Thursday, July 31, 2014

They say it's your birthday

It's my birthday too, yeah. Truth: In the late 90s I had a dancing hamster (toy, not live) that played that song and shook it's little robot hamster ass. Why did that even exist? 

Every year for the entire month of July I buy things without abandon in the name of my birthday. This year I got some sweet new bitch mittens, a stylin' sports bra, a rad gym backpack (fuck off, Oxford comma) and a new gym towel, because I'm old and boring and kind of into fitness. (Kind of.)

Also, my dad got me some new running shoes and a half marathon race entry. So you could say it's getting pretty serious.

I highly, completely, totally and fully recommend all of the things. The sports bra keeps the girls at bay and the towel is awesome because it's super absorbent and folds up really small so I don't have to take a giant souvenir towel from a vacation I didn't even go on to shower at the gym. I know people were laughing at my parakeet (towel).

But enough about me. I'm really fortunate to have people in my life that are awesome. I have a good job and a roof over my head and my kid is hilarious and cute and sweet. I've been trying to teach him to pay it forward and do random acts of kindness lately. He doesn't 100% understand the concept of things like paying for the car behind us at Starbucks, but I know he's watching because he does his version of nice things for his friends at school, like pulling a chair out for someone to sit or giving his favorite car to a kid that's sad. This little rascal WILL grow up to be a good, polite man (but not a doormat). It's my main mission.

That brings me to my point (finally), I want you to do something nice for someone and tell me about it! I will share some of my favorites on the blog and we'll all brighten someone's day. Babysit so your friends can go out. Pay for the car behind you at McDonald's. Feed a homeless person. There's a $50 Target giftcard in it for a random winner! Contest ends on Tuesday, 8/5 at 11:59pm. Enter daily. Spread the word. Lezbe nice to people.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, July 28, 2014

I hope the sleeves fell off because you flexed and not because you bought it that way.

First thing's first, I'm the realest. (Rillest? Rullest?)

I have an important topic to tackle today, y'all. It's really gotten out of hand. Something must be done to stop it.

The sleeveless shirt for men.

(Pause for effect.)

I get it when you're at the gym - you need to have your arms unrestricted for maximum iron pumpage. Pump. It. Up. (Brah.) My problem is everywhere else - both the fashion tank top worn on purpose in public and the old t-shirt from your company team building event 3 years ago that you cut the sleeves off to do yard work in. No. Just, don't.

Hey girl, check out my sweet armpit hair and tiny shirt straps.

I don't dig it. What's the point? Air circulation for your pit-pubes? To show off your guns? (I don't even have ah gun. Name the movie.) To dress like a man-child? (Man tank tops also sold with propeller hat.) 

I'm not saying you should suffer in long sleeve button-downs. It's summer and hot outside, I get it. I'm saying why bother with a tank top? Just go shirtless. Stop pussyfooting around and everybody wins. 

Much better.

But maybe you're not confident in your abs. Maybe you don't want to go full-on shirtless. Well, then maybe you should wear a fucking t-shirt like an adult. 

Friday, July 25, 2014

Frisky Friday: Laters, Baby

Yeah, I read it (on my kindle so no one could see). All three books. Including the part where Christian removes Anastasia's tampon for her in order for them to bone. I meannnnnnnn, I'd probably handle that part myself, but to each his own. Or her own. Whatever. (Out of everything in those books, that was the worst part.)

I'm talking 50 Shades of Grey.

Or click HERE for the video

That song tho.
That elevator kiss tho.
That blindfold tho.

I'd watch it. (At home. Naked. With someone. IfyouknowwhatImean)

I think there's one thing that needs to happen: We all need to stop getting up each other's asses (figuratively, heyyyy) about 50 Shades being a poorly written, predictable story. Do people go to strip clubs for the buffet? No. Same rule applies. It's not about poetic literature to stimulate your mind, it's about stimulating your bathing suit parts. If you want to discuss literature, then let's meet over Americanos at a not-Starbucks. We can wear scarves and skinny jeans and talk imagery and rhetoric. 50 Shades isn't about that, and that's okay.

What is it about 50 Shades that's so hot? Is it the compelling story line? Is it because our sex lives are boring? Is it because the main character is a man that clearly needs fixin'? You know how we women love to change men. (Love you how you are? False. I'll love you after I mold you into what I want you to be.)

It's none of that. It's because we secretly want a man who knows what he's doing to take charge and throw us around a little bit. (In bed, not in life. No domestic abuse, plz and thx.) We want a nice guy we can bring home, but a bad boy in bed. It's the best of both worlds, like a Jedi in the street but a Sith in the sheets. It can be hard to ask your sweet husband of 10 years to tie you up, much less ball gag you and bust out the riding crop a la Christian Grey. Although it's been my experience that if you ask to do something, your partner will likely oblige. They might even be thinking the same thing.

