Okay, peeps, it’s Thursday again…and you know what that means: it’s time for Mama Kat’s awesome blog meme!!! Once again, I let all my Facebook fans vote on the topic I would write about. The one that won? “Describe a time when you made things…awkward.”
Before I get started on that, I do want to let y’all know that I’m having a GREAT time with this and I really enjoy letting my fans decide which topic I’m going to write about – so I’m officially announcing that you get to vote for the topic every week. Just make sure you’re a Facebook fan and then watch for the poll. Get your vote on!
So…you buncha sickies want to know about a time I made things awkward. Fine. Here we go.
We’ve all been to our share of home sales parties, right? Scentsy, Mary Kay, Pampered Chef, Silpada, ThirtyOne, Naughty Lady, Princess House…the list goes on. My girlfriends are a ton of fun, so I always try to go when one of them has one (and they’ve had plenty for me when I was a Pampered Chef consultant). Up until two years ago, though, I had never been to a Mary Kay party.
I’m just not a fan of beauty parties. I like walking into the store and buying my beauty products. I don’t like to wait for an order to come in, so I’ve never been tempted by Mary Kay parties – but when one of my girlfriends had one, I couldn’t say no. So I went.
The Mary Kay Beauty Consultant who was there was the absolute stereotypical Mary Kay lady. Perfectly coiffed, fabulously dressed, elegantly accessorized, and absolutely adorable…and annoying. She even drove the pink Cadillac. She was like a Mary Kay Fem-bot…but without the hot bod and sexy outfit.
I am not the sort of woman who should be allowed around that sort of woman. From the minute I walked in the door, I rattled her cage with my uncouth demeanor. (I swear, I really was trying to be good!) And I don’t know how much toner she’d been sniff’in, but she would just smile and giggle and tell me what a perfect beauty consultant I would be. That smile never reached her eyes, though, and she was clearly on crack for even suggesting such a thing.
We all sat down in front of our individual little make-up mirrors as she began her presentation and I continued to try to be good. It was just one of those nights where opportunities kept presenting themselves and smart ass crap was flying out of my mouth before I could put the brakes on my tongue. It’s not my fault. Usually I’m a lovely person. Really.
We took our make-up off with the amazing age reducing cleanser, we applied sunscreen and vitamins with peptides to our Mary Kay starved skin, and then it was time…for moisturizer. There had been at least five minutes of no smart assy remarks from me when my girlfriend squeezed the tube of moisturizer and SPLAT!!!
Moisturizer spewed out and splattered all over. Everyone gasped in surprise. The Mary Kay Fem-bot, always the picture of elegance and grace, started mopping up the white cream which, I’m sorry, looked an awful lot like semen. Yes, I’m a dirty bitch. That’s the first thing I thought of when it splattered all over my girlfriend’s top.
“That’s okay, sweetie,” the Mary Kay Fem-bot gushed. “You just squeezed it a little too hard.”
That was it. That was the shit that shut my filter down for good. I couldn’t let it go.
I grinned mischievously at my friends and said loudly, “Yeah, it’s okay…premature application happens to everyone…it’s no big deal!”
There was a lot of hysterical screaming and laughing from my friends. Not so much from the Mary Kay Fem-bot. She nearly imploded. Her mouth closed primly. Her eyebrows got really high. I could actually see her fighting to maintain her butt clench. She grinned flawlessly and said to me, “You’re a hoot!”
So there you have it. I may not have made things awkward for my girlfriends – because these bitches are just as cray cray as me – but I did make things highly uncomfortable for the Mary Kay Fem-bot, who turned out to be quite the delusional hosebag…so I don’t even feel guilty for it. Not one bit.
Now it’s your turn. Share your awkward moment or I’ll head to your house with a tube of moisturizer.
I joined a gym a while back. Ladies only. Sorry, fellas, you can keep your muscly eyeballs off my four asses. I don’t need your weird looks.
After about a month, the frustrating mega-bitch (aka the elliptical trainer) continues to humble me. But it’s okay…because she doesn’t mock me. She waits for me every day after work like a faithful friend and I try my best not to disappoint her, although I haven’t been back to see her since the 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse packed up and left town last Saturday night.
