On Birthdays and Spring

First off, I am loving those new commercials from some foot wear company's.  The ones that show some tough freak'in athletes doing some serious cross training and being fit and buff....now, none of them look like they are even old enough to have a period yet, let alone 3 kids, but it gives us "big boned" girls a sense of acceptance into the world of yoga-thin.  (Yoga-thin would be the women who are thin enough to actually go out into public, to their dojo-candle-sweat lodge, wearing yoga pants and nothing but a sports bra, regardless of the time of year and looking hot as nails.  I am a gym-er...I wear sweat pants and a hoodie that is big enough to be a robe down to my knees until the VERY last moment of undressing.....2 inches from the treadmill).  So yeah.  I like these chicks who are lifting logs over their heads and shit. They are going to kick some serious ass and make it when Dooms day shows itself.  For sure.

We have some birthdays coming up (Pete's and mine) and I am shocked that both of us would rather celebrate St. Patty's day than our birthdays.  Hell, I would rather celebrate my left boob being smaller than the other one than another birthday, but I was surprised that Pete didn't want me to through him a 3 keg shin dig with all my girlfriends and relatives some of his buddy's.  Hmmph. 

I love that spring is really here, but she seeems a tad early.  Fat people love spring but hate summer.  Summer makes us very aware of how much more skin we are exposing than others in our trendy new tankini's, and we sweat more than a whore in church, pig in church, pig doing a whore....  than a lot of others.  So I'll bask in the sweetness of a mild spring and pray for a cool summer full of turtle necks and more sweat pants.

So this blog went down hill fast, but you know that means I'm feeling sassy once more.  Suck it.

Still Kick'in...without really kick'in.

Yeah, I think it's pretty obvious that I slacked at home.  Just a little, or a lot, or at whatever level you consider me on the couch, watching re-runs of Teen Mom 2 and lifetime movies until 3:20 pm which is 10 minutes before Pete and the girls would get home from school/work, and then I would throw dishes in the sink and/or garbage, whatever was closest and turn on the washing machine and dryer, even if neither had any clothes in them.  See, honey?  I was BIZZY all day long.  And I'm sick, remember...*cough, cough*. 

So now that I'm back to work and actually contributing to the family income once more (and to the local economy, because it's MUCH easier to meet my girlfriends for beer after work versus when I was home all day....you know, I'm showered AND dressed.  Neither of which happened in the same day very often in the last couple of months...sick people, I was siiiickkk, *cough, cough*)  my energy has popped up a notch (can you believe that I really didn't need 15 hours of sleep a day?  Who knew?) and my wardrobe ensembles have more than quadrupled!  I now wear jeans AND a clean shirt, every.single.day.  GO ME!  (Don't ask what the alternative dress atire was.  It involved picking up the closest T-shirt that I almost tripped over getting out of bed, giving her a good sniff and if no passing out occured and something wasn't living in it, she was a winner.  Yeah, I didn't have a lot of visitors who just popped by after a few days of shit like that.)

However, I have found that it isn't always mind over matter.  Like my back freak'in hates me.  It hurts. ALL.THE.EFFING.TIME. (Effing=fucking, by the way.  I mean hey, my mom reads this shit!)  Sitting, which used to be my favorite past time as long as it involved an alcholic beverage coupled with a good friend, is now my enemy and my very expensive SUV is the worst.  I am starting to hate that car.  I look like a freak show getting out of it.  Try sliding down the side of your seat, but not bending or moving your back in any manner.  Good times.  But I shake it off, knowing in just 8 short hours, I have to sit in that damn hurt locker again.  Do you think I would get a huge raise if I just started sleeping at work?

Off to fuel my coffee habit, so I don't look like a pussy at work.  Anyone who doesn't drink at least 15 gallons of coffee a day is habitually teased, and since I can't run away very fast, it's just easier to fit in and pick on someone weaker.  Yes, I am that kind of person....sue me.