Hypnotherapy?

Well, after some prodding by my pal Stepford Barbie, I went to a hypnotherapy appointment today.  I was immediately concerned about my decision upon arrival to the office.  I didn't see any signage and all the windows had blinds drawn.  My immediate concern was that I had just driven up on an underground prostitution ring. I mean, I was in Lynnwood.  I started to consider whether I should go in or not.  I mean, I had shaved my legs this morning and I was wearing a skirt that could be pulled up shorter, so, I could pull it off, either way.  And, if it was a prostitution operation, at least I could come out with some cash and a satisfied libido.  Look at me being positive!  It was after I had resigned myself to possibly starring in an adult film that I saw the signage upstairs on the second floor.  Okay, it seems legit. 

I entered the office and it was very nice inside.  The hypnotherapist gal, Ewa, was very nice, well dressed, well put together and genuine.  We spent over an hour talking about how I'm a hot mess.  I think she spends 30 minutes with most people, but as we all know, I've got stuff on my mind.  She listened, wrote things down and then spent some time talking to me about things I had said and how I needed to change my thinking.  Look, we all know I have negative thoughts, but I think I raised the bar just a little when it comes to being a challenge.  She asked about my thoughts when I was eating peanut M&M's (the ones my boss "hides" in her office for us to stress eat on) and how that dialogue went.  I told her how I knew better and knew I shouldn't, but would anyway, blah, blah, blah.  It was then that she told me something very enlightening.  She said, "We can't possibly know why peanut M&M's came into your life.  We don't know the reason and there is no reason to spend a lot of time thinking about it.  We can know that they have served their purpose and it's time for them to leave your life.  Again, we don't know the purpose, but we can know that our body was not meant to live on or process peanut M&M's."

 Okay.  Now, you know I'm going to spend some time thinking about it.  I'll get back to you on my findings, but for right now, all I got is that they are tasty and are in constant supply.  But, I will concede, it's time to say good-bye.  Maybe now broccoli can have a purpose in my life that I won't really understand but live with until such time that it no longer needs to be here.  Maybe that time is when I can't stop passing gas because I've had too much broccoli.  I don't know, this is a lengthy process people, I can't be expected to have all the answers right away!

We then talked about my hatred of my body.  This is when shit got real.  Did you know that there is research proving that our cells have a memory and feelings of sorts.  They can hear your self-talk. Apparently, I have pissed off my cells and they just might be holding on to the fat as a defense mechanism or to get back at me.  I've essentially hurt their feelings.  That is a lot of cellular apologies I'm going to have to make.  I guess they must have had their feelings hurt every time I looked in the mirror and said, "OMG, YOU are so FAT!  Look at those huge thighs!"  My cells, the ungrateful little bastards, then raised up an army of cellulite to fight for them.  Apparently, they are like Marine cellulite.  Semper Fi bitches!  No one leaves these thighs without a weekend pass!  I've got a lot of work to do to disassemble the troops.  So, my body is pissed because I'm mean to it.  GOT THE MEMO, cellulite, stand down!

We then talked a lot about what it would be like if I let go of all that negative talk and let things happen organically and allowed the process to work.  Blah, blah, blah.  Then, she gave me a zebra eye mask, I kicked back in the chair and allowed my limbs to melt away.  She was all soothing and stuff and talked to me and asked me some questions. I did get seriously relaxed and was conscious of what she was saying and what was going on.  I do not believe at any time that I acted like a chicken or did the macarena.

I didn't really feel any different when I left.  Not uplifted or down, just...me.  I did start to get a toothache on the way home, so I am partially convinced she has conditioned me to have mouth pain so I can't eat.  I'm not saying that is 100% true, but it sure is a coincidence, don't you think?

The big test will be when I go to work tomorrow.  Do I walk in wearing a t-shirt and tennis shoes, take down the wall on the front of my desk and then kick back?  Do I go tell "The Bobs" who should be fired and give them my mission statement?  I don't know.  I can't possibly know the full effects of what transpired during the two hours today.  I know I'm not giddy and light like my good pal Stepford Barbie, but my issues are different than hers, so maybe my behaviors will manifest in a different way? 

I asked the hypnotherapist if I should come back or how this works.  Of course, every person is different, every person responds in their own time.  Some just need a session or two and they are good to go.  Others need to come in once a week or so.  I could tell she thought I was the latter of the two.  I guess I'll see how it goes.  Am I sold on it?  I don't know.  Do I need to do some work on my self talk?  Yes I do.

I do ask one favor of my work peeps, however.  If any of you see me with a stapler headed down to the basement where I am unable to see the squirrels, please stop me.  I don't want to go to prison for lighting the place on fire. 

Here are the stages of thought process in my head during the session.  Thoughts ranged from, "WTF?" to "eh, seems legit."

