Thank you, Ms. B. Rattus, for the right-before-bed-no-alcohol tip – I knew that one but it is something we all need to be reminded of. However, there was no alcohol involved in this week’s insomnia. Which sucks more than you can ever imagine because I don’t have anyone (even a fizzy gin drink!) to blame.
“Thank GOD I got sober now so I can be hyper-conscious for this series of humiliations.” – Postcards From The Edge
What have I accomplished with all this sleeplessness this past week? you might ask
- Drank straight from a bottle of wine wrapped in a paper sack so I could practice how to look in the future when I am destitute
- Determined you really cannot look destitute in cute shoes – noted that in my journal for future reference
- Decided that from now on, if I use the word “literally” in any sentence, NO MATTER WHAT THE CONTEXT, I give my Capuchin Monkey the authority to shoot me on sight…Scratch this, the Capuchin Monkey doesn’t have any firearms…plus I don’t really have a Capuchin Monkey
- But wouldn’t it be totally badass if I did?
- Discovered that the amount of blog posts I have left in me is directly proportionate with my lack of knowledge on the subject about which I am writing
- Arranged the pantry alphabetically and by food group
- Wrote a novel
- Trained Rainbow how to herd sheep
- Had liposuction
Really, all I did was watch numerous cooking shows and caught up on Rizzoli & Isles.
Everyone – E V E R Y O N E – needs a friend like Bunny. Out of the blue today, before I weighed myself and confirmed that I gained at least two pounds while out of town, I got the following text from her:
Bunny: Getting toes done and on the way here I remembered something I saw on FB that I wanted to pass on to you.
Bunny: Depression lies.
Bunny: That’s all.
God, I love her more than a $10,000 shopping spree on Zappos!
On being the Navigator:
Me: Soooo…when we find your beer, can we go back to the monkeys?
Non-BF: What? Wait, where do I turn?
Me: The monkeys on Richmond Avenue. Back over there. We just passed them.
Siri: Make a left turn on Wheeler Avenue.
Non-BF: What did she say?
Me: Siri is a whore. The monkeys, they’re cute. It’s clever. Some kind of dirt ball clumpy thingie you grow flowers on that is shaped like a monkey hanging from…
Non-BF: WHERE do I turn?
Me: In 3/10 of a mile. At Wheeler Street. Left.
Me: Here! Take her back! You can have Siri. I was just trying to be helpful.
Non-BF: Well, you are NOT being helpful. You are talking about monkeys.
While driving back from our mini road trip, we stop for lunch in a small Texas town. After we ate, we walked across the street to the sister boutique of the country cafe where we ate lunch. I do a quick 30 second assessment and tell the non-BF, “All right, let’s go.”
Non-BF: Don’t you want to look at the clothes here in this other room?
Me (shaking my head vehemently): NOPE, not my style.
Non-BF: What?? Is “crazy” a style now?
Me: That is SO going on non-girlfriend.
Non-BF: I give you a lot of material for your blog. I’m a constant stream of shit.
My workout partner was emailing me on Facebook while I was on my road trip. Here is how the conversation began:
WO Partner: Hey, Fat Girl.
I really don’t need to tell you the rest of the back-and-forth because, hey, would that piss you off? I’m still kind of shaking my head about the whole thing.
So yeah, this diet? BLOWS. I’ve already cheated every day (well, one day I had an extra apple) but today? Knocked the motherfucker OUT OF THE BALLPARK! Let’s not talk about the mashed potatoes…I also had a piece of the sweetest, most sickening store bought cake with that oh-my-God!-what-kind-of-fake-shit-is-in-this? icing.
Damned proud of myself, too.
Gained 2 1/2 pounds. Fuck it, I’m having a cocktail tonight. Just don’t call me Fat Girl. I’m not in a good mood now, and this bitch? can THROW DOWN!