I’ve just patched my sole remaining pair of Frankenpants again and they’re in the washing machine. I wish I had an Extremely Gentle cycle on the washing machine – or the patience to hand wash them. I don’t. Six months into the new year and I’m still struggling with my goal to make exercise a habit. I still have to make things as simple as possible.
Yes, I’ve tried to purchase new ones. The Avenue doesn’t sell them unless it’s January (because fatties only want to work out after New Years). They’ve also lost my business because they no longer carry “the bigger sizes” in their stores. I would probably forsake that rule if it wasn’t for the aforementioned January thing. Other stores in my area don’t carry my size. Catherine’s only carries cotton and/or terry blends that will do nothing but give me friction sores.
I thought I found a great resource for plus sized workout gear when I found Junonia.com. After shipping, it was $70 for one pair of workout pants…and they never came. Junonia kept updating the shipping date further out. Two weeks later, I called and asked what was going on and they told me that my pants would ship in June. Maybe. I cancelled the order. I’m sure they were disappointed, as it seems they had their entire sweatshop working on my big ass pants.
Likewise, Penningtons seems like a good source – but every time I try to order, there’s a problem with their website. I suck at calling customer service lines to order shit. I’m usually doing about 13 things at once and I can’t seem to stand still and order pants on the phone. I’m going to give it one more shot and then it’s the “three strikes and you’re out” rule. Until then, I continue to patch the Frankenpants.
Slowly, I’m moving forward. I am becoming the master of steering around my own bullshit. If I had to work out in a tube top and a sailor hat, I’d still do it – because, damn it, I’m not going to be the victim of my own excuses anymore.
If you’d told me a year ago that I would belong to a gym right now, I would have laughed one of my four asses off. 2013 seems to be on a mission to humble me in every way possible. But it’s okay…because it’s a lesson that I obviously need to learn or I wouldn’t be here.
I thought this year was just about making a habit, but it turns out that it’s about my own self-acceptance. I thought I might have a hard time for a few weeks, but I’d light a fire under my own ass and get going. That’s not what’s happened. Instead, the demons in my head have risen together and danced a jig all over my plans…but still I move forward. Slowly. The demons are screaming and resisting, but they’re going down all the same. I will grab them by the hair and drag them across the finish line if I have to.
When it comes down to it, though, I have faith. I can feel it deep down inside me. It’s the voice in my head that tells me I can handle one more minute on the elliptical…that I can sew the Frankenpants one more time…that, yes, someday I’m going to ride a rollercoaster with Hot Mess Hubby again. I love that voice. And sometimes, when I have a bad day and I can’t hear it over all the bullshit going on in life, I get home and hear it coming from Hot Mess Hubby or see it in the comments you leave me here on the blog or on my Facebook page.
Yes, you can, HMP…yes, you can.
It’s no secret, I’m in love with handbags. I am a self-professed handbag ho. I admit it. I’m proud of it. It’s either this…or cake – and handbags don’t make my pants tighter.
I’ve been obsessing about Dooney & Bourke’s Hydrangea line ever since I saw it – but, like many families today, we’re on a pretty tight budget and I just can’t go running around buying up designer handbags whenever I want. Sure, I could’ve married a rich guy with abs of steel…but I didn’t. And I love my squishy, handsome, unshaven blue-eyed plumber’s crack show’in hubby.
I’m not gonna lie thought: if we won the lottery tomorrow, I could blow some serious money on designer handbags. (Nothing crazy like the $50,000 Birken or however you spell it. WTF is up with that!) Until I win the lottery or become a best selling author, I scrimp and save, empty the change thing in my car, and look under the couch cushions for every penny I can find if I want something pretty like this. Well, my friends, after much scrimping and saving, today is the day that Dooney & Bourke rocked my world. Again.
Here are the pics from my big day at the mall…
I had the Hydrangea satchel on hold…but when I got the store and the I’m-not-happy-with-chicks-who-get-too-excited sales lady brought it out, I noticed the sides were more floppy than I thought they’d be. Meanwhile, as if Jesus himself put it there for me to see, another Hydrangea bag sat perfectly upright on the shelf behind her…calling to me. At the last minute, I changed from the satchel to the Janine satchel. It has a boxy bottom – which is only a good thing if you’re a handbag – and then it’s effing awesome.
Right after this photo was taken, I turned to my girlfriend and said “Seriously, I could throw this bag down and hump it all across the floor if I didn’t think I’d wreck it…or get arrested.”
