I have been very angry today. Like really hostile. In my head, I was envisioning today may be my last day at the Glass Palace. I say this, because I knew the filter that goes between my brain and my mouth was clogged. Probably with chocolate, if we are being honest. I felt strongly that I was going to tell someone to kiss my ass today and go take a jump off the roof. The dark side was strong in this one today.
*** The portion of my blog that was here was removed due to someone having issue with it. My erased word does not erase the reality of the situation or who this person really is inside. It is also noteworthy to say that when I express my feelings, they are mine. I am allowed to have them. The fact that I share them in a blog may be a bold choice, but anyone not liking what I write doesn't have to read it. And, by attempting to stifle me will not change who you are and it certainly doesn't change who I am. I will always be honest and be true to who I am. To anyone who pretends or allows themselves to pretend, I'm sad for you. I may struggle with who I am from time to time, but I don't make excuses for it. I dig through my feelings all the time, trying to be better, trying to figure it out. And, yes, I put it in a blog to vent my frustrations out. NO ONE gets to decide how I feel. And, to those that pretend they don't ever have these thoughts, or don't ever make a mistake, or don't ever speak unkindly, I say to you, "Get Real. Who are you kidding?"
Additionally, just because I talk about wanting to punch someone in the head or "kill" someone, it's just how I talk it out. I'm not a violent person and anyone that knows me, knows that. And, I may bitch about work, so what, doesn't everyone? I know the person that was upset with my blog does. I've heard them, many times. Lie to others, like to me, but don't lie to yourself. Overall, I enjoy the people I work with. I like my job. It has frustrations EVERY DAY. That's life. My blog isn't called, Happy Pony. If you don't like what I have to say, don't come to this site, don't browse it, don't come looking for trouble. That isn't what my blog is about and if you don't understand that or me, you don't belong here. To all those that do, THANK YOU for your support, thank you for getting that I'm being real with you because that is the only way I know how to be. Everyone else, don't come here and sensationalize what you don't understand. And, if you are one of the "Asshats" on the freeway, or jerks in the grocery store line, or idiots on the other end of the phone when I call customer service, or any other person that I randomly and non specifically talk about in my blog that may have irritated me, so what? Stop being irritating. It's not like people have never said anything bad about me. I don't run and cry about it to your Mom. And, if you are mentioned in my blog, you either are, or were worthy at one time, of me discussing you under the guise of a blog name or whatever. ***
Unfortunately, even though I was pretty much riding the edge of "yippe ki ya mother fuckers!" there wasn't a lot of time to put on my dark face in the early hours of the day since we also had visitors here conducting a training. In an effort to assist them, and be the perky admin that is bucking for actress of the year, I was running back and forth between floors. I thought I'd take the elevator. As I waited for the doors to open, I contemplated using the stairs, but thought, eh, fuck it. The doors finally opened and a guy from another department came rushing out, fear in his eyes, hair on end, "You don't want to get in there, man, I was just stuck in there forever!!" Clearly, it had been an ordeal for him. Our elevators are kind of rogue. They do what they want, and if that means stopping between floors, so be it. I contemplated my options. First, did I have to pee? No. Second, if I did get stuck in there, I wouldn't have to do anyone's bidding and I could potentially hide in there for hours before calling and saying I was stuck. Thirdly, how would I get chocolate dispersed to me if I got stuck in there? This was a problem. I took the freaking stairs. As I did, I wondered, "just how long was that guy in there?" I mean, was he having a That 70's Show moment where he was totally buggin' and it just seemed like two hours? Or, was he in there, like, three minutes, which seemed like an eternity because he had a "peeker." I don't know. I'll never know. I didn't even get his name.
