As I sit perched on the couch, under my lap blanket, watching the season finale of Law & Order: SVU, I can feel my thighs slowly expanding. I haven't been to the gym in over a week as I've been battling a combination of a cold and allergies. Hard to run when you can't breathe. I feel terrible. Like I've broken some sort of pact with myself... like I've betrayed my cellulite. Damn Catholic guilt.
A year ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about skipping them gym for a week or even a month. But I've had a rough couple of weeks with food. I've dealt with birthdays, team lunch outings at work, and a charity bake sale. I consider myself to be somewhat of a punk-rocker Betty Cracker as I can whip up pretty much anything from scrap or recipe! So, when asked to cook for a company bake sale to support a sick baby charity, well, I just couldn't resist! Why not show off my amazing culinary skills and do a bit of good at the same time?!? Baking for babies = bliss.
However, as the day of the bake sale grew near, I was running out of time. Unforeseen car problems earlier in the week meant having to work a short day and then make up the hours later on... a couple of 10 hour days and I didn't feel like making anything from scratch. So, I did what any efficient woman would do... pre-made cookie dough... in the tube of course, I'm not so lazy that I have to break 'em and bake 'em. So, at 7:45pm the night before the bake sale, I trekked my way to Hyvee and began perusing the cookie dough, looking at prices as I am also economical. I mean, I know it's for charity but that shit can get expensive.
As I stood looking at both prices and calories (I'm trying to be health conscious for others as well), I hear a woman's voice.
"DON'T DO IT! CHOOSE WATERMELON INSTEAD!"
Looking over my left shoulder, I see an empty aisle. A small giggle comes from the right. Whipping my head around, I find myself face to face with a man slightly older than my father. He has a mortified look on his face, as if he'd just shit his pants in public or something. Standing next to him was his wife. As she picked up some full fat coffee creamer, she continued giggling. "Who am I to judge? I'm just looking out for you." The man looked at her with shock and disbelief on his face, mouth dropped open.
It took me a moment to realize that this wasn't a joke. This bitch was serious. She just looked at me and told me to eat a piece of fucking fruit! (Now, this may be karma for the amount of times I've told skinny bitches to eat a fucking sandwich, but still, it's fucking rude.)
"Excuse me," I said, "but I'm baking for a charity bake sale. These aren't even for me."
"Uh huh," she said.
Remember the look I had on my face when I could see that woman's thong through her ultra tight pants? That's pretty much the same look that I had on my face at this moment as well. I recognized the feeling. My mouth open wide like a snake trying to devour a small rodent. The snake was the other woman though... the other white bitch, not unlike pork.
Now, obviously there are lots of things that come to my mind on a very regular basis, many offensive, all honest. However, I would never walk around a grocery store commenting on what people are buying... well, not out loud anyway. (I did once yell that Martha Stewart could eat my asshole in the middle of a grocery store, but I was on vicodin at the time so it doesn't really count.) I'm a firm believer in freedom of speech, freedom of press and freedom of expression. If it weren't for those things, I wouldn't be able to write this fucking blog for your fucking entertainment. And yes, I just used the word fucking twice in that sentence because I could. However, just because those freedoms exist doesn't mean that you have to use them.
I know that I'm lacking the filter between my brain and my mouth, but I think for the most part, I have tact even when that filter doesn't work. To all the rude women out there, I would generally tell you to say it loud and say it proud but when it comes to commenting on peoples weight, looks or anything else that is generally controlled by genetics, I think you all should keep it to yourselves. That is, unless you really wanna see my fat ass take my earrings off and find out why they call it a ghetto booty.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Golden Oldies
I can't believe that I haven't written in a month or more. This is what happens when The Girl becomes involved in a long distance relationship (see previous blog). But that is all over now. No more A. And I'm okay with that. I broke it off. Long story short: don't lie. Don't lie about something stupid. Don't say things you don't mean. Regardless, he's still texting nearly daily which means that That Girl must be awesome in the sack. Not to toot my own horn but beep mother fuckin' beep!!!
Anyway, down to business. The month of April was full of all sorts of craziness. Intense sessions at the gym were concluded by overweight elderly women walking buck ass naked through the locker room on nearly a daily basis. Now, these women have a sense of comfort in their body that seems to be lost on my generation. I was intrigued by sagging breasts and old vagina... catching glimpses when I wasn't trying to look. Do not be mistaken. Old vagina is a trainwreck. If ever in the situation, you must look at old vagina to see, if nothing else, your future as you, too, one day will either a) possess an old vagina of your own or b) be married to someone who has an old vagina. After weeks of encountering breasts so saggy that they could accidently get caught in the zipper of their pants if not careful when putting them on, I found myself being much more confident in my own nudity in the locker room. I, however, make sure that I keep the lawn trimmed... something lost on that generation. I swear I saw more bush than you could find in a South American rainforest.
