I was tagged by The Gay Stepdad in his Get to Know Me post. He listed me as a blogger he’d like to get to know more. I hope he knows what he has done, because I’m a massive over-sharer. Ya’ll ready for this? Brace yourselves. Hold onto your socks. Maybe, use the restroom first, because this is gonna get weird. Actually, it’s probably going to be boring, but I don’t have my other posts ready to publish yet. So, sorry not sorry.
1. Who are you named after?
Oh boy. Are ya’ll ready for some complicated shit? So, I’m named after my maternal and paternal grandmothers. Here’s where it gets fun. My “actual” name is Dorothy Catherine. Not once have I ever gone by Dorothy. Not once. My parents never even intended on calling me Dorothy, but they did intend on calling me Katie. However, they wanted to honor my mother’s mother first and foremost. So, instead of making it simple by calling me Catherine Dorothy (making the name “Katie” make more sense) they decided to stick with Dorothy Catherine “Katie”. I know.
Every first day of school was a nightmare. When I got to middle school, I had to explain the convoluted way my name ended up as Katie eight different times in the course of one day.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
2. Do you like your handwriting?
My handwriting changes depending on the day, the writing utensil I’m using, the surface I’m writing on, and my mood. I like my handwriting on the 82,567 anchor charts I have in my classroom, so I’d say I’m pretty happy. Dang, I don’t know how I’d sleep at night if my handwriting looked like crap and I had to see it all day long, on every wall and surface. What a potential nightmare that’d be!
3. What is your favorite lunch meat?
I know you all have wanted to know the answer to this particular question for some time. As much as I’d like to share, I feel this is an incredibly personal question that only my boyfriend should know.
Oh, I misread this question.
Salami.
4. Longest relationship?
Seven Years’ War. It ended in a battle wherein I almost cut an 18 year-old midget and her bearded fool. It wasn’t a pleasant time in history.
5. Do you still have your tonsils?
Yes, and if I wasn’t such a scaredy cat who needs her voice for her career, I’d get them removed by choice. Why you ask? Well, sometimes I get those nasty tonsil stones that smell like death. When I first got one, I put it in a bag; made an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat doctor; and spent the day mentally drafting my will, convinced I was dying.
#poopchunkssuck*
6. Would you bungee jump?
Hell to the I’d-shit-my-pants-NOPE.
7. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Actually, yes. Most of my shoes don’t just slide off of my fat feet. It’s one of the many inconveniences of being plump. Also, I dare anyone to just slip off Converse. It ain’t happening.
8. Favorite ice cream?
OH SNAP. Where do I even start? When I’m feeling naughty, a good cake batter ice cream with an icing ribbon and cake pieces is the only thing that will do. If I feel like I need to tone it down a bit, I am all about TruWhip and rainbow sprinkles. SHIT. I need some now.
9. What is the first thing you notice about people?
I’m going to break this down by sexes. The first thing I notice about women is their eyebrows. If their eyebrows are not on point, I judge the hell out of them. Every other YouTube video is an eyebrow tutorial. Get with the program.
Is that bad?
The first thing I notice about men is their height. When a man is really short, I always wonder how they feel about that. Like, are they insecure about it? Do they only like women smaller than them or are they into being the small spoon? Clearly, these are important questions.
10. Football or baseball?
Source
Baseball too…
11. What color pants are you wearing?
Wouldn’t you like to know? Actually, I’m wearing my black leggings with the holes in the inner thigh area. It’s laundry day.
12. Last thing you ate?
Oh, man…
Well, I ate a bowl of cereal. Only, it wasn’t with milk, but TruWhip. And, instead of cereal, there were sprinkles. It’s kind of like cereal, if you think about it.
This is TruWhip:
13. If you were a crayon what color would you be?
“Black is ‘Slimming'”
14. Favorite smell?
Baking bread. A fresh bottle of wine. Lavender.
15. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?
I try never to answer my phone. I also try to send an email whenever possible. Despite this, I still had to call to get a refill on my Xanax. It’s that kind of year.
16. Hair color?
A little bit of brown. A little bit of balayage blond. A little bit of bastard gray.
