves and needs routine. Spontaneous outings bring me to my knees. I have to have time to prepare, worry, mull it over, strategize and plan – how I’m going to get through it socially and physically. I need to know who will be there and when and every little detail so I can wrap my head around it. I need to know this all well in advance or the anxiety in me creeps up to levels beyond my control.

She is the same.
You can’t say to her, “Oh hey – you’re going somewhere with me where you know no one and it’s tomorrow.”

She panics. You can see the fear in her eyes.
She has great social anxiety and fears public things she can’t control.

Unless you talk it out with her.

Once Rambo said she was going and when – she of course – panicked. Fight or flight mode instantly. She broke down. Rambo doesn’t understand that reaction because he’s a social butterfly freak. So he told her she was no longer allowed to go. She had to stay home and babysit Banana while he and I went.

He wasn’t going to put up with that kind of reaction from a 12 year old.

So I hear the story and she says, “Now I want to go and work.”

Of course you do.

Too late honey. You’ve got to stop reacting so harshly and take a step back and voice your fears and not throw a 5 year old tantrum every time Dad and I ask you to do something on the fly. And at this point – I can’t go against Rambo. That’s a parenting no-no.

She says, “Well can I tell him I want to go? Is he mad at me?”

I said, “You’ll have to ask him. This was between you and him.”

I went about getting undressed and came back out into the kitchen to find Rambo say something with a “tone” about something dumb that didn’t matter. I think it was about a dish Banana wanted or something.

He was leaning against the sink/counter and I was standing in front of him pretty closely and I looked at him and said, “Really?” I gave him the look like *did you really just say such a dumb thing?*

Apparently he got the hint because the next thing I know is that he grabs me.
He kisses me hard and long.
Then he hugs me – tighter than usual.

I remember thinking to myself that I felt like this person that he was trying to suck the love and goodness out of and he was the sponge…hoping whatever he could get out of me would make him feel better.

And when he let go – he was better.

Rambo doesn’t often have bad moods. He’s just always been a pretty happy guy but that day? He’d had it with the inmates. He’d had to suit up in swat gear and gas a guy and it was rough.

Then he got home and his 12 year old threw a fit and gave him attitude = not a happy Rambo.

We went in the bedroom and talked. And really?
That’s all I need to say. That’s my point.

My husband had a discussion with me.

And then? I told him my thoughts.
Because I have a f*cking voice, thank you very much.

I explained to him that like it or not – Watermelon is me as a kid. She can’t do spontaneous. It’s a genuine physical social fear. She needs details and she has to plan. I told him I didn’t agree with his end decision of having her stay home but I’d support it because he made it before I could chime in. A mere 10 minutes after her blow-up, she calmed down and wanted to go. She had to process it.

He said he thought about taking away her ipod and phone too.

And then we both laughed.

Severe punishment much? Part of him is going to make damn sure he has kids who know the rules and what’s right and wrong and they have manners and are polite and are grateful etc etc. And part of him was pissed she questioned him.

Another part of him is used to punishing murderers and he has a tough time leaving the required hard and cold part of him at the prison.

He heard me. He understood. He listened.
And that was it. The night went on and the usual goofy Rambo was back.

That night when Watermelon was off to bed, Rambo stood up as she did to say goodnight to her.

As she wrapped her arms around his neck, I heard her say, “Dad, are you mad at me?”

He said, “No. But you have to understand that me or your mom will never ask you to do something that is going to hurt you. Ever. We’d never do that. Okay?”

She said okay and went to bed.

No – Rambo isn’t perfect and neither am I. Nor is our marriage if you’re on the outside looking in.
 It’s MY perfect. It feels perfect to ME.

It’s night and day from the marriage I grew up witnessing. It’s everything I always wanted as a woman and everything I needed as a mother for my children.

She doesn’t fear him though she knows he’s the rule maker and consequence giver.

She actually had the balls to ask if he was mad at her. She talks to him. She hugs him.
She needs him and she knows he’s always in her corner.

What kind of person would I have been had I had that?
What would every person be in this world if we all had that?

I never spoke to my Dad about much. I never touched him. I always felt alone.
I felt unloved, unwanted and unnecessary as a person in this world.

The only way I know how to remedy that is to make sure my own daughters never look at Rambo that way or feel that way about their Dad.

Likewise – as a wife – I want a partner – not a roommate who is a dictator.

Parenting is hard. Marriage is hard. Usually.

Most of the time both of them just feel like joy. I struggle with learning to feel like I deserve such joy.
I struggle with not fearing when it will all be taken from me when God realizes he
bestowed it on the wrong person.

Whatever the outside world thinks or doesn’t think about me and my marriage and my kids – no offense – but it doesn’t f*cking matter.

