Tag: anxiety

Holding Out Hope

As I write, I’m anxiously awaiting my Raley’s grocery order. The good people working at Raley’s have been so overwhelmed with pick up orders that the requested orders have been taking a week. A week. Those poor people. I can’t even imagine the chaos and attitudes they are getting from every Ultimate Karen.

I put my order in Saturday and my reserved time slot to pick it up is Sunday (today) between 11 AM and 11:30 AM.

All week I’ve been second guessing my choices and feeling worried they won’t have some of my items.

I ordered some non-grocery things from Target for the first time using their delivery service a couple days ago, and in the special instructions section I wrote a plea. I said, “I know there isn’t any TP, but just in case you happen upon some, like, maybe, someone hid a pack for later (I don’t even know why they’d do that but hear me out) behind the men’s khakis hanging on the wall and they forgot about it- that’s fair game- can you get me some?

I knew it was a stretch so I wasn’t holding my breath. Of course, my “shopper” didn’t find the khaki contraband toilet paper, but he did throw in a bottle of hand sanitizer as a consolation prize. Not all angels wear wings, some work for Shipt and drive a Geo Metro.

I didn’t even know what to add to my e-cart for my Raley’s order. What does one need during the apocalypse? Apparently, three tubs of ice cream. And dry beans. Nothing making sense anymore.

Planning a grocery list during a pandemic is like trying to order off a Cheesecake Factory menu when you’re tripping balls*. There are too many options and you feel like your choices are really, really, really important and you can’t mess up.

My first try at this pandemic panic buying happened Thursday, March 12th. I had the next day off because we were supposed to be preparing to go to Europe, so it felt like my Friday except not really because it also felt like the End Times.

I tried to make a Disaster Prep Food Shopping list before I left school and all I could come up with was:

  • Water?
  • Canned food
  • Snacks…?
  • TP/Paper towels/napkins
  • Alcohol (isopropyl and beverage kind)
  • …

My friend and I just panic wandered aimlessly, throwing random shit we thought was smart into our cart. We ended up both spending $150 on what can only be explained as the items a high af college student might buy.

I bought frozen pizzas, mug cake mixes, chips and salsa, and candy. I did buy two books to make it a more well-rounded shopping trip, but wtf? My shopping cart was filled with PMS-ing-something-fierce-food-items and nothing wholesome or healthy in the slightest.

I should, probably, cut myself some slack, because this is my first pandemic. I don’t know how one is supposed to prepare for worldwide chaos because that’s only supposed to happen in the movies.

So, here I sit socially isolating in my day pajamas, hoping to the pandemic gods that Raley’s hasn’t run out of ice cream because who needs rice and chicken when the world is ending?

*I’ve never tripped balls but I have a pretty good imagination and I’ve been wine drunk, so

Self-Isolation: Day Four

I really need to type me up one of those fancy schedules we’ve all seen floating around social media because I’ve been an absolute slug of a human these last few days.

While my friends are out there braving the work world or being altruistic, I’m eating all my quarantine snacks. Someone’s gotta do the good work.

Let me know how this goes for ya’ll — every teacher around the world, wondering if people will finally realize we are worth at least a mil a year

This was my big day yesterday. Hold on tight because this’ll be sure to blow your socks right off.

8:00 Alarm goes off but I can’t hear it because I have my earplugs in. Boyfriend has to poke me with his toe claws repeatedly before I realize I’m not actually in line at Subway deciding between a Classic Tuna or a Cold Cut Combo.

Don’t @ me with why I have an alarm set either. I don’t even know.

8:30 Teeth have been brushed, face has been washed, and my oily hair has been dry shampooed with half a can of the good stuff- Batiste.

8:32 Mini anxiety attack when I realize I’ve been too liberal with my dry shampoo and it’s bound to run out. I then remember that all I’m doing is sitting my fat ass on the couch so who cares if my hair looks like I brushed it with a greasy pancake*?

8:45 The bare minimum with makeup has been slapped on, because I can’t give up entirely just yet.

(My current quarantine makeup routine involves foundation and too much setting powder that settles almost entirely on my eyebrows so they look like ghosts. With no mascara and powder coating my eyelashes, my eyes look like tiny pebbles. And the look is complete.)

