Choosing My Attitude!

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Lately I’ve been working on this theory I have – if you choose your attitude, no matter what, your day will be a good one.

People often think of me as this bubbly, perky person. I have no idea where this idea came from. I’m kinda of an a-hole. I try not to be, but I have some a-hole tendencies. When I’m frustrated or if the “triumvirate” occurs: hungry, hot tired – then the a-hole tendencies show up in spades.

That said, I’m determined to work on my interactions with others, and my overall outlook by choosing my attitude each day. I make a conscious decision to be pleasant and friendly to others, to smile, and to be a positive force wherever I go. Mostly to work on being myself, and occasionally just to eff with people. I am an a-hole after all. 🙂

Some day positive thinking works, and some days I get home with a desperate need to bang my head against the wall. I’m doing my best to get up everyday and just keep trying again. My hope is eventually the positive days will outweigh the crappy ones, and I’ll lose less brain cells and make fewer holes in the walls of our new condo.

Yesterday and today are perfect examples of the dichotomy of my positivity efforts: I was fully prepared last night to write a blog about how my experiment in positive thinking was totally working. Yesterday I had a great day at work, was incredibly productive, smiled, felt good, headed over to the Whole Foods where they were playing “Barracuda” in the grocery store which put a little wriggle in my step, joked with another lady that was shopping about how, since it was her birthday, she should just get TWO cupcakes instead of agonizing over which ONE cupcake to get. I walked out of the store feeling just as energized as I had all day.

I got home and had a great dinner with the BFE, we talked about our workdays over dinner, worked out together later, and just generally had a great evening. The positivity from my Awesome Day carried over into my morning today, and I tidied up our condo before I left for work, made myself breakfast, and bounced out of the door to work – ON TIME (sort of). Today had a great start!

Then – it happened.

This WOMAN in a RED SUV zipped out from behind a slow-moving school bus and cut me off on my way to work. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but I almost rear-ended her because of how close she cut it. If I had, it would have been the 2^nd dent left in her bumper – clearly she’d tried this crap before. I honked at her, to express my displeasure, and she FLIPPED ME OFF! WTH? So I waved my finger in the air in a “no you di-in’t!” kind of way, and tried to let it go. I could see in her side rearview that she was yelling things at me, and then she slammed on her breaks. Seriously. I didn’t think people still did that kind of stuff.

I tried to get around her, but she haphazardly slid her car halfway into the other lane to block me then slid back over. I could see her in her side mirror, making faces like a maniac! It was unreal. Why exert so much energy and nastiness at a stranger? A stranger YOU cut off in the first place? This woman was a bully. A grown-up, ignorant, sorry-ass bully. In a red SUV.

 

Remember that scene in the movie Fried Green Tomatoes where Kathy Bates’ character goes nuts and rams the back of the little compact car of those two skanks that steal her parking space? She rams the car over and over while yelling Towanda!!! In my mind, I had an “Ally McBeal” moment just like that, where instead of slamming on my brakes to avoid red SUV lady’s already abused bumper, I slammed on the gas and went full steam ahead, crunching her trunk into her backseat. When she got out to yell some more and assess the damage, I simply shouted “Towanda!!!!!” while simultaneously punching her in the throat and kidneys. Onlooking drivers cheered for me from their cars, like I was a gladiator in the ring, grateful that I’d taken the middle school bully down a notch and taught her what happens to aggressive social psychopaths that ruin the morning drive for everyone.

In reality I slowed down and let her speed on. The truth of it was, I wanted nothing to do with her nonsense, I just wanted to get over it. The encounter left me shaky, my heart was racing and my palms a little sweaty. I do NOT like confrontations! And these days you never know what that person is going to do, or just how crazy they are. I remember a story back in Atlanta, where a road-raged-fuled driver would get so angry in traffic that he started baking potatoes every night so that he could throw them at the cars of drivers he thought weren’t driving properly. That’s nothing compared to drivers that prefer bullets over potatoes.

 

The whole point is, red SUV lady’s behavior kinda pooped all over my day. I mean, a massive Debbie Downer kinda feeling, all before 9 am. I struggled to find the bright side to any of what happened, and just couldn’t. I even thought to myself that harboring ill will wouldn’t do any good, but I hoped in my heart of hearts that I’d see her again and cut HER off to see how SHE liked it. Christ commanded us to love our neighbors. I struggle with that part sometimes, especially with the only “love” I have for someone is my “love tap” I wanna give their car, or how I’d “love” to slap them across the face. I said I was an a-hole. Look, I’m trying ok?

