The thing about gut feelings…

Good Morning, world! If you enjoyed reading love junkie, I welcome you to follow me on my new blog, Yogi in a Fat suit.

Yogi in a Fat Suit

I want to touch my toes.  More than wanting to be 5’5″, more than wanting there to be an eighth season of Dexter, I want to touch my toes.  In elementary school, I loathed the fitness test days.  Every year the same three things were proven true: I would not get more than 4 popsicle sticks walking around the track during the running test. The fat arm pincher was going to hurt me (emotionally, not physically).  And during the reaching test with the stupid box and the yard stick…my finger tips would not get very far.

Now in my mid thirties, the dream is alive and well. I’ve recently fallen in love with yoga. In class, I find myself ready to conquer each and every pose. Triangle, get ready because you are about to be owned. I stretch my arms out, pull my head and spine into a line, hinge forward…

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How I spent my Summer Vacation.

In my youth, I never took the time to appreciate the awesomeness that is Summer Vacation.   If I could go back in time, I would watch a little more trash TV (I gave up on Jerry and Maury too soon), run around in the sun and maybe not stuff my face with so much food, so that I could actually for once wear a two-piece.   In the past, any time off used to drive me nuts.  Last Summer, I couldn’t wait to get back to work and in fact worked through most of my vacation. WTF, right?  I’ve come to realize that I have been afraid of reaching my full, time-off potential. That is till this Summer vacation.  

My Summer had no idea what it had coming.  I used her and I used her well, I exploited every minute of every day. Not an ounce of Summer Vacay was left untouched when I was done.  My vacation went so well, that I could not sleep last night.  And as a result and am work functioning on only an hour of sleep.  Here for you my friends, a recap of the last to fabulous weeks.

Vacation was off to a rocky start. Everything may have fallen apart if not for my sweet husband. After a rough couple of days of IneedtoloseweightorIwillnevergetpregnant, he implements two a days combined with a couple of days in the country. You will haul ass down a road when their are giant grasshoppers everywhere!

I finally got my butt in gear and attempted to finish my first crocheted scarf. Notice that I said “attempted.” Paprika the cats ensures this task is derailed every chance she gets.

Had a lot of mini dates with my husband. What you can’t see is the ginormous egg salad sandwich directly in front of this plant.

After a very late evening workout, an order of nachos seemed like a good idea. Four hours later, the bubbling in my stomach, informed me that it was an incredibly stupid idea.

  

Megan Fox and I have the exact same kind of thumb. Apparently, we both have what are referred to as “clubbed thumbs.” I am no longer alone in my plight of trying to find an acrylic nail that fits my thumbs. Megan Fox, I got your back yo!

Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation) have the same journal. Yes, I stopped and played the scene over and over again in the episode “Camping” (Season 3, episode 8). This means Leslie Knope and I both shop at Barnes & Noble! What are the chances that a fictional character and I would shop at the same place?!?

And in an effort to be a better friend- spent some time with some amazing women.

I saw this once in National Geographic

Every once in a while, I make it out to the gym. The trip to the gym always brings about stress, in particular the locker room. I’ve been going to the same gym for about a year now and have been able to navigate from the shower to the changing area with much more ease and less discomfort as before.

Today however this obnoxious, overly comfortable with her body, woman in what seemed to be her late 50s, destroyed all the locker room progress that I had made! Earlier, I spotted this woman, that we shall now call, Cougar Panties, on the elliptical machine. She was using the machine rather oddly, sticking her butt out farther than normal.

Like any good Mexican-American Catholic girl, I make sure and put my bra and undies on in the shower stall. Of course, after I’ve showered. And then just in case, I throw a towel over it all. I realize that this may seem a bit prudish and my response to that is ” Whatevs!”

I dress in record time and grab my blow dryer and brush. I would also like to note that gym hair dryers suck! My hair dries faster standing two feet away from those hand drying machines! As I’m parting my hair in sections, Cougar Panties walks up and begins to slather lotion all over her topless body. I turn my hair dryer on, maybe she will realize that this area is for make up and hair. Nope, not all.

Cougar Panties lathers some more, staring at herself in the mirror and shimming around. This time I look around, expecting to see a camera crew and listening for the cheesy fusion jazz music, because the only explanation for this nonsense is that I must have accidentally walked into a porn set.* Then I thought may be she thought this was a co-ed locker and was seeking out twenty something males in financial trouble.