Groupon for Life Change

So, I've been pretty down for a while now.  Have not been blogging much as I don't really have much to say that hasn't been said at some point in my life already.  Blah, blah, blah.  I've proclaimed that I was going to live and try and live life to the fullest this summer.  Well, that has not happened and I'm in a serious slump.  These things happen. Repeatedly. I'm really just down on myself because I am counting up my weight loss failures and feeling hopeless.  Weight has come back that I vowed I would never let back.  I'm kind of a fraud.  At any rate, there are some attitudes that all the Prozac and therapy in the world is not going to change.  And, it is my attitude about my body and food that drags me down more than anything. Blah, blah, blah....

Anyway, all that brings me to today's inner dialogue, which I shall now put to the written word.  I have a good friend that has also been struggling with depression and feeling hopeless, but for very different reasons.  She talked to one of her friends that went to a hypnotherapist and it changed her friends life.  So, my friend went.  She got a deal on Groupon for a discounted session. She called me right after her appointment and was on cloud nine.  Literally, happier than I have ever heard her.  A carefree quality to her voice that I did not recognize.  She was laughing and looking forward to the weekend.  I was admittedly taken aback.  I didn't know if she had been slipped a roofie or what.  She was like, "OMG, Cassondra, you have to try this!!! It will change your life!"  I'm like, okay, uh-huh, will do, sure thing...okay, bu-bye now.  I actually tried hypnotherapy for weight loss several years ago and went a couple of times and didn't really feel like I was getting anything out of it.  The whole time I kept thinking, "Am I hypnotized now?....how about now?  I think I could be...no, not yet."  Mind you, I have no idea what one feels like if they are hypnotized, but I've seen stuff on TV.  This wasn't like that.

I saw my friend again today.  It's been over a week since she went through this session.  She is still giddy and happy.  It's freaking me out, honestly.  I asked her, "Are you sure you aren't just happy because you think you should be because you went to the appointment?  Like, your mind is just pretending to think what you wish it would?"  She adamantly said no. She is urging me to go.  I started to think about it.  And that is where the trouble started.

What if I go to hypnotherapy and it works and I start acting all happy?  Holy shit!  What would that look like?  Being carefree? Spontaneous...not worried.  It isn't possible.  It isn't.  We all know I am close to dying at any moment from a collision on I-5, from some fat person disease or  from a mega earthquake.  It's just a matter of time.  Or, even more likely, I could be home alone and become trapped in one of my FCD's (Fat Controlling Device).  It almost happened tonight.  You don't even know the danger. You've seen videos of wildlife stuck in traps or nets?  Same thing.

What if I start to go to work in the morning and say, "Good Morning!" And I mean it? NO, it's too much.  What if she programs me to not care when stall one is clogged? That's going too far.  I could be on the verge of a major identity crisis just thinking about this.  What if I stop being sarcastic?  Is that even possible?  I might shut down my Angry Pony blog and start one on inspirational quotes and shit.  This could be a major disaster.

Let's talk about food.  What if it's Shark Week and I've been deprogrammed for chocolate and I'm like, "Damn, if I don't get some carrots or broccoli, I'm gonna seriously lose it!" Or, worse yet, I start to look at Shark Week as a blessing and as a symbol of womanhood and what life is all about?  I'm starting to have anxiety about it.  Serious anxiety.  Maybe she can help me with anxiety?  Like, what if I order pizza for everyone at work and someone that really needed thin, gluten-free crust didn't get that and I just said, "oh, I'm sorry..." and gave zero fucks about it?  I can't even imagine that scenario.

What if I wasn't worried about the mega quake or dying of cancer or global warming and I just let everyone who's anyone merge in front of me on the freeway and I just listen to Enya all the way home? What if I just look for the joy in life?  I'm practically trembling in fear right now.

What if I become a gym bunny and start taking selfies at the gym everyday and wearing those spandex shorts with a thong thing over them? Borat style?  (Do girls still wear that?)  And then I end up in spin class and do yoga and shit?  I start walking around the locker room naked  and talking to all my workout bitches about my spray tan while my boobs jiggle around?  It could happen. (As the Rug Doctor says, "Yes, is it possible, but it's not likely.")

OR, worse.  What if I just think I'm "the shiznit" and walk around in a mini skirt and go to spin class, but I'm still in this fat body and make an ass out of myself and then for some strange reason, every time someone says, "Cassondra, did you get my expense report done?" I start inexplicably doing the Macarena?  I mean, I have concerns.  My friend seems okay, but she is bordering on Stepford Friend.  I don't even know what to do with her right now.  It's like, I can't look away, but I'm scared to take my eyes off of her.  I'm not 100% positive she hasn't been brainwashed.  My friends are dark...not this light and happy thing I don't understand.  Instead of being Boot Bitches we'll be...the Boot Belles or something with zero street cred.