I hung out at the mall for a while on my own, not wanting to just sit on the Dallas North Tollway in traffic. I ended up being kidnapped by the girl at the Trish McEvoy make-up counter and she re-did my make-up. She was awesome. I heard all about her 24 acres and her pet donkey named Peanut. Not even making that up. She put mascara on me that actually made me look like I had eyelashes. I really enjoyed it.
I knew I’d have hell to pay when I got home because I’m never home late and the giant doggies would be fit to be tied, so I made sure to roll through Sonic on the way home to pick up a Hot Mess tradition: “Payday Hangabers”. Payday hamburgers. The dogs have never been able to pronounce “hamburger” correctly, but we give them a break because English is their second language.
After lulling them into a coma with a bag of meaty goodness, I sat down with my prize.
And here it is…my Dooney & Bourke Hydrangea Janine Satchel. I don’t think I’ll get anything done this weekend…I’m just gonna stare at it.
And now I’m just sitting here with the doggies…high as a kite from my orgasmic handbag score. Like I said: it’s either cake or handbags…and Dooney & Bourke doesn’t make me cry in the changing room.
Now if the Seven Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse would just get the hell out of town…I’d actually like to get back to the gym!
Happy Friday to y’all!!!
No, I haven’t lost my mind. It’s Thursday – which means it’s time for Mama Kat’s awesome blog meme!!! Those of you who follow me on Facebook got to vote on which topic I would write about…and this is what you decided to do to me.
I don’t normally write things like this. I don’t even take compliments well…but here it goes. I’ll take the first few from those of you who posted on Facebook today.
1. I’ve got a small army of rescued fur persons in my house. I’m an awesome fur person mommy. Here are just a few of my babies:
2. I bake for my co-workers…probably too much, but it helps my inner fat girl to make delicious and horribly unhealthy things. Obviously, I can’t eat them all – so I feed them to my co-workers, who think I’m awesome. (But actually, I’m not so awesome for feeding them horribly unhealthy things…but screw it!)
3. I am an awesome needleworker. I cross-stitch and I’m just getting back to embroidery. It’s therapeutic because it makes me focus…and because I can’t eat when my hands are busy.
4. I’m an eff’in cool auntie. My adult nieces and nephews have wonderful memories of me clowning around with them, having sleepovers, etc. The ones who are still growing up are lucky that their Aunt Di has still not grown up. I can blow any other adult out of the water with my ability to discuss which house at Hogwarts I would want to be sorted into…or cause a giggle fit while trying to convince them that my real name is Bumblefart but I made my mother change it when I started high school.
5. My eyes are awesome. I’ve always been complimented on my eyes. You can’t tell so much right now, but they’re big…and when I was younger they were deep brown. As I’ve gotten older, they’ve actually gone half green. Now the outer ring of my iris is brown and the inner ring is green – which I love because my father’s eyes were green. So now it’s like I have my parents with me all the time…every time I look in the mirror.
6. I’m funny. Sometimes I’m not half as funny as I think, but I am funny. I have my moments.
7. I put it all out there on this blog, don’t I? I’m awesome at it. I hope to show people that healthy normal weight loss is not a reality show on tv or swallowing miracle pills. It’s possible, but ya gotta work it!
8. I donated my hair to Locks of Love last week so that chronically ill children can have hair pieces. That made me feel awesome.
9. In my head, I carry a plethora of useless movie & tv trivia. My friends know this. I’m always the one they come running to me for the name of the actor who play Rocky’s trainer or to explain the ending from LOST.
10. I am the direct descendant of soldiers who fought in the Revolutionary War – which means that I am a member of The Daughters of the American Revolution. Awesome.
11. I have not yet murdered the Bag Boy from Hell. That’s saying something.
12. I have finally (with much guidance from Hot Mess Hubby) broken through and gotten back in touch with my creative side. In addition to writing my blog, I’m now writing fiction for the first time in 20 years!
13. I won’t let you talk shit about yourself. I won’t let you get discouraged. You come here to read and it’s like we’re all girlfriends, chatting over a cup o’ joe about our problems with weight loss. I don’t ever let you forget you’re special and you’re worthy. You are a little badass.
14. I had to get this one from the hubby: my personality is awesome. I’m bubbly, positive, and uplifting to be around. (He’s so cute, isn’t he?)
