I have a confession to make

I went to get my hair cut today, by a different lady from last time. Ashley did a great job, incidentally, but that's not my confession. Oh, nooooooo, it can't be some easy, little, teeny-tiny nothing confession. It has to be controversial. Or not. Whatever. It's my confession, so....yeah. Wait for it......



While she's cutting my hair, Ashley leans over in front of me, to check the even-ness of my bangs (yes, I got bangs this time. And not little-girl, or I-am-a-mom bangs, but sexy bangs. Is there even a such thing? If not, I just invented it!), and.....


I totally look down her shirt.


Ack!!! I totally closed my eyes, because Jeez! I really felt like a perv.





And then she bent over again.
Andddddd....I looked again!



It was like when you drive by roadkill, and you.don't.want.to.look, but YOU DO ANYWAY!





And then she bent over again.
Andddddd....you get my drift.



Is that my confession? Well, yeah, but, there's more.



I um, sorta, um, like boobs!!! There! I said it! (whew) Isn't that pitiful??? They are just so, well, pretty! Okay, well not all boobs are pretty, but I'm not talking about the ones that hang down to your belly, or..... again, you get my drift. And it's not like I look at everyone's boobs, so if you are one of my real-life friends (or one of my bloggy friends!), PLEASE don't be worried that I'm checking out your chest!! (What the frick was I thinking, telling you guys this confession???) I've said it before, and I'll say it again-A woman's body is just so much prettier than a guy's (unless it's one of these guys), so can you blame me?



And to avoid this conversation, I'll just tell you know now. The hairstylist did not have Jennifer Love Hewitt boobs. She had more like Shakira boobs.

So. Yeahhhhh. Um. (blushing)

************************************

Thanks for all the suggestions of what to give my hubby for our anniversary. Apparently, the overwhelming response was BLOW JOB , which makes me wonder if my hubby talked to all of you about this shit. But, okay, whatever, I do love him, so I guess.....aw, hell. I'm getting him a ooey-gooey card!

Woohoo!

I applied for grad school about 2 weeks ago, and just got my undergrad transcript in the mail Tuesday. I was pretty worried that I would have to take the GRE (ugh!), so I ordered the transcript to figure out if my last 60 hours had a GPA of at least 3.0. It took a bit for me to figure out HOW to do that (I'm a social worker, not a damn mathematician!), but once I did....
WOOHOO! 3.302 for the last 65 hours!!! Yipeeeee! No GRE for me!

Today I received a letter in the mail saying that I was accepted into the Social Work program, but not yet accepted by the university itself. Okaaaaaaay...?? It makes sense, but really, it doesn't, but whatever. I'm going to grad school!!!!! (Woohoo x2!)

In other exciting news, I have officially OFFICIALLY decided that I can no longer do this jelly-belly (Mmmmm, Jelly Belly's!), chunky-monkey (Mmmm, Ben & Jerry's), love handles (ick)BULLSHIT. My weight was consistent in high school, and I gained the freshman 15 my sophomore year (Thankyouverymuch, 18 packs of The Beast, and Taco Bueno runs at 2am, every frickin' night). Need I say why I gained weight and also got my one and only D in school EVER?? (F-ing Statistics class!) I started running, and lost that sophomore 15 pretty easily. I don't even remember stressing about it, or starving myself; it just sorta fell off.

Now? Not so much. After having my girl (almost 3 frickin' years ago! Ohmy.gosh.), I weighed only 5 lbs. more than my pre-pregnancy weight. Within about 6 or 7 months, I was down to my normal size (besides the gynormous boobies). Then, when I moved into my current home, I started to notice that some of my clothes didn't fit as well. I blame it on several things:

-Medication
-Lack of exercise
-Depression
-Changing my eating habits, and then trying to change them back
-Turning 30?
-Chocolate cake
-Creme Brulee
-Homemade ice cream
-Jelly Belly's
-Dulce de Leche ice cream, in little handy-dandy containers, that I can conveniently hide in the door of the freezer, and NO ONE KNOWS.
-Those f-ing 100 calorie snack packs, that DO NOT FILL ME UP. It's like that damn chip commercial-Bet you can't eat just one.
Nope, sure can't.

