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Archive for August, 2017|Monthly archive page

My Big Fat Life – Black Lace Panties and Gummi Bears 

In Uncategorized on August 31, 2017 at 4:36 pm

Yesterday I attempted to do a make-up day. I had the cookies ready, I was gonna flop on the bed and get my rest on. As I drove the kids to school it was all I could think about. 

By the time I dropped the kids off and teturned home I had one of those pay-your-damn-bill–already-loser notices on my door. While somehow less offensive tha the dog crap of the day, I just rolled my eyes and muttered some obscenities to myself as I turned the key. 

Since my day wasn’t going to have the picture perfect setting for a day of chill, I decided to run tonWalmart and return something that was contributing to the clutter in my room. As I approached customer service in the somewhat empty store, I noticed a woman behind the counter looking as tired me ringing up stuff and throwing in a cart beside her. I thought she was probably doing returns and stuff and quirky asked myself who the hell would return such a huge bag of Gunni Bears while asking myself who the hell needed such a huge bag of Gummi Bears. I watched as she rang up a hige bag of chocolates, some cute booties, black lace panties, make-up, a fruit tray, and various other items. As she finished and announced “Thats five hunderd, twenty five dollars” to the clerk who was now ringing up return, the lady in line behind me remarked how big the bag of Gummi Bears was. Thankful I wasn’t the only easily marvelled by this, the clerk helping me replied to her co-worker “Wow. She tried to steal a lot this morning”. 

Are you kidding me? I was barely awake and some woman was already up and attempting to shoplift an entire basket of item from Walmart? Who was this woman? While stealing is obviously dumb and bad, I confess I had a bit of envy over her ambition before noon, not to mention her obvious plans for something exciting that included chocolate, black lace panties and an ungodly yet comically sized bag of Gummi Bears.  

I finished my return and a couple of other errands, and went home. I flopped on the bed hoping to at least make the most of what I still had and I’ll kid you not  my stupid alarms went off. It was the first Wednesday of the year and I had forgotten it was early release day. 

I still have hope that there’s a day in the next week that I come home to a clean house, silence, coffee brewing, my comfy bed and the remote where I reign as Queen of my personal utopia for day.  Since my daydream also includes the dog not following me to the bathroom and trying to push the door open like a total creeper, I doubt it will ever be that perfect, but I’m hoping for dangerously close. 

In the meantime, I salute Walmart woman. Even though she got caught, and rightfully so, something tells me she had much bigger ambitions for yesterday than I did, and I have to give her some props. Anything that involves black lace panties and that many Gunmi Bears, plus a fruit tray before noon had to be a pretty epic plan. Something tells me she was far more disappointed hers didn’t pan out than I was over mine. 


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My Big Fat Life – First day of school crap. Literally. 

In Uncategorized on August 29, 2017 at 4:00 pm

Today was the first day of school for the kids. I’d been dreading waking up early again, but excited at the thought of hanging out in a quiet zone where I wasn’t telling people to stop fighting, and being able to hoard cookies for myself while lazing around to nurse whatever it is that still has me consuming Kleenex like it’s nose candy. I planned to live this out while watching an episode of a show I’ve recently fell in love with without interruption. By the way if you haven’t seen Girlfriends Guide to Divorce yet, watch it. 

In my excitement to get in the house and carry out my perfect plan to be as sedentary as possible while being blanketed in only cookie crumbs and void of being immediately greeted by conflict and complaint,  I locked my keys in the car. 

I called my insurance company for roadside service who in turn sent a guy named Mike out about an hour later. Mike came and unlocked the car door so my keys could no longer mock me from the front seat where they sat, so yay Mike! 

I opened the door willing to take whatever time I had left and make the most of it, only  be greeted by a howling dog and a pile of his crap. I guess he’s trying to step in and make sure the legacy continues. Asshole. 

(Mike) 

My Big Fat Life – He flirted with me! 

In Uncategorized on August 28, 2017 at 10:22 pm

It’s no secret I am eternally “cute”. I’ve never been the woman that gets called beautiful. I call it my own personal Debbie Reynolds Syndrome. While I’m chill with it now, there’s always that part of me that wants to be beautiful to that one person. I don’t even give a crap what others think past that one individual really. He’s why I put on make up, do my hair, try to look like I didn’t emerge from a garage sale explosion, and all those other things we women do to try and be attractive to the one person we have the feels for, so it’s weird to me when guys throw some attention at me, let alone like a dodge ball in 5th grade hell. 

Now, I’m pretty oblivious. I typically think someone is just being nice or write it off as “that must just be their personality” and all that other stuff. I don’t think I’m the most engaging woman on the surface, because I’m awkward as fuck when I meet people. But when someone starts saying things that are pretty in your face it’s hard not get what the end game is all about. 

When I was a lesbian flirting with women it was an entire different ball game (God it’s so hard not to make a joke about softball here). If you didn’t cinch the deal and reserve the U-Haul within two weeks, you’re friend zoned. There’s no guessing games when you end up having sex in the car after your first date, or she’s spending time asking you those get to know you questions over toast. It’s actually pretty cut and dry. If the lesbian eye lock didn’t happen in the club you know to move on, girl. 