 

The poopy feeling carried over into the rest of my day, and the funk of crappiness just settled over everything for a while. It took several hours before I remembered to CHOOSE MY ATTITUDE and get back with the program. An evening with friends and the love of my life helped with that. By bed time, things were right as rain.

 

Seriously, this attitude stuff is a process. It’s hard at times, but I’ve found the more I try the better my days go. The urge to smile comes quicker, the laughter and the jests with the people around me. I’m less inspired to punch people in the throat and spleen and visions of Kathy Bates and her battle cry “Towanda!” are fewer and further in between.

 

Am I still an a-hole? Pretty much. But at least I’m choosing to work on it!

 

Baton Bob

Okay, so like 10 years ago, I was walking to class in downtown Atlanta (I went to school at Georgia State University), and as I was crossing Peachtree Street to head into my classroom, I spied the most peculiar sight: a grown a$$ man marching and dancing down the street, head held high, wearing sunglasses, a tutu and marching band boots (you know the ones I’m talking about, that the baton girls wore), swinging a baton and blowing a whistle. It was crazy, and slightly exhilarating to see this random sight in the middle of a very blah school day. I remember texting friends about what I’d seen – keep in mind, TEXTING at that time was on a alphanumberic keyboard and took a lot of time. Obviously I really wanted to share what I saw.

 

It wasn’t until three days ago (as in 2012!!!) that the identity of this baton-twirling man was Baton Bob.

I had no idea who Baton Bob was until I was looking at one of my favorite blogs When In Atl (it’s the best place for keeping up with my hometown hilarity) and they posted up an article about Baton Bob getting harrassed.

Suddenly it all clicked. I remember Baton Bob! Omigosh, by my recollection he’s been marching and whistling and twirling his baton faithfully through the streets of Atlanta for over TEN YEARS. Amazing that it’s the same guy! To think that I remembered him from all these years. The sight of his one-man parade mesmerized me so much that day; I can still remember it like it just happened.

I’m saddened that someone went as far as to threaten his life, just because they didn’t care for his “lifestyle”. Who gives a flying fart in space about his “lifestyle”?? So what… he’s a little left of center.  We all are (granted, he more than most). The man gets joy out of performing in the streets, why exert the energy and negativity to threaten to kill or hurt him? I’m constantly surprised by the number of douches the rest of us are forced to come into contact with every day. How does his behavior afect you? He’s not harming himself or anyone else. I can personally state that seeing him brought a little joy back into my day that day. He’s like an effing Santa Claus, spreading joy. Who would want to kill Santa Claus?? douches.

What would Christmas have been like if Santa Claus delivered your presents in THIS outfit? Woudl there have been disco music involved? Just asking.

 

What happened to the Southern adage, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all”?  Another favorite of mine was “Bless your heart”, which is used when you don’t know what to say, or you think the person’s an idiot. Typically this is said inconjunction with another statement and often behind the person’s back. Southerners are NOT very confrontational. Which is why I’m shocked that this ignunt fool got all up in Baton Bob’s grill. How mad must he have been?

 

Granted, we might believe in Southern Hospitality, bit there’s always just a pinch of crazy in that mint julep.

  

I mean, are you just that angry and bitter that not everyone falls in with your description of “normal”? Did someone pee in your cheerios when you woke up this morning and that made you into the cranky, self-righteous TOOLBAG who think’s it’s your God-given mission to rid the city of those you deem unacceptable? Or are you just mad that SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE is having… (Lord help us all)… FUN???? Puh-lease. get a grip. Better yet, get a hobby. I’d suggest baton-twirling, but I bet you won’t be as good at it as Baton Bob.

 

Hell, I wish I had the guts to parade down the street with a fricking baton and march to the beat of my own drummer. If someone tried to tell me I was wrong for doing it, I’d probably throw one of my marching band boots at them. Probably not right to answer hate with violence, but I bet they couldn’t fus as much if their mouth was swollen shut.

 

Pretending to wave at my subjects while walking the streets of Disney’s Animal Kingdom is about as close as I’ll get to pulling a Baton Bob. Unless alcohol is involved.

 

I think one of the number one problems we have these days is the number of people that get personally involved in $hit that’s none of their business (example: other people’s uteruses, but don’t get me started) and don’t get involved in enough stuff that’s everyone’s business (i.e., voting, community work, education, the arts).