I managed to successfully care for our visitors and navigate from floor to floor without entrapment. It was already time for the gym. I had an appointment with Ass Kicker. I got down there, suited up and did my warm up on the elliptical machine. Ass Kicker comes walking over, big ol smile on his face, asking how I am. I'm screwed. When he is that perky, I'm screwed. I followed him into the workout room. He disappeared behind the mirrors and turned on some upbeat music, then he got a stepper thing out (the kind you use to do step aerobics that you can adjust the height on) and stacked it three levels high. Then he got the dumbbells out and informed me we were going to do a workout called "The Spartan." Seemed legit. He hands me these five pound weights to start. This is for babies, I don't use five pound weights. I was just pressing 65 with one arm the other day. It is noteworthy to say, nothing that happened beyond this point was for babies. And the five pound weights were just for the "warm-up" part of the routine, which I shall henceforth refer to as the part where I sweated through my underwear and my sports bra and part of my shirt. Then, shit got real. My face was tomato red, my hair soaking wet, I was breathing hard, sweat rolling...no running...no STREAMING in a tsunami off my face. It's possible the inside of my body was deplete of any moisture. I felt myself starting to cry. I don't cry when I workout...what the hell? The tears were right there, I didn't think I could do one more thing, I started to whine. I don't whine. I always do one more than he asks me to, even if I am exhausted, that is how I roll. NOT today, I was one step away from a Biggest Loser meltdown! I yelled at him, "I hate your guts!!!" He was undeterred and unafraid, he pressed on. At this point, I was about to lose it, I thought we were done. We weren't. I dug deep. I was in plank position with my body, but was bracing myself on the 12 pound weights which were on top of the step that was stacked three levels high. I had to balance my weight on one hand, keep my core tight and then lift the other weight into my armpit with the other hand. It's hard. It's really fucking hard. I wanted to die. But we weren't done yet. Three more exercises. I think I can...I think I can...I think...I...can...survive... to kill Ass Kicker.... When we were all done, I collapsed onto the floor in one, big, wet, jelly-fish-like blob. I would never walk again. I told him, "you have never worked me that hard." He said, "No, I haven't. This is by far our hardest workout to date. Isn't it great?!" When I think of things that are great, this moment, not really in my top ten. Ice cream is great, new ponies are great, orgasms are great, a new pink sweatshirt is great... And then he said, "A year ago, I could have never even attempted part of this workout with you. I wouldn't even have ever considered it, and now look at you, you did really well today." Damn it. This was going to make the drama of my death on the workout floor a little less triumphant. Turns out, I was supposed to survive this...and potentially do it again....someday. As I laid there, face down, smelling the sweat of my people...the gym people...I said, "it's probably good you did this to me today, because I am really fed up with people today." He agreed and said, "Yeah, now if anyone pisses you off, you won't have the energy to beat them up." True story. I could picture it, "hey, come over here and put your face down here by my hand and move around a little bit so I can feel like I'm kicking your ass...yeah, you like it like this? Now, take my hand and put it on the back of your head, now face plant yourself into the desk. Yeah, really do it hard, because I can't do it for you..."
I went into the locker room and knew I had to get out of there before the Gym Barbies came. I took one look in the mirror and I knew that today was going to take some serious damage control. I showered and managed to get back to my locker without busting my ass on the floor (it's like a fat girl tight rope walk on ice, if you need a visual on my walk from the shower to the locker area). I got partway dressed when the Gym Barbies started to show up. One of them seemed to be in distress. She couldn't get her little dress off. I ignored her. First world problems for skinny girls. Try putting Pranx on a sweaty body, now THAT will challenge you. Gym Barbie #1 seemed to be in distress and now she was hovering around me. I think it was trying to communicate. Seems like its' zipper was stuck. Finally, tired of watching her back up to me like a horse backs its ass up to it's favorite itching post, I said, "you need a hand?" She did, and so, for one moment in time, Gym Barbie and Gym Barbarian co-existed. It was freaking magical. It's like a unicorn had just shit a pile of Skittles right there in the locker room.
Anyway, back to the grind. I got back up to my desk and before long, the anger was building up again. Turns out, I wasn't too tired to be pissed. The force is strong in the pony. I kept reading emails and every time I saw the word assistance, my mind automatically translated it to "asshats." I had to keep shaking my head and doing a double take. I sat there trying to make sense of it all when someone from another department suddenly appeared at my desk. He had left-over popcorn, donuts and cupcakes that he wanted to bring down and put by my desk for the peeps to eat. Fanfuckingtastic. I sat there watching person after person come over and take their share. Pretty soon, Valerina comes over mumbling about someone being hungry because it was Shark Week for them. Just then, over the wall, one of the "young bucks" pipes up and says, "it's Shark Week? Cool!" I said, "Well, let's just say our definition of shark week and yours are probably different. The only likeness is, there is still blood in the water. Ours just doesn't play out on the Discovery channel." His face changed and he said, "oh, yeah....I get it." And that was the end of that conversation. Usually pretty effective in shutting the boys up, I've found anyway.