8:45 to 10:00 I mean to start my coffee and eat something but several internet fights trump sustenance. This is the point at which I realize this is my new diet plan and I feel a renewed sense of meaning.

10:10 Completely forgetting my new diet goals, I add extra Cinnamon Toast Crunch CoffeeMate in my World Market Texas Turtle coffee because this is what I have to take joy in now.

10:10 to 12:35 I resume my fights on the internet with people who have mush for brains and obsessively scroll through articles on COVID-19, hoping someone will report that this has all been a big joke, haha.

12:40 I decide I need a phone break, and with my keyboard warrior-ing, my battery is at 27% so I charge it in the other room while I eat a Velveeta Shells & Cheese cup. It’s the last one, and I know it’ll start a fight but the fake cheese that coats my teeth is worth it.

1:45 I’m knee deep into the first episode of Love is Blind and wondering why there are no ugly people on the show if the point is to show people that looks aren’t everything. Kinda bullshit if you ask me. Maybe I’ll write a post about it on Facebook.

2:00 Upon passing the hall mirror I realize I never brushed the dry shampoo out of my hair and I look like George Washington after a bender. The thought that it doesn’t even matter that I’ve had chunks of dry shampoo coating my hair all day and my face appears to be sucking in my makeup-less pebble eyes floors me for a minute.

2:06 I decide to make myself feel better by watching women who appear to have zero pores on their faces because nothing I do makes any sense.

2:10 I start grazing through our quarantine snacks, wondering how much I can eat without my boyfriend noticing. I decide 18 M&M’s**, 30 crackers, and 15 pistachios won’t be missed.

2:30 Feeling major cabin fever, I walk outside to get some fresh air and instantly feel like I’m in a war movie about WWII France. Not sure why it’s now a war movie and not a post-apocalyptic movie set in Soviet Russia.

2:35 The fresh air motivates me, and I decide to do something productive. Also my butt is sore from all the sitting. I randomly decide I need to vacuum under the bed.

2:45 I vacuum up a sock and three lost dryer sheets and about halfway into the job, I lose steam because if we are going to die from Coronavirus, do I really want to be vacuuming under my bed? Um. No.

2:45 to 4:25 This time is lost to searching for deep web Coronavirus theories because I’m still hoping this is all fake and the government has the anecdote.

4:25 The boyfriend gets home and we discuss the developing news on businesses set to close in our city. We wonder if the business he works for falls under the category of “non essential” and then we both fall silent for a good hour as we let it sink in that we will be together every day, all day, until we die.

5:30 We have a civil discourse fight over the best meal to prepare since we need to start rationing. We agree to disagree that Rice-A-Roni and plain rice are basically the same thing.

6:30 After cleaning up dinner we have another civil discourse about what we should watch on Netflix for the evening. After a nearly 20 minute debate, we decide on Hunters because during uncertain times, a dark show about Nazis is a sure fire way to feel better.

6:30 to 11:00 We spend the rest of the evening taking turns yelling at each other for being on our phones.

“You’re not even watching.”

“Yes, I am” *takes one last sneak peek at my Instagram feed.

“Babe, get off your phone. You just yelled at me for being on my phone!” *as I have my phone hidden under a throw blanket so I can scroll through Facebook.

“I’m not! Just pay attention to the show!” *as he is, very clearly, scrolling through the comments of a news article.

This is going well.

11:30 I fall into bed, exhausted by my day of doing literally nothing productive and wondering how much better or worse it could get tomorrow.

What are ya’ll doing to pass the time? How’s staying at home with your loved ones going? Be honest.

*I can’t claim this as my line. My friend’s dad said this to her when we were in high school. While funny, it’s admittedly pretty mean.

**He 100% noticed the M&M’s. I can’t get away with anything around here.

Currently deciding whether or not Coronavirus memes are still funny…

Contagion 2: Shit Gets Real Real

I used to love post apocalyptic movies because it was fun to scare myself shitless about the world ending because I was fairly confident it was all fiction. I felt safe knowing it wouldn’t be in my lifetime that we would have mass panic over toilet paper and hand sanitizer while a novel virus made its way around the globe. But here we are.

