Grin and Bear It

So today was totally Monday number two for me. I ought to write Murphy a thank you letter for letting her Law influence my whole day. Wait, was that a lady or a dude? Oh well, they're a bitch either way. Extra long day at work aside...after I come home late, to a messy house because I have no energy to clean and the teens are lazy as fuck, we have round two of Monday two. Fuck it. 

In my head, I lose count daily of the times I have to say, 'what the fuck.' It felt like the odometer on the fuckometer went haywire like some carnival gauge in a psychedelic episode of Scooby Doo meets Tom and Jerry. These are the days we drink. Heavily. Except we're low on beer and I really am trying hard to stop adding unnecessary calories to my giant ass and gut. 

I did get the chance to catch up a little with a friend I haven't touched base with in a while. She talked me home. Well, okay, we bitch-sessioned back and forth but it was a great release. It's funny how letting it all out to someone who understands and cares and doesn't judge you for having a bitchy moment can do for you. 

I'm working on a novel. Well, technically, I am working on several. I have one written that needs editing, one in the process of writing (fifty or so pages in), and I have an idea for a third. Some days all I want is an hour of total, silent, alone time...OMG I digress. I'm like a squirrel on espresso looking at a shiny, spinning disco ball! My point in saying this, well, two points now:

For a writer, I should be better at this blogging shit - I start to write some days and think, "Who the fuck wants to read that?" but I remind myself that I am writing this for me and so I tell myself to fuck off and publish it. 

Secondly, I'm thinking that on the crazy, blue moon, off chance that my novels are successful, I would rather not have all that attention focused on me or my family. So I want to come up with a pen name. And hell, if they suck sweaty moose cock, I don't want anyone to know they were mine either. So a pen name is a definite win-win here! 

Suggestions are welcome however I don't want them public, in case I decide to use one - credit will be given if wanted! So, you can message me on my Facebook or Twitter Page for now. I have too many email addresses to keep up with as it is so I don't think I will be creating a new one just yet. That being said, if for some crazy reason this blog takes off and gets a big following, an email address will become a need and I will deal with it. 

Have a great fucking hump day tomorrow ladies and dudes! 

Time For ME Dammit

I have been to the doctor. I have had a cat scan my head. I have been to another doctor. They drew blood. I've stopped consuming chocolate, oranges, red wine, and caffeine. Nothing has helped the frequent and moderate to severe headaches I have been having. They are essentially daily at this point. There's one thing I haven't worked, mostly because I'm not good at it. Plus, I don't know where to start. Stress.

Well, reduce stress to be specific. When you're a single mom, newly cohabitated so that alleviates a little of the 'doing it alone' aspect, who commutes to a 40 or more hour a week job, has a moody teen, an angry (as in needs anger management), controlling ex, who wakes up at 5 am just to have 5 minutes alone to consume her coffee while she dreams of going back to school if she could ever find the time, it is pretty fucking hard to find the stress that can be reduced or removed. (Yes I know that's a run on - I didn't have time to fix it. LOL)

Laughter helps. Maybe that's why I try to find the humor in life. I try to make people laugh. I enjoy when they laugh even if I wasn't trying. But my OBGYN said something to me when I went to talk to her about pre-menopause symptoms...she told me to take time for me. Me? Who the fuck has time for that? Maybe I need to make time. Of course, as I say this I sit on my fat ass that was supposed to go to the gym with Pretty in Pink...I begged off in part due to another severe, not quite migraine. If I am 100% honest though I also did not want to give up family time - as dysfunctional as it might be.

So, it's a small simple start but tonight I painted my nails. I am not a girly girl who always has perfectly polished or manicured nails by any means so this is actually a rare treat. Probably long before the weekend they will be chipped and flaky but at least for tonight my hands feel pretty. I guess starting this blog - and the corresponding accounts - are another present to myself. A small outlet where I can say anything and be anyone I want. I'm not good at being anyone but me...well, unless there is a script - I was a good actress back in the day...but I digress. 

I'm not trying to hide. Rather, I want to be 100% free to say whatever random craziness is running thru my head. Watch out world! MWAHAHAHA!

