My Eyes, Pleated Jeans, Toenails and New Eating Plans

The title is the list of concerns I have which I will be addressing in today’s blog. I meant to write this yesterday, but I decided showering after kickboxing and pre-funking with my friend were more important than getting Friday’s blog out on Friday. Plus, when I did attempt to write, nothing came out. So… you know… there was that as well. But today is another day.

  1. My eyes. Holy shit they hurt today. Yesterday, I put my contacts in before 7 am and didn’t take them out until after midnight. Normally, I wear them for 14 hours tops. As I was trying to enjoy the movie aforementioned friend and I were seeing, my left eye started to hurt like the dickens. When I went to bed, my eyes, my poor eyes. So, today, I shall be wearing my glasses in order to avoid more pain, because I don’t think I could actually put my contacts in.
  2. Did you know pleated jeans are still a thing? And not only that, but there are people in this world who choose to wear them? And the people in their lives let them do it? Yeah, me either until I started tango. There wasn’t only one gentleman wearing pleating jeans. In one lesson, I do believe there were two wearing pleated jeans and a few more wearing pleated trousers. This not only confounded me but tangoing coworker as well. Granted, there was no correlation between the pleat of one’s bottom half wear and the quality of dancer one was. It was just a notable observation that in case I lived in some pleated-jeans-free fantasy; it was simply that. A only just a fantasy.
  3. I need to cut my toenails. TMI, am I right? But whateva, this is my blog. I do what I want. That’s all I have got to say about that.
  4. The last time I weighed myself since starting kickboxing, I had gain 4 pounds. I’m not sure how many that is in kilos but I imagine it’s something mentionable. Hell, it’s a quarter of a stone. Give me a break international readers, I’ve only lived in England outside the USA. Okay. okay, I should learn the conversion between the imperial and metric systems. But that is so not the point, the point is at the kickboxing parlor, they encourage portion control and healthy eating if you’re not losing weight. I’ve been ignoring that part, because whilst I’ve gained weight, my body looks better. Still though, I’ve been forced into an unwanted new diet plan. It’s called eating around my nephews. Since the big one was a baby, and he took lessons on begging from the dog we had at the time, he’s always been apt at getting food from me. But then he started eating only chicken nuggets and pizza basically. So, I got to eat my own. However, recently the small one has begun his begging phase. And if the small one has something, the big one wants something of equal or greater value. So as I tried to eat my pancakes this morning, between the 2 nephews, I only ate about half of what was on my plate. Forced portion control. I don’t know if I would recommend this eating plan for everyone, but it could be good if you’re looking to lose a quick couple of pounds or whatever it is in kilos.

Normally I don’t do lists. But today is different. It’s Valentine’s Day Eve. Which means grabbing coffee with a friend. Watching my nephews whilst my parents go to the theatre. And then BMN to forget about my day.

LENT… Again!?

Good lawd it’s already Lent, which means this is Ash Wednesday. I didn’t know this until I got home and saw my planner. Apparently, folks in recovery aren’t big on getting their foreheads smudged with ash in the shape of a cross. Shocker, I know. It’s because of this little discrepancy that I had no idea we were that close to Easter. Yup, that’s what I’m blaming it on. Folks who didn’t go to an early morning church service. Thanks a lot fellas. (And ladies.) It has nothing to do with working so much and doing so many extracurricular activities. Is it extracurricular activities when you’re no longer in school? Because I think it should be.

Regardless of this year’s Lent catching me off guard, I decided a couple weeks ago what I wanted to do. Or maybe it was a couple of days. Man, this whole working thing/having no concept of the passage of time thing is getting to me. It’s almost as though the insanity of it all is rubbing off on me. But back to the point, what I’m going to do for Lent. (Drumroll please.) I’m going to write a story; this is also in conjunction with my writing class, but you know whatevs. It’s sort of like National Novel Writing Month, except not really. This involves the Messiah. Nope not sacrilegious at all.

I’ve felt a story welling up inside me for a while now. Like probably since the holidays began; Labor Day. There have been several attempts to get it out on my part through various and sundry perspectives and narratives.But it wasn’t until this week that I figured out the who was telling the story and why. And to quote my writing instructor just one more time, “You’re naturally dark, and it comes out in hilarious ways when you don’t care what you’re writing.” Okay so maybe that wasn’t a direct quotation, but it seriously was the gist of what I took from it.

This is exciting, and hopefully by the time Easter gets here, I’ll have written the next great American novel. And I’ll become renowned. It’s going to be amazing. Right, I know it’s completely unrealistic, but a girl has got to dream, am I right? I guess part of the reason why I committed to writing this story now, is that it didn’t feel right to give something up this year either. Maybe, I’ve started my own tradition of creating rather than depleting. Or maybe next year, I’ll give up chocolate and just eat it on Fridays. But probably not. Regardless, this year, I’m creating again, just not on such a public way as last year.