I don't know how to be anymore than I am.  Which, honestly, is kind of the problem.  I'm not oblivious to that, just so you know.  I know at least one of you is thinking, "Duh, maybe you should try to care less and just find the daily joys."  It's people like you...you people...I'm not like you.  I do see joys here and there, but I'm focused on the big picture.  And maybe it's the wrong big picture. Maybe I'm focusing on the picture of the possessed clowns hacking up a baby bunny when I should be focusing on the picture of the butterfly landing gently on the petal of a flower while a curious little girl watches with amazement in her eyes.  Apparently the art gallery I visit is different than yours.  Maybe my GPS doesn't lead me to your art gallery.  I only go to the one I know instead of trying to find a new one in a town I don't know.

This shit just got deep.

So, anyway, I bought the damn Groupon and I'm going to hypnotherapy this week.  I'll give it a try. I've tried everything else and failed at everything else.  If the next blog you read is me talking about how effing happy I am (which is doubtful)...be afraid.  I am.

PhD in Cutting Paper

Today I don't want to talk about the fact that I had to be enveloped in a strangers fart at the check-stand at Safeway.  I don't want to talk about eating a donut.  I don't even want to talk about the rage I felt when I walked over to get the boss a quarter-pounder with cheese at McDonalds and then decided to get a happy meal myself so that I could get a swearing minion toy, which I didn't get.  I don't want to talk about how I had to say good-bye to another friend that is leaving the Glass Palace.  I don't.  None of that.

Today, I want to talk about the inevitable end of society as we know it.  How do I know end of times are near?  Interns, that's how.  The project was simple.  Take these flyers and cut them in half.  Use a paper-cutter.  There were somewhere between 2-300 sheets of card stock to be cut.  Intern#1 (whom, I really do like) brings me the box of flyers and says, "We tried to cut these, but....it didn't really work so well."  I looked at what they had done.  It was paper homicide.  I said, "Were you using scissors or a paper cutter?"  She said, "The paper cutter...but we couldn't really figure it out."

STOP.

A paper cutter is a block of wood with a straight blade on a handle.  This block of wood has a grid on it so you can line the paper up for a straight cut.  You don't need a degree to operate it (but thank God I have one for times like these).  You don't need safety goggles, you don't need a certification or steel-toed boots.  What you need is some common sense.  This baby isn't the "i-cutter Galaxy s6" okay? You don't need an app to use it.  You put the mother trucking paper in there, line it up and pull the handle with the blade down.  There are no instructions or operation manuals with the cutter. Just keep your fingers out from underneath the blade.  And, I do know, from past experience, you can fit your neck under it, but it won't actually chop off your head.  We just don't keep it that sharp.  Anyway, There is no self-help for this thing on-line...or wait...let's go to "The Google."  Turns out, that indeed, there is a video for that:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25x-zoLcLmE

So, anyway, I look at the box of uncut flyers that were handed over to me.  You could tell they had put, like, 30 sheets, at one time, into the cutter and used brute force.  Why didn't they just ask me for the hack saw I have in my drawer?  Why didn't we rent a chainsaw?  I took it to my desk, got the archaic paper cutter and started in on my task, 2 - 4 sheets at a time.  Lo and behold, they came out great.  Is this a ploy by the interns to get out of work?  Did they form a master plan upstairs and then come down to see if I would perform like a monkey?  If so, well played, interns, well played.  If not, were they really not able to figure it out?  Did they circle it like a coon dog circles a porcupine wondering the best angle of attack?  What happened up there?  Did all of them pull their long, intern Barbie hair back away from their face and apply lip gloss so they could think more clearly?  Did they Google it?  I did after this incident, just to see if they had options.. Found a video within seconds.  They had options.  I'm just saying.  I mean, I don't even care if they wanted to take a selfie of themselves using the paper cutter for Instagram, just use the damn thing.

I didn't ask them to cut the flyers into the shape of a swan taking a dump on a lily pad.  It was one straight line.  These people are our future.  They are going to make decisions for us. They are going to go to school to become doctors.  If they can't cut paper, how in the hell are they going to cut open my chest and get to my heart?  What's next?  Will we have to stop using toilet paper and just have to go to tissue boxes because no one knows how to tear a piece of toilet paper off?  I don't know.  What else will they not be able to figure out?  I'm very worried.  Remember the guy that came in and stuck his visitor name tag to the sign-in sheet, wrote his name on it and then couldn't get it back off?  This is exactly what I'm talking about.

Based on today's activities, I'm just going to go turn on some Housewives of Orange County or something and dumb it down so that I fit in with everyone else.  I need to lower my expectations and the sooner the better.  I mastered that paper cutter today, but in a months time, I want to be able to say I've erased the knowledge from my head.  We have The Google.  There is no reason to retain anything or learn anything new for that matter.

I'm exhausted.  I know too much.  I need to go lay down.

