I wasn't super excited about a Monday, I never am. However, today seemed calm. I packed my lunch, headed to work and prepared for my 11AM workout with Ass Kicker. Work was just the side show. My workout was the main event. It had been a tough weekend emotionally and I needed some focus. And then, as it always seems to happen, the day went horribly wrong.
One of my best pals, Harley Babe, comes over with a fancy box and a card. She says she can't tell me who it is from but that she was told to deliver it to me. I open the card and it was very sweet talking about how I was appreciated and this person just wanted me to know, blah, blah, blah. It was unsigned, so I was still not sure who had given it to me. The box was a Godiva chocolate box. It was a 32 piece set of hand chosen Godiva chocolates. Oh. My. Godiva! Now what?! Who would do this to me? Who was going to tell Ass Kicker that I had approximately 3 billion calories worth of chocolate at my desk? Against my better judgement, I opened it. It was like the angels were singing, and then I started to hear that music in my head that one might hear in a porn movie just before clothes started coming off. Oh yeah, baby, talk dirty to me. It was 20 minutes before my workout. I took one piece and then closed the box. I would work that off at the gym.
I went downstairs and told Ass Kicker what had happened. He cringed. He was going to hurt me, I know it. He set me to work on the bike and as he walked around behind me, he laughed. I was wearing one of my husbands old shirts that says, "Whatever you do today will burn your ass tomorrow." Ah, the irony. Ass Kicker put me through my paces. I was sweating, I was keeping my core tight (some of the time), I was breathing heavy, I was like a Biggest Loser contestant, minus the crying and apocolyptic realization about how I got to be here. He was having me do all these strength exercises. I had my toes stretched out behind me, I had my arms resting on the exercise ball, I was keeping my abs tight. I think it was called a plank extension or something. My arms were shaking, my breathing crazy and then, out of no where,.... I farted. That's right, I had so much stress going on, a little squeak came out. I guess we'll have to tone my butt muscles next. I was pretty embarrassed. Like Will says, girls don't fart and they don't go "number two." As hard as I was straining, I'm lucky I didn't crap myself.
I finished the workout and headed into the locker room. Oh, good, just in time for all the gym barbies to come in and get ready for their spin class. So, I'm trying to dry off and get my FCD on and have a girdle rodeo and all these skinny bitches are talking about how they hope it's a good workout. I hate them. Then, I look in the mirror. It's worse that I originally thought. My hair was ruined. Oh well, damage done.
I returned upstairs and ate my tuna salad on crackers and an apple. And you know what completed that meal...chocolate. Finally, I had to leave my desk and go do some rounds. I ran into Smart Ass McGee and he offered me a cookie. I turned on him, "What is wrong with you people?!" Sitting in the desk next to where Smart Ass McGee was standing was the man that was about to be revealed as the Chocolate Pimp. It all came out that Chocolate Pimp was the one that got me all the chocolate. I only had one choice. I called him a bastard. His boss then provided him the pamphlet where he can call to report a hostile work environment. Chocolate Pimp actually said to me, "I thought you could savor them, like have one every once in a while..." I think my head spun around like three times. I said, "LOOK AT ME!!! Do I look like a one piece a day kind of girl?!" While I appreciate his kind words, he just sentenced me to 3 billion calories that my body could ill afford. I had to walk away. I got back to my desk and had another piece. Dumbass.
Pretty soon, it was time to go home. I grabbed my chocolate and headed out to my truck. I couldn't leave this chocolate here, I would be eating it all day. I had to take it home so I could put it in the freezer and maybe have some for a treat after dinner. This was the plan. The plan was going fine until some mouth breathing, scum sucking, stupid bottom feeding piece of crap sat in his rice-burner car with his music and bass up so loud that the stuffed ponies ears started to bleed in my truck. I was waiting for them to combust and just explode stuffing and glass eyes everywhere. I look in the mirror and he is some stupid kid. I wanted him to die. At that moment I considered killing him myself. We were sitting in a long line of cars at a metered light waiting to get on the freeway, so I could not get away from this asshat. He is just sitting there bobbing his head and breathing valuable air that someone else could be using. I wanted to back over him. I wanted him to be hit by a semi. I wanted him to have a slow, painful death. Like, if he did die in a horrific accident, I would take the time to scoop a dead possum up off the payment and throw it on his body. I hated him that much. I wanted to get out, pull up my shirt and wiggle my fat belly at him and then when he started projectile vomiting at the sight, I was going to say, "what, you don't like cellulite? Well, I hate your effing music!!!"
I don't know, it could have been the chocolate talking, coursing through my veins. My fat cells were having some sort of rave in my belly. My gall bladder was freaking out. My heart palpitating. Do you think you can O.D. on chocolate? Then, to make matters worse, I'm almost to the freeway, almost merging and some stupid bitch in a 300 year old, jaundice piss yellow Chevy truck comes riding up next to me where there is no room. Of course, I can't blame her because there is a butterfly balloon the size of effing Texas in her passenger seat, she can't see a damn thing and she seems to be fighting with the balloon. Are you kidding me? What the hell?
I ate another chocolate.
Listen up young people of America, I'm one package of Depends, a Life Alert and a cane away from an AARP membership. I almost crapped my pants at the gym today. If you think I won't hurt you, you are mistaken.