17. Eye color?
Baby blue, baby.
18. Favorite foods to eat?
I really don’t have enough battery on my phone to answer this question. Let me just make it easier by saying: all the foods, except lima beans.
19. Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings? I think you mean chick flicks or feel good movies, because happy endings are strictly XXX and I’m not about that life.
I like all movies, except Oscar-nominated flicks. Blech.
20. Last movie you watched?
I actually got The Arrival from Redbox Friday night. It was too boring and slow for me. I didn’t even finish it. I also forgot to return it until today, so I’m basically winning at life.
21. Favorite holiday?
ERMAGERD CHERSMERSE (you have to say it out loud).
22. Beer or wine?
Both. A lot of both.
23. Night owl or early bird?
I’m a teacher. I haven’t seen 11 o’clock in years.
24. Favorite day of the week?
Friday. I love me some Friday so much.
24 1/2: Which three of your favorite bloggers do you want to know more about?
Blair, An Historian About Town, and Charlotte
25. Who were the latest three people to follow your blog (link to their about page)?
Jennifer’s Kitchen Blog
Traci York
Old House in the Shires
*My friend Alyssa describes her hubby’s tonsil stones as “poop chunks”. This is such an appropriate name, so it’s what I call those foul creatures now, too.
Unbeknownst to me, this tag was started by Stomper Dad. Go give him some love!
Tag: blog
The Happy Teacher Challenge
A couple weekends ago, my teacher friend and I engaged in a fun day of learning on a Saturday. I had to get up at 6:30 on a Saturday and had to put on a bra and makeup on my day off. I totally did not have a shot of whiskey in my coffee or a super sugary filled donut for breakfast.
One of the break out sessions we signed up for was all about Social Emotional Learning for the educator. They sold the class like we would learn skills to feed our souls and regenerate our purpose.
Pretty quickly, we called bullshit.
After reading an article that stated my teacher burnout was due to my low social emotional intelligence, I pretty much mentally checked out.
At the end of the session, we were handed a gorgeous color copy (you know you’re a teacher when a piece of paper has more value solely due to it being printed in color) of The 30 Day Happy Teacher Challenge.
We looked at each other like, “Holy shit, yes!”
We both need more happiness in our lives in regards to our school year, so we were so down for the challenge.
That is, until we actually read the “challenges”.
Double lame with some “fuck that” sprinkled on top is what this challenge consisted of.
Most of the “challenges” are things I do every single day, because they are what good teachers, who have a solid pedagogy, do. And, some of them, like assigning an exit ticket (one or two questions to gauge understanding) depress the ever-loving crap out of me a lot of the time.
When we saw, “Happy Teacher Challenge”, we both thought it had to involve alcohol, days off, and lots of chocolate. Not one of those things are included.
For shame.
Here’s the challenge:
I blurred out the copyright name, because I don’t want to shame this teacher. I’m sure they meant well, but, well, just, no.
So, after being utterly disappointed and underwhelmed, I decided to make my own “Happy Teacher Challenge”.
In case there are any fuddy-duddies reading this, or people who have not one ounce of humor, know this is satire. It’s not literal.
I’m not fancy and also have way too much shit to do, so I didn’t make this into a pretty calendar, so you get a list. Quityerbitchin.
1. Pull a trusted colleague aside to whisper all of those ‘fucks’ to that you have been holding in.
2. Have your students partner up and organize a section of your room. Call it OCD: Beginner’s Edition, or just Life Skills.
3. Finally strike up a conversation with the idiot who keeps jamming the copier and leaving it for someone else to deal with. Getting how you feel off your chest first thing in the morning will make you feel ready to tackle a day of holding in how you feel all over again.
4. Spend your entire prep period sending teacher memes to your teacher friends. These might be especially apropos:
Michael Scott knows!
5. Take a short walk down to the vending machine in the teacher’s lounge for a much-needed soda during lunch. When everything but Dasani water is sold out, take another short walk to your car where you have a nice, little scream.