I’m glad to hear that people are supporting Baton Bob, though. It reminds me alittle of the drama that’s going on with the bus monitor that got harrassed by a douche canoe of $hitty students. Clearly those boys lacked any type of home training. My mom would have whupped my a$$ from sunup to sundown if I’d done something as atrocious as this. After reading another one of my favorite blogs, Angrivated, he mentions that people stood behind her so firmly that they raised enough money to not only send her on vacation but let her retire. Kudos!

Even though I got an update on Baton Bob because someone threatened, it was nice to hear that he’s still alive and high-stepping, bringing a little mirth to the merry citizens of downtown Atlanta. I admire his resilient soul. How about a bit fist (baton?) pump in the air for Baton Bob!!!

 

Now if only I can find out about the whereabouts of the sausage man… this dude that used to standon the street corner near my high school, wearing sickeningly tight bike shorts. Then the circle will be complete.

How My Pinterest Wedding Board Got Me In Trouble

Don’t judge, but God help me, I am addicted to Pinterest.

In case you’re not familiar with Pinterest, it’s a website composed of idea snapshots. You can “pin” the ideas to your various “boards” which you theme according to your interest – for example, I have boards for home ideas, healthy food recipes, beautiful places I’d like to see, cute clothes, wedding ideas and funny quotes. The wedding board was what got me in trouble last week.

The BBE and I were relaxing at home one night, watching TV. I was half watching, half perusing Pinterest, and pinning new stuff to my boards. BBE leans over the laptop to find out what’s consumed so much of my interest, and begins pointing out cute stuff to add to my “home” board: decorating ideas, dishes. He even highlights a super cute baby room idea. Then he notices some of the other board themes I have. In particular the wedding board.

Now, it’s pretty rare that BBE really comes out with a whopper that makes me want to pop him over the head with a frying pan. I think at some point though, even the sweetest guy ever is bound to say something retarded that makes you wonder if he’s just lost his mind… and his ability to filter. In this case, the BBE made me want to find the biggest, heaviest cast iron skillet ever made when he said “Why do you have a wedding board? You don’t even HAVE a wedding! And you’re probably not getting one soon anyway”.

 

Ouch.

 

First of all: EVERY girl has a wedding board. It just takes many forms. It could be a collection of bridal magazines hidden under the bed, or a scrapbook neatly organized and tabbed. It could be a mental board. Not matter how it’s done, most girls of a CERTAIN AGE (I guess I shouldn’t say all) typically have a catalog of wedding ideas and know what their “perfect” wedding would be like, even if it perfect idea changes as we get older.

Another thing that changes as we get older is how freely we talk about weddings. As kids, my friends and I sat around and talked about what types of weddings we wanted; it was fun to play Wedding from time to time, and that was perfectly ok. When we hit out teens and twenties, discussing this openly became taboo. How crazy do you sound in the 11th grade discussing satin versus sateen bridesmaid dresses?

By the time you hit your thirties you don’t give a flying fart in space about keeping your wedding preferences a secret. You discuss it with your friends, and balance the pros and cons of destination weddings versus local (destination is the way to go, beach wedding versus chapel (beach …or maybe Tuscan theme? I say a really nice one on My Fair Weddings with David Tutera), open bar versus plated dinner (bar! duh).

 

Second of all: Just by allowing him to SEE this wedding board made me incredibly vulnerable, and was certainly a sensitive subject. In just mere seconds, his view of me changed from his sweet, slightly goofy, fairly crazy girlfriend to his completely crazy, positively wedding crazed bridezilla girlfriend out to ensnare him in my web of wedding-ness (as if me watching Bridezilla every Sunday wasn’t enough). And just to have some more fun with me, he rubbed it in a little further by suggesting that if I was so ready right now, then he was perfectly prepared to accept my proposal!! (!!!!) Are you high?!? Old fashioned I am not, but if he thinks I’m proposing then we’re in big trouble. I don’t think my knees bend that way, lol.

 

Thirdly: although I am joking about a lot of this, he really is the one I believe I’d like to spend the rest of my life with, and I think he feels the same way. I’m satisfied with taking it slow so that we can both be sure. I think a wedding would be great fun and should be a wonderful celebration of our love for each other, but what comes after that? A long life of marriage, and that’s serious business. I want to do it right, and with the right person. On the flip side, I also want kids before I’m old and wrinkly and too arthritic to run after them or drive them to daycare.

 

Geesh people relax!!! It’s just a pinterest board! Wait ’til he sees my wedding scrapbook!