I couldn’t wait for my hair to fully dry- I needed to get out. How is this behavior acceptable? Don’t get me wrong, I admire Cougar Panties confidence. I’m at the gym in hopes that I will look good for my age like she did but…BOUNDARIES!!! The locker room is a place to change, shower and reflect not the place to practice your scene from Cougar Panties Get Down and Dirty.

Never again will I let my guard down. Never again. I would also like to note that a couple of hours after this I walked into a public restroom. A woman walked in behind me and chose the stall right next to mine. Unacceptable.

* For the record, I never stared directly at Cougar Panties. This is all based off of my peripheral vision.

The dark twisted world that is lunch.

We are training for a half marathon and have slacked off significantly the last two weeks. Blame weather, health, the moon- either way our runs are difficult to crank out when we each spend about ten hours a day at work.

I prefer the wind blowing through my now boy short hair. Matthew prefers pungent smell of arm pits and farts at the gym. Tomato. Towmawtoe.

And so began, at lunch today, the great debate over where we should run tonight. We agreed we would run outside- but we simply could not decide on a location.

Matt: “okay so we’re running at Brack?”

Me: “No, the river walk.”

Matt: “We are not running their it’s dangerous.”

Me: “No, it’s not!!!”

Matt: “Okay when you end up in the hospital with rabies, I’m going to tell you ‘see it is dangerous!'”

Me: “Are you kidding me?!? Brack is full of pimps and hoes! I could end up being abducted and sold into the sex slave industry. You better start watching Taken!”

Matt: “Okay Sweat Pea, well we’ll see what happens when Big C, your pimp abducts you from the river walk!”

Me: “Sweet pea?!? That’s not my sex slave name!”

Matt: ” Big C can call you whatever he wants. And wait a second! What about me, you’re not worried that I might get abducted and sold as a sex slave. I’m pretty!”

Me: “you’re not the right kind of pretty.”

Matt: ” So I’m not pretty!?!”

Me: ” Baby, your soooo handsome! You’re beautiful but you’re not sex slave material. I’m sorry.”

Matt: ” Fine. If I wasn’t here. Where would you go running tonight.”

Me: ” Why would you not be here?”

Matt: ” I died.”

Me: “I’d be devastated, not running!”

Matt: ” Fine, it’s been two months since I died. Where would you run?”

Me: ” You think my heart would be healed in two months! No way!!!”

Matt: ” Okay, it’s been a year, you’re doing fine. Where would you running?”

Me: “I guess that would depend on where Channing [Tatum] wants to go.”

Matt: ” Really?!?”

Me: 😉

Irritable tear duct syndrome or why I can’t listen to Miranda Lambert. Ever.

We finally moved. After weeks of sleeplessness, sorting, trashing and packing- we finally moved. The move was surprisingly smooth. Too smooth actually…

I’ve lived most of my life in the house I grew up in- for the most part. As an adult and after a failed relationship, in my mid twenties, I moved back in with my parents. At this time they had just purchased a home in a subdivision far far away. When I became engaged (first marriage) I decided to rent our old home from my parents. Never rent from family.

In June, Matthew and I found ourselves looking for a place to live. Some place that we could call our own for a while and completely void of exes.

So what did we do? Get an overly priced apartment near downtown. I have been so busy with packing and organizing that there was no time for anything extra. Not even time to think about saying good bye to my home.

And it’s just like life to slap you across the face…I’m driving and Miranda Lambert’s The House that Built Me comes on the radio. And there I am crying in full little bitch mode. Well played life. Well played.

The girls spent ten hours hiding behind the washer. Drama queens.

Life happens.

Life has been crazy busy and I have not made time for myself. But at least I am able to prioritize some things. Because nothing makes me happier than presents. 🙂

Hunting Season: The Search for a new Home pt. 1

About five years ago, the ex and I decided to rent out the house I grew up in from my parents. At the time, that seemed like the best decision, and we were so excited and delusional. Five years later, I have realized that it was one of the not so great decisions of my life. A few weeks ago, Matthew and I decided it was time to move on out and find somewhere new. We came to this realization only a few hours before the Game night we were hosting at the house. There was zero time to deal with the anger and frustration, because we had to clean and prepare food. We have been mentally preparing and after viewing place after place we decided to be daring and expand our search.

