Monday, November 23, 2015

I need a posse of strong men in the event of stairs, stat

TWD Y'ALL. I'm so glad they came back to this story line, but I won't ruin it for you because I'm totally not a porchdick.

Anyway. You know I love awards shows, especially the music ones. It's not even about the awards, it's the performances and the outfits and the sparkles. Last night's opening dance number for the AMAs with J.Lo and her agelessness made me wanna quit my day job and dance (and also not age, but lezbehonest I still get carded for buying alcohol so we good). I'd dance at home. Dance at Target. Dance while I'm getting an oil change. I could put a tip jar out and make some money that I'd be losing by not working. It's not stripping if I keep my clothes on. It's a totally dignified way to make at least $7.

Selena Gomez is killin' it nowadays, despite not having a full understanding of the word "syncopate". (Brb while I syncopate sriracha to my avocado.) Performance on point. Outfit on point. Sexualized status on point. I wish I, too, had 12 muscular men to carry me down the stairs every day like in her performance.

Speaking of um, not muscular men, the guys in Walk the Moon are basically everyone I dated in college. I had a type. And didn't there used to be 5 guys in One Direction? I remember there was one that left but I guess I thought he came back or something because I'm old and out of touch on the boy band circuit. My favorite is the one that looks like Kevin Bacon, but really only because he has a slight resemblance to Kevin Bacon and that's sorta neat. I don't look like any actors or tasty pork products. Although every time my kid sees a young-ish sorta thin, white female with medium length wavy blonde hair on tv or wherever, he asks, "Mommy, is that you?" Yes, son. That's mommy on the red carpet (Jennifer Lawrence). Yes, son, that's mommy in the magazine (Kristen Bell). Yes, son, that's mommy dancing on tv (Julianne Hough)

So in other news, we may need to take a trip to the optometrist for baby's first pair of glasses.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

The struggle of cohabitation and doing human things

Yesterday I backed into a parking space and, in that moment, really felt like a true adult who has her life together. Nevermind this whole selling my house and buying a new house with a man mumbojumbo. I crushed that parking space.

That's what this song is about, right? Backing into a parking place?

Do you ever make this huge life decision like YOLOBETCH Ima get a tattoo of an aardvark eating cheetos on my muhfuckin bicep and then after it's done you're like, oh shit I have a tattoo of an aardvark eating cheetos on my muhfuckin bicep, what do I do now? Why did I make that life decision so hastily? That was a bad move, self. Overall I don't feel nervous about buying a house with my manfriend, but occasionally I think hory shit if there's a dealbreaker either of us discovers after we shack up, we're stuck. Locked in for 30 years at a fixed rate.

Like what if he always eats my ice cream and then I don't have any for the first day of shark week? Or what if he doesn't pull his weight and get rid of all the bugs/critters? Or what if he doesn't put the seat down? Men sit too, it's not an unreasonable request. Or what if he shaves his face and then doesn't clean up all the hair and it looks like Cousin It exploded in the sink? Or what if he doesn't tetris the dishwasher right? Hands down, inefficient dishwasher loading is the worst domestic sin.

On the flip side, what if he can't get past the fact that I stick the hair that falls out when I'm shampooing up on the shower wall (so it doesn't go down the drain and clog it, obviously)...and then leave it there til I clean the shower (once every never)? Or that I'm really bad at paying my bills on time? Or that I leave icing bags in the fridge for months sometimes because I'm too lazy to wash the tips (heh)? Or that I insomnia shop online and then am pleasantly surprised when I receive packages? (Ain't nothing saying I can't insomnia shop for two, amiright?) Or what if he catches me doing a human thing? One of those things that is necessary but also kinda gross, like shaving your taint? It's a sight that can't be unseen.

Whatever, we'll probably nail it as per usual. 

Cheers to cohabitation.
And selfies.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Spray tan fail

What is it about weddings that make us pull out all the stops to be gorg? Or in my case, epically fail in being gorg? All I wanted was a tan and some contoured cheekbones. Is that so much to ask? Apparently, because I wound up as Snooki with transvestite eyebrows. Cool.

Thursday night I got a spray tan. A harmless, nbd, probably bad for you in some way they haven't discovered yet but at least it doesn't cause skin cancer (allegedly), spray tan. Tan fat looks better than pale fat, that's what I always say. Tan those jiggles right on up. It wasn't until my kid wanted to take a family picture that I realized I turned black for my friend's wedding. I told her I'm sorry or you're welcome depending on how you look at it.

Welp, didn't expect that.

So that's pretty seriously bad, but hey at least I don't have skin cancer? Luckily the fail layer washed off in the shower the next morning and I was left with a totally average amount of fake tan. The spray tan crisis of 2015 has been resolved, people. Nothing to see here.