I’m pretty convinced we are starring in Contagion 2: Shit Gets Real Real. I imagine that, at this point in the movie, our audience is thinking, “Those poor fucks. They have no idea what’s coming.”

It’s at that crucial stage in the movie and in life where we can actually make moves to stop this virus from completely obliterating our lives (I’d kind of like to go back to Saturdays filled with racking up my credit card on shit I don’t need at TJ MAXX, thank-you-very-much), but we got Bubba and Ultimate Karen who think it’s fake news that this is a big deal.

As the drama builds in the movie, there are a few brave, headstrong people who choose to self-isolate, giving up their grande iced soy chai lattes with three pumps to be part of the solution not the problem, while the majority of the world goes about their lives like they don’t watch the real news. This is the most frustrating, maddening aspect of this sure-to-be-an-Oscar winner. The audience is yelling obscenities at the noobs who don’t think they are capable of sitting their asses on their couches for a bit to help the greater good.

In a crucial scene, the protagonists brave the grocery store and its like Soviet-Russia-bleak but make it fashun because the heroine is wearing her new rain boots she bought for rainy Edinburgh. It’s tragic, but beautiful because she risks her sanity (she’s an extreme germaphobe) to buy groceries for her family (the camera quickly pans over the Coffee Nut M&M’s, wine, and Velveeta Shells & Cheese to the heroine’s resolute face to remind the audience how brave she is). Meanwhile, Bubba and Ultimate Karen carelessly have lunch at BJ’s like the world isn’t mere weeks away from imploding.

It sounds like every post apocalyptic movie but the twister is that this is real. It’s.really.happening.

Today in Contagion 2: Shit Gets Real Real:

  • My boyfriend and I got in a fight about how to walk through the grocery store full of infested people.
  • I had an absolute meltdown over how many M&M’s said boyfriend had eaten since Friday but it turned out I had eaten the M&M’s.
  • My state canceled school until April 6th, and the boyfriend and I don’t know what that means for our pay.
  • I realized that it’s not fair this is happening this year because my class is the sweetest I’ve ever had and I already miss them.
  • I started precisely 15 internet fights with complete idiots because I’m triggered. Yes, I am, ma’am.

So, how was your day? How are you feeling about the insane movie we’re starring in?

The World’s Gone Mad

Anyone else legit concerned about the toilet paper situation right now? If Coronavirus wasn’t scary enough, I now have to wonder if I truly will need to resort to wiping with an odd sock or some McDonald’s napkins. We’ve all seen the memes and we all laugh, but in the back of my mind, I’m holding it together just barely. All that spins through my brain anymore, like a record on repeat, is the worry I’ll have to just.get.in.the.shower.after.a.poo like a DAMN HEATHEN.

WILL THERE EVER BE TOILET PAPER AGAIN?

NO, REALLY? WILL THERE?

On top of the toilet paper chaos that is, quite fucking frankly, appalling and I’m embarrassed to be part of the human race right now, people are buying out ALL THE FOOD.

Like, does anyone think of others? Along with my dead cold fear I will soon start to whittle away to nothing, I’ve been close to tears thinking of the elderly people all around the world who are being left to fend for themselves. They can’t compete against Bubba Joe and Ultimate Karen with their 18 carts full to the brim with toilet paper that will last a lifetime while the remaining part of society that is sane would just like the normal amount of toilet paper. Mothers can’t even get wipes for their babies because these fools think their 18,456 rolls of TP won’t quite cut it.

So instead of being in the plane that was supposed to be taking me to Paris for spring break, I’m in my sweaty pajamas, wearing a hole in the couch with my ever-expanding ass, while I just sit and worry and worry and worry some more.

The real insanity, though, is how I’m scared we will starve while at the same time I’ve eaten through half our quarantine snacks in just two days.

In all seriousness, though, this virus and the absolute unraveling of society that is happening right before our very eyes has my OCD on red alert.

To try to combat the obsessions and worry, I’m trying to do my small part by staying in as much as possible. I know there are still people who think this is all a big over-exaggeration and then there are the people who are right- ahem- the ones who don’t want to panic but we realize it’s not all “business as usual”, and we know we need to flatten the curve LIKE LAST MONTH.