I took a super legit (not at all) poll amongst some of my man-friends, and they ALL said that it's super hot when their girl initiates fun sex. So get on it. (Pun totally intended.) Maybe then we can all have relations as often as as Christian and Anastasia do.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Funky Town

For the past few months up until very recently I've been in a funky funk about working out. Probably because my stomach's being an asshole. ("Well ma'am, after extensive testing we've found that your stomach has, in fact, turned itself into an asshole. There's nothing we can do.") After a zillion dollars worth of testing over a few months due to a couple of scary episodes, my doc finally determined that I have idiopathic gastroparesis, which means my stomach doesn't contract and push food through like it should, and they have no idea why it's being an ornery little bitch about it. And it will probably be this way forever. (But hey, at least it's not cancer!) It makes eating difficult and painful a lot of the time (all of the time), so I have to eat really small portions more often throughout the day so my stomach doesn't get too full. Now that I know what's wrong, I can manage it without meds or surgery. The silver lining is that's exactly how we're supposed to eat anyway. Boom, I'm totally nailing this. 

The cool thing is that I can eat whatever I want. Literally anything. I can't stomach enough for calories to even matter. Cheesecake? Yep. Burgers? Yep. Pizza? Yep. I take a few bites, maybe eat half a burger and I'm stuffed almost uncomfortably. Eating half a burger maxes me out. No fries or anything. Eating a whole burger feels like I ate three helpings of a Thanksgiving feast, y'all. It's the worst and I have to lay down until it passes (hours) lest I vom and pass out on you. (Not a good look.)

It sounds like every fat kid's dream disease, doesn't it? The hard part is timing my meals and workouts. Eating enough food to have the energy to crush it at the gym or on a long run without stomach pain/nausea/etc. is proving difficult, but I'm working on it. Also the debilitating stomachache that comes after eating too much is pretty lame.

For a while I backed off the gym entirely. It was exhausting. Every time I would go it made me feel worse because I just couldn't get to the level I was used to. My feet would drag on the treadmill or I'd have to stop at 2 sets of bicep curls. Then afterwards I had to lay down to recoup. It made me feel old and lazy and sick and fragile - none of which are words I would use to describe myself. So I pulled myself out of it. I can tackle this problem like all my other life problems - with equal parts logic, trial and error and charisma (duh). I've been having good luck with a high lean protein diet, and shakes are my jam. I like protein shakes because I can drink them slowly over an extended period of time, and gravity naturally pulls the liquid through my stomach faster than solid food (science!), although it still takes hours.

The point is, I've been in a slump. A down. A funk. A bullshit phase and I'm tired of it. I'm on my way back up, getting ready to donkey punch the Tough Mudder this fall.

Buhlee dat.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Frisky Friday: Nudies

Remember when you had to take your pictures to get them developed in order to see what the pictures were? As in, you didn't get to see them immediately and delete all the failed selfies with poor lighting and too many chins? And nekkid pictures? Fuuuuuuuuck that. I'm not down with the minimum wage Walgreens employee seeing my vajay, mkay? 

Thank goodness we have smartphones now that make it easy peasy lemon squeezy to send and save nudies from our boner-cams. Likewise, it's perfectly easy to post said nudies on the internet for all eyes to see. Case in point:

This isn't me.
I repeat: This isn't me.
I mean, yeahhhh it's totally me and that's exactly what I look like half naked.

I don't know the story behind the above picture or the girl in it. (In fact, if this is you and you're offended that I posted it, I'll take it down. Just tell me.) All I know is it fell into my lap when my gym bro told me he found dirty pictures of me on the internet. For a minute, I was scared y'all. I mean, I was pretty sure that no one I've sent pictures to would post them publicly, but you never really know. (We'll get to that in a minute.) So he sent it to me and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, because thank Stormtrooper Jesus it's not me. (But damn girl, look at you with your blonde hair, black glasses and perky ass.)

I feel like the nudie rules are loosely defined, similar to sex tape rules. (I mean, for shit's sake guys. Stop making sex tapes with dill holes and then maybe they won't be released into the world for everyone's viewing pleasure.) People are sending half nekkid pics with little to no contact with a person. How do you know they aren't going to show all of their friends? You don't. How do you know they aren't posting them somewhere publicly? You don't. Why would you just let someone see all of your business without making them work for it? Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely pro-nudie. Let's just not be so carefree about it, okie dokie?

So when do you send nudies? You have to trust who you're sending them to. That means you probably have to have at least met them in person. AT LEAST. And even then, I've met a lot of people in person that I don't want to see me naked. You should also be age appropriate. (Don't be gross.)