Mega-Quake - I have concerns

I know many of you, especially those on the West Coast, have seen all the recent stories about the predictions of the next big earthquake.  The Mega-Quake we are due for.  It's supposed to happen within the next 50 years.  That means any moment forward through 50 years.  And if it doesn't happen by then, just continue to wait, because it's coming.  It's the mother of all earthquakes and many of us will die.  Specifically, everyone West of I-5 pretty much from Canada down through California.  If the earthquake doesn't kill you, the tsunami will.  We are pretty much waiting to die.  So, maybe you've heard about it?

Anyone that knows me knows that I am a bit of a worrier.  According to God's word, we aren't supposed to worry, we are supposed to have faith and all that.  What is going to happen is out of our hands, blah, blah, blah.  Look, since I'm a fatty and I'm poor, there is a lot of stuff I can't do, so in the time I'm not doing that stuff, I've got some time on my hands to think about this.  I mean, it's kind of freaking me out.  I mean, not really, but at the same time, I'm kind of worried.  I'm not, like, building a doomsday shelter or anything but that is just because I haven't had the time or funding.  Shark Bait says not to worry.  We aren't going to die and if it happens, he will come get me, no matter where I am, he will come for me.  This is all well and good, but I've got some concerns about how that is going to happen, as you may have guessed.

Yesterday Shark Bait and I were taking a drive in the truck and I brought the subject up again.  Shark Bait reiterated that we were going to be fine, if it even happened.  Oh, it's going to happen.  Haven't you seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow and the movie trailer for San Andreas?  Haven't you been watching the news and Facebook and all the media about it?  It's just a matter of time.  We don't know when.  We could be anywhere.  At home, at work, it could be the day we decide to go into the big city.  And, if we go into the big city, we are surely going to be among the first dead.  It's like he isn't even in touch with reality.  He said, "If it happens at work, you stay put and I will come get you.  I promise you, I'm coming for you.  If it happens, the first thing you are going to do is get to Safeway, get as much money as you can out of the cash machine and then get water and snacks.  You need water.  It's crucial.  I'll come home, take care of the animals and come for you." This lead to a lot of questions.

Me: What if you can't get home because all the bridges are out?
Shark Bait: I'll get there.  I'll swim if I have to.  If I have to abandon my truck and walk home, I will.
Me: That's going to take a long time and I don't want you swimming across the river, you could drown and if you are dead, you are of no use to me. I'm going to worry if you tell me you're swimming. No swimming.
Shark Bait: I won't drown, and it's only 20 miles, I can make that in a day. I've done 20 miles in a day before.
Me:  Recently? Because I don't see you walking 20 miles in a day.
Shark Bait: (looking at me irritated) I will do what I have to do.  I will get to you.
Me:  What if I'm dead? How will you know I'm alive.  I work in a five story building.  I could be trapped in there, either squished or dying a slow painful death screaming for someone to save me, but no one does because there is so much trauma everywhere, there isn't enough manpower.  I could die there, my voice haunting the building and then my carcass starts to decay.  Who will feed the dogs if we are both dead?  How long with the dogs and horses live without food?
Shark Bait: I will know you are alive.  I will believe it and you will be.  You are not going to die.
Me: Even if you do get home, how will you get to me?  There are a lot of bridges.  It will be chaos.
Shark Bait: I'll make it.  I'll hook up the USS Squishy and come get you. And if you leave work, leave a note for me, so when I get there, I know where you went.  If you go to a shelter and then leave there, leave a note so I know.  Leave a note about what path you are taking so I can find you.  If you start home on foot, make sure you have water and cash to buy a ferry ride across the water.  People will be charging outlandish rates because people are animals of opportunity. Just let me know the path you are taking.  And if you find a wheelbarrow, take it.
Me: Why do I need a wheelbarrow?
Shark Bait: For your stuff.
Me: I'm not pushing a fucking wheelbarrow on my incredible freaking journey over God only knows what kind of terrain.
Shark Bait: Your back won't be able to take it with a backpack, not carrying all that stuff.
Me: How much stuff do you think I'm going to be carrying?  I can live off my fat, I need water and maybe a coat and blanket.  I don't know, what if this happens in the dead of winter.  We could die out there.
Shark Bait: Well then, wait for me.
Me: How will I know you are coming?  How long should I wait?  How do I know you didn't die?
Shark Bait: I'm not going to die, and I don't care how long it takes, I will come for you and I will find you.  I won't rest until I do.
Me: But who's going to feed the dogs while you are braving the wild frontier?  And what about the horses.  How do we know if my Mom will be home to take care of them?  How do we know if she made it? Should we put messages on Facebook to communicate if we find any signal?  
Shark Bait: Don't worry about the dogs and horses.  I'll ride the horses to come get you if I need to.
Me: How will they get across the water?
Shark Bait: We don't know the bridges will be useless, we just won't know.  But, I'll get to you.
Me:  Okay, so say we make it and we get back home, then what? Will we have to live primitively for days, weeks, years?  Do we have no jobs and no money? How do we live?  Will we turn into looters and live by the gun in the streets at high noon?

