The worst 4 letter word of all time? Diet.

I'm going crazy balls here people.
I'm pms-ing, stabby and more importantly HUNGRY.

Last night, while doped up on a 1/4 of an ambien I set my alarm for 5:45am so that I could wake up to run. It was 11:30 and the odds of me waking up at 5:45am after a brief 6 hours of sleep in real land, NOT ambien land, are really, slim to none. I don't know what I was thinking.

I didn't sleep well the night before so I had a lot of sleep to make up for.

This morning my alarm went off at 5:45. The ambien had slightly worn off.
I was all:

"Who the fuck set my alarm for 5:45!?
I don't have to wake up right now....
It's saturday, right?
No.... It's wednesday...
Still, why the hell....
Wait.... I set my alarm.... Last night.... and I vaguely remember vowing to myself and the husband that I was getting up to run because I made the most awesome burgers and home made fries EVER last night and what goes better with an awesome burger and home made fries than FRY SAUCE AND BEER?! Nothing! So of course I had to indulge in mass amounts of AWESOME."

"This bed is mass amounts of AWESOME"

"You really should get up and run, you fat ass. You haven't done shit all week and the chances of you being in a bikini this weekend are slightly elevated and you really don't want to scare people off."

"Oh, and you're having pictures done with the husband soon. WHY!? Because the last pictures you've done to capture your lives together were for YOUR WEDDING.... and it's been 5 years, 2 dogs, a cat and 30 pounds later, and why NOT capture the joys of comfortable, slack-tastic, marital bliss?!"

"This bed is slack-tastic marital bliss...."

"But now you need to work your ASS off so that you're NOT that comfortable, fat, married couple that no matter your achievements, if you're fat, you've failed."

Thanks a lot society, thanks a fucking lot.

Regardless, I didn't get up to run this morning.

I got to work and told myself that I was going to be a "good girl" today due to my lack of cardio this morning.

My self-pep talk went like this:

"Breakfast will be a sugar free packet of oatmeal. Lunch will be your bag of salad. A snack will be your jello pack and then it's off to the gym for weight lifting, running and then you're going to your softball game. Dinner will be lean protein and vegis. You'll be skinny before you know it!"

After the first 15 minutes I had eaten a ball of cookie dough.

Then my coffee.

Then a wheat thins flat bread cracker.

THEN what was left of a box of Parmesan garlic triscut thin crisps.

THEN I licked the salty Parmesany, garlicky goodness of the inside of said box.

THEN I was eating a co-workers strawberry cream cheese out of the container with my FINGER.

THEN a handful of hint of lime tortilla chips.

NOW!? I'm eating my bag of salad in a hellbent effort to cancel out all of my previous bad decisions!

However, instead of lean protein and vegis for dinner, I've already established that I'm making the concessions cart at the softball game my bitch for dinner.

Hello hot dogs, nachos and beer.
Goodbye bikini ready body.

Reason #65631098476 why it's a really good thing I'm not a mother.

I neglect things.
Like this blog.


Sorry I've been absent lately, bloggy friendlies.
It's just that I've been really busy at work/home/work/gym/social life.
Not to mention these god damned allergies.
They're sucking the life right out of me!
I'm sooooo mugfuggin tired. It feels like I've got sandbags attached to my eye lids.
Not to mention my snotface. I'm to the point where I'm so sick and tired of wiping my watery nose/eyes/mouth/facehole that I'm contemplating just letting this shit drip/run down my face.

Anyway, enough complaining/whiny/snappy-whorefacing stabbyness out of this girl.

I'm just trying to feed you all a few lines to let you know that

1.) I have NOT died.
B.) I care about this blog very much, and I OH SO enjoy sharing my take on things with a side car of vulgarity with you all, I just haven't had a lot of time lately and I probably won't for the next few days/weeks/forever.
iii) Yes, I've got some shit randomly in the works... so please stay tuned.

Was all this really worthy of a blog post?

No.

I'm just a rebel like that.

Turns out I AM a tender little flower. Mostly just on bullshit holidays though.

Just when I thought I was totally cool with being motherless, I found out I'm still pretty fragile.

April, May and June can totally suck it.

All three of them have pretty fucking hard days.

The most recent was mothers day.

