DISCLAIMER: This post is not for those who get easily embarrassed or those who are judgemental. Do not read if you get the willies talking about more personal matters or if you look down upon those of us who are far from perfect. This is meant to be funny, and I hope you can get a good laugh out of it.
So with my wedding just two and a half weeks away, I decided to do some, er, shopping for my wedding night. Now lingerie shopping may be fun for those skinny bitches who are size zeros, but for those of us squeezing our chubby butts into those teeny, tiny outfits with stretch marks gleaming on flabby thighs under the harsh lighting of department store dressing rooms this is anything but fun. I'm sure those stick-thin supermodels look in the mirror in the skimpy outfits and think "Damn, I look great." However, anyone above a size two probably sees something that they don't like about themselves. Butt dimples, arms that jiggle, and pudgy stomachs do not go well with see-through tops and barely there underwear.
Thus, I decided to make a list of all of the things I would rather do than shop for lingerie. (in no particular order)
1. have dental work
2. Talk to one of the long-winded customers on the phone at work
3. Clean toilets
4. Clean up vomit
5. Clean up piss
6. Do laundry
7. Go to Wal-mart
8. Sit in a Car for three hours with my brothers after they have eaten White Castle
9. Have a stomach virus
10. Climb 1000 miles up hill in 100 degree weather carrying a fifty pound backpack
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Gone Fishin'
Today, I went fishing. Now, I am not the country girl that I make out to be. I love to blare my Hank and George Jones, dream about owning a big gas-guzzling ford pick-up, and my southern drawl is thick and captivating. However, when it comes down to it, I never really do anything that "country." So today, I decided to try my hand at something that every country girl should do and set out on a fishing adventure.
My boss continues to prove his coolness by taking me out to his farm with his wife and daughter (who is one of the cutest kids on the planet) for a fishing trip. A little weary of the whole touching the worms thing, I required some assistance in the beginning. Not long after casting my pole out into the pond, I saw my little bobber do-hicky fall beneath the water and a tug on my line. Excitedly, I reeled in the line to find a little blue-gill flopping about. Unable to get up the gumption to take the fish off the line, the boss man had to help me out on that one, as the cute little girl squealed in delight next to me.
Now, I did get accustomed to baiting my own hook and taking my own fish off and even caught a massive bass. Yep, I was feeling like a country girl alright. Dirt covering my jeans, fish blood on my hands, I was getting down to my roots.
The most amazing thing though, was for the first time in years, I spent three solid hours without worrying, stressing, or going through my long mental to do list. I was in a place where the only thing I could see was perfect, beautiful untouched land. I stood there thinking, "Wow. I love this place. Nowhere in the world could be more perfectly serene." My phone had no service, no text messages were coming through, no internet to waste time on. For three hours, I found peace of mind and the carefree little girl that I used to know.
My boss continues to prove his coolness by taking me out to his farm with his wife and daughter (who is one of the cutest kids on the planet) for a fishing trip. A little weary of the whole touching the worms thing, I required some assistance in the beginning. Not long after casting my pole out into the pond, I saw my little bobber do-hicky fall beneath the water and a tug on my line. Excitedly, I reeled in the line to find a little blue-gill flopping about. Unable to get up the gumption to take the fish off the line, the boss man had to help me out on that one, as the cute little girl squealed in delight next to me.
Now, I did get accustomed to baiting my own hook and taking my own fish off and even caught a massive bass. Yep, I was feeling like a country girl alright. Dirt covering my jeans, fish blood on my hands, I was getting down to my roots.
The most amazing thing though, was for the first time in years, I spent three solid hours without worrying, stressing, or going through my long mental to do list. I was in a place where the only thing I could see was perfect, beautiful untouched land. I stood there thinking, "Wow. I love this place. Nowhere in the world could be more perfectly serene." My phone had no service, no text messages were coming through, no internet to waste time on. For three hours, I found peace of mind and the carefree little girl that I used to know.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
By Popular Demand
Just to clarify, when I say that my life is average, I mean that in a way that I am not running a brothel, nor am I an astronaut. I am very blessed and very fortunate with all that I have been given in my life, so by no means did I mean to sound ungrateful or like a sob story. I simply meant that with the typical life that I live, there is no way I should be involved in so many shenanigans. When discussing this at work this morning, my boss made a request that I do some flash backing and tell one of my previous funny stories. Without further ado, I shall tell about the time I almost choked to death on an egg sandwich.
I was on a semester break from college, so I was staying at home, spending quality time with my family. I was about to make the thirty minute drive to work (25 if there are no cops lurking about) and was running late (shocker!). Therefore, I had no time to sit at the table and enjoy my egg sandwich that my mom so graciously made for me. Wrapping up my wonderful slightly runny on the inside egg, delicious ketchup, surrounded by two slices of wheat toast, I trotted out the door planning on eating my all time fave breakfast while cruising to work not knowing that that tasty egg sandwich almost was the death of me.
