Sunday, February 26, 2006
PART THREE: Go Snow GO!...no seriously, GO.
(Haven't read the carnage that led to our second wedding? well catch up already!! )
Part One
Part Two
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You are cordially invited to our second wedding.
Location? Missouri.
I can hear you all in unison screaming in my ear: "DEAR GOD WHY !?!?"
To try and explain WHY we thought Missouri would be a good location would fall on deaf ears because I myself, can't believe we CHOSE to do that. But at the time, we were doing it for family (mostly Brad's). My family is more than willing to travel anywhere because that's how we roll... Brad's family on the other hand.. well, not so much. Plus his grandparents were HIGHLY unlikely to attend if we had had it in California and Brad really wanted them to be there. So Missouri it was. Le Sigh.
Date: January 2nd, 1999
Again, explanation is very much needed because why oh why would anyone get married RIGHT AFTER New Years day where, most likely, we'd be knee deep in snow? You can blame this one on the Navy. Brad had the possibility of being stationed in Washington at the time so we had to rush the second wedding. Okay, we could have ..you know...... WAITED! .....but back then, had you told me about patience being a virtue, I would have replied, "Patience? What is this patience that you speak of??? Now get outta my way, I gotta wedding to fuck up!"
We could have moved to Washington and had the wedding after but remember, my family did NOT know that I was already married and would have had 500 baby cows if I had moved to Washington with Brad. (Now that I think about it, my parents shooting baby cows out their ass would have totally been worth seeing.. but there I go, digressing once more...is 'digressing' even a word?...whatever, moving along...) and finally, the biggest blunder of our wedding day...my wedding dress.
No one has seen my wedding dress after that wedding and no one will. You won't see sweet pretty pictures posted on this blog with me in my wedding dress, its not framed and lovingly hung with care in my home, in fact, I have not allowed my brain to even think about my wedding dress til' this very moment. If you accidentally stumble into my storage area and get a glimpse of this elusive"wedding dress"... I'm sorry, but I would have to rearrange some items in my storage area for your body.
My wedding dress is a whole other blog post in itself but I'll try to make a long, disasterous story into a short, albeit still painful, paragraph.
I got my dress made by a friend. She had made beautiful dresses before and in fact, had went to college with me for her Fashion Design degree. I told her the type of dress I wanted, which was similiar to that wedding dress in "November Rain" where it was short up front and gradually got long at the bottom.. not as foofy (Hey, midgets like to show leg any chance they get...) BUT my friend lived in Texas and was making my dress IN TEXAS, while I sat in California, hoping for the best. ( I KNOW. I was just ASKING for this wedding wasn't I?) I would call her every couple days or so and ask her how my wedding dress was going and she would say it was fine, going well, blah blah blah. I totally and completely trusted her. She had sent the dress to me in Missouri two days (yeah, TWO DAYS) before my wedding, so there I was, expecting a package in the mail.
Only a "package" never came.
Instead a Fed Ex cardboard envelope greeted me.
I thought.. okay, maybe this is the train of the dress? Maybe I have to put it together?
Nope.
It was THE dress.
It looked a lot like a white cheerleader's outfit.
No train. No anything. It was short. The end.
Crap.
I stood there with my mouth opened for hours. My poor best friend, who was also at a loss for words, was trying her best to make it seem better but all that came out of her mouth was, "bluh?"
Thank GOD that my sister in law, Sandra, was there. We made a quick trip to Wal-Mart, she got some material and "fashioned" me a train to cover my boody. (No I couldn't buy another dress because the mall was an hour and a half away and the roads had turned into an ice pop). It wasn't the best but at that point, she was Mother Teresa in my eyes.
The day of the wedding comes and my mom was not pleased with my dress; however, she could tell by the look in my eyes that this was not the day to fuck with me. I was beyond "not pleased" ...I was mortified. Brad looked great in his Navy uniform and me, well, I looked like I was going to break into a spirited wedding cheer. (I DO! I DO! Yeeeees, I DO! HOORAH!) So we got hitched again with friends and family and oh.. did I mentioned that whilst wearing my cocktail cheerleading uniform, it was -2 degrees outside?? Yeah. I couldn't feel my ass for 3 years. The wedding was quick but nice. I did double backflips down the aisle, led the audience into a rousing cheer and then took our vows ... (shhhh, for the second time). It WAS nice to share that moment with my family, Brad's family and my best friend, who was currently going to college in Mexico at the time and had come all the way to Missouri to be my maid of honor (Thanks boody!). I forgot all about my shotty wedding dress and treasured the moment..........
Right. Who the hell am I kidding?! The whole time I was taking my vows, I was wondering if Brad's grandma had a nice shot of my ass from where she was sitting! So lets wrap this shit up.
Yes, both our weddings sucked big hairy balls! (I wrote to Oprah about possibly giving us a third dream wedding but that bitch won't return my calls and really....a restraining order Ms. Winfrey?? I think someone is overreacting.)
Yes, we could have waited.
Yes, yes yes, we SHOULD have waited.
Yes, we should NOT have planned the wedding around what other people wanted.
Yes, we SHOULD have had it on Sunset Cliffs, where Brad proposed.. that would have been romantic as shit...sniff sniff...
Yes, a thousand times YES, I should have braved the icy roads and gotten another dress.
Yes, I KNOW I should not have had the wedding dress made by someone three states away.
I know, believe me I KNOW. Yeah, yeah yeah. We're stupid.
BUT if I told you right now that we were planning a THIRD wedding, I bet you guys would all line up to go just to see what we'd fuck up huh???
That's what I thought.
Sadistic bitches.
.....now go lick your fingers off, you've got Cheetoh crap all over them!
Thursday, February 23, 2006
PART TWO: "Easy Bake Wedding"
So it was decided! Brad and I were off to Las Vegas in his beat up Mustang with his friend Woody as our witness. It was during a Fourth of July weekend, meaning it was hot as balls. Our drive over there was one of the single most unpleasant experiences I've ever had in my life. As we approached the "lovely" Mojave dessert, with all it's grandeaur of nothingness, Brad's car began to look as if it was going to overheat, so OFF with the air conditioner and DOWN with the windows. It felt like I had stuck my face in the devil's hot ass, but we had no choice. Put the windows down and get dried up like beef jerky or put the windows up and sweat it out like a whore in church. Jerky it was! When we finally got to Las Vegas, we were dusty, grumpy and hungry. Thank you God for the freezing cold casinos and the $ 1.50 rib eye steaks. After eating and drinking about a gallon or two of water, we had the other difficult task of finding a hotel on Fourth of July weekend. (Did I mention that we were YOUNG, STUPID and BROKE???) Luckily, we found a "motel" off the strip. ONE ROOM, for all THREE of us. On the way up to our room, we had to duck a few bullets and kick off some crack addicts that were climbing the banisters. The room had two luxuriously lumpy queen "beds" (pretty much mattresses on wooden pallets) and the bathroom had very decorative artwork! (there was a handprint on the wall that was either done with paint, blood or poop, we all said paint but oddly enough we didn't come within 10 feet of the "art".)
The next day was our wedding day! Fourth of July! Even though we didn't really consider it our "real" wedding.. this was pretty much going to make it official and FOREVER. We wanted to look semi-nice. However, when we stepped outside at 8:00 am, it felt like an easy bake oven.!
115 mother bloody degrees!!! So, the nice outfits stayed nice (inside our suitcases) and we decided on these outfits instead:
I know what you're thinking:
STRAIGHT UP MOTHER EFFIN PIAMPS!
We basically ate breakfast, went to the courthouse, signed our names in blood and got married at "The Chapel By The Courthouse." Coincidentally, the courthouse was named "Courthouse By the Chapel."
Okay, no it wasn't.
It should have been.
I digress.
We decided to walk around Las Vegas before going home. (cough cough.. pivotal point in the story.. cough cough) While we parked at one of the casinos, Brad noticed why his car appeared to be overheating on the way there. There was a leak in the radiator but it didn't seem like anything "Stop Leak" couldn't handle. So we bought it, put it in there, leak appeared to be gone. Unbeknownst to us, Woody who had been "sharing the car with Brad at the Navy base noticed the leak a few MONTHS ago and just kept putting "Stop Leak" in it instead. He promptly forgot about the leak up until then but was too afraid to tell Brad that most likely, there was a gaping hole in the radiator.
Just before it got dark, we headed home.
Well, we tried.
We didn't even go 60 miles before the car's temperature needle hit the "holy shit I'm hot" red mark. The car was seriously overheating. We pulled over at a nearby construction site and pondered our situation. Thankfully there was a security guard nearby and he let us know that the construction supply manager was on the premises. He could probably get us some more Stop Leak from one of their supply rooms, which would probably get us as far as the next gas station.
Phew right?
Wrong.
The supplies manager: 1000 years old.. and SURE, he had the keys to the "supply garage" alright....somewhere in his 75 pound keyring, which had about 500 random keys. About 4 years later, he FINALLY found the supply room key.
Phew again right?
Nope. Lady luck was being a drunken bitch to us on this night and was passed out in her own vomit somewhere at the Bellagio Hotel.
Moses comes back from the supply room with PEPPER. No Stop Leak as promised because he "couldn't find it" so he just got us pepper.
Thanks jackass.
Which, technically, you could stop a small radiator leak with pepper. But in our situation, we needed at least a jar of pepper to go anywhere. But noooo, he gave us tiny, miniscule, atom sized packets of pepper.. the kind where you have to use four packets to see if you even HAD any pepper on your food.