 

JUST KIDDING! I’d never let him see the scrapbook.

Judge Me If You Want…

 

So the other day some friends and I had a conversation about Santa Claus and I mentioned that I don’t remember ever believing in Santa Claus.

 

From the response I got you would have thought I’d said my family routinely drowned kittens at Christmas.

 

I don’t think that means I had a terrible childhood, do you? Maybe I did believe in Santa at some point, but I don’t remember that, and I don’t remember being told he didn’t exist. My parents put presents under the tree for my sisters and I: some were wrapped and had name tags on them, and some were placed there the night of Christmas Eve with no wrapping or tags. I don’t recall them ever saying “Santa left this for you”. I do remember being excited to see what wold appear under the tree on Christmas Eve.

 

A co-workers was telling me about a relative of hers that doesn’t want anyone to give her son toys for Christmas unless they say they’re from Santa… gifts of clothes and stuff can be from Aunt and Uncle, but the fun stuff has to be from St. Nick. Are you kidding me right now? Oh h#ll no… if I trekked my broke a$$ to Target to buy your child an expensive Fisher Price toy, you bet your sweet a$$ I’ll be writing my name on that effing card. How do you dictate gift giving? Who does that? Sometimes I think parents go wayyyyy too far to perpetuate the whole Santa conspiracy.

 

 

 

 

 

Another matter: I think the “Elf on a Shelf” phenomenon is utterly ridiculous. In fact, I agree with a friend of mine that calls it “lazy parenting”. To me it seems like you can’t control your kids’ behavior so you turn those duties over to a stuffed elf. A freaky looking stuffed elf that’s EXPENSIVE to buy, and comes with a change of clothes. That’s right: you can buy CLOTHING for your psycho stuffed elf.

 

For a while I kept my opinions of this elf of a shelf crap to myself, then I happened upon this super-hilarious blog from a woman who’s also fed up with the elf shenanigans. Another case of parents going to great lengths to perpetuate the consumer crazy. There are blogs and lists out there devoted to different activities you can make your elves do to surprise the kids each day: find the elf reading books, making “snow angels” in spilled flour on the counter, all kinds of foolishness. Honestly? I’m an adult, and I find those dolls a bit scary to look at, and I’d pee my pants if I noticed him moving locations all throughout my house without my knowledge. Even good kids would legitimately be freaked out by this.  Why terrorize your kids into good behavior during the holidays? Let’s be honest: if you were expecting good behavior all year long that elf would be  unnecessary. THAT ELF WOULD BE UNEMPLOYED.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a reincarnation of Ebenezer Scrooge. I love Christmas. I look forward to the magic of the Christmas season all year long. There’s something amazing and special about the lights, and the time you spend with families and friends… the food, the carols, the wonder, the Nativity. I’m just appalled that people think I’m nutso for not believing in Santa as a kid, and I’m shocked at how the whole elf thing has taken off.

 

I’m just sayin. You can still have an excellent Christmas without hoping that the freaky-looking stuffed elf is gonne report back to the North Pole so that a big fat white dude can shimmy down your chimney to give you presents.

 

Thanks for letting me rant,

 

 The Grinch

Facebook Faux Pas(s)

1. Posting vague and emotional updates that just make everyone ask “are you ok?” “what’s wrong?” To me that just screams “I NEED ATTENTION! I AM SO EMO!” To the helplessly emo, I say “perhaps try blogging? Or maybe get a cat?”
2. Posting status updates that are really just inside jokes so only you and 2 other people will understand. Seriously??? That’s what text messages are for. Inside jokes should stay inside.
3. Hashtags on Facebook. Those are twitter-only, people! (although I have committed this sin myself)
4. The post where people feel the need to announce that they’re going to start deleting their friends on Facebook. Just effing delete them and move on. No need to prompt a discussion and ask people to vote on whether they should be deleted. Just for that, I am deleting you.
5. The posts where people announce they’re leaving Facebook. We don’t care. PEACE OUT.
6. Whenever Facebook changes, like a FONT, everyone starts complaining about the changes. (also a sin I have committed. but no longer!)
7. People that update their Facebook status every time they breathe in or out, go to the bathroom, turn on the tv, etc. Again – as I twitter user myself, I refer you to the world of twitter, where you can share your farts to your heart’s desire. Or possibly? Maybe keeping the running commentary where it belongs: in your head.
8. Attempting to “re-friend” someone after you’ve been “de-friended”. I know people who are scared to de-friend folks because of the verbal backlash they’ll receive the next time they see the person. I also have personally received “refriend” requests by the same person THREE TIMES. Should I send a memo?
9. Please don’t make me “like or repost this status” if I like child abuse, animal rights, your particular religious views, cancer, etc. Firstly I don’t “like”  child abuse or cancer, no one does. Secondly, it makes me seem like a douche for not supporting cancer patients when in reality I don’t want to post your grammatically incorrect status on my Facebook.
10. Farmville, Farmtown, Sorority Row – STOP sending me requests to get bejeweled, bedazzled or grow tomatoes. I don’t want to join your vampire coven on facebook nor do I want to build a shopping village. DELETE.
11. YouTube videos… ok, this one gets me hot! As in mad. I can’t stand it when I open my feed to read what my friends are up to, and 1/3 of it is taken up by some asshat who is posted links to music videos on YouTube to express how they feel. One or two is ok, but seven? SEVEN? In a row? Excessive youtubing has resulted in my hiding friend feeds before, because I simply COULD NOT TAKE ONE. MORE. FRICKING MUSIC VIDEO.
12. Creepers on Facebook. You know who you are. ’nuff said.