An Open Letter to Pandora

Pandora as in the streaming music site and not the one who had a box… if ya catch my meaning.

Dear Pandora,

Firstly, I’d like to thank you for existing. I could have used this when I was younger, especially in my late teens/early twenties. Seriously, I’d have sat in my room for hours on end listening to the sad bastard stations I created. As opposed to now, where I have to work during the day and thus I’m stuck to whatever is played on the radio or what’s on my iPod. I have Purple Rain on my iPod; I don’t even know how the fuck Purple Rain ended up on my iPod.

Now that I’m done kissing your ass; it’s time I get down to the bitchy point of this letter… The point is, that We Are the Champions doesn’t belong on my “Love Stinks” station. I mean, it can be argued Queen belongs wherever it feels like. And I agree with that 100%; a huge Queen fan here, but there are shit ton of other Queen songs that fit the category. Too Much Love will Kill You and Bohemian Rhapsody just to name two off the top of my head. I know this isn’t the only station you tend to fuck up on.

I’ve heard stories, Pandora. Stories of people having a Rolling Stones station and you playing The Beatles. This is just one example of the horrific stories I’ve heard. So, why do you do it? Is it just to be an asshole? Like, “this person clearly is down on love right now. You know what they need? A song not about love at all; with no sad bastard lyrics.” Quite frankly, when I want to feel sorry for myself, I don’t need to hear about how amazing and great we are. I don’t need to be inspired by that. PLUS, what’s the deal with you not even playing We Will Rock You beforehand. The two go hand in hand. Everyone knows that!!! (I may have been in my late twenties when I realized they were actually separate songs.) There are times when being contrary is just annoying.

In closing, I’d like to compare you to the dumb ass on Jeopardy who just mistook Stan Lee for Charles Schultz. They’re not the same. They’ve created very different characters. It’s sort of like you putting We Are the Champions on a “Love Stinks” station. Yes, all white, old men have a similar look about them, but they aren’t all the same. For example, Charles Schultz is dead, and Stan Lee is just mostly dead.

Thank you for your time,

Me

Cheeto Friday

It’s Friday. Back in the day when I didn’t work, there used to be Cheeto Friday. My mom would usually go grocery shopping on Friday mornings, and she regularly purchased Cheetos. It became a tradition? Habit? Vice? Then it became Cheeto Thursday, when she started going to the store on Thursdays. It became so well known, the big nephew started to regularly ask for Cheetos on Thursdays. Then I got a job and all that came to a crashing halt. Well, I started wanting real food when I got home from work and believe it or not, Cheetos are not real food.

Today, I got hungry toward the end of kickboxing. I had some carrots leftover from my lunch and just scarfed on them. Seriously, I had no idea carrots could taste that good. I’m going to bad movie night tonight, and I fully plan on eating like a maniac there. But I still needed something to tide me over for the next few hours before BMN begins. I had a piece of chicken when I walked through the door. And then I saw Cheetos sitting with the other chips. They were just chilling. Unopened. Acting like they belong there or that they were being saved for something.

Needless to say, just for one night, Cheeto Friday was brought back or will be. As soon as I’m done writing this. I figure if I can write 300 words about Cheetos then I deserve to eat them as a final element to the pre-BMN snack. I haven’t had the cheesy goodness in an age. It has been far too long; in fact, I can’t remember the last time I had them. How in the hell has it been so long? What sort of life have I been leading? A Cheeto-free life, that’s what! Woo hoo! I just hit the 300 word mark. Now I’m going to finish this bad boy and have some Cheetos,

GAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

The nephews are over presently. And they are playing with their trucks and Batcave and Transformers garage on 2 very small tables mushed together. It must be noted that I opted to sit down on the couch to put on my shoes and decided to write today’s blog here. Here happens to be right by the toy-filled coffee tables. Just a few minutes ago, I was minding my own business wondering how the fuck did the TV get turned on, when I had turned it off about a half hour ago. Needless to say, I wasn’t paying that close attention to what the boys were doing. That is until one of them pushed a not small, metal firetruck off the table and onto my foot.

Holy shit. That stupid mother fucking piece of shit (the toy, not my nephew). Son of bitch. Mother fucking hell. Cock sucking bastard. You little red metal motherless goat. Those are all the words I wanted to say. I wanted to weave tapestry of profanity. Instead, what I said was child-appropriate. I was in too much pain to remember what actually fell out of my mouth. It still hurts. This is what I get for wanting to spend time with my nephews and wear shoes.

We just finished dinner. I held the small one on my lap, who felt it was okay to reach into my bowl of soup and fish out the noodles. The big one was right next to me, who still has yet to master the spoon. So, now I’m covered in chicken noodle soup through no fault of my own. I wanted to wear what I had on to my dance class tonight. I wanted to wear my one pair of jeans that don’t slip down around my ass. I wanted to wear the lightweight hoodie. Now… I have to change.