Whatever your opinion, shits about to hit the fan all over the world. I figured I better bring Fatty back for the time being because, I don’t know about you, but a bit of humor makes shit times feel a bit less shit. So in between my absolute freak outs, I’m going to try to channel my humor and find the bright side, even though it feels like hiding right now.

I’ll check back in soon to let you know how self-isolating is going after I’ve eaten all my snacks and the excitement of “It’s like we are in a movie about the end of the world” wears off.

Bye for now!

Oops, My Bad

I’m posting today to apologize for not posting my usual on Wednesday and today. The Christmas crazies have kicked in and I’m finding myself overwhelmed trying to fit in all the fun. Maybe one year I’ll slow the shit down and actually enjoy the holidays.

I’m fully expecting that you will see an update on how Dumpy and McMilkshakes are doing. Spoiler alert: We’re struggling and dieting during the holidays can suck our sagging back fat.

Check out the first posts in the Diet Chronicles of Dumpy Von Marshmallow Waist and Duchess McMilkshakes:

The First Post

Week Two

The Thanksgiving Edition

I’m positively loving writing ridiculous advice from Aunt Fatty, but I only have one submission waiting for my anti-advice, so I decided to wait and see if more of you felt the need for crappy life lessons from a wholly unqualified individual (to the person waiting: I hope it wasn’t, like, a time sensitive issue. If so, my bad).

So, in order for Free Advice Friday From Your Aunt Fatty to work, I kinda need people seeking advice. I considered just writing fake submissions, but I want to bring real life fuckery to you, not made up bullshit.

So, get to writing in. You can submit your queries here.

Check out the posts I’ve already done thanks to your submissions:

The First Round of Ridiculousness

More Non-Advice

The Last Post?

In going back through these previous posts I’ve done, I’m noticing that each new post got less likes than the last. Maybe you’re all busy with Christmas crap like I am or I was mistaken and ya’ll actually really hate this series?

Well, on that depressing note, I’ll take my leave. Hope to *see* y’all next week.

How to Worry About Your Upcoming Trip in Four Easy Ways

Want to hear something certifiably insane? It’s less than one month until my big trip this summer and I’m obsessing over every conceivable eventuality. I’m not 100% crazy, so in between night sweats and uncontrollable fingernail biting, I’m daydreaming of the lush English countryside and some Patat Frites with a massive dollop of mayonnaise in Amsterdam.

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But, yeah, the majority of my headspace right now is straight up looney tunes. Here, have a little look-see:

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What if I made a mistake and I can’t really afford this like at all?
Is five weeks an insane time to be away?
What if the plane crashes?
What if my baggage is lost forever and I forget emergency underwear in my carry on?
What if I forget my leg (mustache) shaver?
What if I can’t bring my leg (mustache) shaver on the plane?
Are we all, including our luggage, going to fit in the Vauxhall we’re renting?
What if the plane crashes?
What if all the clothes I’m planning on bringing look hideous on me?
What if I get diarrhea in the middle of the English countryside?

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What if our houseboat in Amsterdam sinks in the night?
What if every one of the 3,492 times I looked at my passport expiration date, I looked at it wrong and it really is expired?
What if I get really bad gas on the plane?
What if I get a migraine or cramps right before going into Anne Frank’s house and I can’t fully appreciate the life-altering experience?
What if I can’t sleep on the plane?
What if one or more of our house-stays have bed bugs?
What if we all just want to kill each other?
What if I contract Ebola on the plane?
What if someone steals my phone and I can’t take pictures of the rest of the trip?
What if…

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If you really want to enjoy your trip planning just like me, worry about every single inconsequential detail to the point of madness. Here’s how:
Step 1: Second Guess Every Choice

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From plane ticket buyer’s remorse to vacation locale, second guessing every single choice you’ve made while planning your trip is a sure fire way to drive yourself to spend all of your saved trip money on drink. It’s not a successful vacation unless every single detail of it has been picked apart and turned inside out. It doesn’t say I’m-having-the-time-of-my-life-planning-my-dream-vacation like obsessively wondering how much you could have saved on your plane tickets had you booked a week later or earlier (or if you had booked on a Tuesday at 2 PM like every travel blog says to do) or compulsively checking for a better hotel after you’ve made non-refundable reservations.
Step 2: Procrastinate All Planning Tasks

