Sunday, February 23, 2014

When The Going Gets Tough...

Adrenaline is a funny thing.  My first couple of workouts had me feeling like Superman and SheRa had a baby and it was me.  Then I got sick, and all that Power Juice trickled out of me everytime I sneezed.  The workouts got harder; my muscles felt like they were gonna cave in after 5 slow minutes on the elliptical, and my asthma-riddled lungs screamed for a medic.  Sometimes I felt like my heart was gonna explode like that overcooked turkey on that Christmas Vacation movie.  Everytime, I wanted to stop, grab my bag, and head back to my truck, even tho I had only been at the gym for 20 minutes.  Instead, I plopped myself on a locker room bench, caught my breath, and remembered why I was there.  Failure isn't an option.  And if I let myself walk out of those doors having done nothing to fix what I've done with myself, then I've officially failed.  I was so hyped up on "reconstructing" myself that I forgot you have to lay a fountation before you can erect a building.  I couldn't go from Couch Potato directly to GTL Gym Rat, my body won't let me.  My problem is that I want instant gratification.  I want to go to the gym, sweat my ass off for 2 hours, and wake up the next day 10 lbs thinner with more flexibility and stamina.  My body, however, thinks I'm a crazy bitch.  I'm now realizing that I have to start over, and start small.  I can't go hard on the elliptical for an hour the way I would like to, at least not yet.  If I can get a full 15 minutes of cardio in, that's good for me, for now.  I have to set small goals, and build myself up, even if that means I'm only putting in a 30 minute workout.
It's hard on my ego to keep this in mind, but I know it's the only way I can keep going.  I will admit, I haven't been as consistent in my workouts as I would like to be- health reasons, time, the weather, and my plain old beaten up, out of shape body have all contributed to that, but I am working on changing that.  I've set a goal for twice a week, no matter what.  I even did something extraordinarily terrifying:  I..DUN-DUN-DUUUUUN!!!  ...Bought a scale- EEEEK!!! I stepped on it this morning for the first time, and let me tell you, if I was ever gonna get some motivation handed to me, it was in the form of those blue digital numbers.  It's an image I hope to never see again.
I'm also finding out that nature has handed me a blessing in disguise.  My body, once cool with inhaling gooey cheeseburgers and junk food, is no longer able to tolerate crap.  Without going into graphic detail, I'll just say that the non-healthy stuff does not sit well whatsoever, and I'ver had to learn that the hard way on more than one occasion.  So! Gone are the greasy drive thru bags- It's clean or nothing for this tummy, something I know will serve me well.

I'm realizing that this whole thing is a process, and I'm acclimating myself to it, slowly but surely.  There are times when I want to give up, I knew there would be, but all it takes is a look in the mirror to change my mind.  I don't want to be trapped in this body, and I'm terrified of things getting worse than they already are.  Baby steps are better than no steps, and I'm gonna baby step my fat ass all the way to HealthyTown.
This has become my mantra.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

...And So It Begins

It's official:  My new body starts today...

They say the first step is always the hardest, but I have to disagree.  My first step was not only easy, but it excited me to take another.  I know this won't be easy.  I know I'm gonna slip up, and I know some days my couch will look way more appealing than an elliptical, but I have to keep my eye on the prize.  This is the first step, and I leapt into it, and I'm not gonna slow down until I hit my goal...Once I do, I may not want to slow down at all.
I'll be posting my progress weekly, and I may even make this really exciting and step this up into a Vlog, because of course you want to see my face, right? Of course you do!  I'm going to be dipping into a preliminary workout tomorrow, just a quick one, so my body doesn't go into shock when I really dig in.  I got this!!

Eye of the tiger baby, eye of the tiger....