6. Calm yer tits, paper. Organize the stacks of papers on your desk labeled “to be graded” by sweeping them into the garbage can. They’ll just end up crumpled around a moldy bag of apples in the back of their desk anyway, so…
7. Think of a student who is always well behaved and really smart. Pick them to lead your math lesson for a day.
8. Fill out a staff appreciation for your fellow teacher in arms. Luckily you have a really good one this time: “Mr. Walton is a real star for cleaning the word, ‘sex’ off of the boys’ bathroom wall during his only break last Tuesday”.
9. Buy this shirt for yourself (and wear it to school immediately upon receiving it):
Buy here
10. Take an Ambien and a nap under your desk during lunch.
11. Ask your students to draw a portrait of you, and laugh all the way to the wine aisle at your nearest liquor store.
12.Download a fun desk planner, attempt to laminate it, and when the laminator is broken AGAIN, just buy one on Amazon.
13. Bribe your custodian with a Starbucks gift card so that they will keep providing you with those paper ass gaskets. When you share a bathroom with 20+ eight- and nine-year-olds, they make all the mental difference.
14. Make a very serious effort to smile more. Even while saying, “It goes in the turn in basket” for the nine billionth time. Bonus: your excessive smiling with creep them out.
15. Take a goofy picture with your students-it’s super cute. Just crop out the kid throwing up gang signs.
16. Do a compliment circle with your students to start your morning. Maybe they’ll notice your new Kate Spade earrings or overly-expensive Tieks that they’ll scuff after three days.
17. It’s Life Skills day again! Provide a Swiffer duster and a push vacuum, and they will actually want to clean the room.
18. Play some Enya, add some lavender essential oil to your diffuser and transport yourself during Guided Reading. Hey, it’s better than nodding off. Calgon, take me away!
19. Drink your double espresso out of your World’s Okayest Teacher mug, and remind yourself that you are doing your very best, dammit.
But it here
20. Make time to sit on your fat arse at the end of day. In fact, make time to sit accompanied by a glass of wine, loaded nachos, and some Netflix. Getting up 20 times a day from the kidney table counts as exercise. Thighs of steal, man. Thighs.of.steel.
21. Bring home the contraband notes they write to each other that you find on a daily basis. Laugh over their spelling choices and sweet innocence with a glass of wine and your dwindling sanity. Math sux bols!
22. Organize your files on your teacher computer with fun new folder names like, “Important Shit”, “Crap I Will Never Look At Again”, and “Bullshit I Have to Deal With”.
23. Share passwords to Teachers Pay Teachers, HBO Go, Discovery Ed, Match, and Flocabulary. Sharing is caring.
24. Encourage students to bring cupcakes for their birthdays. It’ll create positive memories for them and you won’t have to fund your cupcake habit. But, store-bought only, and remind them not to forget the Capri Sun (organic tropical punch pairs nicely with a good white cake and vanilla cream cheese frosting).
25. Bring a bottle of wine to weekly planning with your grade level. Watch how your lesson plans are utterly transformed.
26. Download a countdown app and set the date for the next school break. Watch the seconds count down as you get closer and closer to freedom.
Get the same app here.
27. Do you work with an overly harried colleague who needs some “chill the fuck out” time? Buy them this mug, if they have a sense of humor, it’ll make their year:
Buy it here.
Don’t forget to include some mini booze bottles and a couple Xanax. Bonus: You basically own them now.
28. Make sure you plan “Coffee/Wine Bitch Hours” with your teacher friends. These people and the moments you spend commiserating is a huge part of why you might remain sane during your career.
29. DON’T assign an exit ticket so that you can briefly, blissfully believe your students understood what you were going on about for 40 minutes.
30. Stand at the door and give your students a high five as they leave for the day, knowing you don’t have to see them for another 18 hours.
So, what do you think of the challenge? Did I forget anything? Let me know in the comments.
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Forever Branded a Fatty
Hey, it’s Friday! Shit, yes. So, I did a thing Wednesday.
I got a cupcake tattoo!
I had originally wanted to just get a tiny one on the inside of one of my fingers, but I’m kind of a why-get-the-donut-hole-when-you-can-get-the-donut kind of girl.
So, I guess there’s not much more to say about that.
