You Don't Have a Femullet, So Things Could Be Worse!

Thursday was a really exciting day for me, but not in the way I'd hoped it would be...

I discovered on Tuesday that I procrastinated buying jeans and dress pants in a size 12 for so long that I'm actually a size TEN!!! As in 10!

My reward for getting back to a size 10 was to get one of my favorite hair cuts from college. My very favorite requires a LOT of upkeep, so I decided to go for my second favorite.

Unfortunately, the only picture I have of myself with that haircut is this one:

I love that picture, but it doesn't show much of the hair.

So after hours of browsing the intertubes I found THIS one:

It's perfect!
(But don't worry, I swear to never make that face. Well maybe if I have like really bad indigestion and am also experiencing an allergic reaction that puffs up my lips to 4x normal size and way too red)


I printed it out nice and big and headed off to zumba.

I felt awesome in zumba. I was having a good time, I can do all of the jumping without my knees hurting, I know the moves now and don't have to concentrate so hard. Just general fun times.

Well about 5 minutes in I had one of those very sudden uncomfortable tickley nostril moments, and after a giant sneeze was sure there was a big ugly booger lurking somewhere.... But I couldn't find it. I kept checking my hands, my shirt, my pants, my sweat towel, the floor. I felt all over my face trying to find it. I tried to subtly check my hair.
Nothing.

Oh well, it must have been a tiny booger and gotten stuck on the bottom of my shoe or something.
Right?

Wrong.
When I scurried out to my car to hurry off to my hair appointment I found it. I was checking my mirrors and discovered it.

In the middle of my forehead.



And it wasn't tiny.


So there's that.

And THEN came the haircut. I was so determined to get the haircut just the way I want it that I drove 25 minutes away to the small town by my folks' house and have it done by the person who used to cut it that way for me.

It doesn't look like either of those pictures.
It looks like a puffy mullet with bangs that are way too short, no hair left on the sides of my face, and too much hair left in the back.
I hate it.

And it's going to take MONTHS and MONTHS to grow back enough hair by my face to rescue it.

I figure in 4-6 months it will actually grow out to a pretty hair cut...

In the meantime I guess I just get to be really creative in ways to style it?
Good thing it's fall and I have an extensive hat collection!

So just remember, no matter how bad things may seem, you don't have a femullet. So things could be worse!

Booby-Trapping Chubberchaun Bastard.

It all makes so much sense now!!!

Some of you may remember that I used to write rather frequently (and heatedly) about my constant struggle with Blobby McFlabface, the chubberchaun who hides in my rolls and attempts to expand his flab mansion with whispered suggestions of naps and designer ice creams and the like.

So you may also have noticed that I haven't written about him in quite some time.

That's because I hadn't HEARD from him in a really long time. Maybe the faintest hint of a whisper about how my couch is really comfortable and sitting empty and alone while I'm at the gym, but never anything with much force, volume, or convincing power.

I thought perhaps with the steady collapse of his flab mansion he had moved on to greener (or flabbier) pastures (or thighs).

Now I know better.

I've lost 45lb so far, and do you know what that adds up to?
The approximate weight of the mythical chubberchaun!
Coincidence?
I think not.

"Oh yay!" I can hear you thinking.
No yay.
No yay at all.

Today I got undeniable evidence that Blobby McFlabface has, in fact, taken on physical form and is lurking around my office, car, and home and trying to booby trap me into creating enough flab-space for him to move back in!!

I got up to fill my water bottle a little bit ago. The kitchen is just down my hall and it took only a minute or two to walk there, fill my water bottle, top off my brita pitcher, and walk back to my desk.

To a pack of HoHo's front and center on said desk.



WTF?
Where did these come from?
1) Most of the producers and staff here are douche-canoes in one aspect or another and none of them would be nice enough to give me anything, except maybe a cold.
2) The few exceptions who WOULD be nice enough to give me something have all very nicely commented on my weight loss and would not be so rude as to bring me HoHo's of all things.