Desperate, we got a styrofoam cup and started ripping those babies apart, collecting whatever pepper atoms we could into it. (Meanwhile Moses had wished us luck, gathered up his tablets and continued to lead the Jews into the Mojave) We got about one small handful of pepper, which was about as useful to us as a handful of shit. But we put it in there anyways and decided our best bet was to go back to Primm, Nevada, which was about 15 miles from where we were. Thankfully, most of the ride was going downhill. and we got to Primm on pepper, sweat and sheer momentum. Once we got there, it was pretty late and there was really nothing we could do but stay one more night. I DID mention we were broke right? Brad and I spent our "honeymoon" sleeping in the car. Woody in the passenger seat, Brad in the driver's seat, yours truly in the backseat. A cozy little family we were.
Nothing could POSSIBLY go wrong right?!?! What could possibly go wrong?!?! We were sleeping, we were safe in an RV/Trailer parking area of the casino. It should be all good right?
AAH, but you know better than THAT by now.
So we were all sleeping, exhausted by the crazy day we had. Feeling kind of nice since the temperature had dropped down from 115 to 90 degrees, with a light breeze going through the car.
Yeah, we were feeling good until .....
It began to RAIN. (I swear I CANNOT make this shit up...)
Not just sprinkle sprinkle spit spit piddly rain.. but buckets and buckets of water POURING into our vehicle! We attempted to roll up the windows, but oh wait.. we need the keys to turn on the car so the automatic windows could work BUT....
WHERE ARE THE KEYS?!?!?!
All three of us were scrambling around the car looking for the elusive keys and we could NOT find them. We finally had to resort to holding up our blankets against the windows lest we drown in the car. First Moses and the thousand keys and now, Noah's Arc. I half expected some locusts to swarm the car and fly us over a cliff.
When the rain finally subsided (thank God it was a wierd flash flood thing and only lasted for about 10 minutes), we were still wondering where the keys where. Woody thought that maybe we dropped it somewhere near the trunk, since that's where we were last when we got the blankets out. As soon as Woody jumped out of the car to check....
Clink!
What the?!!?!?
Clink! clink! clink!
"Woody, that sounds amazingly like there are keys in your pocket. Are the keys in YOUR POCKET!?!"
"ummmmm.....no?"
(he made a sad attempt of sneaking the keys out of his pocket and dropping it on the ground!)
At this point, Brad started chasing Woody around the car vowing to use his head as a hood ornament.
I was in the backseat, laughing so hard that I almost peed my pants.
Woody survived with his head still intact. It was 2:00 am at that point and Brad was too tired to chase him around the car for the 5th time, so he lucked out. The next morning, Woody called his mom and had her wire some money to him. We ate some food, got a makeshift shower in one of the casino bathroom, bought a new radiator for the car and went home.
Yep. That was our FIRST wedding. Our second wedding (with the family, church and the whole big tadoo) would OF COURSE be better than this one right?
Ahhh but you know better than THAT by now....
TO BE CONTINUED...................
The next day was our wedding day! Fourth of July! Even though we didn't really consider it our "real" wedding.. this was pretty much going to make it official and FOREVER. We wanted to look semi-nice. However, when we stepped outside at 8:00 am, it felt like an easy bake oven.!
115 mother bloody degrees!!! So, the nice outfits stayed nice (inside our suitcases) and we decided on these outfits instead:
I know what you're thinking:STRAIGHT UP MOTHER EFFIN PIAMPS!
We basically ate breakfast, went to the courthouse, signed our names in blood and got married at "The Chapel By The Courthouse." Coincidentally, the courthouse was named "Courthouse By the Chapel."
Okay, no it wasn't.
It should have been.
I digress.
We decided to walk around Las Vegas before going home. (cough cough.. pivotal point in the story.. cough cough) While we parked at one of the casinos, Brad noticed why his car appeared to be overheating on the way there. There was a leak in the radiator but it didn't seem like anything "Stop Leak" couldn't handle. So we bought it, put it in there, leak appeared to be gone. Unbeknownst to us, Woody who had been "sharing the car with Brad at the Navy base noticed the leak a few MONTHS ago and just kept putting "Stop Leak" in it instead. He promptly forgot about the leak up until then but was too afraid to tell Brad that most likely, there was a gaping hole in the radiator.
Just before it got dark, we headed home.
Well, we tried.
We didn't even go 60 miles before the car's temperature needle hit the "holy shit I'm hot" red mark. The car was seriously overheating. We pulled over at a nearby construction site and pondered our situation. Thankfully there was a security guard nearby and he let us know that the construction supply manager was on the premises. He could probably get us some more Stop Leak from one of their supply rooms, which would probably get us as far as the next gas station.
Phew right?
Wrong.
The supplies manager: 1000 years old.. and SURE, he had the keys to the "supply garage" alright....somewhere in his 75 pound keyring, which had about 500 random keys. About 4 years later, he FINALLY found the supply room key.
Phew again right?
Nope. Lady luck was being a drunken bitch to us on this night and was passed out in her own vomit somewhere at the Bellagio Hotel.
Moses comes back from the supply room with PEPPER. No Stop Leak as promised because he "couldn't find it" so he just got us pepper.
Thanks jackass.
Which, technically, you could stop a small radiator leak with pepper. But in our situation, we needed at least a jar of pepper to go anywhere. But noooo, he gave us tiny, miniscule, atom sized packets of pepper.. the kind where you have to use four packets to see if you even HAD any pepper on your food.
Desperate, we got a styrofoam cup and started ripping those babies apart, collecting whatever pepper atoms we could into it. (Meanwhile Moses had wished us luck, gathered up his tablets and continued to lead the Jews into the Mojave) We got about one small handful of pepper, which was about as useful to us as a handful of shit. But we put it in there anyways and decided our best bet was to go back to Primm, Nevada, which was about 15 miles from where we were. Thankfully, most of the ride was going downhill. and we got to Primm on pepper, sweat and sheer momentum. Once we got there, it was pretty late and there was really nothing we could do but stay one more night. I DID mention we were broke right? Brad and I spent our "honeymoon" sleeping in the car. Woody in the passenger seat, Brad in the driver's seat, yours truly in the backseat. A cozy little family we were.
Nothing could POSSIBLY go wrong right?!?! What could possibly go wrong?!?! We were sleeping, we were safe in an RV/Trailer parking area of the casino. It should be all good right?
AAH, but you know better than THAT by now.
So we were all sleeping, exhausted by the crazy day we had. Feeling kind of nice since the temperature had dropped down from 115 to 90 degrees, with a light breeze going through the car.
Yeah, we were feeling good until .....
It began to RAIN. (I swear I CANNOT make this shit up...)
Not just sprinkle sprinkle spit spit piddly rain.. but buckets and buckets of water POURING into our vehicle! We attempted to roll up the windows, but oh wait.. we need the keys to turn on the car so the automatic windows could work BUT....
WHERE ARE THE KEYS?!?!?!
All three of us were scrambling around the car looking for the elusive keys and we could NOT find them. We finally had to resort to holding up our blankets against the windows lest we drown in the car. First Moses and the thousand keys and now, Noah's Arc. I half expected some locusts to swarm the car and fly us over a cliff.
When the rain finally subsided (thank God it was a wierd flash flood thing and only lasted for about 10 minutes), we were still wondering where the keys where. Woody thought that maybe we dropped it somewhere near the trunk, since that's where we were last when we got the blankets out. As soon as Woody jumped out of the car to check....
Clink!
What the?!!?!?
Clink! clink! clink!
"Woody, that sounds amazingly like there are keys in your pocket. Are the keys in YOUR POCKET!?!"
"ummmmm.....no?"
(he made a sad attempt of sneaking the keys out of his pocket and dropping it on the ground!)
At this point, Brad started chasing Woody around the car vowing to use his head as a hood ornament.
I was in the backseat, laughing so hard that I almost peed my pants.
Woody survived with his head still intact. It was 2:00 am at that point and Brad was too tired to chase him around the car for the 5th time, so he lucked out. The next morning, Woody called his mom and had her wire some money to him. We ate some food, got a makeshift shower in one of the casino bathroom, bought a new radiator for the car and went home.
Yep. That was our FIRST wedding. Our second wedding (with the family, church and the whole big tadoo) would OF COURSE be better than this one right?
Ahhh but you know better than THAT by now....
TO BE CONTINUED...................
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
"I Thought You Said We Were Going To Get Ice Cream?!?!"
Inspired by Alyson's engagement anniversary post, I felt the need to document my own personal story; however, just prepare yourself. Whilst Alyson's story is full of love and covered in a sweet candy shell, mine is equally full of love but covered in bright orange Cheetoh dust.
Let's open the bag shall we??
Rewind to me graduating from college and attempting to get a job near Brad because, let's face it, he's hot and when a midget scores you, we clamp on like a dirty leech. A couple weeks before I graduated I was visiting Brad in San Diego and he suggested that we should go get some ice cream after an early dinner and go to Sunset Cliffs to watch the sunset. This was a usual date for us as we were young and broke, so it didn't set any bells off. But there was ONE mistake on Brad's part. He mentioned ice cream. FIRST. So when he pulled up to Sunset Cliffs, I panicked, thinking that he had forgotten about the ice cream. I sweetly reminded him that we should go get some ice cream first THEN go to Sunset Cliffs. He brushed me off and said, "We'll get it afterwards." My head went into a tizzy.
"Um, but you said ice cream... excuse me.... ahem... a thousand pardons sir.. you did say, OUT LOUD, ice cream FIRST. "
Way to kill the romantic mood yes?
