Catch Up.

Came home from work last night demanding sex. Farted way too loudly while getting naked and almost ruined it for myself. Lucklily he took pity on me and porked me anyway. My husband has a heart of gold. It really is up to him to put out when I say anyway, since this was his way of thinking...crazy girth. Aside from that, has Summer really begun? Is it just an obsolete season once your mid-thirties have been reached? Last year I wanted to arrange a "Sloppy Slumberparty" for us girls that did not pan out because life got in the way. I am thinking this needs to happen now more than ever. A hotel/motel room for the night, cheap liquor, gossip, all of it. We will drink, laugh, cry, bitch, show our boobs and other random body parts- and then pass out. Perfect. The one thing I have noticed about being in your thirties, you know who you are, and what you believe in. You are able to forge stronger, sturdier friendships...you just don't get to spend as much time with them!
****As you may have noticed, I have plugged some older blogs. Boom.

On a good note, I have an appontment to get my jugs looked at. Final say-so on a hopefull reduction...
I. Can't. Wait. I will post pics, open to blog subscribers only though.

On another completely unrelated note, I think another "note to self" is in order. Just so many changes...

Periodpoundspoop.

The last time I made a post was May 19th. The one where I lied and said that I would re-post my bod in 30 days to show my weightloss. Where I said no carbs, and I would be working out. All lies. Well, I did end up refraining from carbs, for some of the time. Definitely didn't exercise, continue the squats, or ab challenge. Fuck it. On May 19th I tipped the scale at 160. Almost 2 months later, 150 pounds is wrapped around my bones. My body was crazy and way bloated- waiting on a red tide that I never thought would come. And then one morning it did. I woke up at 4 a.m. because I thought a small troll and tunneled through my vagina and starting ripping a weedwhacker all up in and around my abdomen. Got up to pee and it looked like the high point of a horror movie. Within 3 days, I lost 6 pounds. My body raged, from my knees to my teets. I also had the first best poop since having Charlee. It was the size of a toddlers arm. Chris had to buy an industrial plunger for my industrial sized poo. My body seriously unloaded 6 lbs worth of fluid and literal shit within 3 days. Here's the total 10 pound loss results:

 

 

160lbs............................150lbs

 

Now maybe I will work for another 10lbs.
See if I can't shake off some of that moose knuckle.

 

 

 

Getting rid of some fluff.

Once again it is time to crack down on this big ass. 6 weeks post baby and there is work to be done. Last years squat challenge was successful because I put my mom ass on blast and shared photos of the progress. This time, it is the squat challenge, plus 10-15lbs needing to go. So. As of today I will refrain from carbs like they are the plague, and begin the treacherous squat challenge, again. I won't be updating this progress weekly, only crying about it weekly. In 30 days I will re-post a photo, failure or otherwise. As of right now I am soft and fluffy, hopefully in 30 days time I will be a smaller version of soft and fluffy. I have no desire to be solid, toned, muscular. I am a fan of the softness in a woman's body, I just want a healthier style of it. I want to wear a bikini and I want to be back into last Summers cut offs without a muffin top or bottom ass spillage. That aim may not be particularly high, but it is happy.  Here is my body now, in all of its 160 pound, 5 foot 2 inch tall glory.
                                   Ken doll dick included.

 

These underwear are, much to my husbands dismay, usually pulled above my belly button. I will sacrifice my comfort for the sake of this photo.
You're welcome.
See you in 30 days.

 

 

 

 

 

Don't we all?

There is an insane amount of authority lost when I drool on myself/down my shirt while reprimanding my child. A little bit of dignity escapes with that saliva too.

These feelings are almost the same as when I am throwing a tantrum, pouting, or arguing with Girth...storming & stomping away only to rip ass along my stormy path. I can just feel my resistance slipping away like the air from my asshole.

Having the sexy look of wearing a thin unpadded bra is almost not worth the effort of constantly making sure my nipples look straight.

Whenever strangers swear or say something filthy in front of me, then apologize- I say about 6 nasty filthy words in my head. Outloud I say, "no problem"...but I feel like a raunchy double agent.

WebMD will have you convinced of your imminent death in about 23 seconds. Yet I go there each time my shit smells slightly off.

I spent 9 months being pregnant and judging everyone. Now I am probably going to do a whole bunch of the things I bitched about. Then if anyone brings it to my attention, I will tell you to lick my nuts. Walking contradiction, impossible to argue with. And I'm still going to judge you when you do those things.

When I get dressed I hike up my tits into my bra, set my jeans just right on my hips, suck in my stomache a smidge, and then praise myself for looking hot.  10 minutes later I walk by a mirror...not sucking it in, jeans have lost position, and tits are bulging....can't understand why it looked good 10 minutes ago. Like my brain/eyes are set in "50 First dates" mode.