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When you have a lot to plan, your time would be much better spent binging on The Office (which you’ve watched in entirety 18 different times) or cleaning your oven. It’s not like planning for a trip isn’t fun, but it’s overwhelming af to compare train tickets with Easy Jet tickets or trying to figure out air travel time and time zones. Even worse is figuring out which historic pass covers which historical site you want to see, because, naturally, they don’t cover all of the places you want to see, so to make buying the pass cost effective, you need to figure out entrance fees for all of the 874 sites you want to see (because that’s some tedious shit, you just buy all of the passes and hope for the best). This is why travel agents are still a thing.

Step 3: Worry About Every Single Hypothetical Situation
Travel anxiety almost always stems from one of three major fears (in no particular order)-

  • Plane, train or some other transportation freak accident/death
  • Becoming ill due to sickness or food poisoning during a really inconvenient time (like in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge in standstill traffic, for example)
  • Losing or having your luggage, your camera/phone, money and/or an important document, like your passport stolen


These sound like pretty logical things to be concerned about and prepared for. Any savvy traveler would have procedures and plans in place to help minimize any of these things occurring (Well, except planning to avoid a fiery plane death. I don’t think there’s anything you, as a layperson, can do to influence fate like that. It there is, please message me with every single detail).
If you’re losing sleep over worrying if you’ll be suddenly struck with diarrhea on a crowded underground train or in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, so you start hoarding Imodium, you’re worrying about your trip the right way.
If you come across a story about a freak accident on a plane, so you google for more plane accidents that include the same keywords and suddenly it’s 2 AM and you’re in deep in some really serious conspiracy theories you found after digging through the deepest, most clandestine corners of the dark web, you’re basically winning at being the right kind of savvy traveler.
If you’ve Googled “can houseboats easily sink while you’re sleeping and you won’t know it”, you’re a downright pro.
If the majority of the items in your carry on bag are mini bottles of Lysol spray, travel Clorox wipes, a year’s worth of Airborne, and more than one surgical face mask, you’re basically the travel worrier god.
Traveling is exciting and so, so worrisome. Don’t forget the Xanax!
4. Obsess About Every Single Travel Purchase Decision

Do you like how I moved the text up so you could see Karl’s magnificent boots?
Its a big deal picking out something you need/want to use on your travels. One of these crucial purchases you will need to make is travel sandals (well, if you’re traveling somewhere warm, anyway). If you want comfort without Velcro and style without flat soles, prepare yourself to really go unhinged.
In order to properly stress yourself out during sandal shopping:
1. Ask for recommendations from people that you won’t listen to at all, but still waste everyone’s time, because it’s all part of the process.
2. Find one “comfort” pair of sandals that look stylish enough that are insanely expensive, but rationalize that your feet deserve better than $2 Old Navy flip flops.
3. When you receive your order of $800 sandals, go into a deep depression because they are just made of cheap plastic and are not, in fact, gold-plated.
4. Return the sandals by mail, which will include finding/buying a box that will fit the shoebox (because, naturally, you threw the box it was delivered in away), forgetting the return slip that needs to be placed in the box, and taking no less than two trips to UPS.
5. Buy the cheap pair of sandals you were going to get anyway.
6. Repeat above steps with LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE YOU BUY FOR THE TRIP.
The above steps can and will stress out even the most calm, savvy traveler. If the preparations are getting you down and you need an escape from the stress and you’re getting nowhere with your mantra of “WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?”, try one of these handy ways to de-stress below:
1. Drink heavily.
2. Take a whole Xanax (halvesies are for wimps)
3. Inhale any available carb (cake is particularly medicinal)
4. Binge trashy reality TV (because basically any show on TLC will make things seem a lot brighter in your own world)
I hope you’re able to be all-consumed by every one of the minuscule details of your trip just like I am. It’s really the only way to “do” travel.
Bon voyage!
Trip anxiety is a real bitch, ain’t it? Obviously, this is a highly exaggerated account of my own trip worries and concerns, but I’d be lying if I said one or more of these thoughts haven’t raced through my head multiple times over the course of the last few months. If you really are anxious about your upcoming travels, talk it out with someone. Hell, message Fatty. We’ll talk it out. I’ve also found going on walks through my neighborhood, blasting music that gives me feels while I take a drive right after the sun sets, and funny dog videos helps me ease my anxiety. Travel is one of the greatest experiences in life, but only when you’re sane enough to appreciate it. Love and cupcakes.