And so the conversation went on and on.  I'm not even going to sugar coat it, it was painful.  Mostly for Shark Bait.  He says to just have faith and know that he is coming for me, like he is a freaking super hero or something.  I mean, I guess he is my hero in a way, but come on, it's going to be a Mega-Quake.  They are saying the Tsunami is going to take out the entire coast and then the land will be under water.  We are not pineapples under the sea, we can't live under water.  We can't.  Will says we can go to his parents house in Eastern Washington.  What about the ponies and all our stuff?  Will we have to be like they were on the Oregon Trail?  I don't know how many weeks it would take us to get there, but it would be a long haul.  We don't even have a wagon.  Do we have to build one? Steal one?

Or, I could get hit by a car tomorrow and never have to worry about the earthquake.  Or, it could happen when I'm like 80, if I live that long, and if that is the case, I guess I'll just sit there and pray for the tsunami to take me.

Look, I'm just saying, I have questions. I should just have faith, I guess, but I work on the third floor, what are the odds I am going to survive this thing? What if the building almost crushes, but there are a bunch of us in there living in little air pockets but the sewage from all the toilets is floating throughout the building.  That's how I picture it going down.  Who's gonna call maintenance about that?  What if I'm trapped in one of those air pocket places with the most annoying person in the building?  Will I just slam my head against the nearest piece of concrete and end it all?  What if just my arm is trapped under part of the rubble?  Will I have to gnaw my arm off to free myself?  I guess I'd have a snack for later. 

Say the building doesn't collapse.  Say we make it, but there is no clean water supply.  So, next thing you know, we are drinking contaminated water, the mosquitoes start biting us that were living at the turd laundry just a few miles down on I-5, then we get Malaria or some other disease and it starts to spread. Now, we are all sick, we all have open sores and are dying a slow painful death.  It spreads all over the state and then the nation and then possibly the world, but probably just the nation, unless someone takes a flight to like Africa.  Like those people need anymore drama and disease.  I mean, this could be catastrophic.

Am I the only one considering the ramifications of the Mega-Quake that is bound to be the end of civilization on the West Coast?  Anyone else?  Anyone?  I can't worry for everyone, surely there must be someone else.

This would be a perfect time to say things like, "live each day as if there is no tomorrow."  "Make sure to say I love you every time you get the chance as you may never get another."  This is probably the time for that, but seriously, if the Mega-Quake happens, it isn't even going to matter if you are wearing clean or dirty underwear because we are all going to be shitting ourselves and then kissing our ass good-bye.

I think that sums up my concerns, mostly, but not completely.  I could go on and on.  I have a lot more questions.  Maybe next time.  I have to go live life to the fullest until I go to bed.

Sleep tight, if you can.  Hope we make it till morning. Love you (in case I don't get a chance to say it later).

Movie Review - Magic Mike XXL

Tonight I went to see the movie Magic Mike XXL with my sister and my aunt.  I would like to take a few moments and provide my review.  It's actually kind of "our" review as my sister and I discussed it at length after the show.

First of all, I'd like to say, I love Channing Tatum.  He's hot, his body is hot and I suspect he is a nice human being.  I don't have a lot to base this on, but I think he probably isn't a Hollywood douche bag. I just have a feeling about him.  Some of those feelings we can talk about, some of those feelings are reserved for my alone time.  Anyway, I digress.

After watching approximately three billion movie previews before we got to the big show, I was delighted to see Channing making an early appearance when the movie finally did start.  He's still hot as ever and his co-stars are hot, too.  Plenty of eye candy.  Two thumbs up for scenery. 

I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone, so I don't want to give away the very intricate plot (p.s. spoiler alert, there was no intricate plot), so I will try and speak in generalities.  First of all, Channing Tatum, I mean Magic Mike, welding in his garage is hot.  Seeing him start dancing all over and dry humping a wooden table is hot.  I mean, I wanted to be that wooden table.  I wanted to feel the wood.  I wanted Magic Mike to dance on me like a pole on a stage.  We liked this part of the movie.

After that, turns out Mike and all his stripper buddies hit the road on their last big hurrah to the stripper convention in Myrtle Beach.  If there really is such a convention, I want to go and make it rain on someone, you know what I mean, ladies?  Make. It. Rain.  I want to be a freaking monsoon, people. Anyway, they are driving cross country in a freaking yogurt truck because one of them has a dream to have a yogurt truck.  Okay, this is dumb.  I don't care if he wants a yogurt truck.  Why are they traveling in a revamped taco truck that they are now making yogurt smoothies in?  Why?  There isn't even good seating.  It's not sanitary.  Apparently, they must have felt the same because then they start popping "Molly" and everyone gets freaking crazy.  It kind of made me want to do some Molly.  Whatever place they were in, I wanted to be there.

On their trek, still jacked on Molly, they stopped at a convenience store where there was a lady working there, who likely had not smiled in years.  Stone cold bitch.  Well, this was a great opportunity for the one dude, who was losing his confidence as a stripper, to go in and make her smile.  After exploding a bag of Cheetos and spurting an Aqua Fina from his groin, she finally smiled.  This part was funny, we liked it.