But then, my friend's stepdad hired a makeup artist to come in and give everyone transvestite eyebrows make everyone beautiful. I've never had my makeup done by a professioanl before, so I was kinda stoked about looking like a Kardashian for a minute, ya know? Too bad life is hilarious and so were my eyebrows. The shape is fine, it's just that the color is hella dark.

Eyebrows off fleek, I repeat, eyebrows off fleek.
Eyelash game strong, though.
And the tan turned out okay.
Plus, still no skin cancer so that's pretty cool.

I'm prob just gonna go ahead and stick to my BB cream and lack of eyebrow penciling routine going forward. I like my blonde brows, SUE ME. The best part of getting my fancy make up done is that she used 3 shades of lip stain and gloss to get it just right, and then I ruined it in the best way.


With both a spray tan fail and an eyebrow fail this weekend, I'm clearly not doing a great job as a basic white gurl. 

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Can I get endorphins from koala pee? Asking for a friend.

Buying a house is neat. I've stress-eaten all the things instead of being that woman everyone hates that's all "YEAH I can do all the things and keep my sanity while working and momming and coaching my kid's soccer team and moving but then not moving and then maybe moving oops no, not moving, okay now moving but it's still a maybe, if only this asshat could be a REALISTIC HUMAN BEING FOR ONE GODDAMN MINUTE while still keeping my house spotless for showings and then getting a contract finally and then that bastard backs out for a completely unreasonable reason, THANKS OBAMA, but not before he has my garage unnecessarily inspected separately from the original home inspection and the inspector BROKE MY GARAGE SPRING and now I have to get that fixed on top of all the things in addition to fixing up my manfriend's house to get it listed and also my spawn and I both being in a wedding this weekend and shit getting real at work what with my job sorta changing and the holiday party coming up and that shit is always stressful because I plan it and WHAT IF IT SUCKS and then on top of that the holiday season in general is a busy and expensive time but I can do it all and workout 2 hours a day and eat nothing but kale and koala piss and be perfectly happy and sane without any drugs or wine or sleep." 

But ya know, I'm just not that girl. 

Real life is busy and sometimes I eat a lil tub of Reese's peanut butter and two fun size Snickers for dinner. Working out becomes more difficult when your house is on the market. I had to store my treadmill and bike in the garage along with a shitton of other stuff to de-personalize the space, ergo effectively ruining both my living room and garage for exercise. I can't go for a run with my spawn home, and I've lacked the motivation anyway because my days are so jam-packed and I'm tired of crashing and burning real-estate-wise. Plus it gets dark so early. The other night I did some squats and ab work in my living room for about 20 minutes and my quads were sore for 3 days. I still weigh the same, but I feel like shit. Prob the lack of koala piss in my diet coupled with the lack of regular endorphins from getting swole. I'm going to have to re-up my work gym membership and start going at lunch again lest I lose this godforsaken bee bet.

What I really need is someone to hand me a triple venti nonfat chestnut praline latte in whatever the fuck color cup they desire and two million dollars. Then I could buy enough drugs to cope with the life-tornado. And probably a new purse.

Also, shout out to the people who string together all the hilarious/cute memes and pictures. You are true heroes. And a special high five to these people, not only for having a lawn dinosaur, but for dressing in in seasonally appropriate attire:

Because not enough people decorate for Thanksgiving.

Rudolph should have known better.

Monday, November 9, 2015

What I learned as my son's soccer coach

The season is over for the Hulk Smashers and my first season of coaching is gone with it. Y'all, I thought coaching U4 soccer would be a shitstorm of asshole parents and punk ass kids. I was legit nervous about my sanity. You want me to corral a bunch of 3-4 year olds who have never played soccer? You want me to pretend to give a shit when parents complain about me not playing their kid enough or disciplining them? Nah. I'm out on that. No deal.

I enrolled my kid in soccer partly because he liked kicking the ball around outside and partly for the other reason people enroll their kids in sports, to learn sportsmanship, teamwork and discipline from another authority figure. Annnd then there wasn't a coach for the team so I volunteered because YOLO. There goes the idea of another authority figure, but that's fine. It will be an experience I can add to the list of memories I draw from when I'm a hundred and fifty years old telling stories to my great grandkids. Maybe by that point soccer will have evolved into quidditch and I can tell them about the good ol' days when there was just one goal and nobody could fly and how it was much easier then because putting 4 year olds on broomsticks is an all around bad idea.

Anyway, as luck would have it, the parents weren't awful. They were actually super nice and probably grateful that someone finally volunteered to coach so they didn't have to. The kids were mostly well-mannered and sweet too, all in their own ways. I had one troublemaker that wouldn't participate in practice or listen in general, but he would pick flowers and give me big hugs. I had one kid who burst into inconsolable tears and run to his dad every time he fell down, who by the final game, didn't shed one tear because I taught him to get back up when he falls. I got to be that authority figure coach I was looking for, and that was pretty rad. I guess that's the perk of coaching. That, and getting to choose the team name.

