I'm Going to Live

I think over the weekend I finally reached a point where I may have actually "gotten it."  And, I don't mean sex or getting my period or the ass kicking I sorely deserve for any number of indiscretions.  I mean, I may have finally decided to stop being in a state of limbo waiting for life to get better.  Waiting to get thinner, waiting to have more money...waiting to be happy.  I think I finally reached my "moment." 

It was a holiday weekend which meant three days to do whatever I wanted to do, really.  We had no plans.  Shark Bait and I decided to go visit some friends that were up in the area participating in a horse event.  I had also wanted to take my pony to this event, but had decided that we were not ready and frankly, since I have gained some weight back, I didn't deserve it.  When I lose the weight back, I can start riding again.  That should motivate me, right?  Anyway, I knew seeing my friends would be fun, but the feeling of jealousy would be in the pit of my belly and I would have to deal with that feeling of disappointment in my heart that I was not where I was meant to be.  No matter how many times The Rug Doctor says I am right where I'm meant to be, I can't help but believe this isn't where I should be.  Who wants to be here? Not me.

Shark Bait and I went and visited our friends and had a great time doing so.  By the end of the night, somehow it had been decided that I would come on Sunday and bring my pony.  I wasn't ready, my pony wasn't ready and I shouldn't be spending the money.  But somehow, through the persuasion and outright shaming by my sister and Pony Sock Twin, I had agreed to this whole thing.  It's funny how I am this person that leads the charge at work to get shit done, but at home, when it comes to re-engaging in MY life, I apparently need a push.  Thank God we weren't into skydiving because those bitches would have pushed me right out of the plane and high-fived each other while I was screaming on my way down.  I believe this in my heart.

The short and long of it is, when I am pushed to do the things I really do want to do, I do usually have a great time.  And Sunday was no exception.  My show pony, Lola, was mostly good with a side of sass and I enjoyed the day doing what I love.  I don't know why I fight it.  And then, the pictures started coming in and I knew why I fought it.  Ugh.  I sat at the computer Sunday night as we down-loaded all Shark Bait's pictures and video's from the day.  Painful.  Shark Bait stood behind me and slapped me on the back of the head every time I said something negative.  Not hard, because if it had been hard, his nuts would have been removed viciously, but just a tap to let me know to stop.  And then I heard the voice of my good pal, Pistola Pete in my head (I don't know how she got there, she just did).  Her husband had told her, "Stop focusing on what you look like on your horse and focus on the fact that you are enjoying your horse."  It's so hard to do that.  So hard to not be so critical.  But, his advice was good.  And, by not being critical, it doesn't mean I accept what I see and stop working on being healthier, it just means I stop and focus on the happiness that was had on that day.  The joy of it.  I can focus on my fat ass in the gym.  I can focus on happy when I am with my horse, my husband and my friends. 

Shark Bait and I talked about a plan for the summer.  No more waiting to live.  No more waiting to be ready. No more waiting to have money.  We'll find a way.  No more watching everyone else do what they want.  No more. I'm not getting younger or skinnier watching life go by.  Fat or not, I'm going to LIVE. 

It felt good to get back in the game and to have a plan.  As long as I can get my pony to the events, I'm going.  And, we will pick and choose the ones I can afford to go to.  And this year won't be about being a winner, it will be about developing that relationship with my horse that I have missed for so long.  It made me feel like I had a purpose for the first time in a long time.  A purpose that wasn't about solving someone's problem or taking care of someone or worrying about all of the above.  And then, as I was looking through pictures of the day on Facebook, the facilities that hosted the event posted their pictures.  I looked through them, holding my breath, waiting to see how horrible I looked on my horse.  And, in one of the photos of my friend riding his horse, I see myself on my horse in the background.  I had photo bombed his picture so horribly, it could not be unseen.  I pulled the picture, saved it, cropped out my magic moment and THIS was the result:

Go and have fun, they said.  What's the worse that could happen, they said.  Well, this happened.  And, truth be told, it could have been much worse.  I mean, I could have been hanging upside down off of one of the obstacles as my horse was running away bucking, but seriously, how does this even happen to a person?  I immediately thought Tommy Boy, but I was told to stop it.  I mean, the picture does make me laugh. but really, we can't just let the self-conscious girl ease back into this?  Really?  I guess not.  The picture is hilarious.  It does make me, and pretty much everyone else, laugh when they see it, so I suppose it was worth it.  If the day achieved nothing else, it created the moment in which this picture was taken.  And while the moment looks a little crazy, it makes me smile.