Cherished Celebrations

Some days everything just works out good. These are the days we cherish. These are the days we thank God for. These are the days that we remember to get us through the days when shit piles up so high you think you will suffocate. Today was one of those days.

Bubba turned 17 today. we had a ‘family’ outing. I use that word sparingly since we’re not officially anything more than a combined house at this point. We played games. Goober learned to shoot some pool. We went out to eat and stuffed ourselves to the point that I wasn’t sure if we should roll ourselves back to the truck or ask the waitress to call for a crane to pluck us up and place us outside.

We came home and played video games. Everyone took turns. Everyone was being (mostly) nice to each other. We had cake, ice cream and we didn’t sing...Bubba said no singing so Bear says, “Happy Birthday,” and Princess and I said, “to you.” Goober says, “Happy Birthday,” and Bear said, “to you.” Well, you get the jist, we didn’t technically sing. ;)

Yea, we probably spent too much money. Yes, Bear doesn’t celebrate ANYTHING and I went slightly overboard. Yup, we ate more calories today than we needed for a week. But who cares? Birthdays should be a no-holds-barred, super-mega spoiled kinda day. He’s lucky I don’t push for birthday week. That’s my compromise for him.

Hey, he was warned I am crazy...and this means I celebrate CRAZY BIG.

WTF Is That? And That? And...Oh My!

I know it is January and everyone’s fulfilling their resolutions but holy fuck there were a ton of fit people clogging up the gym. I mean, I really had expected to see some more plump, round folks like myself putting around, pretending like we weren’t go to dive into a beer or six tonight. But I am not blogging about wow, how fun was it to be one of the fattest people in the gym today. No, I am blogging because today was my FIRST EVER experience with working out at a real gym.

So I meet up with Pretty in Pink and she signs us in. Then she shows me the Women’s Locker Room so we can put our keys, etc somewhere safe. So far so good, I might even have some fun. Then she asks me where I want to start. I guess she caught on pretty fast that I hadn’t the slightest fuckin clue, might have been the deer in the headlights expression that I am certain I wore all morning, so she gives me the full tour.

I’m glad there wasn’t a test because beyond the treadmill I can’t tell you what the name of any of those medieval torture devices were called. They ALL looked scary and I started to miss Boot Camp Babe and her cray cray wall sits, burpees and bear crawl torture. Pretty in Pink points at some wiggly hanging bar over a chair without a back and says with a giant smile, “this one’s my favorite.” I think I smiled and nodded. I’m pretty sure I was in shock. I was certain I wasn’t going to fall in love with her favorite.

She tells me that she usually starts on the the treadmill. I think I can handle this so I nod enthusiastically and speak up, “that sounds good.” Until I step on the most futuristic looking walking machine on the planet. What are all these fucking buttons for??? I think the deer in the headlights look returned because bless her heart my friend stops her machine, steps off and helps me get mine started.

Now I can get in a zone on a treadmill. The runners’ high that I have missed for months and months came right back the moment I finished my warm up and started to find my pace, pushing past the burn in my legs. We get about twenty minutes in and I hear a voice that seems far away say,”How long would you like to do the treadmill for?” Oh damn, I could do this for an hour or two. Um, um, uhhhh, quick, reply to her before she thinks you know no words! “Whatever you want to do is good.” Ugh. I bet she doesn’t want to stay here the whole time.

“Ok, how about 5 more minutes and then we’ll do the cool down and go do something else.” Ok, maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe we’ll go use those other machines, I think they’re called ellipticals? Those don’t look so bad. I run a little more, hit the cool down button and then when the machine stops I grab a towel and a spray down my machine. I make the mistake of saying,”Let’s do whatever you normally do.”

We spent the next thirty minutes going from room to room, treacherous machine to treacherous machine. I’m pretty sure I did things wrong. I’m pretty sure I had NEWBIE flashing on my forehead like a neon Hot Donuts Now sign at Krispy Kreme. And at the end of it all? She invited me back Monday...and I must enjoy pain and humiliation because I agreed. All’s I’ve got to say is this: if Bear ever decides to finally propose, I better damn well look fucking amazing in my wedding dress.

