Tag Archives: I Eat My Feelings

Oh Shit, It’s Christmas

24 Dec

Nothing better than routinely celebrating a major holiday of a religious denomination neither you or your family have ever subscribed to, AM I RIGHT?!

Being back home for the holidays is always a little surreal. And by “always” I mean the two years that I’ve done it so basically, drink up from my deep well of experience. It’s strange to feel out of place in a place that was really the only place you knew for your entire life. PLACES. AND FEELINGS. AND FEELINGS ABOUT PLACES. And so on. My hometown feels like someone I used to be really close with but haven’t seen in a while; we pick up where we left off for the most part, but there are more awkward silences than there used to be. There is a gap between us that we both know is only getting bigger so we compensate with empty promises to “totally hang out more often.”

I’ve learned how important it is to stop comparing my own life’s narrative to that of my peers. But it’s not easy. Without exception, every one of my girl friends are now living with a significant other. One of them even reproduced. Like…a tiny human came out of her vagina, you guys. I met it in real life. It squirmed a lot and then it shit itself, but it was really cute. Anyways. The beautiful realization that I’ve come to is that I am not in some state of stunted emotional growth. I am not falling behind in some proverbial rat race. I choose not to chain myself to these expectations or deadlines or throw myself into situations simply because I feel obligated to fulfill these roles that I may not be ready to fill yet. I am the third wheel. I am a wheel of brie for dinner. I am whatever, whenever, with whoever. And that’s okay.

So my Christmas present to you is a challenge. Think about an area of your life where you feel like you’re not living up to other people’s standards or schedule and then UM YEAH, HI – STOP IT.

Also, I got you this picture of Snoop Dogg in a Christmas sweater smoking a blunt:

Happy Festivus,
S.

There Are Times

28 Sep

There are times when, for a self-proclaimed communicator and lover of the written word, I say literally the worst combination of words that could ever be chosen. Like when someone tells me something – something that is potentially a very big deal – and I feel so many complex emotions at all once it’s like they cancel each other out so I reply with:

Cool stuff, man.

Because that happened. And I can’t take it back. It happened, and it’s out there.

There are times when I am consumed with the universal truth that everyone has nicer clothes than me. Like everyone in the world is just one big, well-thought-out outfit. Is it possible for fabric to laugh at you? Because secretly, during these times, I think it does.

There are times when I am amazed at the quality of human beings around me. Even strangers.

There are times when I wish serious, legitimate, real life, physical harm on people who storm onto an elevator before I’ve gotten off.

There are times when I want to be everybody’s hero. But then I’m all like yo dawg (I call myself “dawg” in my head, see)…chill out. Just because you tend to shove all your feelings deep down into a hidden volcano doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden of other people’s broken emotions on your shoulders. But I do, you guys. That’s how I connect with people I love. I’m like a parasite, except with way less horrific side effects. You know, without the parts that are physically harmful. I won’t make you poop out your life, is what I’m saying. But I will, however, annoyingly worm my way into your heart and intimate personal problems until one of three things happens:

  1. We bond on a deeper level than you or I ever have – or ever will – with another human being (or parasite – the jury is still out).
  2. You walk  run away.
  3. I walk run away. 

Obviously one (or more) of those thing happens far more often than the other. And by “far more often” I mean basically always.

There are times when I feel like I am mediocre at a wide number of activities and silently curse those who are extraordinary at one. Those are the people who define culture, shape history, get all the babes. But there are other times when I feel like maybe this a good thing. Maybe it’s actually the people who are “okay” or “just-above-okay” at a multitude of things that make the world go round. Maybe it’s Jack of All Trades who is truly holding this world together and not Jack of The Best Jenga Player in The World or Jack of The Most Precise Turkey Carving Abilities.  Although I would definitely invite both of those Jacks to a party.

AND….there are times when I write utterly pointless blog posts like this one. But that’s what blogs are for, right? Being devoid of points but hoping that someone out there connects to it and feels a little less….pointless.

Cool stuff, man.

S.

Conversations Between S. and K.

2 Feb

Ever wondered to yourself…. “I wonder what the girls behind Pretty Girls Poop Too are ACTUALLY like in real life?”

The reality, dear reader(s), is that we are far more cerebral and intelligent in real life than we pass ourselves off to be on this blog.