And so, now, the challenge is, keep the focus on the plan. Keep the focus on living.  Keep the focus on making it happen.  Keep the focus on fun. This is going to be hard for me, because I will tell you, there is a part of my mind that says, "Don't do it, don't enjoy life, because when you do, the floor is going to fall out and you will see that you were enjoying too much, you were expecting too much, you were getting too much out of life and when you let your guard down, terrible things will happen."  I hate that part of my mind.  Buncha negative bullshit.  If life is going to kick me in the ass, it's going to do it regardless, so maybe I should just enjoy the good times until it does, and then pick myself back up and start again.  Maybe. 

I'm reluctant to ask people to help keep me on track on this, because that is a lot of positivity.  I mean, "you can do it!"  "Don't be so hard on yourself."  "You know you will have fun."  "Look at how much fun you had!"  "Isn't it better when you actually enjoy life?"  Oh my word....STOP.  Stop pressuring me.  Remember, "Today probably won't totally suck."  That is my motto.  Don't scare me.  I'm like a baby deer coming out of the woods right after hunting season or a big fire.  If you scare me, I'll run.  I mean, that's probably a lie, I'll probably just scowl, flip you off and walk away, but metaphorically speaking, I'll run.  I don't actually run. I don't enjoy running, thusly, it is not prescribed in my life at this time.


This also means a lot more pony pictures on my Facebook feed.  Sorry, but maybe we'll capture another gem like above!  OMG, look at me being positive again.  ACCCKKKKKK!

So, to recap: I'm going to live life. Don't pressure me, but cautiously encourage me. And, no running.

Small Victories & Vagina Therapy

Therapy Thursday is always magical...to some extent.  Today started out with me arriving at work to find this little gem waiting for me.

I mean how can you deny the power of a day that starts with an F-U-nicorn waiting for you?  You can't.  Everyone was jealous of this gem of a sticker.  Sadly, I cannot post it at my cube, but I can post it on Facebook, which is a pretty close second.  Mission accomplished.

The day really didn't require too much effort as I was distracted by One Eyebrow Betty and Hu-Hu-Hu-Harley.  They were in rare form and kept Scorpio Twin busy for a large portion of the day.  Top Knot Pony made a few appearances at my desk as she was concerned I was going to have a wardrobe malfunction today.  You see, I have this one maxi-dress that is really not for work, it's more for sun, so it's pretty low-cut.  BUT, with the help of my "one size fits most" Victoria Secret paper thin top, and my little crop sweater, I can layer it all and make it work appropriate.  Still, Top Knot Pony was worried I was going to have a "nip slip" situation.  She was making it her personal duty to keep an eye on any boob activity unbecoming of an admin at The Palace.  Luckily, Top Knot Pony is just the right height to be a nip slip expert.

The day really had no major drama, nothing I couldn't handle.  I mean, I did have the mini cupcake incident where my hand was sliced open by the damn plastic casing on the cup cakes, but thankfully, I had the cowboy bandages to save the day.  Additionally, I did have one person ask me if the empty box they were holding was empty.  I did the normal dog watching TV head tilt and said, "Not really sure how to answer that question...it does, in fact appear to be empty..."  Kinda like yesterday morning when Shark Bait came down into the bathroom as I'm getting ready for work.  I'm putting on mascara and he says, "Putting on your mascara?"  To which I responded, in my grumpy morning tone, "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."  I'm a delight in the morning, it's true.

Anyway, the good news about my day is that it is Therapy Thursday. I've decreased the frequency of my therapy visits,so the last visit I had with my therapist was a month ago.  That may have been too long.  I don't know.