After that, they end up crashing the yogurt truck into a bunch of trees because they were still high on Molly and decided to meditate while driving.  This is a bad idea for any of you considering it. The driver dude ends up in a hospital, now they are in a bind. Blah, blah, blah, they end up at this rich chick's house that has kind of a personal strip club, it's pretty amazing.  Those stripper guys did stuff to those girls that was pretty...wow. One of the ladies was a really big lady and this guy is all up on her picking her up and swinging her around and stuff.  I felt weird about this.  Awkward.  I get that fat girls like strippers, too, but it was weird.  The good news is, she must have been mostly built of marshmallow fluff instead of actual poundage because that guy was flipping her around like she was a blow up doll.  Side note: I'm pretty sure Shark Bait cannot pick me up like that. 

So, after that, all the stripper buddies end up at some girls house that they met earlier in the movie on a beach outside a drag queen club.  When they get there, she is outside, but her mom and all her mom's cougar friends are hanging out inside.  They all latch on to the strippers and it is a regular Ya-Ya-Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants experience as they drink wine and talk about how sad their boring lives are. There is one guy that apparently has a really big package and that hasn't had sex in five months because his peener is too big for the ladies, but he ends up hooking up with the one mom who never had sex with anyone except her husband who recently left her because he was gay.  We don't get to see this going down, but he gets a high five for it the next day.

My sister and I are kind of pissed there is no on screen sex in this movie.  It's kind of bullshit.  I mean, I look around at the theater and let me tell you, it was full of women who needed to see some ass, crotch bulge and hot sex.  They needed it, I needed it and we didn't get it. Bullshit.  There is one girl that Magic Mike is kind of connected to in the movie, but she is a lesbian.  STOP.  I didn't come to see Channing fucking Tatum have a lesbian friend in this movie. Who wrote this, his wife?  Bullshit!  If this is fantasy, it's my freaking fantasy along with all those other poor women in the theater that are eating their popcorn like a cougar eats a bunny rabbit.  Okay?  Bullshit.  That theater was not full of lesbians.  Lesbians don't care of about peeners, straight girls do (100% of my lesbian friends have verified this to be true). Beef, that's what we want. 

Ok, so they finally make it to the big show in Myrtle Beach and this is where shit gets real. They go to the hardware store to get some supplies to build some stuff for the stage.  And let me tell you, these boys know how to build a swing a girl wants to be in.  Finally, we get to the dancing.  Halle-freaking-lluiah.  However, in our opinion, they leave their pants on way too long.  We needed more thong action much sooner.  I didn't pay to see your abs Channing, I want to see that ass.  There were a lot of girls getting crotch thrusts in their face, but it was with the pants on.  What fun is that?  For the lesbian girl on stage with Magic Mike, I'm sure she could give a care less, but frankly, I was upset by the amount of clothes being worn.  I only really got to see Channing ass the last couple minutes of the movie.  And another thing, they were showcasing a lot of fat girls.  A lot of dancing up on fat girls.  One girl even had her dress pulled up and you saw her Spanx.  What is that all about?  What are you saying?  Why did she have to be wearing Spanx?  I mean, I'm glad there was equal opportunity for fat girls getting gyrated on, I think the Spanx shot was unnecessary.

My sister and I would like to say we believe that there was an overall lack of male nudity.  No shower scenes, not enough sweat and no sex.  If 50 Shades of Grey has taught us anything, it's that there are a shitload of horney women in America and on this day, at this movie, a lot of women went home and had to watch porn to get to their happy place.  This movie was just not enough.

Overall, we did enjoy the over-use of the F word, the use of whipped cream, the dancing and the bodies we did get to see.  It was worth the show, but it did come up a little short in the happy ending department.  It was kind of like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure meet's Chipendales Dancers.  It did inspire us, and my aunt, to want to go to the hardware store on the way home.  Brings a whole to new meaning to the phrase "if you build it, they will come..." (shameless Field of Dreams quote).

And that's a wrap. 

"Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure meets Chippendale's dancers.  3 out of 5 stars" - Cassondra & Theresa

Disclaimer: We may have to go see it again to make sure this movie review is accurate.

Feeling All The Feelings

In light of the recent news that my blog muse, the real-life Angry Pony (aka "Joe"), has recently passed away, I felt I should blog.  Blog about something.  Blog about anything.  This little angry pony was my inspiration.  He made me think.  He made me feel like embracing my anger was the thing to do.  However, over the years since I started this blog, much has happened in my life.  This blog has evolved from funny stories, to stories about stuff that pissed me off, to recording my weight-loss/gain journey to talking about Therapy Thursday and pretty much anything else.  Really, nothing has been off-limits. 

