Feeling Discouraged

~~SERIOUS POST AHEAD~~

So, I have fallen off the nutrition wagon.

I've had at least 4 chunks of cookie dough at 160 calories each.

I've dipped Crunchy Cheetos in hummus. It's better than it sounds.

I've had a piece of lasagna the size of my hand, crab rangoon and even white rice with my chicken and veggies.
This is just in the past 12 hours.

I will not be running tonight. I am however wallowing in fat, carbs and disappointment.

It is really hard to become a sponsored athlete. I don't have boobs. Seriously, no boobs, ran them off. I'm not a bikini model. I'm not a figure model. That's just not that type of athlete. I don't have a crazy inspirational story, I'm just a determined person who puts in the work. I'm certainly not saying that a lot of the athletes don't deserve it, I'm just feeling like I could be a good product athlete too.

I want one of these companies to believe in me as much as I believe in me.

Girl Problems Vol 2

It has been a long time. I didn't die from the supplements, but after filling half of an 8 oz cup with my saliva during the workday I found our relationship untenable.

So, you're caught up.

Now I have a question for fitness buffs out there. Crossfitters, OCR girls, athletes with teats in general, whatev:

Have you ever burpeed and squat box jumped so hard you partially ejected your tampon?

I have made a complete ass out of myself in several awful ways: broke a bone in the top of my foot by stepping into a cat bowl; underwear friction burn on my clit making me penguin walk; broke 2 toes doing a cartwheel (poorly) in a hotel hallway 100% sober.

I did not understand what "until failure" truly means in the fitness world.

I'm going along hating the burpees but feeling like a badass because I was sucking it up and even doing pushups with them. Came up at the end of 25 feeling off. I started checking stuff off: abs in, back flat, knees soft.... wth, okay. Next up 52 seconds of squat box jumps.
Abs in, check.
Knees soft, check.
Land in a squat ass tight, check.
Repeat and...
OH WHAT THE BLOODY HELL. Partial poon plug ejection.

Okay, I've got great muscle control, I'll just.... flex it back in, finish out the class and secure it. Let me tell you, as soon as you stop you have the instructor's attention and the eyes of all 3 men in class and the suction power of my coot is severely diminished. Period performance anxiety I guess?

I try anyway. Feel like it's good enough to wait for the break at least.

10 seconds of jumps left.
Abs in, check.
Knees soft, check.
Land in a squat ass tight, check.

SHIT. There is no sucking that up. So I walk out of class trying to clench in a way that prevents this squishy little surprise from snaking its way out of my thong.

Since I was woefully unprepared for jettison powers Crossfit kegels so I built a TP barricade and hoped for the best.

Now you know the real dangers of burpees. Secure your strings ladies.

Day 3 and cat poop capers

So, I wasn't incarcerated for the past month, even though that's what I told readers to assume. I got lazy, no felonies.

Recap of Day 3: I was awash in nausea. I made a spittoon out of a disposable coffee cup. I believe I went to the restroom 18 times in 8 hours of work. And, I was a quitter. I stopped the pink stuff and switched to just teal because there's no point in taking something for energy and fat burning when you can only run if you're willing to splatter paint with lunch + treadmill.

I switched to a lower dose version of the pink and started that today. No spit cup needed, and I'm only feeling like I did a line instead of a full sheet of college rule. We'll see how workouts go now.

So, cat poop assault story time!

I eat microwave meals. I work with thieves. Over about a one month period, I lost at least 2 lunches a week to one jackass. Once, okay fine, maybe it was a mistake, but every time I brought this chicken meal, without fail? Jackass. I wrote my name on it. Didn't help. I used the takes-8-hours-to-cook-in-a-communal-microwave-that-people-waste-their-lunch-waiting-to-use lasagna as a shield to make it harder to find. I put a note on it even telling the person if they needed it THAT much to simply call me and I'd give it to them willingly. They took the lunch and left the note. I tried reconnaissance, but the building area I'm in has about 400 people, I couldn't check every personal trashcan without it getting weird.

So, I got creative and I got even.

Have you ever really looked at a microwave meal? They're non-descript chunks with a few items that might have once been a chicken or cow, or pig butthole. This meal was rice, herbs and chicken chunks in a green sauce. The sauce hides a lot, and I have made my peace with that. I made my meal at home, carefully extracting it from the package, and very carefully removing the film only partially. I ate it and then using fresh cilantro, uncooked rice and litter covered cat shits, I replaced the contents of the meal. I glued the film back on and the package closed. I wrote my name on the meal, keeping up appearances. And I took it to work for "lunch."