I’m clearly at a loss as to why someone would choose this life. This life being around children constantly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my nephews and my friends’ kids who act as such. BUT holy shit! I’d just like to keep clean or at least be able to spill my soup on myself and have it be a big deal. How do these people work during the day and then come home to these small people who resemble drunk folk? I don’t get it. There has to be some sort of explanation.

Glitter Rage

The amount of glitter on the floor of my kickboxing parlor enrages me. Yes, you read that correctly. I didn’t say nightclub. I didn’t say dance floor. I didn’t even say work (for those who may work at a strip club). I said floor of the kickboxing parlor. Seriously, what the hell! Every time I see it, I want to know how it got there. I want to know who was like, “you know what sounds like a great thing to wear to kickboxing? My glittery top!” No one does that. I looked around today to see who the glitter wearing bastard was, and there was no one to blame.

It’s not as though the glitter on the floor is all one type of glitter. Some of it is on the bigger side. Some of it’s miniscule. There is silver and gold. But I’ve never seen another color of glitter on the floor of the kickboxing parlor. And it’s spread throughout. I don’t really have “my bag”. So I’ve jumped around quite a bit, especially when I was newer and didn’t have my groove yet. Thus, I know it’s all over the parlor. So, the fact it exists enrages me so much.

Okay, okay, okay, I can hear you telling me to stop overreacting. To which I reply, you stop overreacting. Zero fucks given if that makes any sense at all. Admittedly, usually when I’m concentrating on the floor, it’s because I’m doing some exercise made up by Satan supposedly to give me a “full body work-out”. What the fuck ever. I know the truth that the instructors are sick assholes who giggle at other peoples’ struggles. (All right, it’s not true. The instructors are lovely folks.) So, possibly, it could be something that is NOT the glitter. It could be the fact my body is screaming at me demanding to know why I’m lying on the floor flexing every muscle in my body.

However, I prefer to blame the glitter for my rage. Glitter is annoying and gets everywhere. There’s no function to glitter except to sparkle and make people question their sanity. Seriously, how many times have you asked yourself if that person is in fact a vampire or did they just put on glitter to give the illusion of being an abomination of Stephanie Meyer? That sort of behavior is good for most places, but not the kickboxing parlor. NO! The kickboxing parlor is for working through all the anger you take on during the day because of shitty paperwork or shitty people or it’s just plain old fun to beat the hell out of something without getting in trouble.

Understanding Wookie

I’m currently watching a video about the Star Wars Holiday Special. I bought it a few years ago and have started it several times. I have yet to finish it. This year when my brothers were around, we sat down with the big nephew and tried to watch it. Luckily, we were saved by dinner. But there was this moment of stunned confusion. Interestingly enough, the host of the video I’m watching had the same reaction. This is beyond the bullshit of episodes I-III. The majority of the Star Wars Holiday Special is done with Chewie’s family in Wookie.

Maybe if I understood wookie, it’d be hilarious. But unlike other fictional languages, there’s not really a speech pattern. As far as I can tell, it’s just a lot of grunting and yelling. Much like communicating with the small nephew. How often is something beloved and amazing and still has this dark side (pun intended)? Seriously, I think of how much I love the orig trig and then I think about this piece of incredibly annoying bullshit. Relationships. Education. Umm other stuff that I can’t think of because it is still morning and I’ve not had a lot of coffee yet.

Yesterday, I drove out to the middle of fucking nowhere for a friend’s wedding shower. If you don’t know what a wedding shower is (yes, Americans, it’s not an international thing. Those lucky British bitches.), it’s a bunch of women getting together to give gifts to the bride-to-be and usually games are played whilst snacks and wine are involved. I’m all for snacks and wine, and actually yesterday’s shower didn’t have any games. But still it’s the entire idea of women gathering together to buy household items for someone who’s about to do her female duty and change her name/be a wife.

I’m comparing this event to the Star Wars Holiday Special and understanding Wookie. Perhaps, if I had a greater understanding of what it’s like to enter into a long-term committed relationship, I’d have a better attitude about this ritualistic hell. And like Wookie, a wedding shower is full of grunts and yelling… or maybe ooohs and squealing that I don’t understand. It’s a fucking bowl. I don’t get it. You have like 20 bowls already, I know this, I’ve dug around in your cupboards. Do people really need that many bowls? I’m not joking; she got like 6 bowls yesterday. However, the STHS had guest stars by our beloved characters, but it was mostly about Chewy’s family.

There were several people I didn’t actually know at the shower yesterday. I was forced to speak with them. One of them was a very enthusiastic mother. It was like watching Itchy (Chewy’s son) go about his activities, where I’m left scratching my head wonder what the fuck is going on. Admittedly, with the majority of parents, I have this reaction to. So, really it was nothing too new. But this is the first time I’ve ever compared a mother to a wookie. Listening to her gave me a greater appreciation for my single, childless life; just as watching the Holiday Special gives me a better appreciation for the quality and story of the orig trig.