So let me tell you what happened today…. I had an interview with someone opening a new business. When I first met him he was sorta flirty, but of course I wrote that off as his nature, so no big deal. At one point I put my glasses on so I could see some paper he handed me, and he was quick to jump in with “Oh, you put the glasses on. You’re not leaving here now” A bit flirty I guess, but people say stuff all the time and it’s usually pretty harmless in intent. It was after the interview he blew my phone up with those get to know you questions that add an element of excitement when you’re getting to know someone. I didn’t find it so exciting, in fact I found it odd.  In part because I truly don’t know how to handle attention from men when it comes at me; it’s not a game I ever really understood. It still feels forgeim that men might find me attractive, and it’s a lot like trying on a shirt that is twenty sizes too small when trying to make it feel completely not awkward as my boobs are busting open buttons and I can’t move my arms like that kid from A Christmas Story. That other part is I looked at my phone thinking “I’ve already got a person. What’s with this guy? Can’t he just tell by looking at me?”I seriously don’t know what my reasoning was with that thought, so I’m blaming my current state of physical health. Hell, let’s blame my uterus.  So when he sent a text suggesting some exchange of pics of an adult nature, I froze. With a woman I’d be all “Hey, girl… stop disrespecting me. If you don’t respect my relationships, you’re not respecting me”. Which is truth whether it’s male or female by the way, and I find it super unattractive anyways that people flirt with others who are invoked. The response I could muster was “I might be salty, but I reserve that for the person I’m involved with, and men off of Craigslist”.  

What in the actual f*ck? 

While it’s flattering when someone compliments because it’s sorta validating in a way,  I’m not looking to encourage attention past that. I can’t control what someone else says, but I can sure as hell control what I respond with. That shit is on me. I also just don’t want to deal with socially awkward situations as much as possible, because I suck at it. Confrontation is not easy for me. I’d avoid it all together if I wasn’t trying to be less of a doormat, and trying to change my old ways of just wandering off instead of working it out. 

I just seem to suck when it comes to attention from guys, and I’m totally at a loss. It’s not like men are some alien or incapable of having a coherent coversation. It’s just so weird! 

My Big Fat Life – Diane Sawyer on my ceiling 

In Uncategorized on August 27, 2017 at 5:35 pm

I’m writing this from bed where I fall somewhere between awake and sleeping at the most pivotal parts of a show I keep attempting to watch. I’m not sure if that’s an indicator that the show sucks, or I’m just too sick to care. 

I woke up this morning with a party going down in my sinus zone, which seems like a really bum deal considering I’m currently on antibiotics for something else equally dumb. A few weeks ago a tiny-itty-bitty splatter of spaghetti sauce hit my hand while cooking. I’m not even exaggerating about how small it was. An underdeveloped mosquito could have easily invited 20 others along and had a pool party, it was that small. Somehow that tiny-itty-bitty splatter that didn’t even produce a blister turned into the germ rave of satanic proportions and I found myself at Urgent Care a few days later sporting a fever and a swollen hand. Folks, cellulitis is a bummer. Even more so when there’s no cool story behind it; just some “I made sauce” hashtag. But alas, I lay here sporting a disgruntled uterus, so what’s being the host to  a few more disgusting and dumb fights with nature? 

I did manage to make it out today for a bit, but came home, stripped my clothes off and fell into bed. I’ve been swinging between coherent and waking up wishing the mid day rave in my face would get drunk and go home already. 

While laying here avoiding the living room which is really a lair for the teenagers and a loud TV,  I’ve come to realize a few things: 

1.) I wish my kids had better hearing.
 2.) Thank God school starts soon. 

3.) I’m out of coffee. Fuck.

4.) I really, really want to know where that set of keys I lost ended up. It’s driving me crazy. 

5.) I miss being onstage more than I realized. I climbed up and did some improv out-of-my-ass sets not too long ago, and I really missed it. It felt like I was visiting an old friend and I really shouldn’t take that long to go see again. Only I needed way better stories to tell that I practiced (like, actual writing a set) instead of relying on the extreme weirdness my life is at that exact moment. 

If I dared to add a 6th, I’d have to confess a few posters of my hero Diane Sawyer would bling my ceiling out pretty sweetly. Bonus if they were black light compatible. I’m kinda bored with the blank canvas desperately and silently screaming for a better paint job. 

Oh, and a black light for my room would be pretty awesome too. 

#AdultingNotAdulting 

My Big Fat Life – My uterus is a squatter 

In Uncategorized on August 21, 2017 at 12:36 am

I’ve always referred to my uterus as natures pocket. I guess it’s really more like a pocket to carry babies in before we have them emerge from our bodies like a gory scene out of a horror flick,  but not everyone can have a baby, so natures pocket seems like a more politically correct term. 

It wouldn’t surprise me if someday they find we have some related DNA relation to kangaroos. Maybe a million years ago a gorilla cross bred with a kangaroo and this is how it all came about which leads me to be both thankful YouTube didn’t exist then, and somewhat curious as to how that would play out. 

I’ve never understood why the uterus doesn’t just eventually fall out after a certain time. Like, when it realizes the baby thing isn’t just going to happen, or it’s just done because it’s tired of shoving kids out at the rate of a clown car or a Duggar. Both of which equally move at the same rate. Instead it just hangs out and acts like a squatter. My uterus is a squatter. 

The inability to naturally sluff this unusable organ is probably the only design flaw I would change if I could create the human body. Well, that and the fact I firmly believe boobs should stay put in one place at all times, which would end that odd nipple placement when wearing a bra on a cold day. 

I just don’t get why we have to pack it around like a hoarder when there’s no reasonable or practical use for it when we’re done with it. It’s like carrying around the wrapper from a Snickers bar years after ate it. We’re basically forced to hoard a squatter. 

Such bullshit.