Source
With out any further ado, the pictures:
My virgin wrist
This was the most attractive out of all the pictures my friend took. So, obviously, that’s saying something. But, you gotta have the “during” photo.
And…
Ta-Da!
It’s bigger than I had initially thought I’d go, and I had a brief freak out moment, but now I’m just in love.
FATTY MCCUPCAKES FOREVER, BISHES!
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Social Media Monday
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Hey, All.
Social Media Monday is probably not a thing, but Imma make it a thing.
So, this’ll be a wham bam thank ya ma’am type of post. Below are links to the social media that I use the most. If you’re so inclined, you could follow or ‘like’.
Please and thank you.
Faceboob
Twitter
Insta
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Being a Blogger-Bitch Sesh
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When I decided to start my second blog, I promised myself that I wouldn’t get obsessed with followers and ‘likes’. I didn’t want it to be about that-the competive rat race to get as many ‘likes’ and followers as possible. Writing is my passion and I feel whole when I’m actively engaging in my passions. I don’t feel good being a how-many-people-are-following-me-whore.
But, let’s be real. A huge part of blogging is attaining followers and garnering ‘likes’ on your blog and across all social media. The more ‘likes’ and shares the more your content is read.
It’s just how it is.
Part of growing a blog is giving as much, if not more, than you are receiving. Just like in a healthy relationship, it’s all about an organic balance between the give and take.
Over the last, almost two years, I have developed relationships with amazing bloggers and people via WordPress. The talent out there is beautifully, abundantly full. It’s inspiring to read and interact with other blogs and bloggers.
So, it really burns my bitchy biscuits when I spend my rare free time to interact with other bloggers’ content and they don’t reciprocate.
Don’t.be.an.asshole.
It’s all about the give and take, people. If you want other bloggers to read your blog, read theirs. At the very least, give them a ‘like’. If you’re on the reader, it couldn’t be simpler to do this.
Like, really.
Another thing that kills me (since we’re being honest) is the amount of blogs out there that merely contain post after post of stock photos with quotes that may or may not belong to the blogger.
These blogs sometimes get loads of attention. You stole content from someone else, and that’s what people ‘like’?
Figures.
The bloggers I adore the most are those who you can tell spent time, energy, heart on what they post.
I’m sharing some of my favorites, because it’s been too long since I last did this and these fabulous writers and bloggers deserve the attention and praise:
Charlotte Graham
Kate
No Love For Fatties
Stephanie
When I Thought I Was Fat
I Will Not Live In Vain
Deb
The Revenge Wogger
Donkey Bytes
The Gay Stepdad
Suzie Speaks
The Shameful Sheep
Soul Gifts
I am so sorry if I forgot anyone. I went through my email and used the most recent posts from blogs I follow to find the blog addresses of the blogs above. Please let me know if we interact frequently on WordPress and I failed to list you here. I’ll make it up to you.
Despite the hard work it is to gain legit followers, I think the hardest part of being a blogger is finding the balance between sharing your work on social media in a refrained it’s-cool-if-you-want-to-read-my-post-also-cool-if-you -don’t and being way too in everyone’s face about it.
Because of this, I rarely remember to post on my Fatty McCupcakes Facebook page and Instagram. I do not want to be that person who people unfollow on every social media site for being way too overbearing and pushy.
With that said, another one of my blogging annoyances is the lack of support from people you would think should be more supportive.
I read an article awhile back about the struggles most budding writers face, and one of the biggest ones was the fact that you won’t always have the support of your close friends and family. Whether it’s because your content is disagreeable to the people you know, they don’t understand how to access your writing, or they simply don’t have the time or don’t care, it’s never fun to not be supported.
I’m lucky that so many of my family and friends actively read my blog and support me in any way they can, but the absence of some makes me wonder. I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. It does.
I also wonder how I can have 400 some Facebook friends and not even 200 likes on my blog page. How hard is it to hit ‘like’? I’m not selling you something. I don’t bombard your feed with annoying, repetitive garbage. I don’t pester you for attention.
So, what gives?
These are just some of my personal struggles and annoyances that come with being a blogger.
