I can not tolerate people who are “stuck up” (Not to be confused with people with sticks stuck up their asses. I LOVE them kinds of peoples)
When I say “stuck up” I do not mean “confident” or “self assured”. I admire women like that and hope that someday I can be a confident person. I’m talking people who think they are better than the rest of the human race because they buy $500 handbags or because they “aren’t fat”. I’m talking about the people who NEVER SHUT THE HELL UP about how great they are and how much everyone loves them and how everyone in the world wants to be just like them. I’m talking about people who can’t shut the hell up long enough to listen to other people and realize that the WORLD DOES NOT REVOLVE AROUND THEM.
I also have a hard time tolerating the people who can not say “I’m sorry” when they’ve acted like a dick or hurt someone with their inconsiderate ways because, you know, they ARE PERFECT and NEVER DO ANYTHING WRONG.
You ram your grocery cart into me because you were being a dick and not paying attention? “I’M SORRY, I totally shouldn’t have been standing here minding my own business!”
You scream at me because YOU’VE had a bad day and you haven’t even bothered to ask me what kind of a day I’ve had? “I’m SO SO SORRY!”
You don’t like something I write here? “Oh my God! I’m SORRY!”
I really have to stop that sorry shit.
Guess what?
I’M NOT SORRY!
So, that’s what’s pissing ME off on this lovely Friday morning.
That and tom cruise NOT SHUTTING THE FUCK UP ABOUT ANTI DEPRESSANTS ALREADY. Surely, there has got to be a way to make him stop. This probably won’t work, but hey, at least people are trying.
So, like, tell me doc, exactly HOW BIG do the balls swell?
The Pokey Strike WORKED!
The first thing Pighunter did when he got home from work today was called and made an appointment to get snipped!
Of course, he has to go to a class first (which, I get to attend! Oh, the fun I will have!) That class is booked until August, and we’re on a “waiting list”. But hey, at least he made the damn phone call.
Hopefully, before the end of the year, his penis will no longer be a Weapon of Mass Fertilaztion and he can “stuff my enchilada” as many times as he wants and… NO BABIES!
When he made the call, I just sat there thinking “Wow, he really DOES want to have sessual relations with me!”
I am THIS CLOSE to being able to have sex again without saying things like “I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU IF THAT THING BREAKS”
My vagina is so happy. (Yes, Melly, she’s smiling.)
Power of The Poots.
I was this close to not going to The 30 minute Workout For Wimmins tonight.
Thiiiiis close I tell you.
Because, internet? I have to be completely honest with you.
I had Serious Gas.
I wasn’t sure how my friend would take it if I called and said “Dude, I know it’s only the second day, but HOMEY, I can NOT stop farting. And these aren’t your ‘average’ farts either, these are the kind that have the potential to cause nosebleeds and I don’t want to make the wimmins bleed.”
I decided to suck it up, or in this case, squeeze REALLY HARD and just go.
I wasn’t going to let the possiblity of being SEVERELY HUMILIATED stop me.
I totally ripped a few, once in front of the GINORMOUS FAN and I’ll admit it, I got nervous for the lady across the room from me.
(That’s right, Trish, I farted on the equipment you sat on!)
I got through the workout without having to fess up to ripping ’em and without making anyone’s nose bleed.
I also got through the workout with very little booblash. I bought a new sports bra at target and I doubled it up with my old one. The result? Superb boob holdage. Jumping up and down is now really great fun!
I was so pumped up after the workout. On the way home, I ACTUALLY had this conversation in my head…”If I can workout whilst trying to clench the cheeks together to keep the gas in and save people from bleeding, NOTHING CAN STOP ME!!”
I’ll take inspiration any way I can get it,people.
Because 2 gym memberships, Billy Blanks boot camp, Walk Away the Pounds, THE GRIND WITH THE ‘NIES, 1 Body Blade isn’t enough
Yesterday, I decided to join yet ANOTHER gym.
It’s what I like to call a “Generic Curves.”
It’s called “Slim and Tone” or, like the big, red letters that light up says “30 minute workout for wimmims”.
You see, my friend “won” a “30 day free membership” in a “random drawing.” Which is SO FUNNY and totally NOT a coincidence that I had “won” a “30 day” “free” “membership” a month earlier. I didn’t “cash in” on my “prize” because I’m a “flake.”
It’s a total scam, because, you have to make an appointment with a “trainer” for your first visit, and after they teach you how everything works, some chick sits down to tell you about the program and then BAM! Out of nowhere, they’re all “Normally, we charge THIS amount, but if you join RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE we’ll only charge you THIS much!”