He finally shut me up when we walked out to the cliffs and I noticed he looked like he was going to vomit and laugh hysterically at the same time. Bent knee precariously on the edge of the cliff, ring presented, enthusiastic yes, kiss kiss, hug hug, take in the moment.... then of course, I pulled a Monica and yelled out into the ocean (and to others trying to have a romantic moment around us). "I'M ENGAGED!!! A WHOO HOO!" I should have also yelled; "Can you believe this guy is getting INTO THIS??? WISH HIM LUCK!!"
Fast forward a couple months later, I had just gotten a job at a modeling agency and was due to start in a couple weeks. Visiting Brad again, we were discussing what our living situation would be when I moved. I told him that I wanted to get an apartment BY MYSELF and we would live together when we were married. I mean why buy the Lucky Charms when you can get it from the leprechaun for free right? But I mostly wanted to do that because I had never ever lived WITHOUT boys. I wanted to live in my own apartment, have it smell CLEAN and, dare I say, "vanilla-y." I longed to look into a bathroom sink that didn't have a five o'clock shadow. I wanted a testosterone free home.. bad.. at least for a little while. BUT of course, money (or not having any) reared its ugly head. Brad jokingly mentioned getting married in Las Vegas in secret so that he could get an apartment advance from the Navy and we could save some money for the actual wedding, with him kicking down half of the rent. But then I thought.. what the hey?!? We're engaged anyways, what's it gonna hurt doing it a couple months early? (8 MONTHS early to be exact.. oh and did I mention that I hadn't told my parents that I was even engaged??? Basically my parents will always think I'm 8 and imagining the look on my mom's face when I told her I wanted to get married at 22 made my butt pucker.)
So off to Las Vegas we went!!!!
To Be Continued........................(damn, dontcha hate when that shit happens??)
Let's open the bag shall we??
Rewind to me graduating from college and attempting to get a job near Brad because, let's face it, he's hot and when a midget scores you, we clamp on like a dirty leech. A couple weeks before I graduated I was visiting Brad in San Diego and he suggested that we should go get some ice cream after an early dinner and go to Sunset Cliffs to watch the sunset. This was a usual date for us as we were young and broke, so it didn't set any bells off. But there was ONE mistake on Brad's part. He mentioned ice cream. FIRST. So when he pulled up to Sunset Cliffs, I panicked, thinking that he had forgotten about the ice cream. I sweetly reminded him that we should go get some ice cream first THEN go to Sunset Cliffs. He brushed me off and said, "We'll get it afterwards." My head went into a tizzy.
"Um, but you said ice cream... excuse me.... ahem... a thousand pardons sir.. you did say, OUT LOUD, ice cream FIRST. "
Way to kill the romantic mood yes?
He finally shut me up when we walked out to the cliffs and I noticed he looked like he was going to vomit and laugh hysterically at the same time. Bent knee precariously on the edge of the cliff, ring presented, enthusiastic yes, kiss kiss, hug hug, take in the moment.... then of course, I pulled a Monica and yelled out into the ocean (and to others trying to have a romantic moment around us). "I'M ENGAGED!!! A WHOO HOO!" I should have also yelled; "Can you believe this guy is getting INTO THIS??? WISH HIM LUCK!!"
Fast forward a couple months later, I had just gotten a job at a modeling agency and was due to start in a couple weeks. Visiting Brad again, we were discussing what our living situation would be when I moved. I told him that I wanted to get an apartment BY MYSELF and we would live together when we were married. I mean why buy the Lucky Charms when you can get it from the leprechaun for free right? But I mostly wanted to do that because I had never ever lived WITHOUT boys. I wanted to live in my own apartment, have it smell CLEAN and, dare I say, "vanilla-y." I longed to look into a bathroom sink that didn't have a five o'clock shadow. I wanted a testosterone free home.. bad.. at least for a little while. BUT of course, money (or not having any) reared its ugly head. Brad jokingly mentioned getting married in Las Vegas in secret so that he could get an apartment advance from the Navy and we could save some money for the actual wedding, with him kicking down half of the rent. But then I thought.. what the hey?!? We're engaged anyways, what's it gonna hurt doing it a couple months early? (8 MONTHS early to be exact.. oh and did I mention that I hadn't told my parents that I was even engaged??? Basically my parents will always think I'm 8 and imagining the look on my mom's face when I told her I wanted to get married at 22 made my butt pucker.)
So off to Las Vegas we went!!!!
To Be Continued........................(damn, dontcha hate when that shit happens??)
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Raisins are Grape Corpses and other troofs...
* Raisins ARE dead grapes. Its basically a grape with all its life dried out of it, yes? Enjoy your box of grape corpses and the grape elderly (the raisins with a little bit of plump leftover from their former life). I'll pass. (really I just don't like raisins... but that's the reason I like to give to people who question my judgement)
* Michelle Kwan's nose is NOT of Asian descent. I'm pretty sure she borrowed it from Walter Matthau.
* Batman is NOT a super hero. Superheroes, by and by, posess powers that others (humans) don't. Batman has no super powers. To avenge his parent's death, he donned a batsuit, made a belt full of nifty crimefighting stuff and enlisted the help of a 16 year old sidekick, whom he dressed in rainbow colors. He's not a superhero. At best, he's a extremely agile mental case with "Brokeback" tendencies, in dire need of therapy.
* Vegetable feel pain! This was a eyeopening fact, brought up on Debi's blog:
"1) To Vegetarians, Vegans, Uber-vegans, microbioals, and raw eaters...
If scientists eventually prove that plants can feel pain in a different but just as significant way as animals, what will you eat? p.s. They are getting really close to proving exactly that."
I was so happy to hear about this study and I personally can't WAIT for this to happen. I would love to throw some cabbage trimmings on them and make signs like: "PLANT KILLER!" and "SALAD IS MURDER!". I reserve this to the most extreme of vegans of course, who push the vegan way of life as I try to eat my double bacon cheeseburger in peace. I have nothing against regular ol' vegetarians who just like to eat veggies.. eat up! and while you're at it, you want my broccoli? (ew).
* My right thumb bends wierd. Check it out:
What is up with that? My left thumb is extremely embarrassed and refuses to hang out with my right thumb. Can you blame it? (I know I'm convincing you people more and more than I'm a midget circus freak... oh and I KNOW you are loving the short nails and no polish look. I call it "lesbo-chic".)
* Midget circus freaks are cooler than you.
* Carrot Top is a scary woman and his date, Steven Segall is a douchebag.
* Women's farts stink. Men's farts smell more like a city sewage pipe has leaked into your house. Or someone took a fat dump in the middle of your living room.. either way, guys SCHMELL.
* Power Bars taste like wood shavings, glue and ground up aspirin. I'm eating it right now as a substitute for chocolate. Which is a lot like using a cow pie as a substitute for a pillow.
* Everyone in England looks like Mr. Bean.
* Everyone in France can suck it. (I'm specifically talking TO YOU Miss French Bitch with a foot long French bread up your ass. The conch who decided that sighing and rolling her eyes while I try to order my quiche (IN FRENCH) was proper customer service for Americans. Don't be hatin' on me because you're country is full of manginas, ready to bend over to whoever the dominant country happens to be! Just get me my quiche' biznatch and try not to get your armpit hair in it)
* The more errands I have to do, the more I feel the urge to blog.
* Anything in San Diego ending in "-berto's" means they have some damn good carne asada burritos that be talkin' to your other end about 2 hours later. (right Kim?) It's alright though. Metamucil has nuttin' on these burritos. Keeps a girl regular! OLE!
* It takes an average of 413 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. No joke. Some "scientist" (ie: guy in his 30s who still lives with his mom and has decorative samurai swords displayed in his apartment/basement) conducted this study.
* .. AND finally, I like to shamelessly promote myself:
Buy a T-shirt from me ( more designs coming soon) or skip the formalities and just send me some good ol' cash. I promise that all proceeds will go to a charitable cause. (me).
* Michelle Kwan's nose is NOT of Asian descent. I'm pretty sure she borrowed it from Walter Matthau.
* Batman is NOT a super hero. Superheroes, by and by, posess powers that others (humans) don't. Batman has no super powers. To avenge his parent's death, he donned a batsuit, made a belt full of nifty crimefighting stuff and enlisted the help of a 16 year old sidekick, whom he dressed in rainbow colors. He's not a superhero. At best, he's a extremely agile mental case with "Brokeback" tendencies, in dire need of therapy.
* Vegetable feel pain! This was a eyeopening fact, brought up on Debi's blog:
"1) To Vegetarians, Vegans, Uber-vegans, microbioals, and raw eaters...
If scientists eventually prove that plants can feel pain in a different but just as significant way as animals, what will you eat? p.s. They are getting really close to proving exactly that."
I was so happy to hear about this study and I personally can't WAIT for this to happen. I would love to throw some cabbage trimmings on them and make signs like: "PLANT KILLER!" and "SALAD IS MURDER!". I reserve this to the most extreme of vegans of course, who push the vegan way of life as I try to eat my double bacon cheeseburger in peace. I have nothing against regular ol' vegetarians who just like to eat veggies.. eat up! and while you're at it, you want my broccoli? (ew).
* My right thumb bends wierd. Check it out:
What is up with that? My left thumb is extremely embarrassed and refuses to hang out with my right thumb. Can you blame it? (I know I'm convincing you people more and more than I'm a midget circus freak... oh and I KNOW you are loving the short nails and no polish look. I call it "lesbo-chic".)* Midget circus freaks are cooler than you.
* Carrot Top is a scary woman and his date, Steven Segall is a douchebag.
* Women's farts stink. Men's farts smell more like a city sewage pipe has leaked into your house. Or someone took a fat dump in the middle of your living room.. either way, guys SCHMELL.
