i almost giggled out loud when i thought of that.
so what does that spell?
that's right: dork.
so i sat wide eyed and glee-filled through Adaptation last night.
i haven't seen a great movie in a while.
well, lord of the rings was definitely great, but in a different way...
anyway, i loved every moment of it.
as the whole ending chaos began, my husband said, "this is his exciting ending."
sometimes i think my husband is a dumbass, cuz he does dumbass guy stuff...
but at moments like that i know the truth.
he's smarter than i am sometimes...in some ways.
he always calls stuff...like in 6th Sense?
like, halfway through the movie.
my neck hurts.
i keep tensing the muscles and now they're sore.
i need a massage.
like, in that frenzied "robbing a convenience store to pay for medicine for your dying child" sort of a way....
okay, not quite.
did someone say crepes?
i have nothing to say.
not a damn thing.
my brain is like a blank concrete wall...
just waiting for some graffiti...
i have some emails to catch up on, so i guess i could do that.
but it's time to make dinner.
and i have nothing to say.
at least it wasn't fat guy day at the gym again.
fat guys everywhere.
ugly and fat.
i mean, i'm proud of them for being there, but please.
how am i supposed to enjoy working out when there's no eye candy?
just front desk hookers with ten pounds of makeup and their complimentary boob jobs?
i am convinced that they give free boob jobs to all the front desk workers.
if they didn't also have mandatory street walker makeup, i'd be begging for the job.
i just don't get that.
i never have.
make up can be a nice accent to your features, but ten pounds??
women around here are so high maintenance it just makes me shudder.
maybe that's why i never got dates at fucking byu.
the hot hippie guys were into me, though, so i was able to wipe away all those traumatic memories of dateless weekends once i left that insane place.
steamy sex is very therapeutic to a repressed and angry girl.
anyway, i'm what you might call low maintenance.
or lazy as shit, whichever.
i have better things to do (like SLEEP for one) than spend 2 hours in front of a mirror.
if it takes you that long, can you really claim it's real?
i mean, think about it.
if you have to paint your face into a different time zone, and torture your hair until it wants to kill you, cursing it's inanimation...and wear padded bras and girdles and hair extensions and fake nails--jeeez!!
i'm all for sprucing up what god gave ya, but my rule of thumb is this: if you go home with a guy and he can't recognize you in the morning, you have a little problem with beauty products.
i'd actually like to learn how to wear a little tasteful makeup, cuz it's been so long i've forgotten...
in high school i wore some, and freshman year of college.
then i found my true hippie girl self and haven't gone beyond mascara and lipstick since then.
garlic shrimp with avocado dip.
anyone need some skim milk?
i keep forgetting to change our order, and the milkman came this morning...
leaving my bi-weekly half gallon of skim along with the 2% for the little dudes.
i miss my milk.
my farm fresh fat free (of the non-Malone variety).
but i don't miss those 5 fucking pounds of lard that slid off my ass this week.
so fuck you, jelly belly.
you might wanna just high tail it on outta here if you know what's good for ya.
this town isn't big enough for the two of us...
well, those size 6 pants aren't, at least.
come to mama, size 6's!!!
i guess i'm kind of obsessed with this.
i took my "before" picture, but i was pleased to see that it's not that bad.
i keep forgetting that i lost 25 pounds last year.
i got super duper fat after i had the twinners.
sitting on my ass feeding them for 6 months, then spending the next year or so being utterly depressed and aimless and finding comfort in food....
so i keep thinking i'm still THAT lard ass, when really, i'm only a teensy bit of a lard ass.
unlike that bitch in the dressing room the other day...
complaining to her boyfriend non-stop about how fat she is and asking him why he lets her eat so much, etc, etc....
then she asks him to get her the size 3 because the 5 is too big.
if i wasn't naked i sooooo would've jumped over that wall and beat the shit out of her.
size 3's don't get to complain about being fat.
go fuck yourselves, size 3's--or eat something, or play in traffic.
but whatever you do: shut the fuck up about how fat you are.
well, now that i'm all riled up, i guess i'll go make dinner.