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a “free” anything, but more like “HAHAH SUCKAAAAAAAAHHHHS, WE GOT YOU BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU LOVED IT AND WANT TO JOIN NOW.”
Lucky for them, I’m really fat and desperate. My friend, however, is not at all fat, but she wants to tone up. If I wasn’t fat and desperate, I would have stood up and shouted “You’re all a bunch of scheming LIAAAARRSSSSS” instead of running to the car to get my checkbook and think of a way to tell Tony “Hey, guess what? I joined ANOTHER gym!” without him revoking my “get out of the house free before cooking dinner, woman” card.
Tonight we went and did our first official workout.
The first 5 minutes was all fun and games to me.
“hahaha my boobs are bouncing!”
“hahahaha MY THIGHS!”
“hahaha It’s the chicken dance song!”
“hahahhaa I’m taking my pulse!”
But DAMN. It stopped being funny real quick. I became painfully aware of the fact that “OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO DO THIS FOR, LIKE, MONTHS BEFORE THERE ARE ANY RESULTS!”
I also became aware of the fact that bouncing boobs start hurting after a few trips to the face and back and? Having to HOLD THEM DOWN with your hands whilst jumping up and down is slightly humiliating.
I say “slightly” because the truth is I have no dignity. I’ve dry humped a roll of carpet in front of a group of people to get a laugh, people. Flapping tits isn’t really that big of a deal.
We’ll see how this goes, but hopefully with the support of a friend who I know will NOT LET ME FLAKE AND MAKE UP STUPID EXCUSES that I will lose this freaking weight and these excess inches. (Because HOLY SHIZNIT, they took my measurements and, well, how can I put this. Um, ok… My waist is bigger than Tony’s. I won’t tell you the number, but I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with “shorty”.)
Women with flaws UNITE!
Yesterday I spent the day at Knotts with my entire family (minus my youngest brother, who got stuck at work) for Ethan’s birthday.
It was an incredibly fun day. We don’t get to see my brother often, being that he left us to move to Texas, (or, as Melly calls it, ASS. HAHA My brother lives in ASS!) so my boys loved every minute of the day. Well, maybe not the minute where we were 2046094 feet in the air waiting for the ride to drop and my brother was telling Andrew “You just made the biggest mistake of your life!”, but every other minute was pure awesomeness.
This morning I was able to read through the comments on my last post and I am reminded WHY I love having this blog. I almost shut comments down on that post because it was so deeply personal, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to hear what anyone had to say on the matter. Like “No! You’re stretch marks are AWESOME!” Or “You’re right. You’re disgusting! How DOES your husband keep from puking all over you when he looks at you?” You never know what people are going to say. I’m glad that I kept them open. It’s comforting to know that there are other women out there, who have stretch marks on their belly’s and have the insecurities and hatred that come along with them. Not that I wish any other woman to feel the way I do, or LOOK the way I do, but it’s empowering to be able to talk openly and honestly about the fact that we ALL struggle with body issues and that we can find strength in each other’s experiences.
CHEESE ALERT. CHEEEEEESE ALERT.
Seriously though, thank you to all of you who have been so honest in your replies. It means more to me than you know.
Beauty and the beast
“Stop” he said, as I pulled my shirt down to cover my stomach. “Let me see!” He pleaded.
“No. It’s disgusting. I’m embarassed.”
He gently moved my hand away and whispered “Baby, stop saying that. You’re beautiful.”
Once again, he slowly begin to lift my shirt, exposing my belly.
Shame and disgust is what I felt as I laid there, tears running down my face.
His hands gently stroked my belly, as he looked at it. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “Stop calling yourself ugly. I love your body. Those stretch marks are beautiful to me, because they remind me that you carried my children. My children grew in there and you’re beautiful.”
The tears came faster and harder. Here is this man, this wonderful, loving man, rubbing the body I hate. Looking at it, loving it. Why can’t I just accept it for what it is?
That’s why.
I know he’s being sincere, but I can’t comprehend how he can find beauty in something so horrific.
I wish that I could see myself through his eyes. I wish that as he caressed my stomach and told me how much he loved me and how beautiful I am to him, that I could have closed my eyes, smiled and taken in the love that was being lavished on my body. Instead, I cringed in shame and I cried.
I don’t want to cry about this body anymore. I want to accept it for what it has become and not long for it to look like it once did.
How do I do that? How is that possible when I am covered with stretch marks and fat and sagging skin? How can I ever look past that to see the beauty within? I try, I really do, because I’m sick of talking about myself in such a disgusting manner, but it’s hard when I look in the mirror and see what I see.
