Don't Give Up On Me Yet!

I've had an epiphany.

I couldn't sleep for much of last night because my Labrador and my husband were having a snoring contest, with occasional machine gun sounding farts thrown in the mix. Back off ladies, he's taken.

I decided to peruse some of my favorite blogs for inspiration. I've come to the realization that I've been putting way too much pressure on myself for funny blog topics.  These bitches write about everything but mostly nothing. And they have tons of followers. Duh, people are random!

I say "bitches" with the utmost respect because let's face it, most bloggers are women. Sure, there are some men out there blogging about sports and finances. Personally, I'd rather be the middle man in a monkey shit throwing contest at the zoo than read those blogs.

I've always had it in mind but now I'm really jumping on the randomness bandwagon. Shit, I can't jump. I'll crawl up the damn thing.


No pressure. Because sometimes life isn't fucking funny.

I WON'T Grow Up!

I turned 35 yesterday.  The few days leading up to my birthday, I had a crap attitude about it.  I wasn't ready to be on the "other side" of my 30's.

I pulled into the parking lot at work and was greeted with balloons in my parking spot......alright I admit it, I had an instant smile on my face. It made me feel like a kid again. I was spoiled all day and no one heard a single complaint from me. Now I remember why I love birthdays!!



This morning my alarm woke me up. Rarely happens. I quickly remembered having a dream that I fell asleep at work. What the hell?! I sat up and felt like I could close my eyes and sleep for another three hours, easy.  Shit, did I take my vitamin yesterday?  Holy hell, did I take my iron pill last night? What the fuck day is it, anyway? Please God, let it be Friday.

I drag my feet (literally, because that's how I walk when I don't have my leg braces on, but that's none of your business) and make my way into the bathroom to turn on the shower.  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Damnit, did I remember to use my "secret stuff" for my thinning hair before I went to sleep? FML. Get it together, bitch.

I take my shower, slap on my face and try to snap out of my funk. God, I feel like someone sucked all the goddamn energy out of me. This sucks donkey balls. I walk down the hallway to grab my purse and wouldn't you fuckin' know it.........

 

 

Bite me, 35! You bastard.

 





Dining Establishment? I Think NOT!

I want to understand. I couldn't even get through that sentence without feeling bad about myself. I lied. I don't want to understand at all because it's just plain stupid.

Ok honestly, how many of you out there go to Costco....to EAT?! Come on, fess up! I'm not talking about the occasional hot dog or slice of pie at the food court thingy. However, I don't really get that whole thing either. Do you pull up a chair and gnaw on a rib at Safeway? Nooooo! Well, then why is this any different?! (I think my guy has secretly gone to Costco on his own to suck down a dog or two because he knows how I feel about it). Anyway, I digress. That's not the issue here.

Hey, people walking around with your heads up your asses, holding your stupid little, white paper cups. Do you see me?? I'm standing RIGHT behind you with my big ass cart! Hellooooo?! Oh, and all of your family members that you brought along for the event? They're in my way, too.

Please move outta my way while you're standing there, trying to decide if you like that sample of hickory smoked lil' weenies enough to throw in your cart. There's still a little bit of room amongst the cereal, ketchup, dog food, tub o' butter, lawn chairs, and package of tighty whities. Seriously, do you think you're at a street fair? Dude, you're in a fuckin' warehouse! I can just see some trashy ass guy saying, "hey baby, let me take you out for a nice buffet dinner tonight." Costco is NOT a dining establishment. You're confused. And cheap as hell.

And the sample giver-outers? Please stop yelling at me! No, I don't want to try your damn food. I WANT to make my way to the front of this goddamn store so I can buy my loaf of bread, my ridiculous amount of red meat, and my alcohol. The alcohol was a last minute add on, right after I passed the family sampling the "shrimp scampi in a cup."

Idiots of the world, unite!




CASE IN POINT



 

 

source

I hate my treadmill.  That little bitch.

All you people that say you "enjoy" working out?  I'm calling your bluff. Right here, right now. 