I now know he or she is the type of person to set it and forget it with the pilfered meals, and the stench was nearly bad enough to warrant evacuation. Small price to pay for piece of mind... and piece of cat shit. To this day I do not know who was stealing my lunch, or if they still work there. I do however know they will not fuck with my lunches again. Justice is blind, but she has a sense of smell.

Day 2 - Weeping brown eye and verpees

Last night:
Sleep? We don’t need no stinking sleep. Apparently somewhere between teal meth dose 2 and bedtime my brain lost all ability to shut down. It’s 1 am, I’m thinking about what to get my dad for his birthday. At midnight I was thinking about taxes. Not stressed, just thinking. I might have solved cancer if you put it in front of me last night. I think I may have been a teensy bit late on Dose 2 and was about….2 hours late on the night time stuff. Wheeeeee. However, on my two-2 hour sleep chunks, I was still able to get up, get ready, and drive NINETY minutes to work in the snow. Teal meth is effective.

Before and after Dose 1:
Nausea. Before taking it to the point of having to choke it and the requisite food down with my iron will. 2 Pepto in and I still have to be fearful of farts. Stomach and colon have revolted against the teal dictator. It’s better with gum in my arsenal, which helps with the tremendous fount’o’spit that used to be a free space under my tongue too. Eating is not so interesting, but I certainly didn’t think THAT was how this supplement would help. Oh, and the citrus burp from yesterday, I think it’s a warning that I will be burping and hesitantly farting down the aisle of a nearby team I hate for the next 6 hours.

As much as it confuses me, I seem to be less nauseated when I’m active and moving. Again, not sure how I expected this to work, but that wasn’t what I thought. This makes me question my workout tonight. Will I pass out? Will my heart explode? Will I shit my yoga pants at the gym? Stay tuned, answers tonight at 11!

So, it would have been super helpful to know there's a tolerance period where you're only supposed to take 1 teal meth. It would also be helpful if they told you that 2 to start makes your butt cry. A lot. I dropped my intake.


Dose 2, only 1 pill this time:
MF stole my yogurt! I was all ready for a taste of Hawaii with my pineapple on the bottom, and MF stole it. I’m not full on raging, but this is an ongoing issue with the work fridge. So much so that at one point I employed cat poop. Blog for another day.

Workout is suffering, so this might not last too much longer. When burpees turn to verpees and I get a core workout from holding my heaves back and the millionth hiccup of the day, not a calorie burning workout.  BREAKING NEWS AT 11: Only 2 out of the three came close to happening, I'll let you fill in the blanks with whatever options you like.

Day 2 verdict: Teal meth, now with 100% more morning sickness!

Color coded heart failure - Day 1

So, I'm working out for my extracurricular activities. I needed a boost to get back on the high horse of gym goers, so I invested in this 3 pack of legal meth.  I have taken "supplements" like this before many years ago. Most notably something with ripped in the name that I got at Wally World for $16. (As if that alone shouldn't have been enough of a warning.) I was vibrating and could feel my pulse in my tongue and lips. I think quit that about 10 seconds before my heart exploded from my chest to do the Can Can.

Now a few friends have tried it and I believe the term is "Satan's asshole."  From pregnancy-level mood swings to being consumed with a violent rage, they didn't really feel blissful. I'm a generally hostile person, subject sudden bouts of psycho viper bitch anyway so enjoy the ride with me. If the post abruptly stop, I'm in jail and should remain there until I've fully detoxed for the safety of all.

Dose 1:
Well fuck buckets. No caffeine allowed. Is that for the 5 days of 7 I take this, or forever and ever, amen? I know there's a pill in this that's supposed to help with moods, but I don't think it's strong enough for my coffee rages. Fine. Fuck. Whatever.
 12 oz of water, 3 pills. Then I eat. OF COURSE people are going to lose weight on this, you drink an asston of water.

10 minutes in I've eaten and I've thrown up in my mouth. Twice. The first time it just tasted like citrus and I thought if this is just OJ concentrate I'm going to be pissed. Then I did it again and yup, there it is, the flavor of breakfast mixed with ass. Delish.

90 minutes in I'm a goddamn superhero! With literally the shittiest power ever. I can smell everything. My purse smells like the bacon we cooked last week. My yoga pants could stand a wash. The cat just peed in the litter box....downstairs. The dog just ate a "cat treat" from that litter box. Either I'm Super Smeller Girl, or I'm having a stroke.

Couple hours in I'm teething again. More accurately, I'm drooling like I'm teething. All the water I've been drinking is coming back our from under my tongue - I've invented reverse urination. And I changed my pants. Leaning towards stroke more now.