They all seem thrilled.
1-2-3-Hulk Smasherrrrrrrrrs!

So if you're reluctantly thinking about coaching your kid's sportsball team, do it. It's a little extra work, but it's so rewarding in the cheesiest, most awesome way. At the end of the last game, one kid came up to me timidly and stood there contemplating for a second, and the next thing I knew he flung himself at me in the biggest bear hug that tackled me to the ground. And my grinch heart grew three sizes. 

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Just wait til I meet someone with Ghost 8's

I don't mean to be bragadocious, but I'm kind of an expert on injuries. Not in a doctor way, more like in a walk it off LIKE A BOSS way. Okay, not really. Now that my knee is fucked three ways to Sunday, I require all sorts of gear to make running acceptable again. 

I love my Brooks. I've been a Brooks girl since before I even ran significant distances, and right now I have Ghost 7s in pink, obv. I saw a girl with Ghost 6s running recently and I commented, "Hey, are those the Ghost 6's?" and she was all, "Yeah," and I was all, "Cool, I have Ghost 7's." And then she just looked at me and I just looked at her and it was awkward and I'm a tool.

I get weird with my compression gear. I use a compression sleeve under my compression capris for my knee, and then I put my hella brace on top of all that. I like Tommie Copper compression sleeves, thanks to a rando I met shopping last Christmas. They seriously make all the difference for me.

Compression sleeve. Capris. Mismatched Socks. Shoes, nay, Ghost 7s. Shirt. Brace. Polar. Headphones.
In that order.

I still love my Elasto Gel ice packs. I learned of their magnificence during physical therapy after my second ACL repair and went to my bae Amazon and bought 2 immediately so I could use one and still have one locked and loaded. I ice when I feel like I need it - after a difficult run or a long day on my feet. 

For those of you out of the loop, I currently have a torn meniscus that the doc tried and failed to repair during my last ACL surgery a year ago. After doing some research, I'm on the fence about a third knee surgery to fix it because, honestly, surgery may not fix it and I would still have pain. Plus, I'm sick of getting cut open. My body, my choice. 

I run/walk now, although I'm getting faster and stronger so soon I'll be back to regular ol' running again. No reason to rush, though. I listen to my bod and walk when my knee started to ache. I typically do 3 miles at a time 2-3 times/week, averaging about a 10:45 pace. I ain't mad about that, there was a time in my life when I had a slower pace and I was running without walk breaks. 

The way I see it, everybody has some kind of pain. Something to bitch about. Some obstacle to overcome. I'm not interested in complaining about it, I'm interested in getting shit done. 

And we are certainly not getting bees, so I'm making it happen.

Friday, October 30, 2015

Trick or treat, smell my feet

Halloween is my favorite, y'all. I love making costumes and getting creative and clever and weird with it. Last year my son wanted to be a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man and I said CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, SPAWN. 

With a Yoda candy bucket.

This year he had a tough time deciding what he wanted to be between all the superheroes, and eventually settled on good ol' all American Cap. A small part of me died inside when I bought the costume instead of made it, but they were buy one get one free so now we have Iron Man too. That's just smart planning.

He's almost too adorbs.

I did get to put together my costume, though. It took 4 colors of tulle, some elastic, a corset I got on Amazon and a pair of cheap fairy wings from the dollar store. I made a tutu out of tulle - do y'all know how to do that? I'll post a tutorial if you want - put my hair in a Nerky Bun on top of my head, did my makeup like a first-time stripper (glitter all day long, son) and BOOM I'm the Tinkerbell to my dog's Peter Pom. Pro tip - wear some booty shorts under your tutu. Don't nobody want to see your bits. Also, an added bonus is that the glittery tulle sprinkles a trail of glitter everywhere I go, like I dunno, pixie dust. Totes perf.

Oh heyyyy.

My dog's costume is completely homemade too - a totally easy DIY. I cut the shape of a hat out of a green piece of felt and a feather out of red and yellow felt and sewed it all together, then added elastic to keep it in place. He hates it. It's adorable. Dogs in hats, y'all. It needs to be a calendar.

The thing is, I can't wear a corset and tutu to work, nor can I take my dog, which is arguably the best part of my costume, so I got to get double creative this year and do a work-approps costume. Natch, I'm gonna be a #selfie.

Another easy DIY. It's just foam board that I cut a hole out of and painted to look like Instagram. Pro tip - when you're painting words that need to be centered, find the center of the word and work outward from there in pencil or chalk first. This took about half an hour and $0 to make because I had everything on hand already. This was actually a small tri-fold project board that I'm not sure why I had, so I just cut the outer edges off to use the middle part. You can totally do this at the last minute for your parties this weekend. I have faith in you. #blessed