 

Anyone else got  a Facebook faux pas they’d like to share? Or am I a giant jerk for letting this stuff bother me enough to spark a blog post?

It’s not that I don’t care…

There are a couple of people that, whenever they talk about their kids or pets, I mentally check out.

I think we all know people like this – God help me, I feel really bad about this, but I can’t help it.

Somehow oblivious people tend to mistake that pleasantly amused look on my face as giving a rat’s ass about their dog’s birthday party, therapy new collar or funny new shape his poop has taken.

PLEASE don’t mistake this as an “I hate kids and puppies and rainbows rant” because that’s not it. This is directed towards a VERY SPECIFIC GROUP OF PEOPLE that inflict the mundane habits of their family life on the unwilling. I LOVE dogs and cats and children, I really do. Correction: I LOVE the dogs and cats and children of my friends and family members and various people I care about.

When one of my close friends had her first baby I went by her house on a regular basis to watch her son and keep her pets company so she could take a shower or nap. I encouraged her to call me if she needed a babysitter, and have extended that same offer to many of my friends.

I dog-sit regularly for a friend’s dog whenever he’s out of town.

When my best friend’s son has a new accomplishment, I get just as excited as she does – even if that accomplishment is learning the chorus to Rihanna’s “S and M” song.

Another friend has a dog that gets so excited when I come to visit that he pees on my foot, every time, without fail. I fricking love that dog, and try to steal him when her and her husband arent looking. He cracks me up. If he didn’t pee on me, I’d assume something was wrong.

My boyfriend makes a point of dragging me away from cute little kids clothes in the target, or from cooing over little kids dressed up like princesses and pirates when we go to Disney – I think it’s because he can hear my uterus pulsating or ticking or whatever. He also changes the channel whenever the commercials about abused animals come on because I reach for the phone, ready to adopt one of those poor blind kittens… and maybe a legless puppy… and that sad starving child in Indonesia.

What I’m saying is, I have quite a few friends that have kids and pets, and I LOVE those little rugrats – I really do! What I don’t like is when people turn any conversation, every conversation, to somehow be about their kid or dog.

Example #1:

 Me: ” Hey what do you think of the whole Occupy Wall Street thing?”

Ignorant Exuburant Parent: “Speaking of streets, Fido just loves taking long walks down the street but sometimes he gets sad. I wonder if he needs a pet therapist. At his doggy birthday party last week he just didn’t seem as perky as he normally does…

Me: “Um… what?”

Example #2:

Random Conversationalist: “Have you seen that new R-rated movie that came out last week?”

Ignorant Exuberant Parent: “Oh yeah! We went to the 9:30 show and took our little (8-month old) daughter Sally with us! She loved that movie! She laughed and cried all the way through it! I think other people really enjoyed seeing a little kid having so much fun… they kept staring at us…

Ok, maybe I am being slightly dramatic.

I worry though, when I just zone out on conversations about people’s kids that I don’t care about, if I’ll ever be that person. Or worse, does this mean I’ll be a bad parent? I like little kids, but I think my level of caring and interest in their achievements and bowel movements is based on how much I care about their parents and how close friends we are. I feel more invested and excited when a good friend tells me she’s pregnant than when a random co-worker/ associate starts talking about her morning sickness and baby constipation in the breakroom.