There's no way that you enjoy the feeling of your heart beating in your goddamn head. Do you see it while it's happening?! Look in the mirror next time. I swear, your forehead will be pulsating. Boom boom, boom boom.  I think I'm dying. No. I am. I'm dying.

I don't sweat.  Which means I can't cool down.  I can't do this. I've covered up the timer so I don't know how long I've been going but I'm sure it's been at least 40 minutes. I gotta yell for my husband but I can't get the words out.  I'm huffing and puffing. Jimi! Help!

Ok, get yourself together. It's a stupid machine with a goddamn conveyer belt.  I have the power to turn this shit off, slow it down, STOP IT!

Except, I can't do any of those things because I'm holding on to the handles for dear life.  If I let go...oh God, if I let go. I can't hold myself up anymore. My legs are jiggling like jello. Oh yeah, that reminds me why I'm doing this. Keep going, chub rocket. Keep going.

The longer I spend on my treadmill, the louder and the heavier my steps become.  I'm pretty sure it sounds like a wildebeest is on the loose in here.

That's it. Slow down your speed. Slow it down. I've gained the strength and balance to turn off the treadmill. I'm done. I fuckin' did it.  Hold on. What the fuck does that say?! That can't be right. I must have hit the pause button. I better have. This is not funny.

12 minutes...12 goddamn minutes???!! I didn't even burn off that piece of See's candy I ate earlier. That was the longest 12 minutes of my life.

That's no joke. Ladies, you have NO business making fun of  "minute men." Those fuckers have some stamina!



Usually my Monday posts are pretty pitiful. I know it. My brain is always exhausted and I usually have no words.  Not even bad words. Although, I guess I could just start doing one word posts on Mondays.   "Fuck"   That would sum it up nicely.

Today wasn't so bad so it's only right that I share a funny story with you. I'm going to do my best to give you the rundown without violating any privacy laws.  It's totally worth the risk.

A guy comes in for an appointment today and upon checkout (with me) here is what happens:

I'm on the phone so my office manager decides to step in and help the patient so he isn't standing around waiting for me. Staring at me, mouth open. Dude, what is it with people? Close your freakin' mouth!!

Office Manager: "Sir, if you come over here I can try to help you!"

Patient: "Ok, thanks.  I just need the name of the medication that the doctor told me to try."

Office Manager gives him the name of the medication.

Patient: "Great, thanks."

Upon leaving.......

Office Manager: "Good Luck!"

Me: "Umm, why the fuck did you just say Good Luck to him?!"

Office Manager: "What?! Because! He's trying a new medication!"

Me: Shaking my head... "Umm, yes for the RASH IN HIS CROTCH!!"

Office Manager: "Oh. No wonder he looked at me weird."

Just another day at the office.

I had big plans for this day.  A day free from work, free from idiots, free from being nice when I don't have the energy to.  Ahhhh, fabulous.  Maybe I'll work on some new blog recipes!  Maybe I'll clean my whole house from top to bottom!! Maybe I'll go get some new clothes!!! EUREKA! These thoughts were running through my work-free mind last night. 

I woke up this morning, early of course, thanks to my internal alarm clock. First fail on my day off. I turn on the tv and soak in the happiness of the early morning news and traffic reports.....hahaha, suckers!!

Oh shit.  This is good. This is really fuckin' good.  That is, until weekday television reared its ugly ass head.

I'm fat. I know!! And now I'm feeling the pressure of signing up with goddamn Jenny Craig. Fuck you, Jenny.

I have no goals (no, I DON'T right at this very moment, who cares?!) They care.  And now I have to go back to school.  Oh God. 

Oh wait, it gets better.  I'm disabled.  And I should be suing someone because of it?! I hate myself.

Great.  Now I just want to go to stupid work and be around sick, mean people.  And drug seekers. At least I'll feel better about myself.  I'm getting up and getting dressed. Screw this. This is not how I wanted to spend my day off.

Wait, hold on, what's that?!?  Oh! A commercial for an antidepressant.  Fuck work.  Where's the phone number to get some of this shit?

Ohhhhh.  I get it!  Well played, pharmaceutical company. Well played.

 

 



Enough Said