Yeah, yeah - long time not talk. I could blame it on Facebook, but then I would have to admit that I neglect that too. I think that (despite what my family says to the contrary) I simply don't have a lot to say lately.
You can only bitch about the weather and a job for so many posts, no?
So here's a smattering of what's been in my head.
1. I have decided that I will never been an Ironman champ. Why? Boobs are too big.
Surely that is the only reason.
2. I am pretty sure I have the world’s worst muscle tone. I mean, even though my little legs can take me on a 3-hour brick any given Sunday, they have the cellulite look of an 80-old smoker who has led a life of leisure and inactivity. I don’t get it. I am going to be forced to run my ½ marathon in Nashville in running pants just to hide the atrocity.
You know - us girls can't a flippin' break, like EVER. First, it's the whole 3-decades long mentration bullshit, with all it's cramps and PMS and blood and tampon glory. And then, just when you think you've done your "Lady Time," you have to suffer another decade or two of menapause and it's hot-flash fabulousness and hormone replacement. Oh, and if you're "lucky," you get a few 9-month vacations in there. But fear not - those vacations end WITH A KID.
What the fuck kind of present is that?!?!?
What do boys get?
Maybe a receeding hairline and some extra pudge. And yet they're the ones entitled to mid-life crisis?!? They can all just suck it. Suck my big fat leg cellulite.
3.Greatest lesson learned this weekend? Activa gives me diarrhea. Of course, the ass explosion is only secondary to the rock-hard stomach-extending bloat and gas the precedes it. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking –
Thank GAWD I am engaged.
4. So I joined Twitter. Because in addition to the blog AND Facebook status updates, I figured that it is absolutely imperative that there be not.one.single.second of my life that goes unnoticed or unannounced.
I mean, if you can’t live out loud, how can you live?
5. Greatest part of Easter dinner (besides my mom's cooking)?
Watching my nephew dance to and sing "I Hate This Part (Right Here)."
Because nothing celebrates the death and resurrection of Christ like a two-year-old singing the words to a Pussycat Dolls song.
The shit warms the cockles of the heart, you know?
(truth be told - it was effing HYSTERICAL and I can't wait to get the video to post it. so the question is: does that make me a bad aunt that i completely and whole heartedly encourage these performances? i think not. in fact, i think that the easter basket i brought him filled with candy, paint, and -yes- tattoos, sort of cancels out any "bad" i could do as an aunt.
it's just how the world works.
i don't make the rules.)