There is a downside to being surrounded by old vagina. Old vagina isn't generally aware of what's going on around them. I mean, I'd think if they were aware, they'd put on some fucking panties. Regardless... one morning, after finishing an intense session with my trainer, I had showered and laid out my work clothes on the bench in front of me. I often get excessively warm while blow drying my hair and putting on my makeup, so I decided to go topless to finish my grooming routine. Standing in front of the vanity I dry and straighten my hair, paint on my makeup perfectly so and do a double check before heading back to my clothes a mere 15 feet away. As I approach my area of the locker room, I find my gym bag to be dumped on the floor, shoved out of the way without a second thought. I pick it up, place my things back inside and take a deep breath. I'm sure that somebody was trying to move it and just accidently knocked it over. That is until I can't find my work shirt. A grey cotton tunic type shirt with a deep low cut front and balloon sleeves. Looking around, my mouth drops open as I realize that there is in fact dripping wet old vagina and ass sitting on my shirt! This crazy old lady must have worked a little too hard at the water aerobics or she's just a total bitch because she stripped off her swimsuit, still soaking wet, and sat it right down on top of my shirt. She moved my bag, but she couldn't move my shirt?! Are you fucking kidding me?! I was shocked. For the first time ever, the filter between my brain and my mouth was clogged... no words could escape. Nothing could explain what happened in my head. The woman stood up, I picked up my shirt and was thankful that I had packed 2 that morning, unsure of what I would want to wear.
I left the locker room that day disgusted. I made a point to tell my trainer during our next session and to walk up to the pool window and point her out. Apparently, she's crazy. Still not an excuse for sitting her dripping wet old vagina and ass on my shirt.
The month of April was full of strange observations. I found people on the highway picking their nose while driving. I don't mean just a single digit in the ol' nostril. I mean elbow high, knuckles bent, digging for gold in a mine that is empty! One guy had his elbow out the drivers side window! Found another asshole reading their kindle while driving. Seriously? I love reading, too, but not enough to do it at 70 mph in rush hour traffic.
April was here and gone, but I'm back and will be writing far more regularly! I'm so sorry for leaving you all hanging. Oh, and I hope none of you get nightmares from reading about old vagina.
Anyway, down to business. The month of April was full of all sorts of craziness. Intense sessions at the gym were concluded by overweight elderly women walking buck ass naked through the locker room on nearly a daily basis. Now, these women have a sense of comfort in their body that seems to be lost on my generation. I was intrigued by sagging breasts and old vagina... catching glimpses when I wasn't trying to look. Do not be mistaken. Old vagina is a trainwreck. If ever in the situation, you must look at old vagina to see, if nothing else, your future as you, too, one day will either a) possess an old vagina of your own or b) be married to someone who has an old vagina. After weeks of encountering breasts so saggy that they could accidently get caught in the zipper of their pants if not careful when putting them on, I found myself being much more confident in my own nudity in the locker room. I, however, make sure that I keep the lawn trimmed... something lost on that generation. I swear I saw more bush than you could find in a South American rainforest.
There is a downside to being surrounded by old vagina. Old vagina isn't generally aware of what's going on around them. I mean, I'd think if they were aware, they'd put on some fucking panties. Regardless... one morning, after finishing an intense session with my trainer, I had showered and laid out my work clothes on the bench in front of me. I often get excessively warm while blow drying my hair and putting on my makeup, so I decided to go topless to finish my grooming routine. Standing in front of the vanity I dry and straighten my hair, paint on my makeup perfectly so and do a double check before heading back to my clothes a mere 15 feet away. As I approach my area of the locker room, I find my gym bag to be dumped on the floor, shoved out of the way without a second thought. I pick it up, place my things back inside and take a deep breath. I'm sure that somebody was trying to move it and just accidently knocked it over. That is until I can't find my work shirt. A grey cotton tunic type shirt with a deep low cut front and balloon sleeves. Looking around, my mouth drops open as I realize that there is in fact dripping wet old vagina and ass sitting on my shirt! This crazy old lady must have worked a little too hard at the water aerobics or she's just a total bitch because she stripped off her swimsuit, still soaking wet, and sat it right down on top of my shirt. She moved my bag, but she couldn't move my shirt?! Are you fucking kidding me?! I was shocked. For the first time ever, the filter between my brain and my mouth was clogged... no words could escape. Nothing could explain what happened in my head. The woman stood up, I picked up my shirt and was thankful that I had packed 2 that morning, unsure of what I would want to wear.
I left the locker room that day disgusted. I made a point to tell my trainer during our next session and to walk up to the pool window and point her out. Apparently, she's crazy. Still not an excuse for sitting her dripping wet old vagina and ass on my shirt.
The month of April was full of strange observations. I found people on the highway picking their nose while driving. I don't mean just a single digit in the ol' nostril. I mean elbow high, knuckles bent, digging for gold in a mine that is empty! One guy had his elbow out the drivers side window! Found another asshole reading their kindle while driving. Seriously? I love reading, too, but not enough to do it at 70 mph in rush hour traffic.
April was here and gone, but I'm back and will be writing far more regularly! I'm so sorry for leaving you all hanging. Oh, and I hope none of you get nightmares from reading about old vagina.