We discussed the turmoil I've experienced over the last month and how I am really trying to hold on to the "little victories" I experience on a daily basis (if any).  She is all about that idea.  I told her to not get too excited, because my victories were kind of the equivalent to being at a Seahawks football game where everyone is all 12th man crazy in blue and green and I am one little guy in the huge crowd waving a pink flag that supports crazy pony voices.  None the less, she seemed excited about this idea.  I couldn't give her too much hope, so I started telling her about how I was so tired all the time and all I wanted to do was sleep.  And, how I've had weird dreams.  She lit up and said, "Really? Like what kind of dreams? What about?"  I told her about the dream I had a week or so ago about being naked and walking around at work and feeling really self-conscious and aware.  And then, Guido the Bouncer was in my dream and showed up naked with the words "I AM NOT 13" tattooed on his ass.  The Rug Doctor threw her head back and started laughing.  Her normal calm and unphased demeanor out the window.  She was like, "What do you suppose that means?"  She said that being naked like that is often about feeling like you are exposed or your feelings have been exposed.  She had no  clue about why Guido the Bouncer was there or why he had that tattooed on his ass.  She started asking more questions about Guido and I said, "Well, I'm old enough to be his mother, I think,and he is a nice guy, but sometimes I hear him say things and I just shake my head.  I explained how I was sitting at my desk just a week ago and I overheard him say, "Hey boss, you got any Clorox wipes, I got donut jizz on my desk from yesterday."  (Notable awkward moment just now when I said to Shark Bait, "how do you spell "jizz," like I got jizz on the sheets?"  he's like....jiz....why?....WHY?  Hee hee...someone is freaked out right now.) Anyway, The Rug Doctor starts laughing again and says, "Okay, I think I know what the tattoo on the butt means, basically he is exposed for his behavior...although, I don't know what the 13 represents....you know, 13 is the age that a child can consent to get therapy."  I told her that was great.  I'll give Guido the Bouncer her card.  Problem solved!

I then discussed some of the goings on at work and how I am adjusting to my band of Boot Bitches being kind of torn apart.  I told her how we are staying connected via group conversations on Facebook.  It's like an open chat room for whenever we need each other.  I explained how it is nice to have that moral support and also just talk about stupid silly stuff.  Life is so hard sometimes, it just feels good to talk about stupid, silly stuff and laugh.  Laughter is good.  I told her we talked about stuff like Brazilian waxing and how that includes a gal's backdoor if needed.  As I explained to her that I didn't think anyone really needed to have their starfish spackled, she sat there with no real expression other than possibly shock, and then I think the color was starting to drain from her face.  I told her if she ever goes to be waxed to be aware of the back door situation and to not wear underwear for a couple of days after.  Additionally, I shared that I hear if you get a Brazilian, all your problems go away because all you care about is your vagina.  I suggested that she recommend this therapy to some of her patients and call it Vagina Therapy.  She rolled her head back a little, took a breath and said, "Well...... . ...I don't know that .....that would help in the long run, because once your vagina stopped hurting, the issues you had before are still gonna be there." She was so serious all the sudden, like she was considering vagina safety for everyone.  I said, "Hey, I didn't say it was a perfect solution, but for short-term, you may want to try it.  I mean, I'm not going to, I'm just going to binge on ice cream, but other people should totally tear up their vagina." 

Clearly, it was time to change the subject.  So, we wrapped up our session. I said, "so, when do you want to see me again?"  She countered with, "Whenever you want to see me again..."  I could be wrong, but I think she may have been indicating we shouldn't wait 30 days again....like she has concerns, but hey, I know her number if a crisis should occur and I start to consider a "baring it all" therapy session at the local spa.

I walked out of the office and out onto the sidewalk and I heard the soothing, yet disturbing, sound of the ice cream truck music.  It was like a sign.  Ice cream needed me...I needed ice cream.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  I walked to safety of my vehicle and drove home.  No vaginas were injured on this day, no ice cream ingested.  Small victories.  The Rug Doctor would be proud.

Boot Bitch Chat

I feel like I always start with, "it's been crazy this week," or "work has been stressful."  So, I'll just say, life has been the usual.  I am adjusting to my new reduced group of girls at work and focusing on the chaos.  Sometimes that is good, sometimes bad.  The Boot Bitches have, however, been keeping in touch on The Facebook in group conversations.  We have been discussing the crucial stuff, you know, did we wear pink on Wednesday, like we are supposed to?  Who got cookies served to them at work?  Who in the office is still lucky I haven't killed them yet?  Who's moving, who tried to have sex after working out, who may or may not have bedazzled their vajayjay? To be clear, that last one was not one of us, it is clear speculation on our part about someone else.  Somehow, we talk about sex quite a bit.  I don't know how it happened, but we have kind of become Sex in the City...but our version is more like  Sex While Being Watched By A Kitty.  I mean, it isn't like we never talked about it before, but hosting that one Pure Romance party and pretty much any walls that may have been up, are now down.