Bitty Blog Break

Hey, ya’ll!
Let’s just cut right to the chase.
I’ve been majorly stretching myself too thin. I’ve been trying to plan a huge, five week-long trip while teaching and working a side hustle.
Add trying to keep my home decent-looking, trying to eat healthier, attempting to get my 10,000 steps in everyday (epically failing, btw), running a Facebook group, and trying to have enough passion and energy to write and you have a pretty epic shit show.
Really, I’m managing fine, but I’m not enjoying the writing process and I’ve not felt inspired to write. I’m also not crazy excited with what I’ve put out there.
When this happens (because it happens, ya’ll) I have to just take a step back, recharge, and work on a little self care.
And, if I’m being candid here, I just need plenty of time to sit on my couch thinking about nothing, being a fat piece of poop in order to feel like myself.

I just need a little binge-a-show-I’ve-seen-a-million-times-time
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I’m hoping I’ll be able to write some more travel-themed posts before the big trip, but I’m not making any promises.
I hope ya’ll don’t give up on me.
Love and Cupcakes!

Tomato Poop

I have missed complaining about how fat I am (while doing fuck all about it) so much. So much.
I’ve been pretty focused on my travel posts, because of my trip coming up (in two months-cue the obsessive worrying about literally every possible eventuality), that my I’m-a-failure-at-adulting-because-I-can’t-be-assed-to-put-my-registration-sticker-on-my-license-plate-for-four-months-until-I’m-pulled-over-and-I-eat-entire-tubs-of-Cool-Whip-in-one-sitting posts have kind of been put on the back burner.
But, good news (or not, depending on who you are) I’m finally getting around to trying to lose some weight before my trip, so I’m posting a diet fail post!
I think I’d have really shocked myself and disappointed you all had I attempted to get my dieting shit together in a timely manner.
No, just as can be expected with Fatty McCupcakes, I’m due to depart the states in two months, so now, when it’ll be next to impossible to make much of a dent in my blobby body, I decide it’s finally time.
I’m a fucking genius and I’m winning at life SO HARD.
So, I think I’ve mentioned that I’m a hardcore fan of Weight Watchers. Not only have I had success on the program (I lost 50 pounds 10 years and 60 pounds ago), I’m not keen on restrictive diets that don’t allow me a fucking doll-sized piece of cake even.
I LOVE that I can basically eat anything (within reason and expertly portion controlled) and still lose weight.
However, with the latest WW program, the points are less and the good stuff is worth more. Sugar is more of a sin than fat now. However, there are loads more zero point foods (chicken, eggs, beans, fruit, most vegetables, plain Greek yogurt, etc.). So, I guess it’s supposed to be easier or whatever.
Y’ALL, I CAN BARELY EAT ANYTHING.
If I want to eat my favorite Naked granola with my Greek yogurt for breakfast, there’s no way I can have carbs for lunch or dinner AND eat half a pint of Halo Top ice cream (Halo Top, your deliciously sinful, yet low-cal ice cream is my SALVATION).
So, choices.
It really blows I can’t eat granola AND ice cream. It’s not like I’m asking for donuts and whole pints of Ben & Jerry’s, damn.
I’ve decided that I’d rather eat Halo Top and popcorn like a fat piece of shit in the evenings than eat carbs during the day.
Thus, I’ve had to get creative.
Tuesday night I had beef stroganoff over broccoli, ya’ll. BROCCOLI. I got to *enjoy* my broccoli masterpiece while my boyfriend ate his stroganoff with egg noodles. The fucker.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, we had stroganoff for leftovers last night and since I’d eaten all of the broccoli like a starving sugar addict on day five without the white stuff, all I had left were Brussel sprouts.
Brussel sprouts and stroganoff DON’T MIX. It was not my favorite.

