WTF are my recycled tissues made from? Recycled sandpaper? Recycled gravel?
My nose hurts and I am tired of having a cold.
That's all.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Weighty Matters
I've always thought I was fat. Now that I am actually really and truly fat, I wish I was the size I was when I thought I was fat, about 50lbs ago.
That said, I've now lost 13 lbs. The 3 from New Orleans, and 10 additional lbs. I'd be overjoyed if I could lose about 35 lbs more. Then I would be simply fat, and not FAT. That would be cool.
Next thing you know, I'll be strutting around in skinny jeans.
No, no I will not. Skinny jeans suck.
That said, I've now lost 13 lbs. The 3 from New Orleans, and 10 additional lbs. I'd be overjoyed if I could lose about 35 lbs more. Then I would be simply fat, and not FAT. That would be cool.
Next thing you know, I'll be strutting around in skinny jeans.
No, no I will not. Skinny jeans suck.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Fat
I gained three pounds in three days while in New Orleans.
This has got to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. My clothes don't fit right. I think my stomach may be, finally, bigger than my boobs. Intolerable.
I'm going on a diet.
This has got to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. My clothes don't fit right. I think my stomach may be, finally, bigger than my boobs. Intolerable.
I'm going on a diet.
Monday, October 15, 2012
A Vacation of Firsts
Dear Gumball,
Please don't read this section until you are old enough to understand that your mama is human. Frail, petty, weak, lazy, lustful, willful, and selfish- but trying her best to be the best mom in the universe to you. I try to be a better person every day so that I can lead you by example.
Just... not during this vacation. Not exactly. I do hope that you embrace life though, and that you, like me, devour new experiences with gusto and passion. Just don't read this yet, ok?
Thank you.
You loving, very human, Mama.
My trip to New Orleans was amazing, and it was also a vacation of firsts. In particular: my first grenade while walking up and down Burbon Street, my first strip club and accompanying first lap dance, and my first date while on vacation.
Can you believe that I was only in New Orleans for 3 days and 3 nights? We filled every moment of that trip with amazing meals and experiences.
Going to a strip club was different from my expectations. I expected, first and foremost, big boobs. Nope, no big boobs. I thought the dancers would wear one pair of scanty underwear, but they wore two. Why? I'm not sure. Some of the men were as gross as I had expected, and some of the dancers seemed high, disinterested, and mechanical- which I expected. Some of the women were sexy, sparky, and full of personality- which was really surprising and enjoyable to see. Getting a lap dance was quite an experience. True to form, we spent the first several moments just chatting. Then she danced for me, in our private room, and rubbed up against me. It was pretty lighthearted, but still erotic. I'm still up in the air about how getting a lap dance fits in with my feminist ideals, but it was a fun experience nonetheless.
Then my date. When we went to Delmonico, one of the waiters was particularly charming and, honestly, hilarious. He insisted that we order the best dishes on the menu, and when I wanted to stray from his suggestions with the salted caramel bread pudding, he informed me that I could go ahead and order it, "if I wanted to be disappointed." He made me laugh. When my lovely companion went to the restroom, he came over to the table, and I asked if he wanted to see a photo of my beautiful daughter. He did, and we became Instagram friends. I know. Modern flirting at it's best. I asked if he had any children, and he said no. Was it the sangria that made me respond, "would you like to? We could have a baby together." Yes, dear friends and readers, I am off my fucking rocker. So is he, apparently, bc he laughed, smiled, and gave me his card, with his cell phone number. I asked if he was busy later... and the following evening we all met for drinks.
We had one particularly enlightening and entertaining exchange. I asked how old he was, and he told me that he is fifty. I was completely shocked, bc I've never been so attracted to someone so, well, so old. Plus, he looks much younger, whatever that means. So I demanded to see his drivers license. I looked at it, and he was born in 1962. Which really isn't so far away from my mid-1970's birth year. In my drunken state (those milk punches went down awfully easily,) I said the first thing that came to my mind. "See! I told you that you weren't fifty. You're just a little older than I am!"