So, not only are my clothes not fitting well, but I'm so.tired.all.the.time. And my thighs rub together. And my arms, which have always been muscular and big in a good way, are now big in a not-so-good way. I actually see (GASP!) cellulite on my upper arms. And my hips, which have pretty much sucked since I got pregnant, are wayyy out of shape. I mean, why the hell can't my hip swivel like it used to during crazy sex? Why must it cramp up, to the point that my entire leg is rock hard, and I'm crying because I cannot move it-ouchouchouchouch-don't touch me!don't move my legs! help! Ack! My hip, my hip, my hip!!! My jelly belly has transformed into an upper jelly roll. The backs of my thighs look like I got hit with some buckshot. Or hail. Or a carton of cottage cheese. My boobs are even more boobaliscious than usual. My bras are getting a bit, overwhelmed, shall we say? And yes, I realize the assets I have, but they are also such asshats, because they are a pain in my ass.
In all honesty, the last time I got on a scale, I had gained 20 lbs. Which makes me a mere 12 lbs. from my weight when I was 9 months pregnant.
I just can't do this shit anymore. I'm only 30, and my body is screaming 'You are fucking 80! Bahahahaha! How 'bout them apples!'

And yes, I have said this before: I am sick of this shit. And I begin to exercise, and I eat more of the stuff I really love (fruits and veggies). But then life gets in the way, and exercise falls off the priority list (very busy woman, I say!).

What has changed this time, you ask? Well, you could say I had a bit of an eye-opener. As in, my eyes opened, my eyeballs actually fell out, and rolled under the couch with the tufts of dog hair.

I saw a picture of myself that my mom took while in Mexico. I was in my bathing suit, standing on the stairs of one of the pools. And it is not pretty. At all.

Those of you who know me, have all said this: Oh, you look great. Oh, you must wear the weight well. You look the same. You are too hard on yourself.

And I am the first one to tell you that whatever area of your body you are sensitive about will be the first area you look at when you stand in front of the mirror, or look at a photo of yourself.

But this? It is ridiculous.

I just cannot do it anymore.

So I signed up for a boot camp. I start July 14th, 3 days a week, for an hour each day, for 4 weeks. I am so excited. I need to see some results to keep me going. I need to hurt all over, puke, and guzzle a few gallons of water after each workout. I need to be so worn out that I get another burst of energy. I need this.

I also need this to make myself feel better inside. Let's face it: in this country, people focus on the outside. The color of your skin, the brand of clothing you wear, what neighborhood you live in, what kind of car you drive.....
No one takes a good long look on the inside unless they like what they see on the outside. So, I can't really be happy inside, until I am happy with my outside. I know that it shouldn't be that way...I need to embrace my body, accept myself, blah blah blah, insert more psychobabble here. But really, it comes down to this: I don't feel pretty, I don't feel sexy, I don't feel attractive. I don't see those things when I step in and out of the shower. I just don't. I know it could be worse. For sure. But this is 'worse' for ME. So, I'm off to make a change, and hopefully start to like my outsides a bit more in the next month, so I can start to feel comfortable with my insides again.

And they're off!...

This past Saturday, I went to the horse races. It was the first time I had been to the racetrack here in the Metroplex and I was extremely excited. Oh, and it also happened to be $1 day. $1 admission, $1 parking, $1 programs, $1 hotdogs, $1 sodas, and BEST OF ALL: $1 BEER. I'll give you a few seconds to re-read that and catch your breath.


Hi. You're back already?

So, anyway-$1 beer is what drew my husband, and I have to say, it was the first non-child event I've gone to in awhile, so the beer was a big draw for me too. I planned on going Kentucky Derby style (a la Big Floppy Hat), but I ran out of time. So, instead, I pulled on a pretty orange sundress that showed off my best assets , (and no, those aren't actually my assets, but close-I try not to show them off too often, but the fact that they are big isn't such an easy thing to hide!!!), slipped on some flip flops, and off I went! And it was A BLAST! I had such a great time!
And I was sooooo not into big bets, but I came out a winner! I won $28.60! Woohoo! Don't spend it all in one place!!
(But I did-I spent it, along with gift cards, at one of my favorite-est stores, buying clothes for my vacation).
Oh, and while I'm chatting about the store, let me show you what I got: this (and YES, for cripe's sake, I bought a damn tank top to go under it, so my f-ing assets aren't falling out on the table)
and these and these and this!
And yes, I totally realize that I am not a teenager anymore, and nor am I a 'junior' and that I am 30 f-ing years old, but I love this store. And it's cheap. And the shoes are cute, cute, cute!!!

I totally want to go to the Kentucky Derby someday. Before I'm old and gray and decrepit (although my hubby, after a few dozen $1 beers, so lovingly pointed out that he thinks he saw a gray hair on my fuzzy head. WTF? Hello, drink another one. Sheesh, I should have made time to buy the hat, so the fuzzy gray hair wasn't blowing in the breeze. )

(ps. I do not have gray hair. end of story.)