After Valerina left, I contemplated why I might be so volatile, I picked up my phone and checked good 'ol Period Tracker (an app every husband should have, for their own safety, by the way). Shark Week is indeed looming in the near future, however, this can't be the only reason I'm a raging bitch. Yes, work is annoying right now, but this is normal. I considered that I am also coming off the pills the fat doctor prescribed for me that have done nothing for me. Or, so I thought. I have been so tired for four days and my mood has been in the dumper. They may have been doing more for me than I thought. Regardless, they really didn't help me achieve any major goals. While I admit, I am not blameless in the equation, I am still disappointed in myself. It feels like another failure on the books. And I don't say this so people will say, "oh, you are not." I'm not fishing for that. I am stating how I feel. I'm not asking for validation, comfort or enforcement. I'm simply stating, the inner pony is disappointed in herself. The pony knows she can do better. The pony knows she must do better. Finding the balance in my life is a constant challenge and sometimes the pony gets tired and gives up for a while. The Rug Doctor believes it is due to my father being an alcoholic and being abusive while growing up and into my adult life. I was either safe, or not safe, there was no happy medium, no place to rest. And so, I have struggled all these years being really good, or being really bad. My challenge is to find balance so that I don't swing so far off the mark. Now, the fat doctor would have me being perfect all the time, because I need to be. I get her point. But, now I've disappointed her, too. I've let her down, I've let me down and I feel like I've let others down that are pulling for me. I know, I've said this so many times before, I feel like a broken record. The thing is, this is hard fucking work. To those that have lost the weight so easily, you are so lucky and I am so envious. But, my journey is like "The Spartan" workout. It's tiring, it's challenging and you have to build up stamina, muscle and endurance over time. And you want to give up and you don't think you can finish it. I just have to believe I am Spartacus...minus the loincloth and tight abs and in yoga pants and an old Verizon t-shirt. I have an army of people fighting behind me. Some of them may want to bring me down, others want to push me into battle, others just want to look at my six-pack abs (okay, so I probably don't have those people in my army yet...just that one goofy bald guy that runs around giving everyone wet-willies). I have to embrace Spartacus, but Angry Pony mostly wants to embrace chocolate. It's an epic battle. I'm thinking about calling HBO and seeing if they want to buy into this pitch. The intense voice-over would be like:
"One Angry Pony...one mission...to Stop. Eating. Hay. But then, the unthinkable happened. A salad-eating She-Pony Rocked. Her. World. They called her...Spartacus...destroyer of cellulite. Coming...This Thanksgiving, to a theatre near you, see this epic battle unfold on the plains of uncertainty where eating hay will not be tolerated and Spartacus rules...WITH A VENGENCE!!!
I think this just got weird. Clearly, I need sleep. I gotta go now. More deep thoughts by Angry Pony and Jack Handy to follow at a later date.
Thanks for reading my crazy rantings.
*** The portion of my blog that was here was removed due to someone having issue with it. My erased word does not erase the reality of the situation or who this person really is inside. It is also noteworthy to say that when I express my feelings, they are mine. I am allowed to have them. The fact that I share them in a blog may be a bold choice, but anyone not liking what I write doesn't have to read it. And, by attempting to stifle me will not change who you are and it certainly doesn't change who I am. I will always be honest and be true to who I am. To anyone who pretends or allows themselves to pretend, I'm sad for you. I may struggle with who I am from time to time, but I don't make excuses for it. I dig through my feelings all the time, trying to be better, trying to figure it out. And, yes, I put it in a blog to vent my frustrations out. NO ONE gets to decide how I feel. And, to those that pretend they don't ever have these thoughts, or don't ever make a mistake, or don't ever speak unkindly, I say to you, "Get Real. Who are you kidding?"
Additionally, just because I talk about wanting to punch someone in the head or "kill" someone, it's just how I talk it out. I'm not a violent person and anyone that knows me, knows that. And, I may bitch about work, so what, doesn't everyone? I know the person that was upset with my blog does. I've heard them, many times. Lie to others, like to me, but don't lie to yourself. Overall, I enjoy the people I work with. I like my job. It has frustrations EVERY DAY. That's life. My blog isn't called, Happy Pony. If you don't like what I have to say, don't come to this site, don't browse it, don't come looking for trouble. That isn't what my blog is about and if you don't understand that or me, you don't belong here. To all those that do, THANK YOU for your support, thank you for getting that I'm being real with you because that is the only way I know how to be. Everyone else, don't come here and sensationalize what you don't understand. And, if you are one of the "Asshats" on the freeway, or jerks in the grocery store line, or idiots on the other end of the phone when I call customer service, or any other person that I randomly and non specifically talk about in my blog that may have irritated me, so what? Stop being irritating. It's not like people have never said anything bad about me. I don't run and cry about it to your Mom. And, if you are mentioned in my blog, you either are, or were worthy at one time, of me discussing you under the guise of a blog name or whatever. ***
Unfortunately, even though I was pretty much riding the edge of "yippe ki ya mother fuckers!" there wasn't a lot of time to put on my dark face in the early hours of the day since we also had visitors here conducting a training. In an effort to assist them, and be the perky admin that is bucking for actress of the year, I was running back and forth between floors. I thought I'd take the elevator. As I waited for the doors to open, I contemplated using the stairs, but thought, eh, fuck it. The doors finally opened and a guy from another department came rushing out, fear in his eyes, hair on end, "You don't want to get in there, man, I was just stuck in there forever!!" Clearly, it had been an ordeal for him. Our elevators are kind of rogue. They do what they want, and if that means stopping between floors, so be it. I contemplated my options. First, did I have to pee? No. Second, if I did get stuck in there, I wouldn't have to do anyone's bidding and I could potentially hide in there for hours before calling and saying I was stuck. Thirdly, how would I get chocolate dispersed to me if I got stuck in there? This was a problem. I took the freaking stairs. As I did, I wondered, "just how long was that guy in there?" I mean, was he having a That 70's Show moment where he was totally buggin' and it just seemed like two hours? Or, was he in there, like, three minutes, which seemed like an eternity because he had a "peeker." I don't know. I'll never know. I didn't even get his name.