* Power Bars taste like wood shavings, glue and ground up aspirin. I'm eating it right now as a substitute for chocolate. Which is a lot like using a cow pie as a substitute for a pillow.
* Everyone in England looks like Mr. Bean.
* Everyone in France can suck it. (I'm specifically talking TO YOU Miss French Bitch with a foot long French bread up your ass. The conch who decided that sighing and rolling her eyes while I try to order my quiche (IN FRENCH) was proper customer service for Americans. Don't be hatin' on me because you're country is full of manginas, ready to bend over to whoever the dominant country happens to be! Just get me my quiche' biznatch and try not to get your armpit hair in it)
* The more errands I have to do, the more I feel the urge to blog.
* Anything in San Diego ending in "-berto's" means they have some damn good carne asada burritos that be talkin' to your other end about 2 hours later. (right Kim?) It's alright though. Metamucil has nuttin' on these burritos. Keeps a girl regular! OLE!
* It takes an average of 413 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. No joke. Some "scientist" (ie: guy in his 30s who still lives with his mom and has decorative samurai swords displayed in his apartment/basement) conducted this study.
* .. AND finally, I like to shamelessly promote myself:
Buy a T-shirt from me ( more designs coming soon) or skip the formalities and just send me some good ol' cash. I promise that all proceeds will go to a charitable cause. (me).
Boo Effin Hoo!
Yesterday, I was watching the movie "Just Like Heaven" with Reese Witherspoon and as it came to an end, my throat was choked up and my tears were precariously hanging on to my eyelashes. If it was sad, it would have been one thing, but it was a "happy, how how sweet" tears that I was daring to shed! What the?!?!!?
I honestly don't know what's happened to me. Prior to having a child, I really wasn't that emotional, even for a girl. I didn't really cry at anything but weddings.. and I felt like a jackass even doing that. Having three older brothers meant that crying was.... well.. for girls. I wanted to be like my brothers when I was small, meaning I liked to cross dress way before it was even popular and crying was simply not an option. In fact, nobody in my family, including my mom, were very emotional in a "boo hoo" kind of way. (but emotional as in "I'm going to kick your ass, I need anger management classes" kind of way, yeah, we had THAT in the family, - HI DWIN! HI MOM!)
When I was a teenager, my emotions got the best of me from time to time despite my attempts at holding back the wrath of teen hormones. I remember my mom or my dad looking at me like I had grown a third eye during these crying fits. Anything triggered it. From talk of what I wanted for breakfast to my dad asking me to put some oil in my car. During these "episodes," they would ask me, "Why are you crying??" Not in a sympathetic way either, it was mixed with impatience, morbid curiosity and digust. A lot like when you find out your parents actually have sex. (EW, not they don't! ...immaculate conception, immaculate conception....) But I gave them a break. They are boy-friendly parents, when a girl was thrown into the mix, they didn't quite know what to do with me, especially when I turned into a teenager. The boys got acne- The End. I skipped the acne and instead, I cried over nothing, had an addiction to the phone, had a crushes on different boys every week, I needed a bra, I had my period, etc. etc. I'm sure if it was up to my parents, they would have preferred that I got the acne instead. But after teenage angst passed, I was back to my normal, butchy tearless self.
BUT NOW, I cry at everything! I'm not even exagerrating when I say EVERYTHING. Damn that Oprah, damn those sad breast cancer walk marathon commercials, damn that Sally Struthers and those poor starving kids, damn that animal police show, damn every chick flick movie ever made!!! DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! My tear ducts have opened and they won't stop leaking!!! I am now the prime target for people who are looking for "sponsors." Not that I'm against sponsoring, in fact, I sponsor a woman in Nigeria, But in this emotional state that I'm in, I'm bound to sponsor everything and everyone, until WE NEED a sponsor! Brad had to do some "tough love" on me the other day. He turned the channel on the t.v. because I was mid-dial to sponsoring a dog at the ASPCA. He did allow me make a small donation to ease my guilt for not saving every abandoned dog in America.
I'm secretly okay with being a crybaby, because its still a normal kind of crying.. more sympathetic and not like blubbering over things "that hurt my feelings" type of crap. And really, I was accepting my newfound tearfest as a good thing. BUT THEN I realized I truly had a problem when I kind of teared up during the last episode of "Beauty and The Geek." (YES, I WATCH the show. Spank it.) I'm sucking in every "don't judge a book by its cover" lesson that Ashton Kutcher is shoving down your throat but the toppers of all toppers is that one of the beauties actually fell for a geek (after his makeover of course.. which revealed that he was quite the hottie underneath his pocket protector). This week, one of them got eliminated so the lovebirds had to say goodbye to one another. Guess who was choking back the tears?
Someone help me.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Tube Steaks and Bitchy Cows.
I'm sure it's common knowledge to everyone that a guy will whoop out the jello jiggler if there is a remote chance that they'll be getting some poontang out of it. However, I'm here to tell you that this fact isn't ENTIRELY true. Back in college we (Hi Mary And Belinda!) learned that guys will whoop it out for ANYTHING even when sex isn't remotely possible. We stumbled onto our scientific project by accident, as we jokingly hollered at a couple guys to whoop it out for my friend Mary's video camera. When all SEVEN of them did it with no questions asked, we were intrigued and asked ourselves.."hmmm...I wonder how many..???"
The vast volume of guys that wagged the willy for a bunch of strange girls in a public place were astronomical .. even AFTER informing them that we were videotaping strictly for kicks and they weren't getting any ill nana from ANY of us. Guys STILL whooped it out with groups of their friends, guys whooped it out solo, guys we rejected earlier at the club whopped it out for us later, guys whooped it out even though their purple headed yogurt shooter were no bigger than my little finger! (you can actually hear one of us choke back laughter on the tape as one guy "amazed" us with his attached pencil). Mind you, all of our in-depth male studies were documented in public parking lots of a club or bar, but even THAT didn't stop them from yanking their chain. My friend Mary still has that infamous "documentary" somewhere in her house. Movie showings are usually reserved for bachelorette parties or pretty much anyone who asks about it.. shiiit, we're not picky.. it's not US on the tape! Plus the director's comments are well informed, scientific and funny as hell.
Onto another story...
I refuse to give biatches anymore "second chances." I'm specifically talking about this skank I used to work with in Satan's Den. From the FIRST minute I met her, she was a effin' conch..the kind that no Lord Of The Fly wants to blow.... But I had to work with the obnoxious cow, so I made nice. Despite being a condescending snatch, who wore her clothes five sizes too small, (much to the joy of all her co-workers who had to witness "the eclipse" when she bent over to file her paperwork SEVERAL times a day,) she had her moments of normalcy and I thought her bitchiness had a lot to do with working for Satan. So I gave her a chance. I thought, she might really be a nice person deep down inside. I went out dancing with her several times and it was totally embarassing for all parties involved, except her. Her "going out" clothes were worse than her work clothes. The best description would be a roast beef (her ass) with a band aid on it (her skirt). I'm not even exaggerrating on how big this girl was (topping 180 CONSERVATIVELY) and how little her clothes were (size 5's)oh and she was about 5'2 tall. The worst was she walked around like her shit did not stink and bitched about EVERYTHING.
"It's too crowded in here"...(duh bitch you're at a club)..
"I can't believe that guy talked to me...(I couldn't believe it either, did you EAT him? Where is he??) ..
"It's hot in here. I'm hot" (might have something to do with the human blubber coat you're sportin' there chickadee).."
I'm hungry" (like hell you say. YOU'RE hungry??? no way.) ...
etc. etc. etc.
But I gave her yet ANOTHER chance and let her tag along with my friends and I to watch No Doubt in Las Vegas. I knew it was a mistake when the first thing the conch said when we pulled up to the hotel was,
"Where's the bell-boy? I never carry my own luggage!" (she had two bags).
I told her "Welcome to Never, now grab your bags and quit bitchin!" AND THAT pretty much set the tone for the weekend. We tried to discreetly take her to the mall and "suggest" club attire, (IE: cover YO big ASS biatch).. but NOOOO, she had her quote "hoochie outfit" ready. It was such a terrifying sight that my brain is refusing to remember the horror that I witnessed. When all of us wore our comfortable clothes for the drive up, she wore a tight baby tee that afforded a view of her attractive dunlap flap coming out of her shirt for the four hour drive. Her jeans were so tight that when she took them off at the hotel, the side seam from the jeans had left a RED MARK down her leg. When all of us wore flannel pjs, she busted out her "Chrissy Snow" ruffle nightie that barely covered the roast beef. She bent down in front of Debi at one point and I think Debi's eyesight is just NOW coming back into focus. Salami fitting fashions aside, she was a queen sized bitch to everyone, INCLUDING my friends whom she barely knew, the hotel bellboys, maids, waiters (which pretty much means that she had her share of loogy covered dinners!) and anyone else that dared crossed her Orca ass. The topper of all toppers was when she ruined a perfectly awesome "No Doubt" concert by claiming that her "blood sugar" had dropped and she was feeling faint. Meaning, the lazy cow didn't have her regular cheesebuger fried in bacon grease in the past half hour so she was starving. So we had to RUSH out of the venue and get the stay puff marshmallow girl her lard IV lest she lose weight or something. Unloading her fat ass back at her barn after the trip was one of the best moments of that trip and a relief on my Jeep's shocks.
NEVER AGAIN with being nice to bitches! NEVAH EVAH!
Phew. This was suppose to be random blog.. but I got all caught up in memories of co-worker bitches and wagging willies. So typical.