Thursday, January 9, 2014


Well, well, well..Look who's back like the prodigal?  
It's been 4 months since my last post.  Four months of deep breathing, soul searching, and scrubbing off the scum of 2013..and if I'm being real, the last 34 years of my life.  I decided it was finally time to start fresh, shake off the funk, and start piecing myself pack together a little bit at a time, and my journey begins right here.  
  My time away gave me the opportunity to reevaluate some of my priorities.  I'm still very much single, and I'm mostly okay with that. As a matter of fact, none of my old flames have been around at all; all part of my Clean Sweep Program.  I've eschewed all of my former FWBs, choosing to go hermit instead of hussy, and they all pretty much disappeared soon enough.  There are one or two that are still persistent, but I'm good at ignoring text messages and pretending to be dead.  My head just isn't into it, and neither are my genitals. I'm waiting for the real deal to find me.  I'm very Zen about the whole thing really...
   I have become a Legal Battling warrior during my blog-sabbatical.  I'm fighting back against another DWS charge, and am well on my way to becoming a legal driver again so I can STOP THE MADNESS!! I just want to be a normal person and a normal mom who can do normal things and isn't scared of the big bad policeman and his pretty red and blue lights in my rearview. I'm fighting for that, and I'm gonna win. I should have a fucking cape for this. More to come.
  2014 will also be the year that I cut myself in half!!  Wait...rewind...let's rephrase.
I've said it and said it and said it, but now I'm gonna do something about it.  No more of all this extra goodness for me. I've decided to drop some serious lbs because it's just time to.  Life is short, man, and I'm not living it like I should be when I have too much "me" to carry around.  In 18 months I plan to be at least 75 pounds lighter.  I'm joining a gym next week. I will be that annoying 'gym mirror,earbuds and hoodie' selfie taking, #noexcuses/#LetsGetIt hashtagger who clogs everyones FB feed with my self motivation.  No shame in my game!  That right comes with sweat equity.  I have too much to miss out on in life if I stay like this or worse.  It took me a while to realize that this was something I had to do for myself and not just to 'land a man'.  This isn't just a physical thing for me anymore- it's become a spiritual and emotional thing.  I want to feel healthy in my skin, and wake up everyday feeling alive and fresh.  If I want to dance around my house in my underwear like a fool, I want to be able to do it without getting winded...aaand look fucking hot in my underwear.
It is a Brand New Day, friends, and with it comes a fresh outlook.  My life will just sit at an idle unless I put it in drive, and I plan on burning some serious rubber.  I have other things in the pot career moves, going back to school, etc.  Big things are happening friends, this is just the beginning of something new.  I've planned where I want to land, and I'm excited to get started on the journey that brings me there. I can't wait to start sharing that with you.  Stay tuned...

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

The End

This will be my last post. I don't see a point in writing miserable letters to myself anymore. It's not cathartic, it just serves as a reminder of how pathetic my life is.
I've been knocked down more times than what should be allowed on one person. Each time I went down, it was harder to pick myself back up. And everytime, as soon as I finally put all my pieces back together, life had to come swooping in to deal me yet another cruel blow.
I am tired of picking up the pieces. Seriously, why fucking bother anymore? I'm tired of this shit. It's easier to just stay broken; why waste anymore energy trying to fix something that's meant to be a mess? Positivity isn't gonna fix me.
I.. You know what? Fuck it. Whatever. I'm done.

Thursday, September 12, 2013


Life has been pretty beige lately, which explains my absence. Before this, my only real source of stimulation had been my daughter's imminent cardiac surgery. Now that it's over and the dust has settled, I'm pretty much out of gas and just coasting along. (And yes, she is recovering very well.)
It's been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that I haven't been very social lately. I'm not depressed, I feel OK, my job is good, my bills are paid, I've just been a homebody. I don't have the desire to get dressed up and go out and be all "woo girl", or worse, a third wheel with all of my coupled up friends. I have plans to go to a football game in the opponents city in two weeks. My friends are excited to party in a new city the night before... I'm excited for the game. I'm over partying. And after a string of really bad dates/quasi relationships, I'm over attempting to put myself on that path again. I predicted this would happen and it has: I've completely retreated into my shell, this time so far into it that I'm surprised I can still breathe. It's safer in here. It allows me to stay away from the stuff that will ultimately knock me down again, and I've already had my tits in the dirt more than my share of times. I'm good not taking risks, they don't pan out well for me in the short run anyway.
I'm aware that, doing this and living this way, things will always pretty much be beige, and part of me hates that. It's lonely, it gets boring. But I'd rather be beige than be the pathetic single fat chick at the bar or the odd man out with my married friends. I look stupid in both scenarios, and it's easier to avoid them altogether. I get the "you won't meet anyone staying at home" line, and my rebuttal? I wouldn't meet anyone out, either. At least not someone who actually wanted to get to know me. Been there, tried that.
I'm just gonna live the quiet life. I'm not gonna turn into the crazy cat lady, because 1) I'm allergic, and 2)Ew. Maybe I'll hole myself up and be a writer, complete with the bad hair, glasses and agoraphobia.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Leather Goldmine

Photo Credit: Austin Bauman
The talented lads from the OC are at it again, and this time, they're bringing heat.