That entire sentence is a complete lie. He is fifty, and I am, GASP, thirty-seven. Or, as I now like to think of it, almost fifty.
WTF. I am old! When did this happen?!?
So yeah. New Orleans. Best meals of my life, wonderful travel companion and friend who made every discovery a delight, lap dance, and an interesting, vexing, and terribly sexy new fifty year old friend. Who, by the way, I've been chatting with since I left. I hope I get to see him, and the fabulous, enchanting city of New Orleans, again.
Please don't read this section until you are old enough to understand that your mama is human. Frail, petty, weak, lazy, lustful, willful, and selfish- but trying her best to be the best mom in the universe to you. I try to be a better person every day so that I can lead you by example.
Just... not during this vacation. Not exactly. I do hope that you embrace life though, and that you, like me, devour new experiences with gusto and passion. Just don't read this yet, ok?
Thank you.
You loving, very human, Mama.
My trip to New Orleans was amazing, and it was also a vacation of firsts. In particular: my first grenade while walking up and down Burbon Street, my first strip club and accompanying first lap dance, and my first date while on vacation.
Can you believe that I was only in New Orleans for 3 days and 3 nights? We filled every moment of that trip with amazing meals and experiences.
Going to a strip club was different from my expectations. I expected, first and foremost, big boobs. Nope, no big boobs. I thought the dancers would wear one pair of scanty underwear, but they wore two. Why? I'm not sure. Some of the men were as gross as I had expected, and some of the dancers seemed high, disinterested, and mechanical- which I expected. Some of the women were sexy, sparky, and full of personality- which was really surprising and enjoyable to see. Getting a lap dance was quite an experience. True to form, we spent the first several moments just chatting. Then she danced for me, in our private room, and rubbed up against me. It was pretty lighthearted, but still erotic. I'm still up in the air about how getting a lap dance fits in with my feminist ideals, but it was a fun experience nonetheless.
Then my date. When we went to Delmonico, one of the waiters was particularly charming and, honestly, hilarious. He insisted that we order the best dishes on the menu, and when I wanted to stray from his suggestions with the salted caramel bread pudding, he informed me that I could go ahead and order it, "if I wanted to be disappointed." He made me laugh. When my lovely companion went to the restroom, he came over to the table, and I asked if he wanted to see a photo of my beautiful daughter. He did, and we became Instagram friends. I know. Modern flirting at it's best. I asked if he had any children, and he said no. Was it the sangria that made me respond, "would you like to? We could have a baby together." Yes, dear friends and readers, I am off my fucking rocker. So is he, apparently, bc he laughed, smiled, and gave me his card, with his cell phone number. I asked if he was busy later... and the following evening we all met for drinks.
We had one particularly enlightening and entertaining exchange. I asked how old he was, and he told me that he is fifty. I was completely shocked, bc I've never been so attracted to someone so, well, so old. Plus, he looks much younger, whatever that means. So I demanded to see his drivers license. I looked at it, and he was born in 1962. Which really isn't so far away from my mid-1970's birth year. In my drunken state (those milk punches went down awfully easily,) I said the first thing that came to my mind. "See! I told you that you weren't fifty. You're just a little older than I am!"
That entire sentence is a complete lie. He is fifty, and I am, GASP, thirty-seven. Or, as I now like to think of it, almost fifty.
WTF. I am old! When did this happen?!?
So yeah. New Orleans. Best meals of my life, wonderful travel companion and friend who made every discovery a delight, lap dance, and an interesting, vexing, and terribly sexy new fifty year old friend. Who, by the way, I've been chatting with since I left. I hope I get to see him, and the fabulous, enchanting city of New Orleans, again.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Fortune Teller
My life has been a whirlwind. Guests- friends and family. For a week. A visit from Gumball's paternal grandmother and great aunt. Three days and nights in the Big Easy. I've never been anywhere where people are so friendly and outgoing. Between the food, sights, people, history, architecture, and experiences, I was floored. Now I understand the allure. I'm no 20 year old spring-breaker, but the air in New Orleans is enchanted, and I had an absolutely magical visit.