Lately, I have felt like I don't know what this blog is supposed to be anymore and that maybe I should stop, or change my focus.  I felt like maybe I am letting the people down that tuned in to read it for the funny stuff.  But it occurs to me that the real reason I started this blog was to have an outlet for my feelings and emotions.  To have an outlet for the good and the bad.  I started this blog for me, not for you or anyone else.  I write this stuff for me, because it is my outlet and I am inviting you in to have a peek into my mind and to share my vulnerability.  I have had many of you tell me you totally understand, or it helped you in some way, or it made you realize you weren't alone.  Some of you just come for the funny stories, and that's okay, too.  I don't care.  I'm going to write whether you visit this blog or not.

It does occur to me that maybe I am struggling with my blog because I am struggling with my life.  I'm so lost.  Which, I know I have written before.  It's funny, I have looked back at some of my older blogs when I was so engaged in my life and so full of pretend hope.  Where did that girl go?  I think I may have figured it out.  I think I have turned into a cat.  That Angry Pony that was pissed off about the cards I was dealt must have gotten a hold of some Xanax because I'm not really angry right now, I'm just kind of sad.  You know, like the Sad Cat Diary.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKffm2uI4dk. 

Let's explore the average cat's day.  Gets up in the morning and takes care of business (wake up the human, whine about being hungry, take a piss, sharpen claws on couch) and then waits for the humans to leave.  When this happens, sure, the cat may behave for a short time, but ultimately, it is bored.  It's now time to crawl up on the counter, where the cat knows it shouldn't be, so that it can pick the appropriate spot, sit down, throw it's leg up and proceed to lick itself for hours.  Upon completion of that, it's time to go do some other stuff that is frowned upon, like knocking a pen off the table and batting it around the house, pulling Q-tips out of the bathroom trash, hiding lip gloss under the couch, sitting inside the curtain and swatting at bugs, thusly snagging the curtains, and the list goes on. 

The reason I think I may be a cat is because I'm becoming aloof.  While I'm not licking my genitals as I sit on the counter (I'm too fat to crawl up there), I'm pretty much doing whatever the hell I want.  And, if anyone tells me I can't, I'll scratch the shit out of them.  If I was still Angry Pony, I would be kicking someone's ass, stomping something into the dirt.  Nope, I'm just climbing on the counter and licking the butter dish whenever the hell I want to.  I don't even really like cats.  I mean, they are okay, but I don't bond with them like I do with the dogs and horses (and unicorns).

Why am I being cat-like?  What is my problem? How come I'm not doing the shit I said I would do in all those blogs in early 2013?  I'm a fraud.  Where is the girl with motivation?  Where's the girl with dreams?  Instead, I'm a kitty on Prozac. 

You know what is REALLY discouraging?  The people that say I have been an inspiration to them, or have motivated them.  That's freaking fantastic.  I'm glad all of you are motivated and inspired.  I'm glad you're making it to the gym and eating flax seen in your stupid protein shakes.  I may have started my day with a protein shake with fruit and spinach and vitamins, but guess what, somewhere in my day, I ate some peanut M&M's.  FRAUD.  I'm a fraud.  And, who's gained a shit-ton of weight back?  Here kitty, kitty, kitty.  UGH.  I keep wondering what my problem is.  The only thing I can come up with is that I'm a lazy fraud.  The Rug Doctor doesn't think I'm "broken" so that means I'm capable, but choosing, on some level not to do what I need to do.  I want to, but God went and gave us all that thing called will.  My will is bogged down in bullshit.  What I need is a fat girl exorcism.  I need a fat-girl-ectomy.  I need to be thrown down a hole, starved and supplied ample lotion.  Let some guy use this body for making himself a woman suit.  My skin is in pretty good shape in some areas.  I mean, the leg skin is gross, but the back skin and butt skin, that stuff is smooth and nice.  The skin on the top of my feet is good too, it's kind of pretty really, slightly sun-kissed. I'm actually a pretty good candidate for basement-pit starving. You don't even have to dig the hole deep, I'm not gonna be climbing out.

And, let me just stop anyone right now that wants to tell me how to "Take Shape for Life" or "Advocare" or "Onitrition" or Hydroxycut or whatever.  This is a battle within me.  A life long battle that I am tired of, but have no choice other than to face it every day of my life.  No instant packet of dried meatloaf is going to change that.  I have to find my Angry Pony again.  The funny thing about my pony blog muse passing away is that I was feeling disconnected from my warrior pony before I found out he had died.  My spirit, on some level knew, I think.  We were connected.

So, I know I have a ton of pony personalities in my head and now this cat behavior is showing up. I need to get my freaking spirit animals figured out.  That shark hanging above my desk isn't really helping me either.  It's just encouraging me to eat whatever is in my path.  Shit.  Now what?  I honestly don't know.

And that is where I'm leaving it tonight.  No answers.  I'm just "feeling all the feelings" as Top Knot Pony would say. 

M&M's - NOT for Sharing...