The vast volume of guys that wagged the willy for a bunch of strange girls in a public place were astronomical .. even AFTER informing them that we were videotaping strictly for kicks and they weren't getting any ill nana from ANY of us. Guys STILL whooped it out with groups of their friends, guys whooped it out solo, guys we rejected earlier at the club whopped it out for us later, guys whooped it out even though their purple headed yogurt shooter were no bigger than my little finger! (you can actually hear one of us choke back laughter on the tape as one guy "amazed" us with his attached pencil). Mind you, all of our in-depth male studies were documented in public parking lots of a club or bar, but even THAT didn't stop them from yanking their chain. My friend Mary still has that infamous "documentary" somewhere in her house. Movie showings are usually reserved for bachelorette parties or pretty much anyone who asks about it.. shiiit, we're not picky.. it's not US on the tape! Plus the director's comments are well informed, scientific and funny as hell.
Onto another story...
I refuse to give biatches anymore "second chances." I'm specifically talking about this skank I used to work with in Satan's Den. From the FIRST minute I met her, she was a effin' conch..the kind that no Lord Of The Fly wants to blow.... But I had to work with the obnoxious cow, so I made nice. Despite being a condescending snatch, who wore her clothes five sizes too small, (much to the joy of all her co-workers who had to witness "the eclipse" when she bent over to file her paperwork SEVERAL times a day,) she had her moments of normalcy and I thought her bitchiness had a lot to do with working for Satan. So I gave her a chance. I thought, she might really be a nice person deep down inside. I went out dancing with her several times and it was totally embarassing for all parties involved, except her. Her "going out" clothes were worse than her work clothes. The best description would be a roast beef (her ass) with a band aid on it (her skirt). I'm not even exaggerrating on how big this girl was (topping 180 CONSERVATIVELY) and how little her clothes were (size 5's)oh and she was about 5'2 tall. The worst was she walked around like her shit did not stink and bitched about EVERYTHING.
"It's too crowded in here"...(duh bitch you're at a club)..
"I can't believe that guy talked to me...(I couldn't believe it either, did you EAT him? Where is he??) ..
"It's hot in here. I'm hot" (might have something to do with the human blubber coat you're sportin' there chickadee).."
I'm hungry" (like hell you say. YOU'RE hungry??? no way.) ...
etc. etc. etc.
But I gave her yet ANOTHER chance and let her tag along with my friends and I to watch No Doubt in Las Vegas. I knew it was a mistake when the first thing the conch said when we pulled up to the hotel was,
"Where's the bell-boy? I never carry my own luggage!" (she had two bags).
I told her "Welcome to Never, now grab your bags and quit bitchin!" AND THAT pretty much set the tone for the weekend. We tried to discreetly take her to the mall and "suggest" club attire, (IE: cover YO big ASS biatch).. but NOOOO, she had her quote "hoochie outfit" ready. It was such a terrifying sight that my brain is refusing to remember the horror that I witnessed. When all of us wore our comfortable clothes for the drive up, she wore a tight baby tee that afforded a view of her attractive dunlap flap coming out of her shirt for the four hour drive. Her jeans were so tight that when she took them off at the hotel, the side seam from the jeans had left a RED MARK down her leg. When all of us wore flannel pjs, she busted out her "Chrissy Snow" ruffle nightie that barely covered the roast beef. She bent down in front of Debi at one point and I think Debi's eyesight is just NOW coming back into focus. Salami fitting fashions aside, she was a queen sized bitch to everyone, INCLUDING my friends whom she barely knew, the hotel bellboys, maids, waiters (which pretty much means that she had her share of loogy covered dinners!) and anyone else that dared crossed her Orca ass. The topper of all toppers was when she ruined a perfectly awesome "No Doubt" concert by claiming that her "blood sugar" had dropped and she was feeling faint. Meaning, the lazy cow didn't have her regular cheesebuger fried in bacon grease in the past half hour so she was starving. So we had to RUSH out of the venue and get the stay puff marshmallow girl her lard IV lest she lose weight or something. Unloading her fat ass back at her barn after the trip was one of the best moments of that trip and a relief on my Jeep's shocks.
NEVER AGAIN with being nice to bitches! NEVAH EVAH!
Phew. This was suppose to be random blog.. but I got all caught up in memories of co-worker bitches and wagging willies. So typical.
Monday, February 13, 2006
" Green Acres is the place to be...."
I still don't know how this worked out...
Brad: Missouri country boy.
Elaine: Filipino city girl.
Brad: Would rather go camping with the "bare essentials," (knife and matches..seriously, he's gone camping with just THAT and had a better meal than I did at home..)
Elaine: Travel overseas and order room service all the live long day.
Brad: Prefers to stay home.
Elaine: What comes before part B??? PART-A!!! ...... babeee!!
Brad: Quiet and gets to the point
Elaine: Can sometimes be heard from space, prone to rambling about a whole lotta nothing, often sidetracked by glittery bright things within view.
Brad: Likes the Sci Fi channel and country music
Elaine: Likes to laugh at him for liking the Sci Fi channel and will listen to almost anything BUT country music.
Brad: Reads hunting/fishing magazines and westerns novels
Elaine: Reads celebrity trash mags and Stephen King
Brad: Longs to live in a log cabin in Alaska
Elaine: Longs to live someplace tropical where alcoholic drinks with cute umbrellas are abundant.
Brad: Logical, scientific, good with numbers.
Elaine: Observes the night sky for any UFOs flitting about and makes up full fledged, dramatic stories about random strangers at the mall.
On paper, it appears that were are SO NOT a match. In fact, had I met Brad during my high strung, obnoxious high school years, we really would not have gotten along. Only because back then, I was used to wearing the pants in the relationship and I was young, demanding, STUPID. Anyways, thank god I matured a bit and OH yeah, I got drunk enough at that bar to pinch Brad's ass. Okay, so meeting Brad was kind of a fluke. I had just gotten out of a long relationship and wasn't really looking to jump into another one. I hardly thought that the cute guy's butt I had pinched at that seedy bar in Tijuana was my future husband's! But here we are, 8 years strong and that butt is still as pinchable as ever. So in the spirit of amore' and Valentine's day, here's a list of why my husband rocks da house.
1. He is evidence that you can have brains AND brawn. A nuclear engineer (in the Navy) who is now a construction foreman because he refuses to be a "pencil pusher" (as he puts it) and still respects a sweaty hard day's work over prestige.
2. He's my hillibilly Emeril and short order cook. The man can cook up some grub! After a hard day's work, he washes his hands and cooks dinner for his daughter and kitchen disabled wife and enjoys every minute of it.
3. He wears the pants (yay!) but lets me borrow them on occasion.. for novelty's sake....
4. He is IN LOVE with his daughter. After having Maddy, he's decided that he wants all girls from now on. I love how they both greet each other when Brad comes home from work. She yells, "DADDY!!" he yells, "Baby!!" and they both give each other big hugs. Later, when Brad takes off his shirt, she demands to run around with her shirt off also, so she can be just like her Daddy.
5. His "Todai" dance, when we decide to go out for some sushi. I must tape it because he looks a lot like a polar bear..if the polar bear had the inclination to dance after gorging on a seal.....
6. He goes outside of himself to try anything and go anywhere, even though it doesn't come naturally for him. (he's from Missouri.. which doesn't really coincide with the word "change" and where driving a half hour to go anywhere is considered a long ass drive.)
7. How he embraces my family and our culture. He has an "Honorary Filipino" card in his back pocket... along with a dried up lumpia...
8. His smartass attitude and sacrastic sense of humor. I laugh hard at least once a day.
9. Play that funky music white boy. Brad's a dancing machine and isn't afraid to break it down when the mood hits him.
10. His bluntness.. which could easily be construed as rude. (I like to think he's just honest, but lacks a "subtle filter"). If there is an annoying person within hearing range, Brad, in a very no nonsense manner, will tell them to please shut the fuck up. Or my favorite saying, used primarily at his job... "if I want your opinion, I'll just ask, "hey dumbfuck, what do you think?" Seriously. He's just blunt. really. Otherwise, he's a super nice guy..
11. The man can build a building but can't call "Domino's" to order pizza. Seriously, he has like phobia about it. I'm the designated pizza order-er.
12. He has a slight case of social anxiety disorder but refuses to believe there is such a thing. I think its kind of funny/cute when he gets all stressed out about social situations and bites his
non-existent fingernails.
13. He picks out really good, romantic greeting cards. He doesn't write me poetic sonnets because somehow, he always find a card that says it all. Meanwhile, I pick the cards that are completely inappropriate and has the word "gyrate" in it.
14. He almost always manages to bring all the groceries into the house with just one or two trips. I don't know how he does it but I think he could work for a circus somewhere.
15. Babies love Brad and Brad loves babies.
16. How he is passionate and dedicated about anything he loves. Almost to a fault. For example, when the man fishes, he will wake up at 4:00 am and happily fish all day long, with no breaks. He's never been late for work and is usually the first one there, even when he had to drive two hours from L.A. to San Diego. (with working starting at 6:30 am).
17. He's secretly vain. At one point, he requested that I quit buying bar soap because he preferred the "loofa thingy" and liquid soap combo.
18. He can make gravy from scratch!! Okay, I know that's probably not a big deal but to me that's practically magic.
19. Brad's a do-it yourself-er. He can fix cars, build a bookcase and cook a lasagna. I know, I'm always referring to his cooking skills but as a self proclaimed food whore (what up Riss!), I can't tell you how lucky I got nabbing a guy who cooks. (otherwise it would be a toast and top ramen dinner every night!)