I need to make peace with this, so that I can fully accept the love from my husband that he is so willing to give, I just don’t know how to do it.
*(Campaign for REAL beauty. Thank God for this, and it’s about damn time)
I have been blessed
Today is the day that I celebrate the man who I made three beautiful children with. The man who goes to work everyday without complaining to provide for our children. The man who has taught my boys to respect women, to be responsible, to think for themselves, to be wise in the decisions they make. The man who has taught them all about fishing, how to load and shoot a rifle. The man who will stop whatever he is doing to fix a flat tire for his own boys or any of the 30 kids in the neighborhood, the man who will get up at 2am to clean vomit up after his boys didn’t make it to the toilet because he knows “his wife” has a weak stomach and can’t do it. The man goes without new clothes, who puts off getting new glasses that he desperately needs so that his children do not go without. The man who never had a father of his own to model himself after, but instead of being bitter, chose to become the best father he knew how to be.
He is AWESOME. My children are so blessed to have him for a father, and I feel so damn lucky to been the woman he chose to have children with.
Today is also the day that one of our children was born.
Eight years ago today, Ethan Michael came into our lives at 2:47pm. He was the funniest looking (to put it nicely) baby I had ever seen. Within a few months, he turned out to be one of the cutest babies in the history of babies and I have spent most my life trying to not bite and squeeze him to death, because he is THAT cute.
I’m trying really hard to not throw a tantrum like I did on Andrew’s birthday. It’s not easy, because I HATE how fast they’re growing. But that’s life. That’s how it works. You give birth, you do your best to raise them, and suddenly, you blink your eyes and they’re all grown up. It truly is bittersweet.
Happy Birthday, monkeybutt.
And finally, today is the day I celebrate my father. A man who loves God with all of his heart. A man who “practices what he preaches.” He loves his family and has made many sacrifices for us. My relationship with my dad wasn’t always a good one. There were many things I resented him for, but in the past few years, I’ve come to understand what a precious, amazing man my dad is. All of the things he did for us, he did from a place of love and wanting to protect us. He’s admitted and apologized for some of the ways he treated me as a teenager, and I have forgiven him. I understand he did the best he could and that he has always loved me deeply. He’s a man who is true to his word, a man who would give his last dollar to help a person in need. I love my dad and I’m so grateful for the relationship we have.
Happy Father’s Day.
From sad to GO BACK ALREADY in less than 10 minutes.
Yesterday was the boys last day of school.
I was an emotional wreck. My “babies” are now in SEVENTH and THIRD grade. How did that happen? I remember finding out I was pregnant with my Andrew like it was yesterday.I was only 21 years old, with perky boobs. (Ah, perky boobs.) I thought I might be pregnant and decided to pee on a stick.
“A LINE! I’M PREGNANT! LOOK! A LINE! LET’S GO SHOW MY MOM!”
Quiet on the SET!
I just put up a new set of pictures at Flickr.
(pink bathing suit? FOUR DOLLAH at Old Navy. Ahhhh yeah)
I admit that I got so caught up in the picture taking, that at some point, I began “role playing” and my roll was that of a “professional photographer.” I don’t know what got into me! At one point during the “session”, I was on my knees, looking up, yelling at Tony to “Throw her higher, but wait til I say “TWO!”
I love LOVE how the pictures turned out. I should pretend to be a pro photographer more often, because, wow. I’m in love with “my work.”
Not again!
I’ve been feeling rather frustrated with my weight loss, or lack OF IT lately. (Thanks a LOT, person searching for “fat”!)
Remember my Fat Pants? They are the ones worn in this LOVELY picture.
I keep them up on my closet, and sometimes I pull them out and stare at them. I don’t want to feel that way about myself, about my appearance and I’m working on changing. Those pants remind me of the pain and being the self punisher that I am, I want to keep them as a reminder.
Tony hates them. He wants to burn them. Maybe one day I will, but I am not ready to get rid of them yet.
I decided to put them on a couple days ago. I wanted to SEE the progress I’ve made. I NEEDED to see it.
I know, I KNOW. Shutup already about my weight! I’m making myself sick, but I can’t help it. Every morning I wake up thinking about it. All day long I think about it, before I go to bed I think about it. Obsess Obsess Obsess. I wish I could make it stop.
Anyway. I took more pictures. And I should be embarrassed to show anyone, because, well, just because… but I’m not. I mean, I am, but I’m going to. So there.