Today I'd like to address something critical.  There is so much going on in the media right now about the new marriage law and what Kaitlyn Jenner is wearing and I know those are important topics, but I'd like to shift things to a more serious topic.  One that I know needs to be talked about.  So please unfriend me if you must, never read another blog again, but this one, you must read.

Today's topic: M&M's and the unjust sharing expectations, as told by Angry Pony.

Yesterday, Shark Bait and I were running errands. We stopped at a little mini-mart place to get Shark Bait something to drink and he asked me, "Do you want anything?"  Well, that is a broad question.  I can think of any number of things I want.  Most of which cannot be found within the walls of this gas station mini-mart, however, I said, "Bring me some M&M's and don't try that whole sharing thing."  I think this was delivered pretty clearly.  The meaning cannot be misinterpreted.  What I expected to arrive back at the truck was a bag of peanut M&M's.  Shark Bait came back and had a bag of peanut butter M&M's and a bag of almond M&M's.  I said, "I wanted peanut M&M's."  Shark Bait was not about to be sucked into this drama.  He said, "You can have the peanut butter M&M's or the almond ones and if you don't like it, tough, that is what there is."  I don't really like tough love, but nonetheless I took the almond M&M's.

As I looked at the bag, I noticed it said, "sharing size" on it.  I told Shark Bait, "I don't care if it does say sharing, I'm not sharing.  Not one." I mean, it's kind of a scam, really.  The "sharing size" bag is just slightly bigger than the normal single serving bag.  I don't care if their slogan was that M&M's make friends, that's bullshit. They also said they melt in your mouth, not in your hands.  Guess what, it's freaking chocolate, you bet your ass it's going to melt in your hand.  I mean, if you eat them fast, I guess...maybe that was their point,  I don't know, but I digress.  Anyway, back to sharing...as one of my co-workers says, "sharing is for communists."  Look, if you are my friend and you see me with M&M's, if you are true friend, you won't expect any M&M's because you know the key to friendship is not taking M&M's from me.  If you love me, you don't take my chocolate, okay?  Just the other day I had some at work and Never Shuts Up Barbie comes over and she is all, "Oh, those look good."  I said, "They are."  NSUB says, "Wow, I mean, you could offer me some...I mean, I might like some..."  I looked at her, put the rest of them in my mouth and said, "Sorry, I don't have anymore, but for a buck fifty, you can get some out of the vending machine."  I mean, what planet is she even from?  Asking for M&M's?  She may as well have given me a "Fun Size" bag.  You know, the little ones they give out on Halloween that have like 10 M&M's in there. Who is that fun for?  WHO?  That right there is a terrorist act, if you ask me.  Supplying a measly 10 M&M's and calling it fun.  I don't even know what is happening in America.  Forget America, I don't even know how this world is going to continue to exist with this kind of portion size/control warfare tactics.  And, if we look to the Bible for answers, it's clear Jesus wants us to be happy.   So this whole socialistic control of fun size vs. sharing size thing is not only offensive on a political level, it has shook me to my core on a moral level. 

It changes peoples lives.  It could even cause divorce.

Now, back to my story. As I was eating my M&M's and we were leaving the car wash, Shark Bait said, "Gimme one...just one."  Begrudgingly, I put ONE in his hand.  He said, "Really?"  Then he offered me some of his peanut butter M&M's, like that made this whole injustice okay.  I was like, "I don't want your peanut butter crap."  But then, I thought about it and realized, the M&M ratio had been disturbed.  Damn if I wasn't going to take one of his M&M's.  I don't even like peanut butter M&M's.  I boldly took two of them.  Shark Bait said, "HEY!  You took two!"  I said, "Yeah, your M&M's are clearly smaller than mine, I'm trying to keep the balance fair."  He started to get a sulky look because mine were gone now, there was no way to even things out in his eyes.  I said, "Oh my word, are you really that upset I had TWO of your M&M's?! I will never, as God is my witness, take one of your M&M's again!  I don't know how we can get past this, I don't know if we are going to make it, knowing that at the end of the day, the M&M count is - Cassondra up by one!"  Shark Bait started mock slapping me and we were laughing, but still, this could have lead to a serious altercation.  We may have had to file irreconcilable differences.

So, I guess what I'm saying, on this Independence Day, is that we've got bigger problems than who's marrying who.  We've got bigger problems than whether we will ever be allowed to watch the Dukes of Hazard again because of the Confederate Flag.  We've got a serious problem with M&M distribution. We have hungry people that need M&M's.  Don't forget that, America.  Don't ever forget.

Disclaimer: If anyone was offended by my alliance to peanut M&M's and my views thereof, please, calm down.  If anyone was upset I was mocking the real problems of this world, it is only because society has become so absurd, I can't comprehend it.  And, not having enough M&M's does make the Pony mad.

Happy Fourth of July.  May you remember something positive about our country today that actually does make you proud and may you not light our state on fire because we are living in drought conditions and people are stupid with fireworks.