It sure as hell doesn’t look perfect on the outside but inside when I lay my head on my pillow at night it damn sure feels perfect to me.

My greatest hope is that my girls find this same feeling.
And that they know they deserve it.

I hope they find this kind of joy on the inside while they flip off the rest of the world outside.

It’s MY perfect.

No one else gets to define it.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Spring Break Gone Wild for 7 year olds.

This weekend I went to a women’s roller derby game. Wow. Just wow. Those women have balls. I mean not actual balls but balls like “don’t mess with me” kind of balls.

The main thing I learned while watching this game? That I want to be a roller derby girl.

In roller derby it is completely appropriate to dress wildly – like pairing fishnet stockings with neon roller blades and pigtails and tattoos are a requirement.

Tonight our new couches arrive so last night we cleared out the old ones. Our living room is empty except for the TV. In our family that means it’s an air mattress night. We get out the huge air mattress and have a slumber party. Banana thinks it’s like Spring Break Gone Wild for 7 year olds so she begs us to let her sleep on it all night. We let her. That’s what being a kid is about, right?

Rambo and I attended the wake for the Dad of one of my oldest friends. I was soooo nervous. I know her entire family and I just knew I’d never get out of there without doing the ugly, snot dripping, gasping for breath cry. I’m pretty sure even my internal organs were filled with hives…but I did it. I never dropped a single tear and she and her family thanked us for coming. The whole thing left me contemplative for a few hours afterwards.

This weekend is Rambo’s second weekend off which means it’s also the last for another 6 weeks. We plan to make it a good one. And by good one, I mean we’ll be shipping our kids off to the sitter’s house.

We have a birthday party to go to for one of our Harley club members. Prior to that, Rambo and I will cook some dips and take a big, fat, naked nap so we can stay out until the wee hours of the morning and not be tired. That will be followed up by sleeping in until noon.

Seriously. Is that not the definition of bliss to you?

Of course, I’m nervous about the party but I’ll get through it. By get through it I mean that I’ll go buy a completely new outfit for it so I can look and feel smashing. Ha!

I’m so exhausted from the time change. It’s completely reedick. Last night, I contemplated not working out but got on the treadmill anyway. I did 60 minutes and it was one of those nights where it was hard.

The meds I’m on for my high BP and migraines can make me feel very fatigued and winded during exertion. Jesus balls. Isn’t that nice? I mean it’s hard enough to work out without your internal body literally fighting you the whole time.

A few times last night I thought I might hork. << notice I didn’t use the P word. I did less jogging and did more incline work at 12%. Let me tell you – a 12% incline for my short legs is like climbing Mt. Everest. With a donkey on my back. Barefoot. Or something like that.

It wasn’t fun but when I was done – it felt good to have done it. I stared at my quotes and pictures and goal and motivational sayings poster A LOT during my workout. I needed the mental push. I was watching Biggest Loser at the same time and regardless of what you think of the show – try being on a treadmill and watching it. When you see a contestant that weighs over 300 pounds running at the speed of light on a treadmill – you feel pretty lame for walking at a speed of 2.0.

If they can do it, I sure as hell can.

I also may or may not pretend that the trainers are talking directly to me.
Don’t judge. It works.

I guess what I’m trying to say to myself is that I have no valid excuses not to get healthy – even when the excuse is real like a med inside of my body that I can’t control.

I have to “do it anyway” every day.

If it takes pretending that Jillian and Bob are screaming in my ear through the TV…well then…so be it.

I never said I was sane.



Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Operation Kick Sheniqua's Ass Update and a serious question for you.




Hello me lovelies.

My weigh in day is Tuesday so it’s time for a Kick Sheniqua’s Ass Update!

I’m down another ½ pound today!

Oh my holy chicken turds, right?

That’d be down 11 pounds total for the year. My goal was to lose one pound a week and this is Week 10 for me so I’m ahead of schedule by one pound. If I can keep this pace up, I will be at my goal weight in the first week of August. Bikini season watch out!

Here are some of my stats up to today:

I have worked out a total of 45 days this year for a total of 35.5 hours. I’ve burned 13,550 calories. I have logged 113.8 miles so I have 286.2 left to go to meet my 400 mile goal for the year.

I have exactly 20 pounds left to lose since my overall goal was 31 to lose.

I have continued to track my food EVERY day. I stay at or below 1200 calories a day.

I have continued to work out and am working on running more and more each time I work out. If I’m not running, I’m doing incline work or tabata drills.

For me, 10 pounds lost has always been one pant size gone and that still remains true. My pants are saggy as hell and while that sounds fun – it doesn’t “look” fun. It looks reedick. My rings are suddenly spinning like crazy – which drives me nuts. Like I care if I have fat or skinny fingers. Jesus balls.

My big assed Sheniqua is dying a slow and painful death and my God it feels good to piss her off.