What are some of yours? I’d love to hear!
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5 Reasons Why I'm Failing at Adulting
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1.When my students do or say something turdly, I really, just once, want to say, “I know you are, but what am I?” I know… but it would be so awesome to give them a little dose of the ridiculous excuses/responses/attitudes they give me every.single.day.
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2. Every year when I renew my car registration, I don’t put the new sticker on my license plate until I get pulled over. It’s like tradition. It is just so hard and takes too much effort to wipe the dust and grime off of my license plate and place the new sticker over the 10 that are already there, about to fall off. Pure unadulterated laziness.
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3. Every month, since I was 11 (why, God?) Aunt Flo has visited. One would think that after three decades of this ridiculousness, I would know to be prepared. Yet, every month, I ruin a pair of panties and I have to waddle into the store, with an entire roll of toilet paper wrapped around the crotch of my underwear.
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4. I love to wait until the bitter end before a credit card payment is due. That way, the extra money I was planning on using to pay down some of the debt can be used to buy new shoes or way too many Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccinos far before I have to make the payment. Winning.
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5. I buy bananas for one sole purpose: I like to watch things slowly wither and die. For what other purpose do bananas serve? I sure as hell never eat them.
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I Was An Asshole
I was a strange, precocious child. I was the kid that makes every teacher silently mouth, “What the fuck” several times a day. I never stopped talking. I also did weird, inquisitive things, and I said, probably, thirty times a day, “Mom, watch me do this!” I was annoying with a capital unbearable.
I recently shared a memory on Facebook about a time when I was envious of the dog’s dinner. I’ll just share a screenshot:
If it was ever any wonder where I got my random weirdness from, I think the mystery has been solved. When I shared this memory the other day with my mom, this is what she said:
“Oh, I thought canned dog food looked really good, too. In fact, back when I was a kid, they put barley in it and it looked almost exactly like beef and barley soup, before the water was added. So, um, I would eat it.”
Along with salivating over the disgusting can of wet dog food, I would also sneak butter. Half of the stick of butter would be missing from the butter dish all the time. I would escape to the hall closet with my prize, and it was usually blamed on my dad. Win!
I think this is a testament as to why I’m weird and fat.
So, this random smell-induced memory led me on a nostalgic trip down memory lane about all of the weird things I did as a kid.
Care to hitch a ride?
1. I was fascinated by penises at an early age.
I was quickly barred from bathing with my boy cousin when we were just innocent babes, because whenever they put us together in a bathtub, I thought his little member must have been a fun pull toy. His little face would be in agony and his eyes big as saucers, and they’d realize pervy baby Katie had her fist clenched over his pee pee again.
My dad stopped taking me places solo, because inevitably I’d have to go to the bathroom (I used to have to visit the bathroom at every single place we went to-creepy, random gas station and all), and, obviously, he couldn’t let a young child go in the restroom by themselves. So, I’d have to accompany him in the mens’ room. That was a recipe for disaster from the get-go.
After I did my thing, he needed to use the restroom too. He told me to stand in one place, where he could see my feet as he was in the stall. Almost immediately after he closed the stall door, my feet disappeared.
Where did he find me?
On hands and knees, under the urinals, staring up at the men using them.
To this day, I still pray they just didn’t see the little girl with stark black pigtails under the urinal when they unleashed their no-nos.
That was my first adult penis, I just didn’t know it at the time.
My dad was appalled and stopped taking me anywhere, other than the drive thru, by himself from that day forward.
2. I was way too interested in urinals (obviously).
When I was a toddler, up until I started Kindergarten, I went to a daycare called, Thumpers. When it was potty time, they would line up the boys and girls in separate lines. Even then, at such young ages, the girls took twice as long as the boys. As such, they would have to let the girls start going in the boys’ bathroom, or the girls would be in the line for the restroom all day. I always volunteered, or I would push myself to the front of the line, so I could go to the boys’ bathroom. I was always so jealous that they got to stand up to pee, and use such a strange apparatus to do so.