20. He takes excellent care of me when I get sick. One time he made me chicken soup (from scratch) and a grilled cheese sandwich, which he cut up into little squares so I could dip it into my soup. Seriously, this guy had me at ..."Hello..what do you want for dinner?"
I could go on and on but really, what I'm trying to say is:
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BRADDLE BUTT! ;)
(hee hee.. to everyone else, feel free to call my husband Braddle butt when you meet him. He loves it. I swear).
Brad: Missouri country boy.
Elaine: Filipino city girl.
Brad: Would rather go camping with the "bare essentials," (knife and matches..seriously, he's gone camping with just THAT and had a better meal than I did at home..)
Elaine: Travel overseas and order room service all the live long day.
Brad: Prefers to stay home.
Elaine: What comes before part B??? PART-A!!! ...... babeee!!
Brad: Quiet and gets to the point
Elaine: Can sometimes be heard from space, prone to rambling about a whole lotta nothing, often sidetracked by glittery bright things within view.
Brad: Likes the Sci Fi channel and country music
Elaine: Likes to laugh at him for liking the Sci Fi channel and will listen to almost anything BUT country music.
Brad: Reads hunting/fishing magazines and westerns novels
Elaine: Reads celebrity trash mags and Stephen King
Brad: Longs to live in a log cabin in Alaska
Elaine: Longs to live someplace tropical where alcoholic drinks with cute umbrellas are abundant.
Brad: Logical, scientific, good with numbers.
Elaine: Observes the night sky for any UFOs flitting about and makes up full fledged, dramatic stories about random strangers at the mall.
On paper, it appears that were are SO NOT a match. In fact, had I met Brad during my high strung, obnoxious high school years, we really would not have gotten along. Only because back then, I was used to wearing the pants in the relationship and I was young, demanding, STUPID. Anyways, thank god I matured a bit and OH yeah, I got drunk enough at that bar to pinch Brad's ass. Okay, so meeting Brad was kind of a fluke. I had just gotten out of a long relationship and wasn't really looking to jump into another one. I hardly thought that the cute guy's butt I had pinched at that seedy bar in Tijuana was my future husband's! But here we are, 8 years strong and that butt is still as pinchable as ever. So in the spirit of amore' and Valentine's day, here's a list of why my husband rocks da house.
1. He is evidence that you can have brains AND brawn. A nuclear engineer (in the Navy) who is now a construction foreman because he refuses to be a "pencil pusher" (as he puts it) and still respects a sweaty hard day's work over prestige.
2. He's my hillibilly Emeril and short order cook. The man can cook up some grub! After a hard day's work, he washes his hands and cooks dinner for his daughter and kitchen disabled wife and enjoys every minute of it.
3. He wears the pants (yay!) but lets me borrow them on occasion.. for novelty's sake....
4. He is IN LOVE with his daughter. After having Maddy, he's decided that he wants all girls from now on. I love how they both greet each other when Brad comes home from work. She yells, "DADDY!!" he yells, "Baby!!" and they both give each other big hugs. Later, when Brad takes off his shirt, she demands to run around with her shirt off also, so she can be just like her Daddy.
5. His "Todai" dance, when we decide to go out for some sushi. I must tape it because he looks a lot like a polar bear..if the polar bear had the inclination to dance after gorging on a seal.....
6. He goes outside of himself to try anything and go anywhere, even though it doesn't come naturally for him. (he's from Missouri.. which doesn't really coincide with the word "change" and where driving a half hour to go anywhere is considered a long ass drive.)
7. How he embraces my family and our culture. He has an "Honorary Filipino" card in his back pocket... along with a dried up lumpia...
8. His smartass attitude and sacrastic sense of humor. I laugh hard at least once a day.
9. Play that funky music white boy. Brad's a dancing machine and isn't afraid to break it down when the mood hits him.
10. His bluntness.. which could easily be construed as rude. (I like to think he's just honest, but lacks a "subtle filter"). If there is an annoying person within hearing range, Brad, in a very no nonsense manner, will tell them to please shut the fuck up. Or my favorite saying, used primarily at his job... "if I want your opinion, I'll just ask, "hey dumbfuck, what do you think?" Seriously. He's just blunt. really. Otherwise, he's a super nice guy..
11. The man can build a building but can't call "Domino's" to order pizza. Seriously, he has like phobia about it. I'm the designated pizza order-er.
12. He has a slight case of social anxiety disorder but refuses to believe there is such a thing. I think its kind of funny/cute when he gets all stressed out about social situations and bites his
non-existent fingernails.
13. He picks out really good, romantic greeting cards. He doesn't write me poetic sonnets because somehow, he always find a card that says it all. Meanwhile, I pick the cards that are completely inappropriate and has the word "gyrate" in it.
14. He almost always manages to bring all the groceries into the house with just one or two trips. I don't know how he does it but I think he could work for a circus somewhere.
15. Babies love Brad and Brad loves babies.
16. How he is passionate and dedicated about anything he loves. Almost to a fault. For example, when the man fishes, he will wake up at 4:00 am and happily fish all day long, with no breaks. He's never been late for work and is usually the first one there, even when he had to drive two hours from L.A. to San Diego. (with working starting at 6:30 am).
17. He's secretly vain. At one point, he requested that I quit buying bar soap because he preferred the "loofa thingy" and liquid soap combo.
18. He can make gravy from scratch!! Okay, I know that's probably not a big deal but to me that's practically magic.
19. Brad's a do-it yourself-er. He can fix cars, build a bookcase and cook a lasagna. I know, I'm always referring to his cooking skills but as a self proclaimed food whore (what up Riss!), I can't tell you how lucky I got nabbing a guy who cooks. (otherwise it would be a toast and top ramen dinner every night!)
20. He takes excellent care of me when I get sick. One time he made me chicken soup (from scratch) and a grilled cheese sandwich, which he cut up into little squares so I could dip it into my soup. Seriously, this guy had me at ..."Hello..what do you want for dinner?"
I could go on and on but really, what I'm trying to say is:
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BRADDLE BUTT! ;)
(hee hee.. to everyone else, feel free to call my husband Braddle butt when you meet him. He loves it. I swear).
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Brown And Bubbly?
Did anyone else notice this campaign for either Coke or Pepsi (one of those two soda monopolies) ? It was "Brown and Bubbly." That was their "genius" advertising slogan to pitch to the American public during the Superbowl. Really? What drunk advertising executive came up with this slogan? It sure as hell doesn't make me think of soda. When I think of "Brown And Bubbly," I'm thinking of....
* The shit squirts. The kind that happens when you eat prunes and down a pitcher of Metamucil. Powerful, gut wrenching squirts, enough to lift a 300 pound man off the toilet seat and cause some spillage.
*Raven Samone. Because hey, let's face it, that girl is as bubbly as they come!
* Eating brownies, taking five shots of tequila and seeing what "brown and bubbly" concoction I can yak into the toilet bowl a half hour later.
* The dirt, puke, piss, alchohol MUD slush that accumulates on any given dance floor in Tijuana, Mexico. (not that I've ever BEEN, but I've heard stories......)
OH HELL who am I kidding!? Brown and bubbly reminds me of POOP.
Wet, watery, unapologetic poop.
It's hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that someone got paid for basically describing diarrhea. Can I do that too? How about "yellow and warm"? Is there a product that could use that slogan? "Thick and bitter?" "Dry and crusty?" "Sour and creamy?" (That's a good one for yogurt!) I've missed my calling apparently. I could totally be an ad exec! I'm just shooting those babies right out of my ass as fast as I can type it!
Speaking of poop.. you know what makes me uncomfortable right down to the hair of my chinny chin chin? (it's okay, I don't have chin hair.. I wax.) Singers who sound as if they've been constipated for five years. Bruce Springsteen, Michael Bolton, Bryan Adams.. those types. Whenever they sing, you can see that vein in their forehead from outerspace. I think this type of "straining" should be reserved for heavy metal, punk or any "angry" type of music, because it fits the song perfectly. However, a love song and pinching a loaf should never resemble one another. I can't imagine being a girlfriend/wife to one these guys. Because YOU KNOW they've serenaded them at least once. I would be so incredibly uncomfortable if it were me. Because first, I hate being serenaded to. What's the proper etiquette for the "serenadee?" Sit there and smile? Can I sing along? Hum? What if you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the song? Can I check my email? Is it okay to read a book during the song? Can I make requests? Do I have to applaud at the end? I don't know! It's too awkward to have someone serenade you, let alone look like they're going to go dookie on your shoe while doing it. Serenading is only cool if you do it ala John Cusak with a boombox over your head, playing your love song of choice.
Did I just blog about poop?
Okay, I'm off to have a tall glass of brown and bubbly now! I bid you a DOO DOO.
(...damn..knowing when to stop was never one of my strong traits... )
* The shit squirts. The kind that happens when you eat prunes and down a pitcher of Metamucil. Powerful, gut wrenching squirts, enough to lift a 300 pound man off the toilet seat and cause some spillage.
*Raven Samone. Because hey, let's face it, that girl is as bubbly as they come!
* Eating brownies, taking five shots of tequila and seeing what "brown and bubbly" concoction I can yak into the toilet bowl a half hour later.
* The dirt, puke, piss, alchohol MUD slush that accumulates on any given dance floor in Tijuana, Mexico. (not that I've ever BEEN, but I've heard stories......)
OH HELL who am I kidding!? Brown and bubbly reminds me of POOP.
Wet, watery, unapologetic poop.
It's hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that someone got paid for basically describing diarrhea. Can I do that too? How about "yellow and warm"? Is there a product that could use that slogan? "Thick and bitter?" "Dry and crusty?" "Sour and creamy?" (That's a good one for yogurt!) I've missed my calling apparently. I could totally be an ad exec! I'm just shooting those babies right out of my ass as fast as I can type it!