15. I also had to get this one from the hubby: My drive to never quit. I won’t ever quit again. I may slow down a little here and there, but I will never quit. Gotta love him for pointing that out to me. (I’m sure he also means I never quit nagging, but everyone knows pots go on the bottom rack of the dishwasher, damn it!!!)
And there you have it, my friends: 15 reasons why I’m awesome.
Now please comment below and tell me at least one of the reasons why you’re awesome!!! You can give me all 15 if you want to, or just a few…or one.
Brag to me…you deserve it.
It’s my Big Writing Weekend, so I shouldn’t be blogging right now. In fact, I feel like I’m cheating on Hot Mess Hubby by doing this…because the Big Writing Weekend was his idea and my blog wasn’t what he was talking about.
I was born a writer. As early as I can remember, my teachers were calling my Mom to say “This kid’s a writer…please encourage it.” In fact, writing is what I turned to as a young woman when I finally quit dance and left The King.
There were no blogs back then. I wrote fiction. It gave me the freedom to explore what life would be like as someone else. I created characters who were all the wonderful things I thought I was not. Sometimes I created characters who were fictional representations of people I didn’t like…and I brought vengeance upon them. It’s wonderful therapy. And it’s cheap. And I can’t go to jail for throwing someone in front of an imaginary train.
Hot Mess Hubby is my biggest fan. Back before there was a blog, back before we were even dating…back when we were just pals…he would ask to read anything I wrote. He even enjoyed handing me weird writing challenges on the spot. I rose to every challenge, of course – including the time he challenged me to write a poem about his “turd bobb’in dog”. I wish I was making that up, but it’s true.
In fact, I made the mistake of telling Hot Mess Hubby about one particular Thanksgiving weekend when I was on my way home from the store and I was struck with an idea for a story. I went home and started writing…and four days later, I had 55,000 words. He’s never forgotten that story – and that’s lead to this “Big Writing Weekend” of mine.
I took Friday off of work and I’m off Monday for Memorial Day. The goal was to lock myself in our guest room and just start banging on the keys until creativity started to come out. The problem is that it’s been awhile since I’d tapped into my creativity in any meaningful way and I’m sort of…constipated.
Writing my blog is very different from writing fiction. This blog isn’t creative writing. To me, this blog is like we’re all pals in a coffee shop and I’m chatting away. Fiction is much harder – especially after so many years away from it. My gears are rusty. As I write this, I’ve only written 1,000 words since Friday morning. I knew I’d be slow and clunky at first, but that’s just sad!
I’m sure it’ll get better. Eventually.
In other news, my gym experience is going well. I’m going to write a whole post about it, but I’m proud to say that I made the right decision in choosing which gym to join and how to go about it. It probably sounds incredibly wimpy, but I’m up to 10 – 14 minutes on the elliptical trainer right now. My strategy isn’t focused so much on increasing my time as it is going every day. Every single day. I’m building a habit.
Also, I went in for a haircut this week and ended up donating my hair to Locks of Love. It’s much shorter than I planned, but I asked the stylist to show me how much she would have to take…and I decided that it was more important to sacrifice a little vanity and let my hair go to good use. It seemed a bigger crime to let my long hair go in the trash can when it could help make hair pieces for chronically ill children. So I let her hack it all off. I guess that’s one way to lose 10 inches, right?
Finally, I’m being terrorized…by the state bird of Texas. A family of Mockingbirds has nested somewhere in my yard or my neighbor’s yard – and the babies are learning to fly. I love animals and I enjoy watching birds, so this is technically a minor inconvenience – but I’m convinced that all my neighbors think I’m crazy because I’m forced to run from the front door to the car and vice versa.
Mommy and Daddy Mockingbird are quite protective of their babies…one of which waddled across my front lawn yesterday. Adorable…but the parents are dive-bombing me and everyone who walks close to our home or my neighbor’s home. When they’re not trying to kick my ass, I’m quite entertained by the show they put on as I watch safely from the living room windows. Don’t mess with Texas…and that includes our state bird.
I’ll be back soon with a full progress report from the gym. For now, it’s back to whatever this fiction thing is that I’m writing. I don’t know if it’s a short story or a book…right now I just need to unclog the pipes. Wish me luck!