Well, one day, a kid pooped in the urinal. Since I had pushed my way into the boys’ bathroom that day, I got to see the offending excrement with my own two eyes. I immediately ratted out my cousin (the same poor kid who almost got his weiner ripped off by yours truly).
I had no obvious proof, but it had to be him.
Still, to this day, I swear it was him, only now he punches me and holds me on the ground with his giant Popeye arms. It’s kind of scary. I never learn.
3. I had really fun bad ideas.
Speaking of Thumpers, it was there that I did the only truly naughty thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
One of my favorite teachers was this older lady named, Doris. She was so nice and fair. I really don’t know why I chose her as my victim.
One day, as she was putting my lunchbox in the refrigerator and I was just standing there, right behind her, twirling a thumbtack between my thumb and pointer finger, I did it.
Let me explain a little better. I was following her a little too closely, and when she bent to squeeze my lunchbox into the fridge, her ass was just millimeters from my face. And I had a tack.
So, I did it.
I stuck the tack deep into her rump.
I really don’t know why I felt that was a good idea, because I spent literally all day in time out. It was then that I realized being bad did not pay off.
4. I had a loud speaking voice.
My mom’s second favorite story to tell about me involves penises (again), my favorite soda, and KFC.
I was pretty young when this happened, so it’s still thought of as a cute, kids-will-say-the-darnedest-things-outburst.
We went out for a special dinner at the local KFC (we didn’t go out much. Not because we were super poor, but because it wasn’t the thing back then to eat out all the time). I was very adamant about making sure I got what I wanted all the time, especially when we ate out. I think I told my mom thirty times that I wanted Dr. Pepper, but I was still afraid she maybe missed hearing me somehow.
As my mom went up to the counter to order, from across the busy, family-filled restaurant, came my booming voice, because I had to make sure…
“Mom, I’ll have a Dr. Pecker!!”
I couldn’t properly pronounce “pepper” and due to the urgency of the matter (she might have accidentally gotten me water-gasp), that’s how it came out.
I’m always sure to embarrass, still to this day.
5. My surprised reaction was (is) a loud, “whoa!”
As we’ve learned, it was always a crap shoot taking me anywhere. I might shout “penis!” in a quiet library, or maybe I’d be lost and then found on the ground of a restroom, staring up at a man’s taint. You never knew, and I think that was the real danger that was being around me as a child.
Around the same time that the “Dr. Pecker” incident occurred, I struck again. Why my parents took me anywhere was beyond me.
I was never shy about pointing out painfully embarrassing things about people and things. I was a real asshole. So, the fact that the #1 embarrassing Katie story occurred at a buffet, is almost too obvious. It’s almost like my parents wanted me to shout to someone random, clear across the room, “Why do you have red dots all over your face?!”
After nervously scouting the entire restaurant, my mom was cautiously optimistic about where we were seated. It appeared there was no one around us that stood out in any real, obvious way.
She was able to relax for precisely two minutes.
Then, of course, I needed to use the restroom, which was obviously on the opposite side of the restaurant.
The trip to the bathroom was uneventful. Then, my mom saw them.
They were immense. I want to say they took up several chairs between the two of them. My mom knew her jerk of a kid would say something mortifying.
She did everything she could to keep my attention away from them during the trip back, but I turned to look behind me.
And, just like that, all of my mom’s efforts were in vain.
“WHOA!”
It reverberated off the ceramic dishes and cheap metal cutlery. It made a ripple effect in the lumpy gravy at the buffet stand. A tacky reproduction of The Birth of Venus fell off the wall. It was heard by the entire restaurant.
I’ll just skip to the part where I had to apologize to the couple, even though I didn’t know that what I had done was wrong. My mother’s only wish was that they thought my “whoa” was in reaction to their oxygen tanks, and not their behemoth size.
I think these stories of what an utter embarrassment and pain in the ass I was is likely why I don’t think I want kids. I know my karma comes in the form of a deceptively cute, but terrifyingly mortifying child. I’ll just pass on that, thanks.
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Reasons Why I'm Fat #2,347 and Other News
I’m working on a post on Friday at 1 in the afternoon*, because I’ve been in bed for two days still feeling like I’m swinging in a yoga silk.