Speaking of poop.. you know what makes me uncomfortable right down to the hair of my chinny chin chin? (it's okay, I don't have chin hair.. I wax.) Singers who sound as if they've been constipated for five years. Bruce Springsteen, Michael Bolton, Bryan Adams.. those types. Whenever they sing, you can see that vein in their forehead from outerspace. I think this type of "straining" should be reserved for heavy metal, punk or any "angry" type of music, because it fits the song perfectly. However, a love song and pinching a loaf should never resemble one another. I can't imagine being a girlfriend/wife to one these guys. Because YOU KNOW they've serenaded them at least once. I would be so incredibly uncomfortable if it were me. Because first, I hate being serenaded to. What's the proper etiquette for the "serenadee?" Sit there and smile? Can I sing along? Hum? What if you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the song? Can I check my email? Is it okay to read a book during the song? Can I make requests? Do I have to applaud at the end? I don't know! It's too awkward to have someone serenade you, let alone look like they're going to go dookie on your shoe while doing it. Serenading is only cool if you do it ala John Cusak with a boombox over your head, playing your love song of choice.
Did I just blog about poop?
Okay, I'm off to have a tall glass of brown and bubbly now! I bid you a DOO DOO.
(...damn..knowing when to stop was never one of my strong traits... )
Monday, February 06, 2006
B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
"Banana" is defined in the dictionary as a noun (the actual fruit) and a verb (crazy). There is however; another meaning for the word "banana" and today class, that is what we are discussing. "Banana" within the Asian/Filipino community can also describe one whom is of Asian/Filipino descent but "acts" decidedly Caucasian. (Bananas are YELLOW on the outside, WHITE on the inside, eh ? eh? learn somethin' new everyday dontcha?). This is a term I'm quite familiar with as it was brought to my attention in 7th grade, that I was a "BANANA." I asked around as to what a "banana" was and my brother finally enlightened me to my new moniker. I didn't really know where to go with this. Should I be mad? Offended? Should I "reevaluate" my relationship with my culture and my people???
I probably should have reacted in SOME way.. but honestly, what could I do? I couldn't change the way I "acted," I couldn't get all new, %100 Filipino enriched friends overnight, so I resigned myself to being a banana. Plus, the fact that those who called me a "banana" (behind my back mind you.. PUSSIES!) were Filipino sure, but born in Downey or someplace in the U.S. Technically, there were the REAL bananas. I was born in the Philippines (I at least had THAT under my banana belt!) and had the fortunate blessing of having parents who believed in that saying, "When in Rome..." I came to America, read a few books, made a few friends (I didn't even pick Filipino friends exclusively! Can you believe that?? I mean Filipinos were few and far between in Kansas, but I should have tried harder, I know.) and got rid of the accent.. I thought that was what I was SUPPOSE to do? DAMN IT. Why didn't anyone tell me that this was the path to being a banana?!? I had been duped.
I have tried numerous times to try and pinpoint the exact moment I started to unknowingly walked the Banana Path and really, there are a lot of things that could have done it. First, my parents. They never informed me that I should only hang out with Filipinos or to make Filipino friends. All they told me was to be nice, be polite and make friends. Good lord! They practically threw a banana suit ON ME! Shows you how much those two know! Second, I could blame my best friend Judy, whom I met in 2nd grade and is still my bestest friend. She was Hispanic and unknowingly introduced me to another culture, other friends of different descent and so on. I could also blame the fact that I am probably the only math retarded Asian alive and therefore did not have many classes with fellow Asian peeps, as I was too busy counting my fingers and toes in consumer math. I could blame Superman (Christopher Reeve) for looking so damn sexy in his tights and standing there with all his Caucasian glory, influencing me at such a tender age. I could blame so many things but I soon realized that being described as a potassium rich fruit wasn't the worst thing to be.
So whatever, I'm a banana. I guess I "act" Caucasian to some people.. whatever the hell that means.... I'm proud to be Filipino but why do I have to "act" a certain way or be friends with only certain types of people to convey that? I don't think I could do that even if I TRIED. I'm just being me and unfortunately, its a little too "Go Whitey!" for some people. I do need to brush up on my Tagalog (although my "Tag-lish" is EXCELLENT) and I COULD learn how to cook Adobo at some point since Brad likes it so much, (first I just gotta learn how to COOK). Otherwise, being a banana isn't so bad. It filtered out a lot of idiots from even crossing my path and I have met and gotten to be great friends with many people of all different races, which also meant being exposed to different types of FOOD.. and really, that's THE main benefit of embracing differences isn't it??? OH and like a true banana, I HAVE A BIG GIANT CAUCASIAN HUSBAND WHO COVERS EVERYTHING IN GRAVY. God Bless America!
So everyone, bananas and purists alike, let's all hold hands and sing:
"This shiiit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!"
See? Even Gwen Stefani wrote a song about me!
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Scaredy Cat
I wasn't really planning on blogging until Monday because, to be honest, I'm a little scared that I am addicted to the internet. I just noticed that I could not escape the lure of my laptop. Everytime I passed by, it begged me to check my email (even though I had just checked it one nano second earlier), it begged me to go on ebay and search for stuff I don't need, it called to me from any room I was in, taunting me with possibility that this was the day that my Google Adsense finally generated so many clicks that I made enough to quit my job...it was scary, so I decided this weekend, I would lay off the internet. It almost worked except Brad and I had the brainiac idea to watch "The Grudge" at 9:00 pm tonight, knowing full well that we are a bunch of sissies that sleep with every light on in the house after watching a scary movie. So here I am, scared shitless, lights blaring and blogging so I can get that damn asian kid, that "meows" in dark corners, out of my head.. Oh and lets not forget his mom that "scuttles" down the stairs.
Damn I hate that shit! The best way to scare the living bejeesus out of me is to "scuttle." No scuttling!! Just back up with that scuttle mister!
A long time ago, Shannon had tagged me and I specifically held off on completing my obligations as a tagee for such a situation like I have tonight. Here we go and cross your fingers that after I do this, I'll be able to go to sleep AND turn off the lights...
I forgot the name of the survey, I'm pretty sure it wasn't "Foursome" because first, that's too obvious and second, well that's just too many people to have in bed with you. (Shut up. you KNOW you were thinking it when you heard "foursome!" Admit it! ........please don't let it be just ME, ......
FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. (first job ever) IKEA Ballroom Attendant. (do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT let your kids play in those bin of balls...when kids puke or pee in them, the janitor simply goes to the "area" of the mess, clean up the balls that are OBVIOUSLY stained and then run a mop through the rest of the balls...ick).
2. Modeling agent's assistant. IE: coffee go getter, Fed Ex package sender, faxer and everyone's bitch....)
4. Ad Copy Writer for Satan's den.
5. Editor for a P.I. company.
FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. Pretty Woman (Shannon, remember when we snuck into this movie and I said that the "old guy" ..Richard Gere.. was kind of cute for being old?.. we were such rebels)
2. Perfect Storm.....it has mind control over me.
3. Shawshank Redemption, cuz' the guy mucked through shit to escape.. that DESERVES to be watched at least twice!
4. Friday.. I know every line to this movie and I'm pretty SURE that Brad and I use at least one line from this movie every day.... so sad.
FOUR PLACES YOU HAVE LIVED:
Philippines, Kansas, Rowland Heights, CA. San Diego/Oceanside, CA. ( I specifically omitted Missouri because it was just like a long boring "vacation"before realizing "what the?" we're vacationing in MISSOURI, lets get out of here!!!)
FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
Friends, King of Queens, King Of The Hill, Family Guy
FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
Several places in Europe, Rosarito, Las Vegas, Palm Springs - all involved some type of alchohol consumption and karaoke.. does it still count as karaoke if you sing loudly on the street while walking back to your hotel ? damn, I was such a lush.
FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
Several favorite blogs, The Superficial, Madonnalicious (shut up), Engrish.com
FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
ONLY FOUR. Sheesh! Chicken Alfredo, Rocky Road Ice Cream, Orange Chicken and Biscuits and Gravy.
FOUR PLACES YOU'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW; Italy, Hawaii, Jamaica, in yo momma....(sorry Riss, I had to copy your answer, I'm feeling unoriginal today... ;0 )
Okay, I think I can go to bed now .. but I don't know if I'm turning out that light.......
Damn I hate that shit! The best way to scare the living bejeesus out of me is to "scuttle." No scuttling!! Just back up with that scuttle mister!
A long time ago, Shannon had tagged me and I specifically held off on completing my obligations as a tagee for such a situation like I have tonight. Here we go and cross your fingers that after I do this, I'll be able to go to sleep AND turn off the lights...
I forgot the name of the survey, I'm pretty sure it wasn't "Foursome" because first, that's too obvious and second, well that's just too many people to have in bed with you. (Shut up. you KNOW you were thinking it when you heard "foursome!" Admit it! ........please don't let it be just ME, ......
FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. (first job ever) IKEA Ballroom Attendant. (do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT let your kids play in those bin of balls...when kids puke or pee in them, the janitor simply goes to the "area" of the mess, clean up the balls that are OBVIOUSLY stained and then run a mop through the rest of the balls...ick).
2. Modeling agent's assistant. IE: coffee go getter, Fed Ex package sender, faxer and everyone's bitch....)
4. Ad Copy Writer for Satan's den.
5. Editor for a P.I. company.
FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. Pretty Woman (Shannon, remember when we snuck into this movie and I said that the "old guy" ..Richard Gere.. was kind of cute for being old?.. we were such rebels)
2. Perfect Storm.....it has mind control over me.
3. Shawshank Redemption, cuz' the guy mucked through shit to escape.. that DESERVES to be watched at least twice!
4. Friday.. I know every line to this movie and I'm pretty SURE that Brad and I use at least one line from this movie every day.... so sad.
