Help Me!

Hi Friends!

LOOK WHAT I DID! I signed up to walk for the AVON 39- The Walk to End Breast Cancer! LOOK AT THIS FANCY LOGO!

AVON_LOGO_39-THE-WALK-TO-END-BC_Horz_M100_CMYK_F

Pretty, huh? To actually be able to participate in this 2-day, 39.3 mile walk, I need to raise $1,800. Now, I haven’t fundraised for anything since Jump Rope for Heart in 3rd grade, so I need your help! Even if you can contribute just $5, it would be a HUGE help to me. I want to tribute my walk in honor of family members that have both lost and beat their battle with various cancers. If you donate, and I raise enough money to participate, I’ll be happy to write anyone’s name (of your choosing) on my shirt. I’ll post my super grungy pictures right here for you to seer your eyes out with!

PLEASE CLICK HERE TO DONATE!

The sooner I reach my goal, the sooner I’ll stop hounding you, my darlings.

THANK YOU SO MUCH! GO WASH YOUR TOES!

xoxo

Prancercise

Prancercise

^^^ Clicky, click, click.

My friend sent me a link to this video.

I posted to BuzzFeed because I LOVED it and knew other people would too.

It looks like something my mom would buy and trying to get me to do with her as a mother-daughter bonding experience.

Thank God this woman has her YouTube comments blocked. The post seems to be going viral, which is awesome because it’s the greatest video on the planet, but we all know the comments that can flood in on YouTube. Insult (even insult humor) is not my gig, man.

The people of WordPress are good, wholesome, people who, although, are still upset that McDonald’s took away plain honey dipping sauce for their Chicken McNuggets, don’t want to cause a fuss by complaining to management.

That’s a beautiful thing.

My Toe is Hanging Off

Hey squeaples.

A couple months ago I got involved with a roller derby team.

Not romantically, but they were having some clinics for skaters to learn new tricks and skills.

I went, I fell on my ass, and I had an awesome time.

After a few hours on your skates, your feet can get pretty numb. If they are too tight or if they haven’t been broken in much they can feel like vice grips.

My feet felt pretty crappy a few days after, but I didn’t think anything about it.

After a couple weeks I couldn’t curl the toes on my left foot. Walking was unbearable. I even made a couple jokes about breaking my foot on Twitter.

It got to the point where I couldn’t wear my new high heels, which have Ring Pops all over it (the design, unfortunately, they aren’t covered in real Ring Pops.)

That being a major crisis, I ended up going to my chiropractor.

He had me lay on his Frankenstein table and tilted it all the way back so I was laying completely horizontal (like most tables).

After an “ahh” and a “mhm” and  some”ooh’s” he came forth with the news. “Your toe is dangling out of it’s socket.”

Hm. As I suspected but did nothing about.

He began strapping my leg to the table.

“Uh, What’s that? I don’t like what you’re doing, why are you doing that, WHAT ARE YO–”

But before he even told me, he was hovering over my foot and with all his weight behind it, snapped my toe back into it’s socket.

He unraveled the tape and pressed the button that made the table move to an upright, vertical position, in true Frankenstein form.  I had to jump off before it kept going 180 degrees and smash me into the carpet.

He wrapped my foot up in the same tape he had strapped my leg down. “Keep this one for a couple days, maybe a 4 to 5 days, maybe a couple weeks. And don’t get it wet.”

I took it off after 4 days. I got it wet.

But my toe is all better! It hurts a little, but now I can stomp around in my Ring Pop shoes.

Until next time, gurgle puss!

A Very Winkel Wednesday

A Very Winkel Wednesday

It’s that time of the week again!

Winkel Wednesday!

Go check out all the silly things Mr. Winkel is doing in his down time.

http://mrwinkel.tumblr.com/

My Dirty Love Child

That sounds like I’m giving birth in a 3 foot plastic tub, naked, with my adolescent children swimming around in the after birth.

BUT NOT SO! It’s a weird project I’ve entangled myself in.

I love these guys.

Enjoy!

Or not.

It’s pretty shitty. But that’s what makes it good?

Okay, bye!

Blue Like Me

I dyed my hair.

I used henna with indigo so it would turn my crispy, blonde, fried highlights back to black.

Needless to say, I’m a renegade and didn’t use any gloves. Buuut I Eiffel 65’d my hands

(I’m blue da ba dee da ba DYE).

Get it? ….GET IT?

*crickets*

I might as well just smashed up some smurfs, blueberries, and Blue Man Group balls, with my bare hands.

I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but search results for removal yielded phrases like “a couple of months” and “good luck, asshole.”

Oh well. It’s faded enough that it almost looks like I have a horrible disease sucking the life out of my hands yet leaving me with a fabulous helmet of shiny hair.

Anyways, I hope everyone is having a darling Tuesday.

Until next time, my Chicken Mc-Fug-Lets.

Coke Whore

I’m sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t hear you over the cracking of my sweet, delicious Coke.

The cracking of the can, the first sip of crisp liquid love.

I’ve fallen back into my old habits.