Yesterday, we took the day off from work. After having a super long brunch with my mom, I picked up Matthew and we headed out. Our first stop: the gas station.

I will begin by saying that I am not nosey, I just think it’s my responsibility as a citizen of this world to know what the fuck is going on. I can’t just sit back and stare at the clouds if I know for a fact…ummm or atleast have a suspicion that something is about to go down.

It is only noon and I am already sweating my Degree off so I lean over to turn the car on a bit and roll down the windows. Matthew is inside paying. I look up and see this huge ass Ford F9500 (I am exagerrating- don’t go google that) trying to turn into the gas station. Driving is this older man (pretty sure he was Mexican) and he is flagging down this young Anglo guy (dressed like he is preparing to backpack through Europe). Then some other young Anglo guy on a bike rides up to the truck. The first guy shakes the drivers hand and jumps inside. The second guy is just talking to the driver outside. At that moment I feel something weird and I turn my face only to find a cold Smart Water an inch away from my nose. Matthew just stares at me with a what-exactly-are-you-doing-smirk.

Matthew: "So tell me Observation Post Denise, what’s the report?"

Me: "Okay, I’ve never seen this. It’s like reverse day laborism!!! The Mexican is picking up the two White guys! The economy must be really bad."

Then I gave him the run down of everything I observed.

Matthew: "You are so nosey babe."

Me: "I AM NOT NOSEY! This is my responsibilty as a citizen of the world. I can’t just stand by while things happen and not know what’s going on. What if I need to call 911? What if someone needs me to save their life? Someday I might witness something crazy and we end up in a witness relocation program. And in the process I saved the goverment or a life. And then you are going to be like, ‘You know what babe, your nosiness serves the greater good.’"

Matthew: "Or you could just not be nosey and we can go on living our lives as normal."

Eh, whatever.

Half days and other reasons why today rocks.

Nalgene bottles are great zombie brain smashing weapons. Or so I’ve heard.

Fridays are my half days at work. I am so looking forward to being off most of July but for now I cherish these half days.

World War Z opens tonight and I am already disappointed in the movie. The trailers are filled with running, jumping zombies- the book is not. At least most of the book is not. I have 50 pages left (I blame Jen Lancaster and Laurie Notaro for this. Seriously, in this case funny, intelligent, witty women writers trump zombies almost any day. In fact stop reading this right now and google them and then go out and buy one of their books). I honestly have not rushed to finish since the trailers seem so far from the book.

So this afternoon I will spend it reading and drinking water. I recently came close to killing my ivy on the plant nanny app. I’m not proud. And i felt like crap after I almost killed it again by lying about my water intake.

Truth is I need to read and regenerate brain cells after the trash I decided to watch yesterday. I took a day off from work and consumed lots of trash tv. Some I am not proud of- actually most I am not proud of at all.

There is only so much skankness the human mind should be exposed to- and no I am not referring to the NBA finals.

Like a rock…

In order to kick my butt into shape, I decided to try the 30 day plank and squat challenges. These seemed like great ideas a few days ago- today, not so much. I sit here with sore everything wondering what it was ever like to breathe without pain.

I feel like the dismembered roach in the hall a few feet from my office. I keep thinking that I should ask someone to pick it up but I don’t want to be that person.

This is me all spec’ed out…

Oh the spectacle

as you can see, even then I was fashion forward.

As a kid, I remember boys being quite rude. It was probably around third grade that my height and weight really began to give me the kind of attention worthy of an after school special. These boys were not very creative. I understood why they called me Roseanne Barr but the truth was she was hilarious. I understood, the jab was at my weight.

Most of these douches, wore glasses and were much shorter than me. And yet they insisted on making fun of me. My responses were always consistent- shrimp and four eyes. In fact I probably enjoyed four eyes the most. There was this look of inadequacy that flushed over the face of these boys. It would be the equivleant of telling an adult boy his penis is average (because we all know what that really means).

As a young adult, I also became an occasional four eyes. My second pair of eyes were busted out during the occasional test in class and during writing reports. Ninety percent of my time my eyes flew solo.

This Saturday, I became a full time wearer of the spectacles. Sigh. I’m old.