I get about half a mile down the road and put the first bite in my mouth. The next thing I know, I cannot breathe. I pull over, panic running through my body. My first bite went down the wrong way and was lodged in my throat! I couldn't cough. I couldn't breathe. I dialed my home telephone number and began blaring the horn of my car, hoping my parents would understand my plea for help and would come looking for me.
Fear overtaking my body, I jump out of the car and begin to throw myself against the side of my yellow ford escape in a vain attempt to give myself the Heimlich. Beginning to feel faint and weak, I slump down the side of my vehicle, falling in and out of consicouness. I began thinking, "This is it. This is how I am going to die, on the side of the road, choking on a damn egg sandwich." In one last attempt, I shove my fingers down my throat and finally throw up. Outside of a slight headache from oxygen deprivation, I was okay (obviously).
When I recanted my near death experience to my parents, I made them swear to me that if I were ever to die in such a humilating manner, that they would make up some lie to spare my pride, or I would come back and haunt the crap out of them. They made me promise that I would never eat an egg sandwhich in the car again.
I was on a semester break from college, so I was staying at home, spending quality time with my family. I was about to make the thirty minute drive to work (25 if there are no cops lurking about) and was running late (shocker!). Therefore, I had no time to sit at the table and enjoy my egg sandwich that my mom so graciously made for me. Wrapping up my wonderful slightly runny on the inside egg, delicious ketchup, surrounded by two slices of wheat toast, I trotted out the door planning on eating my all time fave breakfast while cruising to work not knowing that that tasty egg sandwich almost was the death of me.
I get about half a mile down the road and put the first bite in my mouth. The next thing I know, I cannot breathe. I pull over, panic running through my body. My first bite went down the wrong way and was lodged in my throat! I couldn't cough. I couldn't breathe. I dialed my home telephone number and began blaring the horn of my car, hoping my parents would understand my plea for help and would come looking for me.
Fear overtaking my body, I jump out of the car and begin to throw myself against the side of my yellow ford escape in a vain attempt to give myself the Heimlich. Beginning to feel faint and weak, I slump down the side of my vehicle, falling in and out of consicouness. I began thinking, "This is it. This is how I am going to die, on the side of the road, choking on a damn egg sandwich." In one last attempt, I shove my fingers down my throat and finally throw up. Outside of a slight headache from oxygen deprivation, I was okay (obviously).
When I recanted my near death experience to my parents, I made them swear to me that if I were ever to die in such a humilating manner, that they would make up some lie to spare my pride, or I would come back and haunt the crap out of them. They made me promise that I would never eat an egg sandwhich in the car again.
Friday, May 21, 2010
This is NOT a Journal
So, I have toyed with the idea of blogging for some time now. People have often told me I should write down all of the wild and crazy things that happen in my pretty average life. Such as the time I almost choked to death on an egg sandwhich (literally), or how I cried so hard after recieving a speeding ticket, the officer called me later that day and canceled it. Anyways, with so many instances like that where the unfortunate happenings in my life bring such joy and happiness to the people close to me (some friends I have) I figured that I could share my crazy adventures that pretty much always begin with good intentions, take a terrible turn for the worse, and then somehow manage to work themselves out in the end, with the oh, maybe five people that might stumble upon this.
The thing I has been holding me back all this time from jumping on the blogging band wagon was that it seemed like keeping a journal in disguise and making it public. I hate with a blinding passion journaling. Keeping a journal is for people with feelings and I am really not one of those feely kind of people. I like to laugh it off and suck it up. Journaling how I feel when I bomb a test, skip exercising, and down a pint of Ben and Jerry's just seems ridiculous. Obviously, I feel like shit, and I don't want to look back and be reminded of that shitty failure, nor do I want to risk the fact of my children someday stumbling upon this documentation of stupidity and lack of self-control and using it as leverage in a future argument (because that is EXACTLY what I would do and there is no doubt that my children will be just a spiteful and bull-headed).
So, if you are one of the lucky ones to stumble upon this blog, then I repeat THIS IS NOT A JOURNAL. It is more of an opportunity for you to get a few kicks out of my crazy, average life.
The thing I has been holding me back all this time from jumping on the blogging band wagon was that it seemed like keeping a journal in disguise and making it public. I hate with a blinding passion journaling. Keeping a journal is for people with feelings and I am really not one of those feely kind of people. I like to laugh it off and suck it up. Journaling how I feel when I bomb a test, skip exercising, and down a pint of Ben and Jerry's just seems ridiculous. Obviously, I feel like shit, and I don't want to look back and be reminded of that shitty failure, nor do I want to risk the fact of my children someday stumbling upon this documentation of stupidity and lack of self-control and using it as leverage in a future argument (because that is EXACTLY what I would do and there is no doubt that my children will be just a spiteful and bull-headed).
So, if you are one of the lucky ones to stumble upon this blog, then I repeat THIS IS NOT A JOURNAL. It is more of an opportunity for you to get a few kicks out of my crazy, average life.
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