Tonight is no exception.  I shared with the girls the other night about what happens when you work out at the gym after a long hiatus from doing so and then your man decides "it's on" after weeks of inactivity.  What happens is what I call geriatric sex. There were no Cowboys and Indians adventures, it was strictly, "my hip isn't going to do that" and "oh crap I have a charlie horse!"  That conversation has been run into the ground, but now we have new fodder because someone outside the fold shared an experience about getting a Brazilian wax today.  The Boot Bitches are pretty much in agreement that we are not a fan of hot wax down there, nor do we see a reason for our back doors to be ripped free of whatever may be back there.  First of all, unless my poop is getting stuck in my furry butt like a Persian cat, I see no reason to even go back there.  As far as I know, my exit is free and clear and requires no clear cutting. I mean, I can't see back there, but I am confident I do not need waxing there. I mean, I'd know. Right?  All girls are in agreement that back doors are for exit only.  There is some suspicion in the group that at least one of the group may be lying.  If she is, that's okay, no judgement here.  One Eyebrow Betty says that she doesn't know what Ambien Betty does, but that she thinks she is a freak (when she takes Ambien (sleeping pill), things happen that she doesn't remember).  Zumba Barbie is curiously quiet during part of the conversation, so we really don't know what is going on there.  Top Knot Pony seems to deny all responsibility from any activity and we are all concerned that she has gone the way of a soccer Mom or showing early signs of "Basic Bitch."  Fluffy Haired Hugger has finally joined the conversation, but it appears she has to go to bed early and alone, so not sure what she will be able to offer to the conversation tonight. She is usually the one that offers the most detail and content. Something is amiss....  Valerina is laid up, due to injury.  We can't really pin point the origin of the injury, but the group has some suspicions.  She is the matriarch of the group, we all strive to live such a life, well, except Top Knot Pony, she pretty much has made it known she'd rather play Grand Theft Auto than Cowboys and Indians. 

Anyway, we have pretty much exhausted the discussion of why it is necessary to have a vagina that mirrors that of a toddler and how we mow our own lawns, but now we have moved on to the fact that smoking pot may actually enhance sex.  One member, who shall remain anonymous, says that sex while you are high is THE BEST.  I suspect if I were to get Shark Bait high, he would want to to to Taco Bell, eat a bag of Doritos and then pass out.  No worries for us since that isn't really our thing.  Really, the way to my heart is if Shark Bait were to play the music the Ice Cream Man plays in his truck full of treats...that's hot.  I know, sick.

I think if I really compare the group to Sex in the City, Valerina and Fluffy Haired Hugger  would be Samantha, Zumba Barbie would be Carrie, I think One Eyebrow Betty and Myself would be Charlotte and Top Knott Pony would be Miranda.  We are all strong women in our own rights, who really, have no sharing boundaries.  I think Top Knot Pony might have been a little more reserved, but I think she's coming out of her shell.  She may not be ready to look someone in the eye who she knows bedazzled her vajayjay, but she'll get there. 

These conversations may seem adolescent or vulgar to some, but when I consider what happens in any given day, it is an innocent enough way to laugh away the absurdity of daily events.  All I hear all day is "Cassondra, I need this, Cassondra do you have that, Cassondra do you know, Cassondra when you get a chance..."  Add in a little, "hey, there's a clog in stall three..." and people that cannot read my not so subtle death glare that screams, "eat shit and die...right after you leave my area..." and yeah, I need an adult beverage and a funny story about someones bald vagina and how some crazy woman went to school to become the woman that is going to wax a whole bunch of people's assholes.  I don't want to hear about that woman's day.  I can't imagine.  Spackling starfish all day and then risking being clobbered in the head with someone's foot, that's gotta suck.  Making women and men scream when you rip hair off their genitals...still trying to figure out who has the better job.  I mean, when those people go home at the end of the day, how much do they have to drink or smoke to make those images go away?  What if you rip something off?  Like, oh sorry, that flap of skin was clearly more attached than I thought. Do you just hand them their used wax strip with half of their wiener on it and say, this one is on the house?  If some woman wants you to use a cookie cutter to make a perfect heart and wax around that, do you have to do that?  I mean, where do you draw the line?  I don't want that kind of responsibility.  You think I'm joking, I used to know a gal that told me she shaved her hair in the shape of a heart.  Hey, I like unicorns and horses, but you aren't going to see a pony down there.  Who cares?  Shark Bait?  No. And, if I did have something really cool shaved down there, I'd want to show people.  I don't think the Boot Bitches are ready for that.  I know they love me, but we have to draw the line somewhere.  Right?  I mean, there is a line?  Or....isn't there?  We should discuss this further.

So, that's it in a nutshell (no pun intended).  This is tonight's blog about nothing while drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade and talking to my Boot Bitches.  Thanks, Girls. I heart you.  Just not a heart on my vagina...like let's just envision I held my hands up and formed a heart with my hands and then pointed at you. Like that kind of heart.

That's really all I have to say about that.