Ugh.
It started last week. At the end of class, when we wrapped up like fat vampires (well, I’m the fat vampire) to cool down, the new instructor moved us so we spun in our coffins of carnival-ride-hell. It was absolutely terrible.
Terrible.
Just thinking about it now makes me want to vom. Ugh. Bleck!
This past Wednesday, I asked the instructor not to make me sway *there it is again. Excuse me while I calm down my gag reflex*
Everything was fine until she forgot. She realized just seconds later and got me to stop moving, but the damage was already done.
That whole night I had dreams of all sorts of nauseating things. I’d detail them, but I just can’t without my head spinning.
The next morning, I barely got out of the shower alive. I’m a real wuss when it comes to fitness and committing to eating plans, but I’m simply not one to call in sick all the time. However, there was just no way I’d make it in. I could barely stand for five minutes without feeling like I was in a fun house of horrors.
As a teacher, it’s usually just easier to suffer through the pain than to put in for a sub, create last minute sub plans, and ask your already-overworked-fellow teachers to help you out.
This meme knows:
However, sometimes it’s the difference between barfing during your Number Talk and barfing with dignity in the privacy of your own bathroom.
Already, long story short, I think aerial yoga is making me motion sick.
Seriously, this just fucking figures.
Right when I feel my body feeling tighter. Right when my arms have less swing. Right when I’m feeling a definition in my sausage legs, the fitness that can be thanked for this miraculous change makes me physically ill.
I try to get fit, but fit don’t want this.
Fuck it all. Seriously.
In other news, I guess there are worse things than fitness being attributed to sudden illness, because I got a message on Plenty of Fish by…
Adult Baby
Friends, when I received my first message from this “guy”, I thought he was the first truly honest dude on a dating site.
Instead of finding out after you’re already invested, he’s kind enough to lay it all out, right in his username.
Adult Baby says to me:
I will pour myself a bowl of cereal, get more on the table and floor than in my bowl, and I won’t even notice.
I can’t hold down a job, unless posting horribly written Yelp reviews about massage parlors that offer happy endings counts as a job.
You will have to clean up after me, because I’ve never bought a cleaning supply in my life. Not even a trash can. Is that a cleaning supply?
This is what I thought. For a quick minute, I thought maybe he was kind of secretly smart and almost kind for being just so outright about his immaturity.
Then, the term “Adult Baby” was explained to me.
I’ll never be the same again.
Just google it. Just.google.it.
I am pretty much convinced that every dude on every dating site out there just wants to get in your pants or they want you to change their pants.
I’ll pass.
I thought for a quick minute that maybe they weren’t all creeps, because I was talking to a really intelligent and witty guy. It was more than just talking. We met for drinks and he took me to sushi. Other than talking way too much and being incredibly long-winded, he seemed like someone I could really see myself getting to know. He knew how to form a complete sentence. He knew who Gary Oldman was. He had a job. It seemed like a win. When I didn’t respond to his endless sexual innuendo jokes that obviously meant he was trying to talk sex, he was suddenly not interested. Cool, bro.
They seem to all be like this.
I’m just…
I don’t even know. Maybe I’ll know in my next blog post.
Well, I’m off to Google, “exercise that won’t make me motion sick” and to delete the dating site apps on my phone. Or, do I keep them for the sole purpose of endless entertainment?
What a varied and exciting life I lead.
*Obviously it’s not Friday anymore. Even more obviously, I’m a total procrastinator and didn’t finish my post on said Friday.
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Beware the Unpadded Sports Bra
*Disclaimer: this post is about bewbs. Most specifically nipples. Yup, I just came right out and said it. If you think you’re not ready for this level of honesty, maybe pass on this one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I must be the only woman left on this planet who didn’t know that sports bras, minus added padding, is a recipe for disaster. In case you are also a nimrod and didn’t know this fascinating fact, don’t do it. That is, unless you are at home or for some strange reason you are missing your nipples.
Let me reiterate, don’t wear an un-padded sports bra in public. DON’T DO IT.
Learn from me, ladies.