On another completely random note – I still love my Michael Kors purse. Moving on.

Rambo is still kicking ass and taking names. He’s closing in on being down 20 pounds and he remains my biggest cheerleader. Eeesh – I love that man.

Okay – serious fitness question. I know that the new trend in hair is not to wash it for days at a time. It’s all the craze to see how long you can go without washing and still have your hair look fabulous. Like chicks are having real ass competitions on this subject. To that I say: “Ain’t nobody got time fo dat.” Or me – in general. I don’t have time to enter non-hair-washing-competitions. I’m just sayin’.

It’s good for your hair up to a point though – especially when your hair is fine or thin. Washing it every day does more damage than good sometimes.

I’ve always been an every other day kind of girl or two days max.

My question is this: How does this not washing every day thing work when you’re a worker-outer who sweats buckets? Seriously – when I work out I push myself. If I don’t sweat – I haven’t worked hard enough. When I’m done my hair is dripping like I’m just out of the shower on the bottom half anyway.

Disgusting yes? With the invention of dry shampoo I’m just wondering about all the ladies who go 5 and 6 days without washing. Do you use the crap out of products that refreshen and buy stock in dry shampoo or do you break all the rules and wash every day if you work out every day?

I’m just wondering. I thought about trying to not wash last night after my workout but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. But I don’t want to wash every day you know? UGH.

Quite the pickle, isn’t it? Tell me your hair routine if you’re a sweaty worker-outer.

Pretty please.

And spank you very much.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Never steal a maxi pad from Martha Stewart.

Karma loves thieves.

Case in point – ME.

The maxi pad stealer.

I suck at remembering to bring “feminine napkins” with me anywhere. I never have them in my purse or at work. I use one a month so I often forget to “stock up”. However, other women that I work with are pretty good at it and there’s a cabinet in our bathroom where we put such things.

Yesterday I needed one – so naturally I stole one from the cabinet. I have no idea who the rightful owner of the pad is or was. I’d bet $50 that it was Martha Stewart from across the hall. That’d be my luck.

Because I stole the maxi pad, I of course got the outside package stuck to the sticky back part of the pad and I spent the better part of 5 minutes swearing like a drunk sailor trying to peel the package off of the pad so it would properly stick to my underwear.

Did you say underwear? Ah yes. I wasn’t wearing what I’d call underwear yesterday. More like nothing but a string under your pants-wear. Of all the days I pick to wear dental floss a thong.

Ever try to park an airplane in a someone’s tiny driveway? It ain’t gonna fit and there’s gonna be parts hanging over the property line.

Kinda like trying to fit a maxi pad on a string.

Pads the size of a baby diaper are just not meant to be worn with thongs.

And despite the fact that I have very little hair “down there” – I swear on all that is holy that every single hair I had somehow got stuck to my stolen “baby diaper”. Ripping that off is such a joy.

Again I say – karma loves thieves.

Wanna know what else happened at work yesterday? Don’t answer that. I’m going to tell you anyway.

There’s a guy I work with that is always full of compliments on my hair or outfits or whatever. It’s kind of a running joke that he’s the fashion police and he makes a point to come in my office and see what I’m wearing. He’s one of those men that is very good at giving compliments in comparison to most of the men I work with.

Other men here believe that saying “What did you do to your hair?” – is how you give a compliment.

Anyway, yesterday I had on mint green jeggings with a matching striped shirt and knee-high boots.

He stopped in my office and said – and I quote – “Ummmm….you’re not very sexy today.” and smiled and walked on.

Mother heifer. OhNoYouDi-int!

I wanted to scream, “Do you even own a mirror Mr. Receding Hairline?” I mean sure he was right but that is not the point. I wasn’t dressed sexy yesterday by any means. I was dressed comfortably.

It stung for a split second – probably because it was true but still. What an asswad. How dare he be so honest? And to my face of all things?? Save that shit for behind my back – DUH!

I should have said, “Dude – if you think what is on the outside is bad – you should see the monstrous maxi pad I’m squeezing between my butt cheeks to keep it in place because my thong is worthless.”

Now THAT is the definition of not sexy.

Get your definitions straight, turkeywaddle.

And yes – you’re correct if you realize I am perfectly fine with this guy as long as he is saying good things and that the minute he says something bad I want to kick him in the ballsack.

Sue me. Or get in line behind Karma.

Take your pick.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Morbid shit and love songs. They totally go together.

There are many, many times I’d love to go back to being a kid.
I could eat crayons or glue for lunch, pass notes in class amid the thrill of getting caught and drink Kool-aid all damn day. Probably all while wearing footie pajamas with no idea what makeup is or that I even have hair on my head that I could do something with.

But I’m an adult now. And sometimes being an adult sucks donkey balls.
Big, giant, hairy donkey balls.

