Thigh Icing…Want Some?


I think I have finally went over the edge.

And I didn’t just slip. I took a running leap and flung my white, cellulite puckered thighs, wrinkly tummy, perky boobed body over the edge. And yes…my boobs are still perky-ish after breastfeeding two spawns, so stop it. Just stop it! Pick yourself up off the floor and brush off the dog hair and crumbs you have collected down there. And STOP LAUGHING!

Yes, I flung my body.

Unfortunately my belly button ring got caught on a fucking branch and I am just dangling there waiting for the turkey vultures to start pecking at my eyes and asshole. Yes, they go for the easiest meal first. Wait…what??!?! A belly button ring at 42? Fuck you. It’s cute. Take my word for it.

He's just waiting to pluck my eyeball out

Yes. I am getting to the point. Sheesh, it’s like you want to kick me off that branch and watch my lifeless, asshole-less, blind body roll down the cliff to the bottom! You people are sick!

People talk about kids having peer pressure but let me tell you…adult peer pressure sucks. At least as a kid, you are pressured into things like drinking or smoking pot. Not shit like signing up for a fucking half marathon. The healthy, good for your body shit. Not the unhealthy, good for fun shit.

I signed up for a half marathon.

ME!

Didn’t someone remind me that I don’t run? No, they fucking encouraged me to do it! Some friends I have. These are the ones who do 5K things all the time. They couldn’t just encourage me to just do a short one…nooooooooooo! I am surprised they didn’t talk  me into the full marathon.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my friends and am all amazed that they run like they do. They are inspiring. Sometimes way to fucking inspiring. If they can do it, why can’t I? I am not being snarky and bitchy when I say this, they are both overweight and can run marathons…

Why can’t I do it? Because I DON’T FUCKING RUN!

Well, I guess I do now. Damn friends.

You can walk the course but I don’t want to be the lame-ass and finish last. So, I am running.

Not much. Not fast. Not pretty.

And where the hell is that fucking “runner’s high” they keep talking about? But that is a topic for another day…

I am doing it and I am running. I am gaining endurance and can actually run farther each time. So it is working. I know I won’t be able to run the whole thing. If I can run/walk it, I will be happy. I can walk 7 miles in a little less than 2 hours. I figure I can do 13 miles in about 3 hours and 20 minutes. If I run some, I can do it in under 3 hours and that is my goal.

Goals are good to have right?

Rambo, he is so supportive.

“Well, if you decide to not do it, it’s only 60 bucks. Not out a lot.”

What. The. FUCK!

Yes, he said that. Way to go boy-o. I love you too. Way to support your crazy ass wife. Whatever happened to lifting me me up and encouragement?

“Awesome honey! You are going to do it. You will look amazing by the end of summer. Okay, MORE amazing than you do now.”

That’s what he should have said.

Instead he got 1 week of headaches.

I could only last a week. A girl has needs.

Gotta go…my thighs need ice. And it’s not because I didn’t have a headache last night.

Fucking friends.

Forever Sassy!

 

 

Who Am I?


People always characterize themselves by what they are and not who they are. Labels such as mom, wife, employee are all used to say who you are. But that isn’t really true. That is just what you do.

Call it a freaking mid-life crisis or whatever.

When did I stop being just me? Was it when I said “I do” 24 years ago? Was it when I gave birth to my first child 19 years ago? When I became a manager?

I stopped being me when I had other people who were depending on me to be whatever title they gave me.

Ask yourself…Who am I? It’s hard to answer without those damn labels.

I am someone. Someone who:

  • loves to read. Anything. I love my Kindle because I can read those “Naughty Nooner” books for free without anyone knowing about them. I love reading murder mysteries to see if I can solve it by the end. Usually pretty good. Is it because I wish I could be the murderer? Hmm..interesting insight.
  • loves to eat. Almost anything. Except peppers. And anchovies. I do like jalapenos. So there you have it. I contradict myself. Remember this. My kids do. And they remind me about it whenever they can.
  • cries at dumb movies. I don’t when the hell that happened! I never cried over anything. Now it’s like a freaking waterfall. And don’t you say the word perimenopausal. I will send you a virtual kick in the ass!
  • likes being fit but hates to exercise.  I need to come up with a way to exercise at my desk that doesn’t make me tired. I never did get the whole endorphin rush. The pain is too great. Maybe it’s like childbirth.
  • wishes she had more friends. Have I told you, I am a great friend! Oh shit. A label again.
  • wishes she lived on Maui. Seriously. Best place on the planet earth. At least until I get to French Polynesia. Hell will freeze over first, but I live in Minnesota so it already did.

Oh, and yes, despite this post being all insightful, I am still the sassy, blonde bitch.
I will be back.
Tomorrow.
Until then…tell me. Who are you?