Going out last weekend for the first time in a year has me absolutely convinced that should I ever become single, I will be a lesbian. If Girth keeps up his shit- put me on speed dial, ladies.













 

You do not live in The Matrix.

Every single day people complain that they are not liked because they are just too fabulous. That those who do not like them are just "haters", just a bunch of Negative Nancy's who obviously want to watch the world burn.
Are you kidding me?
How egocentric you must be to think that people who do not like you have an entire plethora of issues, because you are so impossibly perfect that the thought of someone disliking you is completely and utterly unfathomable?
Girls hate them because they are so super jealous of their good looks. Dudes hate them because they can't handle a strong woman.
You crazy lassies. Take your shoes off, feel the grass and gravel between your toes. You know what that is? It is the real fucking world.
You do not live in The Matrix. Things are mostly what they seem, on a regular basis. Maybe you aren't liked because you are a raging cock smuggling Twatty Mcmuff who is a major bitch- who thinks that they are better than everyone else.
Newsflash, twunt.
People do not actually drink "haterade".
You are not Taylor Swift, you are not shining...people want to throw rocks at you because you are an asshole.
The REAL kicker though?
Jealousy is never based off YOUR (self-perceived) awesomeness, but off THEIR own personal insecurities.
So remember that. Look at a new perspective...that maybe someone is simply envious of what you have, of your station in life. But they do not dislike you because of it. Maybe the dislike comes from them knowing what an unappreciative, self serving, self centered bitch you are. They simply see what you are oblivious to. Don't confuse that with jealousy, on any level.
 

Hugs.

Shaved my muffin for the first time in almost 3 weeks yesterday. Exhilarating, terrifying, gratifying. I was so nervous as to what lied beneath. I pictured Pee Wee Herman in the truck with Large Marge. The part where she looks normal, turns away, looks back with the scary face! I imagined my muff to be the scary Large Marge once revealed. Two razors later, and a bathtub that looks like I skinned a bear in it...there she was, pristine and seemingly untampered with. This felt like running into your high school best friend 20 years after graduation. There we were, eye to whispering eye. So much freedom in seeing your own junk, in landscaping your own bits. I have slayed my own biscuit, I am a bad bitch, no one to be trifled with. Now I wonder if I will break the no sex for 6 weeks rule. This massive hormonal shift has currently rendered me basically asexual, as opposed to the raging cock monster I was while pregnant. Girth I believe is enjoying the break...but starting to "miss" me. Hopefully that means that I will get some ass slapping and heavy petting out of the this fiasco. When my libido returns, of course. Naturally I am not completely selfish. Taught Girth a new phrase and everything.
Mouth Hug.
When I offered one, he asked what I was talking about. I should have walked right out of the room. I am a nice wife though, so I told him. Which he continues to forget, and now asks for "Meat Hugs". Thoroughly grossing me out. So, alas we have the waiting game for my sex drive to make its appearance again. Which he may regret...I mean, we have been married for like 5 years. Mouth hugs don't come cheap...he's going to pay his dues.

You're so vain...I bet you think this blog is about you.

These frigging tits. Over it. Completely over it. This rack has been a 'C' cup since I was a barely 5 ft tall, 105 lb 8th grader. They enter a room before the rest of me does. In high school they maxed out my upper body at a sturdy 'D' cup...then when I reallyyyyyy filled out...BOOM- 'DD' by the time I was 20. Weighing a bucktwenty left me unproportioned to say the least. Now, in my mid thirties and two kids later...they need to be gone. Years of being smacked, slapped, twisted, pinched, poked, and milked have taken their toll. The girls have had a good run, but I am ready to say toodles. They look alright, per the life they have led. Let's face it though...let's be real. What was once top of the line Saks Fifth Avenue has become more thrift shop. Not like local thrift shop though, more like a thrift shop in Beverly Hills. Second hand none the less...so I would much rather they not make it to their dollar bin days. About time for the squat challenge to come back into play too. Just need to have that checkup and make sure my uterus and ovaries aren't going to tumble out mid-squat. It has only been a couple weeks since springing my gorgeous baby from my muffin, and maybe I'm being a little vain...but let's face it- well, actually, LET'S not. It's my fucking body. It's the only one I get and at 34 it isn't getting any perkier, or becoming any quicker at perking itself back up. If that means reducing the size of these big fat jugs, squatting till' the cows come home and not sliding any carbs down my throat, then so be it. I have no goal weight, no goal size. Only the perfectly attainable feeling of "look how hot my ass is in this flesh that I have got".  
And since I have yet to see cellulite or stretchmarks-  the least I can do is show my genes some gratitude by taking care of my body. Get it right, keep it tight, am I right?