I managed to successfully care for our visitors and navigate from floor to floor without entrapment. It was already time for the gym. I had an appointment with Ass Kicker. I got down there, suited up and did my warm up on the elliptical machine. Ass Kicker comes walking over, big ol smile on his face, asking how I am. I'm screwed. When he is that perky, I'm screwed. I followed him into the workout room. He disappeared behind the mirrors and turned on some upbeat music, then he got a stepper thing out (the kind you use to do step aerobics that you can adjust the height on) and stacked it three levels high. Then he got the dumbbells out and informed me we were going to do a workout called "The Spartan." Seemed legit. He hands me these five pound weights to start. This is for babies, I don't use five pound weights. I was just pressing 65 with one arm the other day. It is noteworthy to say, nothing that happened beyond this point was for babies. And the five pound weights were just for the "warm-up" part of the routine, which I shall henceforth refer to as the part where I sweated through my underwear and my sports bra and part of my shirt. Then, shit got real. My face was tomato red, my hair soaking wet, I was breathing hard, sweat rolling...no running...no STREAMING in a tsunami off my face. It's possible the inside of my body was deplete of any moisture. I felt myself starting to cry. I don't cry when I workout...what the hell? The tears were right there, I didn't think I could do one more thing, I started to whine. I don't whine. I always do one more than he asks me to, even if I am exhausted, that is how I roll. NOT today, I was one step away from a Biggest Loser meltdown! I yelled at him, "I hate your guts!!!" He was undeterred and unafraid, he pressed on. At this point, I was about to lose it, I thought we were done. We weren't. I dug deep. I was in plank position with my body, but was bracing myself on the 12 pound weights which were on top of the step that was stacked three levels high. I had to balance my weight on one hand, keep my core tight and then lift the other weight into my armpit with the other hand. It's hard. It's really fucking hard. I wanted to die. But we weren't done yet. Three more exercises. I think I can...I think I can...I think...I...can...survive... to kill Ass Kicker.... When we were all done, I collapsed onto the floor in one, big, wet, jelly-fish-like blob. I would never walk again. I told him, "you have never worked me that hard." He said, "No, I haven't. This is by far our hardest workout to date. Isn't it great?!" When I think of things that are great, this moment, not really in my top ten. Ice cream is great, new ponies are great, orgasms are great, a new pink sweatshirt is great... And then he said, "A year ago, I could have never even attempted part of this workout with you. I wouldn't even have ever considered it, and now look at you, you did really well today." Damn it. This was going to make the drama of my death on the workout floor a little less triumphant. Turns out, I was supposed to survive this...and potentially do it again....someday. As I laid there, face down, smelling the sweat of my people...the gym people...I said, "it's probably good you did this to me today, because I am really fed up with people today." He agreed and said, "Yeah, now if anyone pisses you off, you won't have the energy to beat them up." True story. I could picture it, "hey, come over here and put your face down here by my hand and move around a little bit so I can feel like I'm kicking your ass...yeah, you like it like this? Now, take my hand and put it on the back of your head, now face plant yourself into the desk. Yeah, really do it hard, because I can't do it for you..."