As a child, for me, I never thought about death or people dying.
If I ever attended a funeral or wake, I never truly grasped what it meant.

Now though? I get it.
And each year I get older it hurts my heart even more to realize just that – that I am getting older. Which means my parents are getting older. People in my life are going to pass away.

The reality of mortality scares me.
It’s hard not to wonder who or when someone I love will be lost.

No – I don’t think about this 24/7 but this week a friend of mine lost her father to cancer. He wasn’t even old by any means. I know her whole family and have lots of childhood and adult memories with her and her father. Rambo and I will be going to the services.

And no – this isn’t the first time I’ve lost someone as an adult but if I’m being brutally honest…I’ve always been able to “excuse” myself from most wakes and such. My anxiety goes through the roof at times like that.

The crying, the not knowing what to say, the sadness I can’t bear to see in someone’s eyes, the lingering effects that last for days. I stay home with the girls and many, many times Rambo has gone without me.
Not my finest moments – but the truth.

This time….I will go. As hard as it is to imagine going – it’s harder imagining not going.
I know without a doubt, if the tables were turned – she’d be there for me.

She is my age and the first of very few in my class to lose a parent.
Meaning that it’s going to start happening more and more…because we’re all getting older.

I was talking with another friend about it and she said,
“If my Dad were to pass away, it would shatter my world.”

That comment shattered mine.

And the truth behind why crushes me further.

I wanted to reply that I agreed. Or say, “Me too.”

But I simply cannot.

My own father’s father died a few years ago and my father cried that day but never again. He had no relationship with him and his life literally didn’t change without his father in it.

I can’t type the words but you have to know what I’m thinking. My world will not shatter because of what me and my own Dad actually had – but because of what we didn’t have.
What could have been.

What an awful realization. One I’ve had before…but for some reason admitting it out loud to that friend I was conversing with was like a fist punch to my heart.

It is what it is.

So it’s fairly true to say I’m emotional this week.
I also got a killer migraine last night which never helps my emotional state either.

I’m trying to focus on the positive and the here and now. I’m trying not to think about the emotional upheaval my body will go through attending that wake. I’m praying the crying won’t cause a migraine and that the hives won’t be noticeable.

Leave it to me to make someone else’s pain all about me, huh?
Selfless – I am not.
Selfish though? I have that down to a science.

Rambo isn’t helping. Last night he was in the office for quite a while. I had no idea why until he came out later telling me he had made me a CD and that he was going to put it in my car for the next morning. He was pretty proud of himself.

In my head all I could think was that I just had a conversation with this man about his prisoner escort and a lost bandit (sp?). He was going on about a bandit being lost and searching for it and finally I just asked, “What the hell is a bandit?” Up until the point the only bandit I had known was Smokey and The Bandit.

A bandit in prison terms is the thingy they put on the prisoner that puts thousands of electrical volts through the inmate’s body if Rambo pressed a certain button. Kind of like a taser – strapped to your body.

And he was talking about the drug dogs coming in because the prison was on lockdown and on and on.

Until he switched gears and put a homemade CD into my car for the morning.

I told you guys – he’s rough on the outside but squishy on the inside.

It’s the sweetest thing ever…unless you’re an emotional basketcase like me. With every new song that came on during my ride in this morning – I had to bite my lip harder not to cry.

When the old Dollly Parton version of “I will always love you” came on – I about lost it.

I mean Jesus balls….what the holy hell is he trying to do to me?

A week or so ago, I walked into the office and both girls were sitting on Rambo’s lap and they were just finding old songs and videos and watching and listening. I sat on the other side of them on my computer working and listening and when he’d find a good one I’d say “leave that one on – I love it”.

Naturally somehow he remembered which ones I liked and put them on the CD.

I ask you how the hell am I supposed to not do the ugly cry when I realize this? Each time one song ends I listen for the next chords of the next song. Some I recognize right away and others I don’t…until they start to sing and then the floodgates start to open.

I made it to song 9 before I got to work.

Because of the emotional-ness (yes, that’s totally a word) of this week – all I can think is, “My God, some day I’m going to lose Rambo and the only thing I’ll have left of him are CDs like this one.”

Enter waterworks again.

I don’t know why he decided to make a CD. The woman in me wants to analyze the meaning behind every song and ask questions.

The emotional wreck in me just wants to listen and cry…and be grateful.

If I get through today without eating my body weight in chocolate – it’ll be a damn miracle.

OHMYF*CKINGGERD!

Do you know what song just came on in my office????

WE ARE THE WORLD.

WTF?
Now all I can think about is starving kids in Africa. Or something like that. 

Who the hell still plays that song on the radio for chickenshit's sake????

I should have stayed in bed.

Or taken a Skittle bath at the very least.