Time To JUMP

December 2012 I was in the best shape of my life. I ran my first 5K, I was doing beginner CrossFit routines at home. I was down to a size 8 and for the first time in my life that size 8 was getting loose. I worked my ass off to get there. I exercised for an hour a day, ate clean and drank tons of water. In fact, other than special occasions, all I drank was water and black coffee.

Then my world came crashing down. My now ex-husband took off for another state 900 miles away. We were already estranged. The only reason I hadn’t moved out was money, which I was working on. Instead of finding his own place and better paying job here, close to his kids, he ran home to his mom in the midwest. This devastated my kids. And placed a ton of pressure on my shoulders to keep everything together.

It became beyond difficult to afford to buy the clean food we were eating, especially because we were living on food stamps on that point. I got sick, repeatedly, without money to go to a doctor I tried to self medicate with ibuprofen and vitamin C. My workouts suffered. My grocery shopping suffered. I never got back into a great rhythm again.

Fast forward two plus years. I have gained forty pounds back and gone from a loose size 8 to a tight size 14. YIKES! I hate the lady in the mirror. Not because she’s curvy. Because I know she can do better but has failed at staying motivated with her efforts. Bear loves fit Momma and fluffy Momma so he has not stopped saying, “Woohoo” when I get nekkid, bless him.

He does however pick up that I am mad at myself and borderline miserable with my appearance. He has a friend at work that I have met, we’ve all hung out. She lives near us and has a gym membership. He said that she said anytime I want to go I am welcome. I have never been to a gym aside from my dad taking me to a meet and greet with Mike Tomzack in the late 80’s or early 90’s and then once I walked into one to grab a brochure on their prices.

Time to jump in. I might look ridiculous but in an hour and a half I will be sweating with the January crowds. I need a time machine so I can tell 2012 me to never stop working out no matter what. Hell, I could go back to 1998 me and make some big changes but I don’t believe in regret. I believe in lessons. Taught with the proverbial two by four to the head. Over and over and over again.

Meet Crazy...

“I'm crazy.” That's what I told my boyfriend on our first date. We'll call him Bear for the sake of this blog. Bear and I dove into the whole cohabitation thing last year and became a party of five. FIVE. In a three bedroom house. Do you know how much chaos is inevitably packed into each and every day when you cram five people into one teeny, tiny house? Well, stick around, you just might find out. But I digress.

I warned him upfront that I’m crazy. I know most women are in denial about this fact of life but I am honest about it. It is a fact and I frankly enjoy it. I tried to be normal for a long time. It wasn’t fun. It didn’t save my marriage. It sucked. No more normal. I’m gonna be me. Crazy, wacky, messy, goofy, sometime bitchy me. How crazy am I? Party of five crazy.

Meet our  group:

Bear - the Marine

Momma - the crazy mess

Bubba - the football player

Princess - the drama queen in the making

Goober - the little guy

My two contributions are Princess, the teenager girl who claims to hate drama while creating it over the simplest little thing. For instance, did you know that socks are a highly dramatic topic? They can be. Fun times. And then there’s Goober. Oh the joys of Kindergarten. Yup, one in high school and one just starting out- I planned that well, eh?

Bear has a teenage son, we’re calling him Bubba because he hates that name and Bear thinks it’s funny to annoy the teens. Not that Bear is reading this. Neither will the teens, but it’s fun to know that they would be annoyed. Life’s pleasures really are simple. Crazy simple.

Warnings you might want to know before you stalk my posts:

I really am crazy and I overuse words like crazy, epic and amazing.

I’m not going to apologize for anything I write. Ever.

I’m looking for an outlet. Your enjoyment is not necessary, it’s a bonus.

I’m in love so I might get sappy.

I’m a momma so I will talk about kids. Mostly mine.

I like beer, boobs, bacon and the beach. B is a good letter.

I can’t remember shit. No seriously, what was I writing a list for?

My goal this year, not a resolution - just a hope, is to write down the funny things that happen in my life and share them. Also to stop holding in the things which piss me off. So I should probably add to the list that I might bitch a lot of crap out of my system. I don’t want to be a negative ninny, but I don’t want to become a stick of dynamite waiting to be lit.

Have fun. Or don’t. It makes no difference. Is anyone still reading this? Eh, I think it’s time for another adult beverage. Peace!