Gym Mouse

Hi PingPongs,

I haven’t been to the gym in two weeks and I feel like blob. I work in extremes, so when I’m not at the gym, I’m ripping my cabinets apart looking for a stale granola bar or a dry piece of pasta to gnaw on. As I mentioned previously, my roommate and I spent about $75 on ice cream in the past week and a half. This is after a three week stint of working out every day and drinking lots of juice that claims to be healthy but is more or less rotting my teeth out of my face.

Speaking of rotting teeth, I also found out I love the Snickers Squared Peanut Butter bars. I didn’t even know I liked Snickers. I blame the Easter Bunny. Any kind of chocolate that comes in an egg shape tastes 300x better than in its regular form. I’m sure there’s studies on this somewhere.

I’m not particularly fond of the new trend of drinking only liquids and working out four hours a day until your body is completely chiseled. I think I would be suited better for the 80s or 90s where my zero percent muscle tone was appreciated, even revered. I do feel gross when I don’t move around much though. My head gets foggy and I’m convinced my dyslexia triples in severity. Speaking is hard enough but when I’m sluggish and unfocused, I might as well just hang a little chalk board around my neck like the swan from The Trumpet of the Swan. Maybe I could just get a trumpet and do morse code with it. Again, extremes.

Even though my gym is in the same parking lot as my work, by the time 5pm rolls around I’m ready to go home and toss myself across my bed. I keep telling myself that I’ll get up early and go to the gym before work, but then I start thinking about how tired I might get throughout the day if I go too early. Then I don’t go after work because I figure I’ll go home and go to sleep to wake up early to go to the gym and it just goes on and on and long story short I should probably cancel my membership. They DO have TVs with basic cable and they have towel service so I’m essentially paying them to do laundry while I watch TV.

We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go and meet a hunk and he’ll carry me out to my car and buy me Snickers OR maybe the gym’s security personnel will escort me out and tell me to stop submitting requests for a new vending machine and also stealing the towels.

I don’t steal the towels but if they ever cross me, I KNOW I COULD.

Okay, I love you. smoochsmooch xox

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!

Crystals and Toe-Sucking

Hey guys, I might be a witch.

Lately I’ve been reading up on crystals and gemstones and their benefits. I have a piece of citrine, an emerald, and a little lapis lazuli (any Gilgamesh fans?).

I carry them around as lucky charms but I also read that keeping certain ones under your pillow will help you have happier dreams when you sleep.

WELL my friends, I did not put my crystals under my pillow last night and I had some pretty fucked up dreams. One of them included sucking the toes (which nails were painted blackish-purple) of a kid I used to like a few years back. There was lots of drag queens, Goldfish crackers, rainbow escalators, and a nighttime pool party.

It sounds traumatizing but I woke up laughing so I’m hoping I haven’t completely become unhinged. Although, I’m not sure if laughing means I am crazy or just understanding of the absurdity.

Judging by the titles of my last few posts, I guess it might be the former.

In other news, I am seeing a psychic this weekend!

It was either that or a therapist and the psychic was cheaper.

And they are usually better at telling people what to do.

Me make a decision for myself? Puh! Unless it’s food or clothing, I’ll take all the advice I can get.

Or this blog. This thing is stream of consciousness. I pick a topic and wipe my ass with it and see how you darling pooptarts like it.

I’m not going to put the crystals under my pillow again tonight and see if anything else kooky happens.

Until next time my Scruvy Fully Bloateds!

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!

Please Haunt Me, Greg Giraldo

I’ve had a talent for willing bizarre things in my life. That includes both good and bad.

Some include:

  • Getting my favorite comedians to retweet me or mention me on a podcast.
  • Getting caught in the middle of a shootout.
  • Dancing around as a Van Halen girl on a movie set for 5 hours.
  • Having a homeless guy chase me through a parking lot and jangle his junk around while pointing at me.

All  instances that I followed coincidences to get to.

I like the idea of synchronicity and every time I’ve followed it, I’ve come out the other end with some sort of story to tell about it.

Greg Giraldo, an awesome comedian, keeps popping up.  In conversations, books,  and on TV. More than I’ve ever seen before, especially considering he died three years ago. I can’t turn a corner without someone mentioning him or some outlet referencing his stand-up.

It’s great, but it’s becoming unavoidable.

So I pulled up some video from his tribute special on Comedy Central. There’s a small segment of him describing his stand-up as “puckish.” I instantly thought of Puck from the Real World circa 1994. That and a Midsummer’s Night Dream poster with Michelle Pfeiffer on it, that hung in my 8th grade English class.

My ability to retain information has gone down since a six month stint in college, so I looked up “puckish.”

Essentially: “playful, in mischievous way.”

An adorable way to describe his comedy.

Then I thought to myself, I wish Greg Giraldo would haunt me and be my spirit guide in the world of comedy.

I thought on it for a while and thought of all the fun adventures we’d have.

Then I went and packed my crap up to go gym.

About ten minutes later, I went outside and opened the driver side door of my car and leaned across it. I threw my gym back to the passenger side, my ass is hanging out the door.

PSSST!

I turned around and looked at my house, thinking maybe my mom was trying to get my attention. Nothing was there.I turned back and started to climb into the car, ass still hanging out, I heard it again.

PSSSSST!

I turned around again, embarrassed, thinking someone was making fun of my ass and I hadn’t been sharp enough to catch them the first time. I turned back to the car.

PSST!!!

I looked around again, at the door of the house, the windows, the neighbors houses, behind the cars. I felt like an asshole. Was someone playing a joke on me and my ass?

It wasn’t an animal, there was no one around, and I haven’t smelt burning feathers recently. It sounded like someone was trying to get my attention.

Awfully, PUCKISH, amiright?

I scrambled into the car, locked the doors, and drove on the lawn.

Could this be another stepping stone on the synchronicity trail?

I’m going to meditate more on this and I’ll let you know if I conjure up anything else.

Until next time, fart-ners.