For two years, I've been singing the praises of a band called Ceasefire, four crazy talented guys from Orange County, California. Readers, you've witnessed my worship. I've been all over Facebook, Twitter, Soundcloud, and this very blog spreading the gospel about them.  Allow me to take you on a trip down memory lane and reintroduce you to the boys, I'd like you to get to know them as well as I do.
Since my last post about the band, there has been only one major change in the lineup.  The very amazing Mr. Danny Molloy has stepped up as bassist, and has blended in with the band so seamlessly, it was like he was always meant to be there. Along with original members Anthony, Kamren and Ray, the guys have amazing synergy, and if they were awesome before, they are just that much more amazing now.  They are a finely tuned, well oiled machine that looks really good in black leather.
Photo Credit: Austin Bauman

2013 brings big things for the guys, and there are no words to describe how proud and excited I am for them.  The imminent release of their new EP next week, titled 'In The Dead of Night', brings with it some hot brand new tracks, and, thanks to my 'VIP status', I was lucky enough to get an early listen (Thanks Kamren!).  Now, anyone who is close to me or has even gotten a whiff of my Facebook page knows that the guys can sing the alphabet song and I'd probably love it, but I was honestly without words after I heard the new stuff.  The bar has been raised, and it is BRILLIANT. The new stuff is edgy and fresh, but still has that signature lush deliciousness that I love so much. Audiences are gonna be blown to pieces. 
Speaking of which, there has also been another change since my last post, one I'm more than happy to share.
Last time, I mentioned that I had yet to see them live, so I did something about it.  I packed up and flew 1700 miles away just to see their last show before they headed into the studio.  Crazy? Yes. The most brilliant f-ing idea ever in the history of brilliant f-ing ideas? ABSOLUTELY!!
Let me tell you- if you have never been to a Ceasefire show, you need to get on a plane and haul your ass to California and handle that.  The only way I can describe it even halfway accurately is ELECTRIC. It was like a lightning bolt to the chest.  They are alive with energy and stage presence, they sound beyond amazing, oh, and Ray does this little shimmy thing during "This Love Will Tear Us Apart" that will make you squeal like a 12 year old, please believe. The music hits you in the face like a truck full of awesome, and I was so excited I thought my smile would shatter my face and glitter would fly out.  I'm sure my personal and very public shout-out also had a bit to do with that, but I digress... :)
I finally officially met the guys before the show, and they obliterated my expectations. I was met with 5 (including manager Gabe) sweet, funny, down to Earth, amazing guys who I now love to bits on a personal level, and am so proud to call my friends. (I also found out that they're all even hotter in person, which I thought was impossible but I'm SO glad to be wrong.. Yeah I said it!!)*  
They continue to surprise me with every new endeavor, each new milestone bigger and more amazing than the one before it. Watching their journey these last two years has become a personal thing for me, because I want big things for them just as much as they want it for themselves. I want them to blow up so I can share them with the world and laugh and tell everyone 'I told you so'. I feel so blessed to watch them grow as a band, and I am on the edge of my seat, anxious to see what lies ahead for my boys.  I know whatever it is, it will be huge, well-earned, and very much deserved.  

Photo Credit: Austin Bauman

*No disrespect to all the significant others--y'all are some lucky chicks!

Monday, July 29, 2013

...And Down Goes Frasier...

That guy on the floor?  Yep, that would be me.
I fully realize that the logical thing to do is to dust myself off and get up, but getting up requires more effort than I'm willing to give.  I think I'll just chill here for a while.  Carry on.

