Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: confessions, diet war, paging aging, preggo protests, world's greatest husband
Ok… I’m not gonna lie. Today I had my first official meltdown.
Tears…….. tears……… tears…………*sniff*…………. tears………….. tears…………..
Oh lets not forget the tears.
Why???
My poor husband innocently remarked that I might have………………………………………
*gulp*
a stretch mark.
Did you hear me?!?! A freak’n stretch mark!!!!!
So of course I panicked and immediately went to go check out myself in the full length mirror hoping upon hope that he was wrong.
But he wasn’t.
HOLY CRAP-IN-OLEY!!!!!!!
What in the hellz bellz am I going to do?!?! I’m 27 weeks and I have 13 more weeks to go……………
Believe me, I oil myself up like a mechanic every single night. (NO I’m not using cocoa butter cream. First of all, its the actual OIL in there that works, and secondly it smells like vomit to me.)
Sorry. I need to go wipe my fresh flow of tears.
Please send StriVectin stat.
Today is my last day/night in my twenties.
Saturday, I’m turning 30 baby.
Oh did you forget? Don’t worry, you have a tiny bit of spare time to still send me gifts of your love and adoration. And if your a little late, I won’t mind. I’ll forgive you.
Since we all know that I’m not that extravagant, I have planned a near perfect solo celebration.
Tomorrow I will be getting a long overdue hair cut. Believe me, it is necessary. Next, grab a large juice drink from a special place (I think there is only one of them; they aren’t a chain like Jamba) to drink my delicious watermelon concoction.
Then I will take my still healing neck over to the chiropractor. Right after, I’ll be ushered into the massage therapist table for an hour of lovely kneading time. This will be only the second time that I will have had a professional massage. The time before was with some good friends right before the wedding. Such fun!
After an afternoon of bliss, I will travel over to the over developed mall to spend my birthday money that my awesome grandma sent over. Seriously?! Grandma’s rock. Well mine does. Seriously, she can out drink any frat boy under the table, likes to tell dirty jokes, got me hooked on reality tv, and makes the best country fried food–EVAH. I love her to death. And she was kind enough to send me birthday money.
Well, since she taught me the fine art of being a shopaholic, it seems rather mandatory that this money be spent unwisely at the mall.
So I’ll likely be blowing it on some luxury purse.
If I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m a purse freak.
Some people are into shoes. I’d love to be, but considering I wear a size 3 (shut up, I’m serious), the effort to find shoes that fit is more than I can spare, both physically and financially.
Others are slaves to fashion. I grew up with a tom boy for a mother who always wears a ponytail, only wears make-up on very special occasions, and still wears shoulder pads on her petite, shaped-like-a-ruler-frame. Clearly, fashion doesn’t necessarily run in the genes. Plus, they don’t make a lot of cute plus sized, petite, fashionable clothes. Heck, they don’t hardly make petite clothes that don’t come with an elastic waistband. Hot I tell ya, Hot.
But a purse? A purse never taunts at you, making you cry in the windowless, mirror hating fitting room. A purse doesn’t make you awkwardly glance at the 5th grader next to you and wonder ‘how in the hell does she wear a bigger size than me’?
No. A great purse keeps you in fashion, makes a statement in the right way, and makes you feel like a movie star. Wear a gorgeous purse along with a great pair of oversized sunglasses, and now I’m a walking celebrity whose main focus is to keep the paparazzi snapping away (hey, that’s how it is in my fictional world).
So tomorrow, I’m going to pamper myself and say ciao to my twenties. They were nice while they lasted…. (mostly).
I’m moving on to bigger and better pastures. *muah*!
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: paging aging, utter randomness, world's greatest husband
So you wanna know why I haven’t posted a picture of my new haircut? It’s not just the fact that it is a fairly boring cut. It’s not just the fact that I’m still super self conscious about not having clear skin (and not having the photo shop talents to magically wave them away).
It might have something to do with this:
No that’s not exactly me….. but it could be if I don’t watch my singular gray hair ugly self. I found one. At the salon. As a surprise no less.
Me: Uh wth is that??!! pointing to the middle of my bangs.
Stylist: Uh that. Nothing. brushing my hair into its natural place which naturally hides it.
Me: Holy crap.
So that helped in my decision to not display it for the entire blogosphere. Well that, and it didn’t really show up in my close-up picture I tried to take of myself.
That was heartbreaking enough. Then today I made a new horror discovery.
That gray hair I found in my bangs? Apparently she’s got a friend. A friend that lives down south.
I found a single gray hair in my VIP Club people!
I am only 29 for goodness sake!
I mistakenly told Mr. Cat about my recent trauma.
K: I found a VIP pube.
C: Don’t worry. Chicks have it easy.
K: How?
C: You can just dye your hair.
K: You can’t dye your muskrat love turf!
C: No, you can just Willy Nelson it down there.
*sigh*
It seems like this guy will be sitting at the reserved table….
(funny enough I saw Willy at a Karaoke joint in Laughlin… Totally weird and random. But it was him)
Later I found out why Mr. Cat calls a graying kitty a “Willy Nelson” .
Apparently there was a photo going around the internet of a t-shirt of W.N. face and his lovely aging goatee as the vajayjay.
Not everybody can have a VIP club or status. Heh.
—-Edited—–
For those of you who might have been inquiring, or giving thoughtful suggestions on the upkeep of the VIP Club, I assure you that the landscape is pristine and pretty with regular gardening. The weeds are not growing out of control like a redneck backyard filled with trucks on block from 1972. But thank you for your concern, Kitty Management.
Kitty Concerto 