Brussel sprouts are not pasta. As my boyfriend says, “Barfel sprouts are the devil’s nads.”
I’ve also had to get more creative for lunch. I’ve been eating nitrate-free salami, cheese sticks, and cherry tomatoes. I swear it tastes almost nothing like antipasto salad.
But, it’s not terrible.
Well, yesterday, my organic greenhouse-grown cherry tomatoes were still a little wet from when I rinsed them that morning.
I was absentmindedly wiping them off onto a paper towel as I popped them into my mouth, eyes glued on my phone.
When I went to wipe my mouth, I did a double take. It was covered in yellow-green-brown stains.

The offending stain

I thought something smelled funny. I knew it wasn’t that fart.
Wait.
That doesn’t look right.
Fuck.
I knew I should have scrubbed them, instead of just splashed water over them.
Oh.Gawd.
At this point, I was obsessively smelling my paper towel, while one of my students, inside working on make up work, kept stealing “What-the-hell” glances at me.
Then, I smelled my fingers, the inside of the tomato tub, and the paper towel 34 more times.
Poop. It smells like poop.
Instant fucking panic.
While I was wondering how long it’d take for the tomato poop to make me get sick and die, I messaged my boyfriend.
His response, “Baby, I highly doubt your tomatoes are covered in poop.”
Because he had to be wrong, I took to a Facebook group I started to get a woman’s opinion. I shared a picture of the paper towel and basically asked how long I had.
Then, I sat at my desk, just waiting to die.
Oh no. My stomach is gurgling.
I probably have some deadly intestinal disease now.
I better just be proactive and put in for a substitute.
I wonder if the hospital would like a heads up?
*ding*
I got a response to my picture from a very professional-sounding person who regularly grows tomatoes in a greenhouse.
The green-yellow-brown stains from the tomatoes were tomato tar.
I’m still not excited that I ingested something called ‘tomato tar’, but it wasn’t poop. It.wasn’t.poop.
Another near death crisis averted.
See what perils I am faced with when dieting?
#donutsdonthavetar

I don’t know who said this, but they are my people

WTF Am I Even Thinking?

It’s no secret I am currently conspiring to write a book. Well, not simply conspiring. I’ve actually got *most* of it written. It’s just a messed up hodgepodge with almost no direction or central idea/theme/vision, is all.
No biggie.
Excuse me while I go throw up.
Actually, excuse me while I go procrastinate by doing literally anything other than write for my book.
*sits on edge of bed, staring off into nothing for the better part of an hour*

I’m struggling to find a central theme for my ramblings.
Not only that, I’m struggling to write solely for the purpose of someday maybe publishing my words.
I love me the instant gratification that is blogging.
Don’t even lie and say you totally weren’t shaking your head in agreement. You were. I saw you.
I write a post and, almost instantly, I’m met with feedback that feeds my soul (and that ever-present need to be validated).
It’s a really great rewards system.
“Writing” a book is the direct opposite of this.
I *have* to write and then afterwards no one rings a bell or gives me a high five or anything. It’s really disheartening.
So, I’m struggling, ya’ll.
Further, I don’t know what posts to save for my book and which to go ahead and publish on my blog.
So, not only do I have no direction whatsoever in terms of my “book”, I have no blooming idea what I should blog about.
A good example of this conundrum would be an idea I have for a travel series in honor of my upcoming trip to Amsterdam, the U.K. and Ireland.
Many moons ago, I went to the U.K. and Ireland for the first time, and it was, single-handedly, the most amazing thing to ever happen to me. Not only was it epic to experience being in another country, having the time of my life, but also, so.many random and hilarious things happened while there.
Now that I’ve gotten serious (and by gotten serious, I mean I’ve saved some Word documents with some possible already-written blog posts) about actually maybe putting a book together, I don’t know if I should include my travel stories in my book or on my blog.
And then, there’s the crippling self-doubt.
There’s always that.
I don’t want to rush-procrastinate and ruin my only future memoir. It’s not like I have a whole other secret double life that I can write about if I totally bomb telling the first life.
Would anyone notice if I tried to write it again?
Really, WTF am I even thinking?
This is the epitome of first world problems in case anyone needed a good psychotic example for a college paper or whatever.