Case in point, a recent conversation between my dear comrade K. and myself:

WE R WHO WE R

Yours in lard,

S.

 

Jillian Michaels Is Ruining My Life.

10 Jan

“Being chubby is for chumps.”- My New Year’s Resolution. Followed by: “Stop waking up with fake eyelash glue on areas of your face other than your eyelids.” – Don’t ask.

Enter: The Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred. Why? Because I’ve watched The Biggest Loser and if she can make morbidly-obese people skinny over the course of a television season then she can obviously make me a supermodel in 30 days. Let’s shred!

Fuck, this sucks. The entire workout consists of the most BASIC fucking exercises, which is great because you don’t need any fancy equipment (just a pair of 3lb weights, a living room and a roommate you can sucker into doing it with you). It consists of three circuits that all include cardio, strength and abs. Basic shit here people – like squats, situps and pushups. The bad thing about this workout being so basic is that none of my previous excuses for working out half-assed work anymore:

  • “Oh I can’t do this, I don’t have a stability-expander-elliptical-medicine-ball. Sorry. I’ll be over here, by the vending machine.”
  • “My advanced-Pilates-plyometrics-cross-trainer said that this version of the Squatting Duck Back Bend Reflexation is actually bad for your femur, so I’m going to sit this one out. It’s just a difference in philosophy, really.”

It’s a push up. You literally lower yourself to the ground and then push back up. All you need is two arms and gravity, bitch.

Have you ever felt both of your ass cheeks with such alarming clarity that you became convinced every step was sure to result in them EXPLODING OUT OF YOUR PANTS?

Ever had issues feeding yourself food like a functioning adult because your arms were shaking to the point you looked like Michael J. Fox trying to do anything? (OH MY GOD, MICHAEL, I’M SORRY, I LOVE YOU, THE JOKE JUST CAME OUT.)

That’s where I’m at right now. A disgusting reminder of how out of shape I really am. Basic exercises that people have been doing since the beginning of time are turning me into a sweaty, wheezing mess in 20 minutes. Oh. Did I fail to mention this workout IS ONLY 20 MINUTES LONG?

What I thought working out with Jillian Michaels would be like.

What working out with Jillian Michaels is actually like.

I’m on Day 3 (laugh it up). Hopefully by Day 6 or 7 I’ll start to build up some endurance and stop being such a pansy. At least that’s what Jillian tells me. But for now, this is me and Jilly Bean spending our evenings together:

BFFs 4 LiFe

Yours in lard,

S.

 

The 4 Stages of My Ravenous Hunger

6 May

You know what I hate? Bikini’s.

Mind you, Bikini’s have never really given me a reason to hate them. It’s not Bikini’s fault that I have poutine with bacon for breakfast:

Bikini didn’t make me warm up that cheese bun for breakfast when I had already eaten a leftover waffle and Baybel cheese.

It’s not you, Bikini. It’s me.

So I’ve decided to try and make this summer the very first one in my 25 years on the planet in which I do not have nightmares about an evil Bikini with teeth ferociously attacking me like I owe it money.

I’ve started eating healthy. I mean like…actually healthy. Spinach with a few ounces of lean protein and some blueberries for “dessert” kinda healthy.

Here are the stages of hunger I have been going through:

1 – Mild hankering for something snacky. I could go for an apple, handful of pretzels or some veggies and hummus. You know, snacks that distract you from your approaching hunger without making you feel like Roseanne on a bad day.

2 – Counting down the minutes to lunch hungry. This seems to be happening earlier now that I’m eating better, which doesn’t make ANY SENSE AT ALL because healthy foods are supposed to make you feel full longer. So why am I ready to hump a vending machine at 10:32 A.M in the hopes that something will come loose and fall down for the taking?

3 – If I don’t eat within the next 10 minutes, shit is going to get real. This is the point where my co-workers start to taunt me with various sweet and salty snacks. Yesterday they put a box of Smarties on my keyboard and just left them there. Left them there for me to pick up, smell the box and then chuck it at their face. Today, the student I hired (we’ll just call her Student) got a piece of pizza for lunch and I almost choked the bitch out. SHIT IS GETTING REAL.

4 –

This is blank for a reason.

I black out.

Am I foraging through everyone’s leftovers in the fridge? Perhaps. Have I committed homicide with gravy all over my face? Maybe.

Am I satisfied, though?

Hell.

Yes.