This was due, in part, to my travel companion. No, not Gumball. Gumball stayed home with Nana, and I hopped onto a plane with one of my friends. She is the best, and between the two of us, we managed to devour, walk, talk to, drink, and feel up all of New Orleans. We did it all, and it felt amazing. I couldn't have had a better companion, and we had a wonderful time.
Of particular note were these two restaurants: Cochon and Emeril's Delmonico. We ate everything. From fried liver on toast speckled with pepper jelly, to barbequed shrimp and grits, to rabbit and dumplings, and $40 steaks. Unbelievably delicious food and once in a lifetime experiences.
I saw a fortune teller too. He told me to let go of the feeling that occurrences in the past reflect my personal failures. It is true though. Deep down, I feel like I am somehow to blame for Gumball's dad's departure. I feel like his leaving shows my flaws and dirty underbelly. Exposes me as undesirable and a fraud to everyone. Bc why else would he have left, unless there was something really horrible about me? I often wonder if people I meet, when they hear my story, if they're trying to detect what it is about me that made him leave. As though I carry a faint odor of rotting flesh, or am a lousy lover, or whatever fatal flaw I must cleverly hide.
I am going to try to let go of that feeling of failure. I've tried and tried to make sense of it, and while blaming myself is probably the most comfortable and familiar path, I decline to continue to carry this doubt and blame any further.
The fortune teller also told me that I would have another child. It's a dream that I am scared to admit, and keep wrapped tightly inside, so that the disappointment of being single in my waning years of fertility doesn't make me sad. And I am incredibly blessed to have my beautiful and precious Gumball, so much so that it seems greedy to ask for more. I also know that raising two kids on my own would be very challenging, and possibly more than I could handle. In my heart of hearts, I would love to meet someone, have a relationship, and have a child within the embrace of that relationship. It's too much to ask of my uterus, I am afraid. But the fortune teller's words soothed me, nonetheless.
This was due, in part, to my travel companion. No, not Gumball. Gumball stayed home with Nana, and I hopped onto a plane with one of my friends. She is the best, and between the two of us, we managed to devour, walk, talk to, drink, and feel up all of New Orleans. We did it all, and it felt amazing. I couldn't have had a better companion, and we had a wonderful time.
Of particular note were these two restaurants: Cochon and Emeril's Delmonico. We ate everything. From fried liver on toast speckled with pepper jelly, to barbequed shrimp and grits, to rabbit and dumplings, and $40 steaks. Unbelievably delicious food and once in a lifetime experiences.
I saw a fortune teller too. He told me to let go of the feeling that occurrences in the past reflect my personal failures. It is true though. Deep down, I feel like I am somehow to blame for Gumball's dad's departure. I feel like his leaving shows my flaws and dirty underbelly. Exposes me as undesirable and a fraud to everyone. Bc why else would he have left, unless there was something really horrible about me? I often wonder if people I meet, when they hear my story, if they're trying to detect what it is about me that made him leave. As though I carry a faint odor of rotting flesh, or am a lousy lover, or whatever fatal flaw I must cleverly hide.
I am going to try to let go of that feeling of failure. I've tried and tried to make sense of it, and while blaming myself is probably the most comfortable and familiar path, I decline to continue to carry this doubt and blame any further.
The fortune teller also told me that I would have another child. It's a dream that I am scared to admit, and keep wrapped tightly inside, so that the disappointment of being single in my waning years of fertility doesn't make me sad. And I am incredibly blessed to have my beautiful and precious Gumball, so much so that it seems greedy to ask for more. I also know that raising two kids on my own would be very challenging, and possibly more than I could handle. In my heart of hearts, I would love to meet someone, have a relationship, and have a child within the embrace of that relationship. It's too much to ask of my uterus, I am afraid. But the fortune teller's words soothed me, nonetheless.
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