Took a hit off my inhaler because of some morning wheezing, this "no stimulant" stipulation is serious business. I'm can feel all my cells dancing. Before you worry, this isn't that unusual when I use my inhaler, lasting a bit longer than I'm used to though. Teal meth is yummy!

I vibrate less when I do jumping jacks. However, husband said I shouldn't do them in the office because there's no floor supports. I think he's calling me fat. Yeah, he's calling me fat. Hello, taking pills for that. Ass! He made me lunch though, and that lessened the drooling. He gets a pass.... for now. I have another dose to take, then we'll see.... He also told me I'm writing like Hunter S. Thompson, SCORE!

Dose 2:
I just did 4:30 of hovers. And tricep dips, for fun. So I'm definitely peppier. And I get more now! Yay, gimmie, gimmie, gimmie! Actually, I was just starting to feel normal, oh well. Snacks and drugs, best time of the day. I've also managed to not use my daily allowance of aggression so far. Go me!
I am sweating my balls off. Like hovers made the space between my boobs a drainage ditch of sweat that did a loop in my belly button. Salty and SEXY. Give me a lick ;)

Couple hours in, exercise? Still drooling, though on the dog walk I was mostly spitting and dragging them along so they don't pee in every single yard. On a 50 minute trek, I'm drooling/spitting, and one of the dogs has the shits. Bright orange shits, in a snow bank, in front of a business that is open. Being a decent person I try to clean it up with a bag, so I'm drooling, spitting, and now gagging because it's rancid, like I'm actually dripping drool when bent over. Fucking superpowers. Let me tell you, I better get cut from this stuff, because I've never felt hotter.
Thankfully, I didn't take my shirt off because I've created another thing.... pitting out a shirt to below tit level.

Day one verdict? MOIST.

Jesus wants you to learn to drive

Something has been lurking the rearview mirror of my brain lately and finally dawned on me today. Christians cannot drive.

Why? Lord if I know, but ever person who has nearly killed me on the roadways in the last month has had the sticker of our local Christian shitty rock radio station on it.

Yukon drifting 2 tires over into my lane mid-intersection. Christian radio. Jesus is love! And apparently fucking blind.
Stupid Taurus that changed lanes 3 times in the solid line construction zone without one single blinker? How great is His love and this tools stupid?
Tapping the breaks every 5 seconds down a busy highway and then waiting to the last second to slam them on when riding up on someone? Jesus died for my sins - does that include murdering this stupid ass?

How about this. Stop listening to how awesome your god is, or how awful sinners are, and learn to drive. Jesus or God or the Spaghetti monster gave you a brain, so you say, please fucking use it to operate the 1-2 ton metal thing in a manner that convinces me that God didn't Lazarus Helen Keller and give her a license. Try the basics first like driving in a straight line forward when the light is green. Then take footprints in the sand size steps towards changing lanes without Jesus taking the wheel. Advanced items like proper roundabout usage and using non-suicide turn lanes is only for those right with the Lord and should not be attempted by the recently baptized.

Jesus wants you to learn to drive and goddammit, so do I.

Red Letter Day

I must share this. As soon as it happened I realized that even though some of you out there know who I am, this is too hilarious not to make fun of myself.

Yesterday will be memorialized on my calendar forever. I may have a plaque made, not sure yet.
I, Highlander, farted into my own vagina on July 29th, 2013 at approximately 11:23 pm. Don't ask me how this came about, I won't say, but it is 100% confirmed by my husband and I.
Farted into my own cout. Super special moment, and my life is forever changed. I'm sure there's money to be made with some fetishist somewhere (probably Japan) but I'll pass.

The best part about this and what mandated I blog ASAP? The exchange in the next room shortly have my historic act. I farted again. Shoot me, it happens and it will always be funny.

Husband: Man, if you were a boxer you'd be Gaseous Clay!
Pause for laughter from me.
Me: I've got good buttwork.
Husband: And if you converted to Nation of Islam you'd be  Mohammed Al Queef.
At this point it's almost midnight and I'm doubled over laughing so hard I'm nearly crying and holding in yet another "contribution" that the giggles nearly dislodged.

Sometimes you just can't make this shit up.

Other excellent parallel we've made since:
If I was a painter I would be Georgia O'Queef. Works on two levels, one is pretty art history nerdy.

I'm open to suggestions. (Did you know there's a fart thesaurus? "Bratwurst butt belch" is just one item you'll find on it.)

Lie to tell children: Sesquicentennial is the balls of Sasquatch. If anyone invites you to a sesquicentennial celebration, tell an adult.