I get it, you’re excited about your offspring and want to share that joy with everybody – but maybe gauge their reactions before diving into a story about mucus plugs and diaper genies? I work with a LOT of women, and it’s pretty common that 3-4 are pregnant at a time, so this is something I face every day… it’s a good reminder to take my birth control pill every day, FAITHFULLY.

In one of the many pervers turns that my life takes, this subject (interest in other people’s babies, NOT birth control!) came up during a conversation with my mom last weekend. She took that as an opportunity to share with me some funny baby stories about me and both or my two sisters.

Now, anyone that knows me also knows that I see this as a form of karma coming back like a boomerang to the face. How do you tell your own mother that you don’t care about her own baby stories? Especially when YOU’RE THE BABY???

Trainer from Hell – oops, I mean Boyfriend

Why is it that as soon as you share with people that you’re losing weight it’s like you’re opening yourself to everyone’s opinions about everything fitness related, from sports bras to fiber???

I think it’s a convuluted way of showing support. Granted, cornering me at the door when I walk back into the office to ask me what I had for lunch is one heck of a way to show support…

I’ve listened to advice about fiber, stretching, workout frequency, sleep, flavored water vs/ non-flavored water, and the merits of hot yoga vs. cold yoga. One of my friends even took away my brownie!!!!! I take it all in stride with good humor though because I know it comes from a good place.

Or at least I DID… until Boyfriend decided to work out with me this weekend.

It all started with an epic fail on the part of my trainer – she cancelled on me at the last minute Saturday morning, leaving me at loose ends. Boyfriend thoughtfully stepped in to help me, suggesting that I workout with him during his routine.

What I remember most is sweat. And crying. And whining. And yelling expletives at Boyfriend every 5 seconds. I honestly can’t repeat here the hateful things that I yelled, for fear that WordPress will like, DELETE my blog. Seriously. It was pretty bad.

After collapsing into a perspiring heap (Southern girls don’t sweat darling, they perspire) and recovering from the workout from hell, I snapped when he told me I’d have to wait to have breakfast until AFTER we swam laps in the pool. This plan to wait to eat put the Trifecta of Evil into serious danger (I turn into a raving psychopath when I’m hungry, hot and tired all at the same time. I’d previously warned him. If he didn’t bother to heed the care instructions when taking on the Sunburnt Peach package that’s not my problem).

All told I recovered quite nicely from the miserable Saturday workout. Then Sunday came around and he made me do it again.

He kept telling me that my trainer would be even harder on me than he was!

By the time we were done, not only was there perspiration, crying and swearing, I was even swearing at the trainer on the program we were using as well as Casey the Roomie who was just an innocent bystander. I flipped him the bird – twice.

When Monday rolled around I was in PAIN. It hurt to sit, stand, breathe or scurry to the bathroom and pee. I whimpered while walking to the kitchen to make my cheerios and grunted everytime I lowered myself onto a chair or my toilet. I toddled around the office all day like I’d have a severe anal probe at the airport. People laughed. hmph.

After a weekend of training with Sgt. Meanie-Pants Trainer from Hell, I was flat out frightened of what my workout with my actualy trainer would be like. By the time I arrived at the gym, I was almost shaking in my shoes. Visions of Drill seargents blowing whistles were stuck in my head donned my sports bra and tennis shoes.

Ironically, today was not too bad. I say that with my fingers crossed, knowing that I will be seeing trainer lady at least twice a week for the next 8 weeks. The workout was challenging yet well paced, and she did a great job of explaining the whys of what I was doing.

I’m still sore, but no longer fearful that my trainer will channel the drill seargent from hell. I walked like the reluctant cowboy all day, but still felt pleased with my progress.

I can now sit on the toilet without falling. 🙂

Frick this, I’m moving to Austria

Seriously?!?!?! No wonder we’re all crazy. We all need vacations!!

My Version of Social Media Marketing

Goes like this, all via text messages:

Me: Follow my blog dammit! Don’t make me have to tell you twice:

Delto, my BFF: [no response]

Me, 1 day and 11 hours later: Subscribe to my blog or I will be forced to cause you bodily harm!

Delto, an hour and 19 minutes later: ima do it

Me: Right now! Do it right now!

Me, continued: Miss you puddin! I wish you were here!  I’d dry hump your leg and lick your face and hug you til you passed out.

Delto: miss you too…

Me: Good. Now follow my blog ho.

Delto, 7 minutes later: I did I think.

Me: Did you click on the confirmation email? You have to click the email!!

Hey, at least I got another blog subscriber out of it.