I went into the locker room and knew I had to get out of there before the Gym Barbies came. I took one look in the mirror and I knew that today was going to take some serious damage control. I showered and managed to get back to my locker without busting my ass on the floor (it's like a fat girl tight rope walk on ice, if you need a visual on my walk from the shower to the locker area). I got partway dressed when the Gym Barbies started to show up. One of them seemed to be in distress. She couldn't get her little dress off. I ignored her. First world problems for skinny girls. Try putting Pranx on a sweaty body, now THAT will challenge you. Gym Barbie #1 seemed to be in distress and now she was hovering around me. I think it was trying to communicate. Seems like its' zipper was stuck. Finally, tired of watching her back up to me like a horse backs its ass up to it's favorite itching post, I said, "you need a hand?" She did, and so, for one moment in time, Gym Barbie and Gym Barbarian co-existed. It was freaking magical. It's like a unicorn had just shit a pile of Skittles right there in the locker room.
Anyway, back to the grind. I got back up to my desk and before long, the anger was building up again. Turns out, I wasn't too tired to be pissed. The force is strong in the pony. I kept reading emails and every time I saw the word assistance, my mind automatically translated it to "asshats." I had to keep shaking my head and doing a double take. I sat there trying to make sense of it all when someone from another department suddenly appeared at my desk. He had left-over popcorn, donuts and cupcakes that he wanted to bring down and put by my desk for the peeps to eat. Fanfuckingtastic. I sat there watching person after person come over and take their share. Pretty soon, Valerina comes over mumbling about someone being hungry because it was Shark Week for them. Just then, over the wall, one of the "young bucks" pipes up and says, "it's Shark Week? Cool!" I said, "Well, let's just say our definition of shark week and yours are probably different. The only likeness is, there is still blood in the water. Ours just doesn't play out on the Discovery channel." His face changed and he said, "oh, yeah....I get it." And that was the end of that conversation. Usually pretty effective in shutting the boys up, I've found anyway.
After Valerina left, I contemplated why I might be so volatile, I picked up my phone and checked good 'ol Period Tracker (an app every husband should have, for their own safety, by the way). Shark Week is indeed looming in the near future, however, this can't be the only reason I'm a raging bitch. Yes, work is annoying right now, but this is normal. I considered that I am also coming off the pills the fat doctor prescribed for me that have done nothing for me. Or, so I thought. I have been so tired for four days and my mood has been in the dumper. They may have been doing more for me than I thought. Regardless, they really didn't help me achieve any major goals. While I admit, I am not blameless in the equation, I am still disappointed in myself. It feels like another failure on the books. And I don't say this so people will say, "oh, you are not." I'm not fishing for that. I am stating how I feel. I'm not asking for validation, comfort or enforcement. I'm simply stating, the inner pony is disappointed in herself. The pony knows she can do better. The pony knows she must do better. Finding the balance in my life is a constant challenge and sometimes the pony gets tired and gives up for a while. The Rug Doctor believes it is due to my father being an alcoholic and being abusive while growing up and into my adult life. I was either safe, or not safe, there was no happy medium, no place to rest. And so, I have struggled all these years being really good, or being really bad. My challenge is to find balance so that I don't swing so far off the mark. Now, the fat doctor would have me being perfect all the time, because I need to be. I get her point. But, now I've disappointed her, too. I've let her down, I've let me down and I feel like I've let others down that are pulling for me. I know, I've said this so many times before, I feel like a broken record. The thing is, this is hard fucking work. To those that have lost the weight so easily, you are so lucky and I am so envious. But, my journey is like "The Spartan" workout. It's tiring, it's challenging and you have to build up stamina, muscle and endurance over time. And you want to give up and you don't think you can finish it. I just have to believe I am Spartacus...minus the loincloth and tight abs and in yoga pants and an old Verizon t-shirt. I have an army of people fighting behind me. Some of them may want to bring me down, others want to push me into battle, others just want to look at my six-pack abs (okay, so I probably don't have those people in my army yet...just that one goofy bald guy that runs around giving everyone wet-willies). I have to embrace Spartacus, but Angry Pony mostly wants to embrace chocolate. It's an epic battle. I'm thinking about calling HBO and seeing if they want to buy into this pitch. The intense voice-over would be like:
"One Angry Pony...one mission...to Stop. Eating. Hay. But then, the unthinkable happened. A salad-eating She-Pony Rocked. Her. World. They called her...Spartacus...destroyer of cellulite. Coming...This Thanksgiving, to a theatre near you, see this epic battle unfold on the plains of uncertainty where eating hay will not be tolerated and Spartacus rules...WITH A VENGENCE!!!
I think this just got weird. Clearly, I need sleep. I gotta go now. More deep thoughts by Angry Pony and Jack Handy to follow at a later date.
Thanks for reading my crazy rantings.
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