Time to investigate!!!

But there's NO ONE in the building. It's a ghost town up in here. Just me and the dust bunnies (and they don't have the upper body strength required to find, transport, and deposit HoHo's).

So it's official. Blobby McFlabface is wandering about and booby trapping me.
That Bastard.

What Is This? Jellyfish Skin?

I am, officially, back into pants that haven't fit me since early in my senior year of college. Probably about this time in 2005.

While it feels AWESOME to pull those jeans out of the "someday drawer" and realize that 'someday' is, in fact, TOday, it also comes with some pretty horrifying revelations.

Like,

Who in the hell thinks it's even remotely appropriate to wear pants that low-waisted?

What the heck is this fabric? Jellyfish skin?

Did I really think this whiskery bleach line business by my crotch was a good idea?

Who's been stashing tacky, trashy clothes in my someday drawer?









I'm looking at you, cat!


You think this is SO funny don't you?

So, unfortunately, those jeans are going straight from the 'someday' drawer into the 'for someone else' donation trash bags (which are slowly taking over the guest room).

But you know what?
It feels a lot better to have aged out of my college jeans than it did to know I grew out of them!
And also to wear jeans made of actual denim with out anything accenting my crotch or buttcrack.
Who thought that up and how did I fall for it?

The Gym is Un-Hipsterizing Me...

I discovered about a year or so ago (much to my horror) that I am, probably, a hipster.

When I argued angrily with the accusation and expressed my hatred for hipsters, my brother referred me to a book called 'stuff hipsters hate' and the one on the cover?

Hipsters.

I googled and wiki'd and was so ready to disprove it... and had to admit he was right.



So, being a hipster (but not one of THOSE hipsters), I tend to pretty much despise popular music.

I hate it.

It was a point of pride that I had no idea who these pop stars were or what songs they sang and could give people a genuine blank stare when they talked about them. Some of it would sink in by nature of not living under a rock, but not much, and that was the way I liked it.



I'll admit it, I've even been caught saying things like "that's so mainstream."
*cringe*

Well now I find myself in an odd position... I LOVE my classes at the gym. They make me feel strong and young and powerful and like my body is capable of so much more than I ever gave it credit for.
And ALL of the music used in those classes is pop music.

I find myself singing along to some of it in the grocery store and doing zumba moves in the dvd isle in Target and doing turbo moves at friends in the video game store and just generally embarrassing dear BF in public.
It's awesome.


I found myself really enjoying one particular one that was even rap-like, and much to the shock of my boyfriend decided to look up what lyrics I could remember on YouTube and therefore find out what the song was and who did it so that I could download it.

And, to my horror, it was a KANYE WEST song. To my credit, it was only the very last verse of a Kanye West song and was performed by a person I have since learned is Nicki Minaj (or something like that) and from what I saw on YouTube she's really weird and therefore cool in my mind and non-embarrassing to like. I just liked that she threatened to eat people's brains and said things with weird inflections!! Is that so wrong?
I didn't download it.
But I may or may not have been caught on more than one occasion looking up just her verse on YouTube to listen to while I clean. Not that I'd admit to it.
That's so mainstream.

Even worse was what happened to me last night. There's one fairly poppy song that we listen to when warming up or cooling down sometimes that I kind of secretly enjoy. It's cheerful and great to just grapevine back and forth to and do various stretches. I saw the girl next to me singing along and so said:
"I've been enjoying this song lately, who is this chick?"

The girl started laughing so hard I thought she might pee or pass out, and then explained to me that it was Justin Beiber.

I'm pretty sure all of the blood drained from my face.
I wanted to snatch it all back and come up with some snide sarcastic defense remark like it'd been a joke set-up all along...

But it was a girl I talk to in class and in the locker room all the time. She'd have seen right through it.

So instead I let out an over-dramatic movie moment "Nooooooooooooooooo!!!"

So I'm ready to admit it.
My gym classes have ruined me.
I secretly enjoy SOME pop music now...