As I’ve said before, I am a Fall baby through and through. You know, the scarves – wink wink. As I was getting the remainder of my belongings out of my mom’s house recently, I found that I have SIX BINS of Halloween decorations. SIX. Not only is six the sign of the devil, but I can’t believe no one stopped me from buying all that. I had a Halloween party one year which I was really excited about, and Party City is 5 minutes from my work, so I spent many a lunch time looking for ghouls and goblins. Nonetheless, I do enjoy this holiday and thought I would run through some of my costumes from years past with you.
2018 – Trolls
My friends, Matt and Lauren, and I love to dress up for Halloween together. We attend an annual Halloween party (I finally got the official invite myself this year rather than tagging along <3) where costumes matter. There are tons of prizes and gift cards for winners so each year we get better and better. Last year, we were trolls. We won third place!
This was the year I had my Halloween party since the one we usually go to was taking a year off. I decided I wanted to be a white walker thing from Game of Thrones. I got a cute body suit that had an ice skeleton on it. I ended up being a fat ice skeleton wearing a lot of eye make up. It didn’t work out the way I planned.
This was the first year I attended the Halloween party with Matt and Lauren. We wanted to be punny. I was jobless at the time so I had A LOT of time on my hands to make my costume. I was Taco Belle, Lauren was Dairy Queen, and Matt was Burger King – I am starting to understand why the following year I was a fat skeleton. We didn’t win anything and in fact, everyone asked what we were.
College years through 2015
The few years prior I just wore a cheetah pajama onesie and called it a day. My favorite costume was in college when I was a Facebook friend request. My best friend, Anne, went as a cupcake. Here we are:
I never was one to be anything slutty for Halloween (except in high school when I was just an actual slut). This year, we are determined to win the costume contest at the Halloween party. So instead of being something punny, we are going to embrace Halloween and be full on demonic “clergy”, as Matt would say. Really, we are going to be demonic nuns – think, “The Nun” movie. But I don’t think Matt can be admitted into a clergy as a nun, so we will just be a collective clergy. Can’t wait to show you so we can haunt your dreams forever.
Update: WE WON FIRST PLACE.
I’ll keep this post short and sweet and return next week with something a little more spicy for you.
I apologize that I missed writing a new post this week because my co-worker got me into the show Outlander. Let’s face it, I would rather spend my free time in the 1700s with the lasses and lads in Scotland than with real people. I even catch myself reading everything in a Scottish accent and calling people “Sassenach”. I certainly don’t sleep anymore and who needs to watch porn when you have these OK sex scenes? I will say the lad in it is quite the eye candy (pictured below). So after crying my way through the entire 3rd season and desperately wanting a love like the main characters have, I realized I needed a break. I was starting to wonder what my friends, (the main characters) Claire and Jamie, were doing at this very moment. I just ask that you forgive me if you start reading this post in a Scottish accent. Sláinte.
Guys, you wouldn’t believe it. Last night, I was on Tinder and do you remember my post about Parker? Well I came across him again and swiped right because I wanted to know if he would match me and had anything to say (also if he read my blog post). He matched me right away. That enough was enough to make my laugh my ass off but then he said “Abby… we’ve matched before. Then you ghosted me.” I said, “Um, you must not remember who I am.” He said he did and that he went to message me one morning and I had deleted him on everything. My apologies, I didn’t realize that when you blocked me on Snapchat, that I had accidentally deleted you. This is the same guy that called me a psychopath, but my predictions were right. HE was indeed the psychopath. Parker actually told me that his ex had taken his phone while he was at a bar and told me I was a psychopath and that he was sorry for anything he said because it was really her. I said, “hold on hold on hold on. You asked me to have a threesome with some chick and I said you were treating me like a walking vagina and not a human being and then you said I lured you in under false pretenses for my social media, then sent me IT the clown.” Of course, he didn’t know what I was talking about and actually said “I never wanted to have a threesome with two chicks.” Oh, so you wanted me and two guys? *thinking* ok so what did you say your name was again? LOL just kidding… But I was like, “so you’re trying to tell me your ex wanted me to have a threesome with you and someone that isn’t her (because the chick’s picture he sent me was her Tinder profile), and then when I declined, she got mad at me and called me a psychopath?” This dude is on bath salts or something, and I am not entirely sure he still won’t pop out of a vent or drain in my house like Pennywise himself. This was the highlight of my Friday night. He was actually groveling for my forgiveness and said he still wanted to see me naked. Well duh, I’m amazing who doesn’t? I reminded him that I asked him a question about his life and he snapped and said, “No, don’t do that. Don’t make this something it’s not. We are just whores for each other and nothing more.” He said, “it was a joke. Obviously we would talk in person.” I am genuinely confused by this guy’s mental state. He one hundo p is schizo.