I was gonna stick with basics and write yet another blog about yet another disapponting date that I got my hopes way too high for, but let's be real: we all already know this story, and I just don't feel like going there again. Nutshell: Three weeks ago I met a dude who I thought had real potential. I liked him. We went out. It sucked. The end.  I don't even know what I did wrong. So I've come to a conclusion: Guys just don't want me.  And you know what?  I'm just gonna have to deal with it.  I've decided I'm done looking, done wishing. I've tried everything, prayed to every deity I know of and even some I made up just to add to the list, and no matter what happens, I strike out 100% of the time.  My record in men is worse than all of Chicago baseball.
I'll be real, it hurts- it's like David Beckham kicking a white hot double sided branding iron through my chest at point blank range. It's a bitch.  But cyber-crying about it in a blog sure as fuck isn't gonna change anything, so I have to accept my fate.
I know when people say "Oh someone is out there for you", and other such sentiments that married people say, they essentially mean well and I appreciate it, but I'm trading in optimism for realism.  When your own mother doesn't even believe it when she says it, why would anyone else?  Since we're on that subject, let's explore it.
It's no secret that my mother has never been exactly a cheerleader for me.  She's actually the one person that makes me feel worse about myself than anyone else does.  I cringe when I get stuck telling her about yet another date that went sour, because the first comment she makes usually relates to my appearance.  It goes like this: "So mom, the date with Joe Schmo didn't work out lke I hoped it would". Mom: "Well you probably weren't was he was hoping for physically.  He probably wanted a petite girl." 
The salt in the wound of this is the fact that she says it like she's doing me a fucking favor by telling me this!
Trying to tell her that men do find me attractive is futile, because in her eyes, my appearance covers up anything else that could possibly be good about me, and there's no way a man could ever want me because he'll never get past the way I look.  How the fuck can anyone ever see redeeming qualities in me if my own mother can't even recognize them? Thanks mom.

Frankly I'm just over all of this.  I'm tired of spewing out energy for something that just doesn't want to happen for me.  Tired of pushing back against fate.  I get it Universe, I don't have a someone, you win.  I'm over getting knocked down.  I officially forfeit.  Ring the fucking bell already, cuz I'm done.

Friday, July 12, 2013

It's Just The Beast In Me

Oh my God.  I have officially become that "woman of a certain age".  I've crossed the invisible line, and am now a.. :gulp:...Cougar.
I'd like to explore this with you, but first, allow me to indulge the smart asses out there, you know who you are:

Exhibit A: The Cougar. 
Also known as the puma, mountain lion, or Felis Concolor.  An apex predator.  No relation to the subject at hand. You've had your fun. Let's move on.

The Cougar I'm referring to is much more scandalous, more dangerous, and certainly much tackier, except, of course, in this case.  Allow me to present... 

Exhibit B: The (Other) Cougar
Also known as a Sugar Mama, MILF, or Mrs. Robinson.  An apex predator.  Prefers young men and ugly animal print.  

Ok, let's just set the record straight right off the bat:  I am NOT a voluntary Cougar.  I have never once set out in search of young meat- I was never even vaguely interested.  In my case, young dudes are practically falling from the sky and into my lap.  I have three of them, right now, lapping up my bits of attention like table scraps, none of them older than 25.  The kicker??  I've never done anything.  With ANY of them. Well, except for one.  We made out. Pretty heavily. For more than an hour.  He plays basketball. In college.  Notice the present tense.  But that's it.
  This all began when I agreed to go on a date with a friend of a friend. "He's great" she said, "Cute, good job, 6'4"" she said. Little did I know that my blind date was only 24.  I finished the awkward date like a champ tho, despite the fact that we had nothing in common and I felt like I had to reassure him all night that yes, he was indeed 'cute enough' for me. I haven't gone out with him since, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.  In the meantime, two more have popped up, one younger than the other.  Evidently my "young dude' cherry has been popped and now Pandoras Box is wide open.  
"Jim" is 20, and the newest cub to crawl out of the woodwork.  We just met, but he's chomping at the bit to hang out with me.  Unfortunately for Jim, the feeling is not so mutual.  The age is an obvious reason, and it's no fault if his- he behaves just as a guy his age should.  I just can't relate.  Jim is a cute boy, but I'm not the MILF for him.
"Joe", the college basketball player, is another story.  He's 22.  He fell out of the sky just like the others, and isn't someone I would have ever pursued voluntarily.  When he first asked for my number, I laughed as I gave it to him, just because it was so ridiculous. He was so damn confident, almost borderline cocky, and I kinda liked it.  Still, I asked myself what the hell I was doing. I felt like Stiffler's Mom.
My Inspiration...
He pursued me, and I agreed to hang out with him in a very "What the hell" moment. We texted alot, and had interesting conversations, but still, I didn't expect much during our visit.  Wait, I lied- I expected A LOT of awkward.  Instead, he practically attacked me upon getting out of his truck.  
Aaaaand I loved it. 
Let me paint you a picture. I go crazy over a guy that's a real "man's man". This guy is HUGE, like 6'3", total jock, big, solid chest, arms, etc..  I'm not a small girl, so I need a big boy.  Needless to say, I already found him pretty physically appealing.  Then, he comes at me with this crazy passion, pinning me against his truck while holding my face in his hands, telling me how beautiful I am (not "hot", or "sexy", he used a word fit for a grown man), so he had that romantic/animalistic combo that I love so much.  He didn't ask permission, he just went for it. That was a straight grown man move. All of my reservations were gone after that, and I found myself crazy attracted to him as soon as he touched me.  
Crap. I should be so ashamed LOL...
I don't know if this technically makes me a cougar, since technically I didn't do the pursuing.  I honestly have no idea what's going on and why I'm a Young Buck magnet, but I have to admit, it is kinda fun.  
I'm not looking for anything serious with a boy so young, so I'm gonna just enjoy the ride while it lasts.  I do kinda dig him tho; for a 22 year old guy, he's actually pretty witty.  And did I mention, in the midst of our makeout session, he actually picked me up and wrapped my legs around his waist while I was smashed against the door of his truck.  Yeah, that happened. Did it just get hot in here? Holy shit....