And prior to going to the races, I went to another kind of race Saturday morning. I have been doing this walk for about 7 years, and my friend Kristy and I try to make it to both the Fort Worth and the Dallas ones. The turn-out for this one was HUGE! Usually it is the Dallas race that is a bit overwhelming (what, with it's 400,000,000 women in pink), but I think Fort Worth is catching up! So we walked the 5K at a brisk pace, up and down hills, in beautiful weather, and my ass and calves are still sore! So does that mean I get to skip a work-out tonight???

Hell no.

Because I have 20 lbs. to lose.

And I'll just leave that nasty little subject for another blog. Don't even get me started.......

The night-time fairies and other annoying b.s.

So, I would have posted this last night if it were not for the fact that I worked until midnight and I was worn-the-hell-out by the time I realized I was dozing on my laptop.

First off, the cast is off. My girl is cast-free! She is a scaly, hairy little thing with a limp, but there is no longer a cast! She cried about peeling, and didn't think she could walk the whole first day. Saturday night she finally walked and turned back to me and said, 'MOMMY, I can WALK!' with this incredulous smile on her face. Well, DUH.

Sunday night was a real bitch. I must have pissed off the night-time fairies or something. I'm not sure how I got on their shit list, but if anyone has their phone number, I would really like to call them and ask them what the hell I can do to get back into their graces!! Anyway. Sunday night: Grace had a fever, choking on her snot, and was up allllll night crying, coughing, and yelling at me that 'my nose is RUNNNNNNNING!' I ended up sleeping on the floor in her room most of the night, if you can call it that. My 30 year old ass and joints cannot handle the hard floor. I was walking around like a 90 year old woman all day Monday.

Monday night: Ahhhhh. Silence, after she screams for 25 minutes because I WILL NOT lie down on the floor next to her bed until she falls asleep. About 2 seconds after I settle into my covers, she starts choking on her snot again. Like, to the point of major gagging. Lovely. This led to another night of being up alllll night, pretty much.

Last night: I working my butt off last night on some paperwork. I even turned off the TV, even though I wanted to watch a few of my recorded shows (my new unnecessary evil is The Bad Girls Club). And the entire time, it rained and thundered. I seriously thought it was hailing a few times. And my daughter has a bit of an issue with thunder. She tells it to 'go-way!' and says that it 'is not bery nice' and needs to 'go in the trash!' So I kept flinching every time I would see a flash of lightning, just praying that it wasn't followed by a big clap of thunder...which it was, of course. And each time she would wake up and moan "Momma", which would cause me to freeze and hold my breath until I was blue or she stopped moaning.

So after I discover the drool on my laptop, I go to bed. And about 2 seconds after I pull the covers up to my chin, a huge flash of lightning fills my room, and....you guessed it!-Thunder! Lots of it! Grrrrr.

The night-time fairies suck, because allll night long, it rained, hailed, and thundered, and alllll night long, she woke up, moaning "Momma" or screeching. So.....allll night long, I was jolted awake by thunder and my girl. And really, it must be the whole mother gene that makes me wake up at the slightest sound coming out of her room.

So. Three nights in a row of shitty sleep, tense shoulders, holding my breathe, and.....my f-ing husband snoring his ass off in the bed, not missing a damn wink of sleep. What the hell is up with that??? It is sooo unfair.

Maybe the night-time fairies are male? What have I done wrong? Why must I be plagued with stupid shit that stresses me out all night long, when this is the time that my body should be relaxing and recharging? Sheesh.

More on my husband:

When he plays his PS3, he tends to forget about everyone and everything around him. But! His radar is on when it comes to my getting up. I will get up to go to the restroom, or get a drink, and as soon as my ass is about 2 mm off of the couch, he says:

"Can you hand me my drink?" (which is about 4 feet away on the end table)

(First off, we've been married almost 8 years, so I don't know why I would expect that he would say 'Please'. But really, come on, I am not just some lady getting you your shit, I'm your wife. )

So I usually get the damn drink for him, but lately I have been bitching as I do it:

"Seriously, you were just up half a minute ago-you couldn't get the damn thing yourself?"

Or: "It is 4 freakin' feet away from you! Get it yourself!"

So I say some variation of that tonight, and he replies:

"Well, that's not very nice. I thought we were supposed to do things for each other?"

Ha. Please don't make me beat you to a bloody pulp.

"What the hell ever, Cockatoo." (his hair was sticking straight up on the top of his head)

"Shut up, Saggy Boobs".

Nice, huh?

I'll be happy to stay up all night tonight if it allows me the opportunity to smother him as he snores and dreams of some hot blonde with un-saggy boobs. (Oh, and by the way, every damn time I tried to take a picture of his crazy hair, he would close his eyes like the flash was more than he could handle. Dork.)