Last week, it was necessary to wear a sports bra to work. We were having a fun-filled day of being outside. In the sun and 90-degree weather. All day. My most favorite part of this special day is being hot, sweaty, and stinky all.day.
So, I decided my only decent bra didn’t deserve swamp boob level grossness. Thus, my decision to wear my deceiving, bitch of a sports bra.
So, there I was thinking I was being extra smart because I was going to be extra comfy all day. Also, my sports bras tend to reign in my back boobs a bit more than a regular bra, with a regular back strap. So, there’s that.
After spending a good 20 minutes outside where it was still a little chilly in the morning air, after speaking to at least half of the staff and teachers at my school, after smiling like a fucking idiot at everyone I saw, I looked in the mirror.
To my absolute horror, my headlights were standing at full mast, front and center.
OMG. I COULDN’T EVEN.
It looked like I had taped stale, hard mini marshmallows to the front of my bra. Why anyone would ever want to do that is beyond me, but that’s what it fucking looked like.
Why body? Why?
How do you undo something that’s already been done? How do you make someone unsee something they’ve already seen?
Um, you don’t, jackass.
What the fuck am I gonna do? I can’t run home, I’ll never get back in time. What am I gonna do???!
My Mod Mate suggested tissue, but I was not buying it. Under the thin material of my bastard bra, tissue would look lumpy. People would think I had unsuccessfully tried to pad my bra. Um, no.
Then, I was struck with pure genius! I would cover my extra stubborn unmentionables with Post It notes! Pure genius, I tell you. Genius.
The denser consistency of the paper would surely keep those bad boys in place. Also, the sticky strip would ensure the Post It stayed were it needed to. Win.
My Mod Mate was unconvinced, but I was undeterred.
After successfully covering the last Captain Crunch Berry* (that kind of makes it sound like I have myriad berries. I assure you, I do not), I inspected my job in the mirror in the bathroom.
I thought it looked fine. I really did. Because I had to show my Mod Mate what a fine job I did with the Post Its, I went next door to show her I was probably going to have to patent my idea.
“Well, what do you think? You can’t see those two beacons of embarrassment anymore, right?”
Her response:
“OMG. No. No. No. Girl, you don’t have two nips anymore! No.”
I answered:
“Well, duh. That was that point. No more inappropriate nippage. No?”
She then said:
“No.”
I was at a loss. What could possibly be wrong with my Post It note nipple covers? They were genius.
She clarified:
“Well, for starters, you now you have eight nipples. Is that what you were going for? If so? Well done.”
The four corners of the Post It notes made weird octi-nipples under my sports bra. So, instead of two innocent, albeit, unpredictable doo-das, I had something going on that was straight out of the personal fetish collection of some freak.
Nope.
The Post It notes came out, and tissue was put in their place, and all was well.
I should probably listen to my friend and colleague a lot more. She’s pretty old and worldly like that.
In ending, ladies, never fashion nipple covers using Post It notes or other office supplies. Further, if this is ever a necessity, it’s time to buy a padded sports bra (preferably not one from the $1 bin at Walgreens).
This post is dedicated to my Mod Mate, the Oscar to my Felix, and the best damn colleague and friend I’ve ever been lucky enough to share a year-long “camping” adventure with. I’ll miss your random pop ins, how we could communicate with a single eyebrow raise, and the way you always “got” me. I love you. Enjoy your new school, ya bitch.
*Oscar coined this phrase to name a friend’s nips, and it was pure hilarity. I had to sneak it in.
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Decision Made
Well, I did it. I sent the email declining the job offer. Before anyone tells me I just lost an incredible opportunity, let me first be clear about a few things:
1. I’ve learned throughout this process that I need to stop taking to heart how others feel when what I really need to be doing is listening more intently to my own beat.
2. It’s really fucking expensive to move to another country, and until you know my finances intimately, you don’t really know. You know?
I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s really, really hard to make such a huge decision when left and right you’re told that money doesn’t matter, or that you’re wussing out because you don’t want to be going down the road to bankruptcy town. All of my young adult years I went about my business as if money didn’t matter and it led to serious problems. I cannot continue down that path.
Continue reading “Decision Made”