Tuesday, June 11, 2013


Being single allows you lots of time to reflect.  For instance, I reflect on my past relationships.  What did I learn from them?  What could I have done differently?  How did they change me as a person? That sort of stuff.  This sort of reflection allows you to face truths about your relationships that maybe you didn't see before. My truth hauled off and smacked me in the face, only because I didn't want to face it before, even though I always knew it was there.  You ready for it? It's a doozy:
A man has never been in love with me. Ever.
After a good handful of serious relationships throughout my teenage/adult life, this revelation seems random and hard to believe, I know, but after really looking into it, I'm sad to announce that it's true.  Perhaps we should explore this, complete with bullet points for clarity...
  • My first very serious relationship was with Baby Daddy #1, God rest his soul. I was seventeen, and we lasted just shy of 3 years.  Not bad for a first try.  I have no doubts that he felt some sort of love for me, I was his first serious relationship as well, but while I loved him, he was more emotionally dependent on me than anything else.  And once he realized having a kid was hard, he bailed, and I didn't see or speak to him again until 5 years later when I was with...
  • Baby Daddy #2.  Most of you already know our backstory- I've known 2 since before 1 came on the scene.  We managed to make it almost four years together, happy only for about half of that.  I believe that he cared for me at some point, but it was never love for him. I think it was obligation more than anything. That feeling was reinforced just recently when I found out the truth: When we first started dating, he settled for me, but actually wanted to be with my best friend.  She was unavailable, and I got to live a lie for more than a decade. How fucking special.  Then of course, this guy falls in my lap...
  • Ramsey Adam "Rezorek" fucking Camarillo. Yeap, I'm dropping dimes on this one cuz he doesn't deserve anonimity-Hiya doin', Googlers!!! This one for me is kind of muddy.  You see, the way I felt for this man (past tense, Mrs. Berry!!) was more than what I felt for 1 and 2 combined and doubled.  Because of that, I like to believe that something was there for him, because how could you let someone love you like that and feel nothing?  Then I remember who I'm talking about, and realize that it's perfectly feasible when said person has a giant black heart and is incapable of loving anyone other than himself.  He proved it over and over again and I refused to believe it.  I believe it now. He put me through seven circles of hell--no kind of love would have allowed that.  He was with me strictly for conveinience, something he also said to me more than once. I had crazy, intense, overwhelming love for him, and sadly, there was never a return on my investment.
Wow, I kinda suck.

I didn't include any of the random, short lived in-between flings on here, because, really, what would be the point?  My blog explains those to death already, so read up and fill in the blanks.  
This isn't an easy thing to face, and if I'm being honest, it's really fucking sad. Like 'rip-your-still-beating-heart-out-and-watch-it-crumble' sad, especially when you factor in my age.  This is something I should have had, like, multiple times over by now, and I have the ridiculous misfortune of being able to say that I have no idea what being loved actually feels like.  Wow, just saying that feels like a punch in the face. Damn.