S.

S. and K. Discuss Cheese

26 Jan

(Getting ready at S.’s place for a big Friday night…)

S: Mario Kart or Wii Sports? Mario Kart is significantly less physical, but if we play Wii Sports it basically counts as going to the gym. Tennis hurts my arm though, so maybe we should just do bowling. I’ve actually managed to perfect my throw while remaining on the couch.

K: Stop. I will give you $100 dollars for some form of popcorn, pretzel, cracker, bread – do you see my theme here?

S: Done. Popcorn it is.

K: You know, I grate cheese on my popcorn.

S: What?! Like real cheese?

K: Real cheese.

S: That’s…I mean…I think I just had an epiphany.

K: Real. Cheese.

S: Okay, but wait. You just grate it on top of the popcorn? What size grate do you use?

K: The regular one.

S: Oh, so not the zest-like one. You really grate that shit on, nacho-style?

K: Medium grate. The zest size would work too, but it’s a little light so you’d have to grate more, which obviously would require more physical effort.

S: Which defeats the point.

K: Exactly.

S.’s brother, who has been in the room the entire time: Why is this even a topic of conversation? The size of the grate? Really? How has any man ever loved either one of you?

S: (silence)

K: *puts handful of popcorn in mouth*

(Seriously though. Grated cheese on popcorn. Try it.)

S.

If You Had To [D-List Fatties Edition]

21 Jul

They say that women begin to let themselves go once married, but in Hollywood there’s an even more disturbing trend appearing. The men get fat once they break up with someone. Case in point, today’s edition of If You Had To.

Fat Jon Gosselin

fatjon

OR

Fat Kevin Federline

fatkevin

Pro about each: Any of your wild womanly cravings would not only be accepted, they would be encouraged. I think both of these men would even sit through a chick flick if it meant a tub of cookie dough was involved.

Con about each: Both come with crazy baby mammas and multiple children.

Jon has recently been spotted in nothing but Ed Hardy, thus perfecting the “Awkward Dad trying to look cool while dating your college classmates” look. Minus 18 points.

Kevin gets something ridiculous like $40,000 a month from Britney and no real responsibilities outside of just being a dad, which means he probably has a Willy Wonka-like house where everything is edible. You’d probably end up spending the day riding go-karts and the night having sex on a cheeseburger-bed. Bonus 10 points.

Kevin takes the cake (hah) with this one. Ladies?

S.

Pita Pit WTF?

8 Apr

Buying lunch is a big deal for me. I try to be as frugal as I can, bringing my lunch to work as much as possible. So on the days when I give in and decide to drop a precious $10-$15 on lunch – it’s a big deal.

So when I find stuff like THIS in my pita, I am robbed of all words save for WTF?!!

img00365

Yes, those are the ends form two heads of green leaf lettuce. IN MY PITA.

Things that could have taken the place of these monstrosities:

  • More chicken
  • Bacon
  • 4 slices of cucumber
  • 2 tablespoons of hummus
  • And both of my fists

I was going to take them right back to Pita Pit and demand they exchange them for any item on that list (besides my fists) but I was with some of the web dudes from work and they talked me out of it.

They also haven’t spoken to me since.

I’m so lonely.

Bahuhuh.

S.

Weekend Highlight Reel

23 Mar

Situation: Shopping for jeans. If you are a woman, enough said. If you are a man, or a skinny Asian female, you need to understand how painful this experience is. Until they start making jeans for women who aren’t 110lbs car models, it remains a half-day excursion: stuffing yourself into poorly lit dressing rooms feeling like you’re trying to pull a condom up over your thighs and ass.

Highlight: The perky sales girl exclaiming loud enough the entire store can hear: “Okaaaaay, if THESE don’t fit I really don’t know what else to tell you. This is the biggest size this style comes in!” (Note: they were a size 30, let’s be real.)

Situation: Watching the Calgary Hitmen soar to a 2-1 overtime win against the Edmonton Oil Kings, taking a 2-0 series lead in the first round of the WHL playoffs.

Highlight: Jumping up and frantically cheering when the OT goal was scored, and feeling my (leather) belt snap. Even though I tend to keep belts for way too long and this one was definitely clinging on to its last breath, after it was publicly announced that I was buying a pair of jeans in the largest size available, I couldn’t help but laugh.

And then sob.

Yours in lard,
S.

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