Yesterday I got busted crying on my couch by the husband.

It was due to an overwhelming amount of things, but subconsciously, I'm reasonably sure that mothers day played a pretty big role.

I managed to spurt off a couple bullshit reasons as to why I was crying to deflect the core of the emotional spillage, and to get him to quit prying because I'm still trying like hell to convince everyone, including myself that I'm one rad bitch who doesn't need a mother.

Or sympathy.

Sympathy is for pussys.

The husband left the house to go to a family gathering thinking his wife was really upset about our unfinished back yard and her messy house.

All valid, but lets be honest, NOT tear inducing.

I stayed home and watched reality-drama-smut and folded laundry while I finished up being a basket case.

I got myself together and put on a happy face to show up to the family gathering, somewhere between fashionably/obnoxiously late.

Later that evening I was on the phone with my Nana. (My mothers mother)

During our "Happy mothers day" phone conversation she mentioned that my Uncle had called her earlier.

My uncle (Mothers brother) lives in Vegas and I had just gotten back from there. I was able to see him for 3.7 minutes and while it was wonderful to see him, I couldn't figure out why he left so quickly.

My Nana assured me that my uncle really did enjoy seeing me, but after we went our separate ways he couldn't help but to think of my mother the entire day. Nana gracefully said "You are the spitting image of your mother, you know."

This is one compliment that will always bring me to tears.

While it's wonderful to hear, it's always terribly hard at the same time.

As detached from her as I'd like to be, for the sake of protecting my own heart, it always reminds me that we're closer than I think.

So

Here's to you Ma.

Happy mothers day.

From the one and only child you left behind.

It's a sad excuse for a blog post but right now, it's all I've got.

I've heard from a few people that they enjoy reading my blog.

This is very flattering but also very nerve racking.

You see, I'm not always grammatically correct.

Sometimes my stories don't flow as well as I'd like them to.

I'm not really big on punctuation, and rarely know how to use it all correctly.

And thank GOD for spell check. (See, I start sentences with "and." I think that's a no no)

AND to top it all off, Lately I've felt like I've been having to force my creative juices out.

Which has been rather messy.

It just isn't coming naturally at the moment.

The husband and I have been at each others throats for like, 5.7 days straight.

We're both really uber-mega-stressed about completely different things and in hind sight we should really just punch each other in the face and get it over with.

We're leaving for Vegas in T-minus 44 hours and it'd be titties if we could actually enjoy the first vacation we've taken together in years.

Personally, I'd like to make really bad decisions while we're there. I'd prefer that we BOTH wake up in the bed of an Asian prostitute with a bag of blow up our ass TOGETHER, with no recollection of the night before, and actually MAKE some MEMORIES here people.

Anyway, with a lot pending on my plate as well as my mind, I've decided to post a couple of photo's taken over the last 24 hour period that I find comical.

Please enjoy.

She's a desk hopper.

And a groupie.

And a whore.

With sex kitten hair.

But she's a pony.

Sex pony hair?

Our janitors solution to a breaker that keeps tripping every time we turn our lights on.

"Da Printer."

Da bears.

Daaaaaa bears, Da bears, Da bears, Da bears.

Happy Tuesday and much love.

(If you didn't get that last one, google Chris Farley SNL Skits. They're priceless, bitches)

*

The fattest runner you know.

Fuck it, I'm eating a cookie.

I've been eyeballing those motherfuckers all day.

This morning I ran 4 miles.

In 36 minutes.

Now why on earth would I wake up at 5:25 in the crack-ass-of-god-damn, to pound my brittle, unlubricated knee joints into pavement, salivate like an overweight french mastiff and sweat through TWO sport bras all just to throw it away on a cookie?! (Ahem, 2 now.)

Because I'm STARVING.

Because I ate a salad and a tuna pack for lunch.

Because I'm sick and tired of being cushy.

Because my belly chub mocks me.

And reminds me of all the nights spent smoking pot and getting Wendy's at 2am.

I may have a chubby belly, but damn it, it's years worth of being surrounded by wonderful friends who share my love for food, beer and coming home smelling like bong water.

And damn it, those are fond motherfuckinmemories.

I think instead of insisting that my belly fat relocate, I'm just going to scrapbook the shit out of my stomach.