Now, if you will excuse me, me and my chocolate are going to finish our night of unbridled passion and be done with it. I mean, that is the best way to handle this right? Get rid of the evidence? Right?
One of my best pals, Harley Babe, comes over with a fancy box and a card. She says she can't tell me who it is from but that she was told to deliver it to me. I open the card and it was very sweet talking about how I was appreciated and this person just wanted me to know, blah, blah, blah. It was unsigned, so I was still not sure who had given it to me. The box was a Godiva chocolate box. It was a 32 piece set of hand chosen Godiva chocolates. Oh. My. Godiva! Now what?! Who would do this to me? Who was going to tell Ass Kicker that I had approximately 3 billion calories worth of chocolate at my desk? Against my better judgement, I opened it. It was like the angels were singing, and then I started to hear that music in my head that one might hear in a porn movie just before clothes started coming off. Oh yeah, baby, talk dirty to me. It was 20 minutes before my workout. I took one piece and then closed the box. I would work that off at the gym.
I went downstairs and told Ass Kicker what had happened. He cringed. He was going to hurt me, I know it. He set me to work on the bike and as he walked around behind me, he laughed. I was wearing one of my husbands old shirts that says, "Whatever you do today will burn your ass tomorrow." Ah, the irony. Ass Kicker put me through my paces. I was sweating, I was keeping my core tight (some of the time), I was breathing heavy, I was like a Biggest Loser contestant, minus the crying and apocolyptic realization about how I got to be here. He was having me do all these strength exercises. I had my toes stretched out behind me, I had my arms resting on the exercise ball, I was keeping my abs tight. I think it was called a plank extension or something. My arms were shaking, my breathing crazy and then, out of no where,.... I farted. That's right, I had so much stress going on, a little squeak came out. I guess we'll have to tone my butt muscles next. I was pretty embarrassed. Like Will says, girls don't fart and they don't go "number two." As hard as I was straining, I'm lucky I didn't crap myself.
I finished the workout and headed into the locker room. Oh, good, just in time for all the gym barbies to come in and get ready for their spin class. So, I'm trying to dry off and get my FCD on and have a girdle rodeo and all these skinny bitches are talking about how they hope it's a good workout. I hate them. Then, I look in the mirror. It's worse that I originally thought. My hair was ruined. Oh well, damage done.
I returned upstairs and ate my tuna salad on crackers and an apple. And you know what completed that meal...chocolate. Finally, I had to leave my desk and go do some rounds. I ran into Smart Ass McGee and he offered me a cookie. I turned on him, "What is wrong with you people?!" Sitting in the desk next to where Smart Ass McGee was standing was the man that was about to be revealed as the Chocolate Pimp. It all came out that Chocolate Pimp was the one that got me all the chocolate. I only had one choice. I called him a bastard. His boss then provided him the pamphlet where he can call to report a hostile work environment. Chocolate Pimp actually said to me, "I thought you could savor them, like have one every once in a while..." I think my head spun around like three times. I said, "LOOK AT ME!!! Do I look like a one piece a day kind of girl?!" While I appreciate his kind words, he just sentenced me to 3 billion calories that my body could ill afford. I had to walk away. I got back to my desk and had another piece. Dumbass.
Pretty soon, it was time to go home. I grabbed my chocolate and headed out to my truck. I couldn't leave this chocolate here, I would be eating it all day. I had to take it home so I could put it in the freezer and maybe have some for a treat after dinner. This was the plan. The plan was going fine until some mouth breathing, scum sucking, stupid bottom feeding piece of crap sat in his rice-burner car with his music and bass up so loud that the stuffed ponies ears started to bleed in my truck. I was waiting for them to combust and just explode stuffing and glass eyes everywhere. I look in the mirror and he is some stupid kid. I wanted him to die. At that moment I considered killing him myself. We were sitting in a long line of cars at a metered light waiting to get on the freeway, so I could not get away from this asshat. He is just sitting there bobbing his head and breathing valuable air that someone else could be using. I wanted to back over him. I wanted him to be hit by a semi. I wanted him to have a slow, painful death. Like, if he did die in a horrific accident, I would take the time to scoop a dead possum up off the payment and throw it on his body. I hated him that much. I wanted to get out, pull up my shirt and wiggle my fat belly at him and then when he started projectile vomiting at the sight, I was going to say, "what, you don't like cellulite? Well, I hate your effing music!!!"
I don't know, it could have been the chocolate talking, coursing through my veins. My fat cells were having some sort of rave in my belly. My gall bladder was freaking out. My heart palpitating. Do you think you can O.D. on chocolate? Then, to make matters worse, I'm almost to the freeway, almost merging and some stupid bitch in a 300 year old, jaundice piss yellow Chevy truck comes riding up next to me where there is no room. Of course, I can't blame her because there is a butterfly balloon the size of effing Texas in her passenger seat, she can't see a damn thing and she seems to be fighting with the balloon. Are you kidding me? What the hell?
I ate another chocolate.
Listen up young people of America, I'm one package of Depends, a Life Alert and a cane away from an AARP membership. I almost crapped my pants at the gym today. If you think I won't hurt you, you are mistaken.
Now, if you will excuse me, me and my chocolate are going to finish our night of unbridled passion and be done with it. I mean, that is the best way to handle this right? Get rid of the evidence? Right?
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