FOUR PLACES YOU HAVE LIVED:
Philippines, Kansas, Rowland Heights, CA. San Diego/Oceanside, CA. ( I specifically omitted Missouri because it was just like a long boring "vacation"before realizing "what the?" we're vacationing in MISSOURI, lets get out of here!!!)
FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
Friends, King of Queens, King Of The Hill, Family Guy
FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
Several places in Europe, Rosarito, Las Vegas, Palm Springs - all involved some type of alchohol consumption and karaoke.. does it still count as karaoke if you sing loudly on the street while walking back to your hotel ? damn, I was such a lush.
FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
Several favorite blogs, The Superficial, Madonnalicious (shut up), Engrish.com
FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
ONLY FOUR. Sheesh! Chicken Alfredo, Rocky Road Ice Cream, Orange Chicken and Biscuits and Gravy.
FOUR PLACES YOU'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW; Italy, Hawaii, Jamaica, in yo momma....(sorry Riss, I had to copy your answer, I'm feeling unoriginal today... ;0 )
Okay, I think I can go to bed now .. but I don't know if I'm turning out that light.......
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Working out SUCKS, but being chubby really BLOWS.
For almost two weeks now, I've been getting up at 5:30 am to put in my workout before Maddy wakes up. It sucks because all I really want to do is stay in bed a bit longer. But it must be done, because you know what sucks even WORSE? Finding a top you really like at the store, grabbing what you deemed to be "your size," and upon putting it on, you realize you bear a close resemblance to Jello ......stuffed into a condom. Clothes shopping usually ends for me right there. I then move onto something less proned to give me a heart attack. Book shopping at Barnes and Noble.
I've heard many people "poo poo" on my renewed vigor for working out. "You're not even fat!" Okay, true.. I'm just cornering on the chubby side. However, if I went by what people told me, I would never be "fat." I know how friends and family are.. they'll tell you you're not fat when you're wheeling yourself into the grocery store in one of those motorized scooters and your ankles start to resemble a side of ham. "Oh, you're not fat, you're just big boned."
Riiight. Big boned. Sure. With a whole lotta meat wrapped around it.
That's like saying a fart is just "air." Yeah, packed up against shit!
(Okay, so the two sayings have NOTHING to do with each other, but I just wanted to type that out.. hee. "packed up against shit" hoo boy.. that was rich! What? I'm funny. Shut up.)
Anywhoo.. back to the subject at hand.
I know it's up to me to give some tough love to myself when putting on clothes turns into a game of, "which outfit won't make me look like a potato??" ( Cue Jeopardy music ).
Plus, I'm short. Super short. So short that in Ohio or Utah or someplace, I would be considered a handicapped person (under 5'0"). I would be deemed worthy enough to park my car right up on Target's front door, depending if I could reach the pedals of my car to even make it there.
So let's look at that equation, shall we?
Super Short + Fat = OOmpa Loompa
Yeah. No thanks. That equation right there has me waking up in a cold sweat at 5:00 am.
Also, I remember fondly going shopping for clothes and not even trying them on because I KNEW they were going to fit. (although, shopping for clothes and NOT trying them on will never happen again since being pregnant shifted my legos around, some parts are just never going to be the same, even if I get back into shape.. ie: I have hips now!) Point being, I liked the freedom of being in shape. The freedom to just sit the fuck down and not worry if you're belly was sticking out too much, the freedom to get that cute bathing suit because it looks CUTE on YOU and not because it was the only bathing suit that offered enough coverage for your ass AND didn't look like a tent. More importantly, I want the freedom TO EAT. I know it sounds like such an oxymoron; getting in shape so you can eat. But when you're in shape you can AFFORD to eat. When you're an oompa loompa you're pretty much limited to cottage cheese with a side of potting soil. I love food and I want to eat dammit, what's the price for my love of eating? Sweating it all off afterwards of course. That way, I can be a clean slate when that basket of gravy covered, fried chicken strips dares cross my path.
Oh and what about health you say? yeah, that's nice too. But I'm not going to bullshit, I'm not old enough to "worry" too much about my health. Nothing is horribly wrong so I rarely worry about my health. I figure, EVEN if I work out for completely the wrong reasons, health is evidently going to be the bi-product of working out. So why sugar coat it? I'm not working out for health. I'm working out to up my hotness factor. MILF baby. Or as Shannon said, "SAHMILF baby!"
Finally, my main motivation lies in the fact that I'm going to be THIRTY this year.
(Hold on...gonna have to let THAT sink in..................phew......thirty.. wow............)
Anyways..if I don't step it up now, its just going to get harder and harder the longer I wait. Plus, how "milf-e" will I be if I wait and got in shape at 65? I'd be a GILF! Ew. There's a reason that GILF's don't exist.
Because... just, EWWW.
I promised myself no crash diets anymore either. I did that last year before going to Cabo and as satisfying as it was to see fifteen pounds shed off in two weeks, (although I was STARVING and was two seconds away from holding up a Krispy Kreme..."Gimme all your jelly donuts! make it snappy.. and throw in a few of those custard filled ones if you know what's good for ya!) it wasn't so satisfying when it popped its ugly 15 pound head on my stomach and ass about two days after I got back. AND it brought its friends a few days later, Mr. 2 pounds and Mr. 5 pounds.
I DO remain firm on my stance that working out sucks. I don't see how I could ever "love to workout" like some people do, because "I love to sleep and eat" a whole lot more. But I keep fighting the good fight because the "Working Out" card trumps the "Oompa Loompa" card everytime!
I've heard many people "poo poo" on my renewed vigor for working out. "You're not even fat!" Okay, true.. I'm just cornering on the chubby side. However, if I went by what people told me, I would never be "fat." I know how friends and family are.. they'll tell you you're not fat when you're wheeling yourself into the grocery store in one of those motorized scooters and your ankles start to resemble a side of ham. "Oh, you're not fat, you're just big boned."
Riiight. Big boned. Sure. With a whole lotta meat wrapped around it.
That's like saying a fart is just "air." Yeah, packed up against shit!
(Okay, so the two sayings have NOTHING to do with each other, but I just wanted to type that out.. hee. "packed up against shit" hoo boy.. that was rich! What? I'm funny. Shut up.)
Anywhoo.. back to the subject at hand.
I know it's up to me to give some tough love to myself when putting on clothes turns into a game of, "which outfit won't make me look like a potato??" ( Cue Jeopardy music ).
Plus, I'm short. Super short. So short that in Ohio or Utah or someplace, I would be considered a handicapped person (under 5'0"). I would be deemed worthy enough to park my car right up on Target's front door, depending if I could reach the pedals of my car to even make it there.
So let's look at that equation, shall we?
Super Short + Fat = OOmpa Loompa
Yeah. No thanks. That equation right there has me waking up in a cold sweat at 5:00 am.
Also, I remember fondly going shopping for clothes and not even trying them on because I KNEW they were going to fit. (although, shopping for clothes and NOT trying them on will never happen again since being pregnant shifted my legos around, some parts are just never going to be the same, even if I get back into shape.. ie: I have hips now!) Point being, I liked the freedom of being in shape. The freedom to just sit the fuck down and not worry if you're belly was sticking out too much, the freedom to get that cute bathing suit because it looks CUTE on YOU and not because it was the only bathing suit that offered enough coverage for your ass AND didn't look like a tent. More importantly, I want the freedom TO EAT. I know it sounds like such an oxymoron; getting in shape so you can eat. But when you're in shape you can AFFORD to eat. When you're an oompa loompa you're pretty much limited to cottage cheese with a side of potting soil. I love food and I want to eat dammit, what's the price for my love of eating? Sweating it all off afterwards of course. That way, I can be a clean slate when that basket of gravy covered, fried chicken strips dares cross my path.
Oh and what about health you say? yeah, that's nice too. But I'm not going to bullshit, I'm not old enough to "worry" too much about my health. Nothing is horribly wrong so I rarely worry about my health. I figure, EVEN if I work out for completely the wrong reasons, health is evidently going to be the bi-product of working out. So why sugar coat it? I'm not working out for health. I'm working out to up my hotness factor. MILF baby. Or as Shannon said, "SAHMILF baby!"
Finally, my main motivation lies in the fact that I'm going to be THIRTY this year.
(Hold on...gonna have to let THAT sink in..................phew......thirty.. wow............)
Anyways..if I don't step it up now, its just going to get harder and harder the longer I wait. Plus, how "milf-e" will I be if I wait and got in shape at 65? I'd be a GILF! Ew. There's a reason that GILF's don't exist.
Because... just, EWWW.
I promised myself no crash diets anymore either. I did that last year before going to Cabo and as satisfying as it was to see fifteen pounds shed off in two weeks, (although I was STARVING and was two seconds away from holding up a Krispy Kreme..."Gimme all your jelly donuts! make it snappy.. and throw in a few of those custard filled ones if you know what's good for ya!) it wasn't so satisfying when it popped its ugly 15 pound head on my stomach and ass about two days after I got back. AND it brought its friends a few days later, Mr. 2 pounds and Mr. 5 pounds.
I DO remain firm on my stance that working out sucks. I don't see how I could ever "love to workout" like some people do, because "I love to sleep and eat" a whole lot more. But I keep fighting the good fight because the "Working Out" card trumps the "Oompa Loompa" card everytime!
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