Experiencing emotional difficulties.

...composing myself so I can continue...

I should mention that I didn't set out to make this a "Cry for me Argentina (or Turkey, Greece, Italy, India or the Netherlands)" kind of post.  I really did set out to make this a fact-based, analytical self reflection, but now I'm just sad, so fuck analyzing, I'm just gonna cry for a while.  Oh, and (insert witty closing remark here). Later.

Monday, June 3, 2013

...And Then THIS Happened...

I've been trying hard not to rock the boat lately.  There have been some crazy changes, and the sun has started to peek out from that cloud that always seems to follow me.  You know me tho, and you know my fear of losing that little glimmer, so I've been trying to play it safe, not take unnecessary risks, and just trying to coast on this for as long as I can.
  Remember Flaco?  I've always kept him somewhat at arms length.  I wanted it that way.  I didn't want to take the risk of getting attached, because I never believed that things with him would ever blossom. I kept it simple..We'd spend time together, it would be lovely, then we would go our own way in the morning and cool off for a while.  That's how it was, I didn't question it, I didn't wish for more.
I've widened the space between us even more lately.  As much as I would want to see him, I made up excuses, i.e., telling him I was busy or too tired when he asked to come by. I didn't want a casual relationship anymore- I wanted something bigger, more solid, and I knew I couldn't get that from him.  So I started putting myself out there, meeting new guys with the same relationship aspirations, and going on dates. I went on 3 in one week alone. (Yes, I AM a pimp, thankyouverymuch) The guys were nice, and I always had a nice time, but I didn't find myself excited about any of them. Instead, I found myself actually missing Flaco, moreso after each different guy.  I never missed him, not like that. It was so foreign, and fucking bothered the hell out of me. I decided had to see him.  Like ASAP. Then I found out he was working out of town for the week, and I wanted to cry lol...
I called him this past Saturday night to ask him out, telling him I owed him a birthday drink.  I was a sad panda when he told me he already had plans with the guys, but I told him to have fun, and we'd catch up another time.
An hour later, he called me back.  He cancelled his plans. To be with ME
An hour after that, he was at my door, with his beautiful face and crinkly smile, looking and smelling all yummy-tastic and was a sight for my sore eyes. I was officially a goner. I was so happy I thought my face would shatter into tiny little glitter pieces.  It had been more than two months since I last saw him, and it didn't make sense to me at that moment why the hell I waited so long. 
  We went out, just us, to a cozy little watering hole in my neighborhood, and proceeded to have a blast.  I felt like we were the only two people in the place. (and when we closed down the bar, we pretty much were lol) I saw this whole, wide open side of him that I had never seen before, and I laughed harder and more often that night than I have long.  I was totally blissed out, and I'm pretty sure I was shooting rainbows out of my eyeballs because that's pretty much the only place his eyes were all night.  Well, that, and on my butt, but to be fair, it did look pretty fantastic in my black skinny trousers. 
  I feel like I've been hit by a truck.  A truck made of butterflies and cotton candy and hearts all that other cliched crap that girls think of when they have a crush.  Do I love him?  Meh. I don't even want to go there, not yet.  It's safe to say that I've definitely crossed a line, and that's ok.  I don't want to go serious on him until I have no doubts that it will be reciprocated.  Big Poppa, the BFF, advises me against any of this, telling me I should just keep it casual, but I should also mention that Poppa and Flaco aren't exactly friendly, and as well as he knows Flaco in other ways, maybe he doesn't know him in this one.  I'm trying to keep everything in mind, and I realize that Poppa only has my best interest at heart, but that he has an already tainted opinion of him.  It's so confusing.
  I know that I should continue to keep my options open, and I'm trying, but the desire isn't fully there.  I'm finding something wrong with all the guys I meet, and I get...shit, I get bored. There's no stimulation, and I'm ready to leave after like 5 minutes.  I think I only go just to give the sitation a chance, hoping I catch some kind of spark.  So far, not even a flicker.  I'll keep on keepin' on tho, until my heart slaps me in the face and tells me to stop, or until he gives me a reason to.