When I was in 6th grade I would have a minimum of 5 cans per day, along with 2 meatball Hot Pockets. I stopped drinking it and lost a bunch of weight, but now over 2 years out of college I find myself standing in front of the display at CVS wondering which package will come home with Mama.

I touched that one, but I saw that one first. Well I can’t just choose between my children. You both can come home! (Cue me walking out of the store with a 12 pack under each arm.)

I get into my car and there are cans in all the designated cup holders. The trash bag in the back seat is filled to the brim with cans that clink around as a drive, just like Santa’s sleigh bells.

I didn’t really see the problem with it. I love what I love and it’s the one thing, you know, besides friends and family and bler blah barf, that I can rely on.

I did question myself as I was sitting at my desk, watching some stand-up, when reached for my Coke. I started to take a sip when I came out of my Coke haze and remembered I hadn’t put my Coke on my desk. I looked over at my night stand and my darling cherub sat there in all it’s beautiful red glory, shining like the angel of mercy it is.

I looked down at the Coke in my hand and realized it was probably from when I was cleaning my room the weekend prior.

That would explain the green fuzz growing around the mouth piece. I thought maybe this can came with it’s own terrarium. Got to be environmentally conscientious these days.

I mean, even the name Coke, sounds like the noise it makes when you open the can. The freshness. The bubbles dancing around on my tongue. Sweet relief.

At any rate that’s where I am, squealing with delight over a box of Cokes that still have the polar bears on the can, even though the box didn’t indicate they were the winter edition.

Now that is a true treasure.

Until next time, my Chipsqueaks!

Mama’s Gotta Brand New Tooth

Hey skeebermeisters!

I got me a brandy-new tooth in my face hole.

I realize that I have many face holes, but it’s in my biggest face hole with the rest of my teeth.

Following a 3 year diet consisting of 6 cokes and 2 Hot Pockets a day, one of my teeth rotted out into oblivion.

I swear I have nice teeth otherwise, this was in my “tween” years where my essential bodily upkeep was not up to normal standards. Unless you consider glittery eyebrows and white eyeliner normal.

I can’t chew on that side of my face for week. I chew aggressively so hopefully the right side of my jaw doesn’t turn into one giant beefed-up muscle.

I’ll take pictures if that happens.

Until next time, scuba boobs!

May I Borrow That Stretcher?

Well, crap. 

I’m starting to take my health a little bit more seriously these days. I figure if I’m going to be super famous, I should start working on my super famous body. I want to be fit, so you can  go ahead and invite me down to the river to wash out some of your linens on my perfectly sculpted abs.

I box and roller skate, but these activities only cancel out so much Coke and pizza after a certain period of time. So, I thought I’d take baby steps. Really. I downloaded a pedometer app (which yay! counts just touching the phone as 3 steps) and stuck it in my back pocket for the day.

Apparently, the ideal amount of steps to take in a day is 10,000. I’m in decent shape, but Jesus, at 5pm I hadn’t even broke 1,000…and that was being conscious that I would probably have to take more steps than normal. 

I went home, ate a salad, and immediately went out to do errands in hopes to get some more steps in. Well, 4 hours and $150 spent, I was closing in on 3,000 steps. Not even to the halfway point and my legs were already sore. 

Now the resentment of my desk job is starting to seep in as the remainder of my muscle melts into extra flesh. You think the Pillsbury company could use a girl mascot?

This is going to be an interesting journey. My love affair with Coke and pizza might be interrupted by my nagging body, demanding attention.

Alright my little love dumps. Until next time!

Animow

I’m wearing a jacket and leaned my elbow on the desk and it made a farting noise. Hehe.

But back to Animows. Today I was sitting at lunch, eating my second bowl of fiber cereal, which isn’t the best tasting, but it’s cereal and no one can just eat one bowl, unless you’re a witch.

I got to thinking about how fitness trainers and diet planners say not to reward yourself with food, because you aren’t an animal. Pardon me, while I hate all of that and drink a gallon of smashed up McDonald’s french fries. Firstly, yes I am an animal and secondly, I don’t think I want to know a person who doesn’t treat eating like a reward. That’s the whole point. Sure, it sustains life and that’s great but that only comes second to how fantastic shoving your mouth full of soda and strawberry doughnuts and pouring chocolate syrup down your face feels.

That’s how I start my day. I reward myself for getting out of bed and going to work by stopping at a coffee place and getting the largest vat of mocha iced coffee they have. If I didn’t do that, I’d be crying at my desk all day. Useless, sad, alone. But with my scrumpsh reward, I can somehow find the strength within me to live and do things like check my Facebook and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race and answer phone calls.

Another point is, it’s April. Everyone knows that April is the crusty butthole of the 12-month calendar year. It’s April, it’s raining, and it’s a Tuesday. Monday’s are better than Tuesday because you know they are terrible. Wednesday means we got through the bad part, Thursday means we can say YAY TOMORROW’S FRIDAY LET’S DRINK, and Friday means we get to sleep in Saturday. How can a person even live through a Tuesday without rewarding themselves with gourmet microwave popcorn their mother planted in a movie theater butter popcorn box because she’s a dirty trickster.

I see no other reason than to celebrate food and be enslaved by it’s glory.

Until next time, Wondersluts!