Boobs aren't special. They're everywhere, all the time. A dime a dozen. Titties just flopping around. What makes them special is who they're attached to. 

Neither are dick pics. Guys. GUYS. Nobody wants to see your meat party. See above re: not special.

DON'T GET YOUR FACE IN THE PICTURE. Because you never really know a person's intentions. At least if your relationship/fuck buddy/sexting/whatever poor choices you're making ends badly, you'll just be another pair of boobs on the internet instead of OMG NERKY BOOBS ON THE INTERNET.

Same with unique tattoos. If I send an ass picture and my Always tattoo is visible on my side, you're gonna know it's my ass. I don't want you to know it's my ass, strangers. 

The general theme is you should CYA (metaphorically) by not sending nudies to assbags. It's better for everyone if you care about the person attached to the body in the picture. I definitely want nudies when I'm in a relationship with someone because they're fun and exciting and super sexy (aka fap fuel). It's finding a person deserving of my nudies that's challenging. (But worth it.)

Wednesday, July 16, 2014


I've never been puhticuluhly girly. As a kid I had 3 older brothers that mostly just beat the shit out of me because they beat the shit out of each other (non-discriminatory ass-whoopin'). We watched TMNT and Dukes of Hazard and got muddy playing outside. I missed the boat on Indian Princesses and ballet classes or whatever little girls do. My BFF taught me how to use roll-on glitter in the mid 90s and that was my intro into girl world. I glittered the everlivin' out of my face until she taught me how to apply blue sparkly eye shadow up to my eyebrows, then it was game on. I rocked that shit all through middle school like a fuggin' gangsta.

Before someone told me about glitter and make-up, I was just a kid having fun being a kid. I couldn't've (yesssssss, double contraction) cared less about hair bows or make-up or what I was wearing. What changed me? 

I dunno, maybe the female celebrities in the media dressing like sweet little prostitutes had something to do with it.

Tween Nerk: Oh, this is what it means to be a girl? I'm not sure I'm ready to suggestively gyrate my ass into someone, but I guess I should probably at least dye my hair and put on some a ton of make-up, right? And I'm definitely wearing too many clothes. I should show more skin - then people will think I'm pretty for sure.

Forget having a beautiful mind or soul. You gotta fake it til you make it. 

That's why it's so awesome that on the heels of Miley Cyrus and her various scantily clad twerk-offs and whatever other young celebrities and their antics that I'm too old to give a shit about, Colbie Caillat released a "be yourself because you're stuck with you and it's better to like yourself than to hate who you've become" music video. Girl power! (FIST PUMP)

If that doesn't work, click HERE for the video

It's a good reminder - am I working out to better myself or to impress other people? (For myself.) Do I wear heels because I like them or so that I look good for other people? (Mostly because I like them, but not always.) Do I put on make-up every day for me or because I want to fit in with the pretty girls? (Jury's out.) Lately I've been doing a much better job about not giving a rat's vagina about what people think of me, and what a weight that's been lifted. Would you believe that as a grown-ass woman I still get made fun of for being a nerd? To those people I say, BYE FELICIA. It makes me thankful that I don't have a little girl to raise because other little girls (and women) are mean as shit. I'll just have work on raising my little boy to be a respectful, polite man.

God, enough preaching, amiright? I just really love the message of this song. I hope young girls listen to it and think twice about midriff-bearing shirts and shorts that let their ass hang out. Confidence is way more attractive than slutty clothes to the right man (or woman, if you're into that). And thank the lawd roll-on body glitter isn't a thing anymore.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Tough Mudder

I did a thing.

Last night at around 12:17am I signed up for the Dallas Tough Mudder. (shit shit shit shit shit shitAs soon as the confirmation page popped up, all I thought was "Oh sweet Jesus why did I do that. Why." (Related: It turns out I'm a late night impulse buy masochist.)

Probably because my brother asked me if I wanted to do it ages ago and it piqued my interest. Then I read about it and wondered if I could handle it or if I wanted to train for something that intense insane. Then read this Buzzfeed "___ reasons this is lolz" post and agreed with the sarcasm, so I talked myself out of it.

Then I decided I needed to stop being a little bitch about it because ain't nobody got time fo' dat and I know I'll regret it if I don't do it, so it's on like Donkey Kong. They even make you sign a death waiver, y'all. A death waiver.

I have 3 months to get ready to tackle this beast. I bought some bitch mittens so I can bro-down hard on the weights at the gym. Gotta keep those hands callous-free like a fucking lady.

Have y'all done a Tough Mudder? Did you live to tell the tale?