I’ve been anxiously awaiting the perfect time to use my favorite Andy from Parks & Rec meme. I think it fits. Every time I sit down to write, it’s like wiping a poop marker- “Still poop, still poop”.

The Christmas Eye Twitch

My eye has been twitching for the last week. I haven’t been thinking much about the reasoning behind why my eyelid suddenly breaks out in the Macarena, because all I need to know is IT’S ANNOYING AF.
Earlier today, I was trying to get to Target to buy a few necessities that couldn’t wait until after Christmas.
As I was trying to merge onto the freeway, some hot fart in a huge truck made it nearly impossible for me to get over before the next exit. He was just rolling in the far right lane, WHERE PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO MERGE, at a pace that made it impossible to get in front or behind.
As I was yelling obscenities over my blaring Christmas music and shaking my fists in extreme disapproval, my eyelid started in on “Hey, Macarena!”
Later, as I tried to park at Target, but had to wait while a sloth-like, IDGAF woman unloaded her entire cart IN THE PARKING SPOT I WAS TRYING TO PARK IN, my eyelid again felt like it was Latin dance time.
Then, as I was snaking my way through every man in Reno doing last minute shopping, and all that could be heard was a child’s shrill screaming, my eyelid really started to break it down.
So, I must deduce that my eyelid is twitching BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS!
Please, don’t get me wrong-I love Christmas. Like, so much so, it-has-to-be-perfect-so-don’t-even-try-to-say-you’re-not-making-your-famous-breakfast-casserole-this-year-mom-because-I’ll-die.
So, these are some of the reasons why my eye is twitching and most likely won’t stop until after Christmas, when I can finally relax in my euphoric food drunk stupor.
Worrying:
What if I run out of Tums/tampons/lipgloss/water on Christmas Eve, but I can’t go to the store, because it’s CHRISTMAS EVE?
Who’s going to get sick (and when) over the holidays? Please just let us get through Christmas without fevers, snot, or vomit.
What if I can’t find the 10 pound Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup? What else will I get my dad?
Did I take enough ornament-on-my-tree and holding-a-Peppermint-Mocha-with-mittens photos so everyone knows I’m the most Christmas af?
Will I find my Amazon packages before the thieves who are obviously casing our tiny hole in the wall Midtown apartment?
Did I remember to buy expertly thought-out gifts for everyone that I will then elaborately wrap using $53 worth of ribbon, cellophane, glitter tissue paper, quality wrapping paper, and a real bird in a gold cage?
What if I forget to wash my new plaid thermal pajama pants and I don’t have them to wear Christmas morning with my Ugg boots? I’ll just fucking die.
Did that reindeer beanie I tried on at Old Navy have lice? Why didn’t I think of that before I thought to try it on? Wait. What if all store-bought hats have lice in them? I’ll become Amish and make my own everything.
What if I forget to buy wine? Is that even a thing?
Wondering:
Will drinking my third glass of egg nog give me diarrhea or do I risk it?
Will a gross of Clorox Wipes, hand sanitizer, and Lysol spray be enough for the holidays this year?
Will leaving your Christmas tree on while you’re at the grocery store cause it to spontaneously combust?
How much can I overdo it with the peanut butter fudge, Muddy Buddies, and Bailey’s before I’m comatose?
Why does overeating right before bed make me have dreams involving a centaur Jeff Goldblum eating a chili cheese hot dog? (Because you’re a sick freak.)
How many years will I have to workout to reverse the damage done this Christmas season alone?
Is there a special hell for adults who don’t cover their mouths when they hack up their lungs in public? Please say there is.
Why do I always go way over my Christmas budget? *puts two Bath & Body Works hand soaps in the bag for every one that’s meant to be a “gift”*
Maybe this ought to be titled, “Anxiety-Riddled and Barely Sane”?
So, tell me, what makes your eye twitch at Christmas?

This is my I’m-surprised-it’s-almost-Christmas-and-in-such-an-Instagram-worthy-way. Really, I just look like a giant puckered butthole. Also, I used filters on filters on filters on this bad boy.