If there is something I’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that silence is more powerful than having the last word. I used to be someone who always had to say my mind before I could end a conversation or fight, for closure. But I’ve since come to find out that if you remain silent, and let the other person have the last word, you have all of the power because they will realize that they no longer have meaning to you. That’s what I did with Parker. I remained silent mostly, giving him just enough to keep talking. Then, when I was no longer satisfied with the convo, I stopped answering. Filtering yourself and holding back things you wish you could say is not something I encourage. However, men are stupid and giving them the silent treatment is the most powerful thing you can do.
I so badly wanted to take screen shots of this conversation for you all, but before I could, HE deleted ME on Tinder, again. Just typing this story is cracking me up. I do this all for you – my readers – put myself in awkward situations so you can laugh with/at me. People have been telling me lately I need to start a podcast and get business cards. I’ve never listened to a podcast nor do I have plans to start anytime soon (so stop suggesting ones for me to listen to). I also don’t expect anyone to have to suffer through my annoying voice until I’m more famous. I am considering the business cards and taking design suggestions (free of charge and credit of course).
Alright, I’m going to start season 4 of Outlander. If you don’t hear from me for another week, I’ll be crying on my couch.
The other night, I legitimately cried because I couldn’t find anything to wear out. I had my whole outfit planned and when I put it on, it didn’t feel right. My friend said, “it looks so good! Why are you changing?” It’s just too damn hard to explain that the thing isn’t clinging to this thing right and the other thing is bothering me and it’s just a whole thing. It’s not as if I don’t have a bazillion clothes, but my go-to outfit (that one shirt that I wear with that one pair of jeans every other weekend) was being a complete asshole and was not wearing me right. When I went to change my outfit, I realized that I have so many clothes and I only wear a combination of like 10 things ever. Do you know how many things I have in my (3) closets “just in case”? Ladies, I know you know.
In high school once, I purged my clothes and threw out everything that I didn’t wear or fit into anymore. My mom said that I would regret getting rid of my high school t-shirts one day, so that is the moment I stopped getting rid of ANYTHING that *might* be of value to me. Don’t get me wrong, I am known to get rid of a ton of things that I know I won’t use anymore or have never worn, but there are some clothes that I can’t bring myself to get rid of in case I get invited to a theme party where I can finally wear that sequin tube top that I got at Wet Seal in 10th grade… Not that my fat-ass would fit into something I bought when I was 90 lbs lighter. Yes, I’ve gained 90 lbs since my golden years, move on people. Even since 2 years ago, I am a little heavier and can’t fit into the clothes that I once loved to wear. But will I get rid of them? No, instead I will continue to put them on every time I get dressed and get upset that the clothes are stupid and poorly made and didn’t grow with me.
The mirror is the only critic of the outfit we choose anyway. It doesn’t matter how hot or not we feel, we will still look like complete shit in photos. And that ONE TIME you find the outfit of your dreams, no photos will be taken to record this moment in history; it’s Murphy’s Law. Also, no one will care what you are wearing except mean people (me) that will judge you no matter what you wear because we’re (not) jealous that you can wear (fit into) a mini skirt and crop top in winter and be comfortable about your decision. And for some reason, we get excited to get all dressed up on holidays like New Year’s Eve. Why am I wearing leather leggings and a sequin top with heels to this dive bar in the middle of Winter… Either I will see everyone I know that will not care what I look like, or I will see only strangers that will also not care what I am wearing because they’ve never seen me before in their life. I think the thought of going out in clothes you don’t normally wear is a sort of cleanse – like, I am going to be the person I’ve always wanted to be and flirt with all the guys and make friends and end up buying the whole bar a round of shots because I look good. In actuality, I will go out feeling hot, but still unnecessarily awkward when there is no where to sit so you have to stand there and look busy, while I make my friend go up to the hot guy for me even when I pretend to attest. But, when the guy agrees to talk to me, I will compliment the outfit for its success. The other day I was with my dad and said *fanning myself*, “I don’t know why, but I get really hot when I drink.” He said, “Those are drunk goggles, sweetie.” Touche.
The worst thing about finding an outfit on the 15th try is your room ends up looking like Goodwill and you have to take your Ghost Buster’s monster vacuum out to clean up all of your clothes, at which point they all go into the washing machine even though they were never worn but you are too lazy to hang them back up or fold them. Then they sit in the washing machine too long and smell like mold so you have to wash them again, as with drying. They probably still won’t get hung up and next thing you know you are living out of your dryer and pull out options to bring back upstairs with you and they end up on your floor. Again. Those poor clothes just went through the ringer because they weren’t special enough to be loved by their owner, or washed with *color* life-saving detergent. It’s a vicious cycle, I’ll tell ya. Might as well just buy new ones.
Holding on to clothes “just in case” is never, ever going to help you, ladies. You’re not going to lose weight and fit into that dress again. You’re not going to be invited to Brian’s neon party because you’re a fucking adult (and if you’re not a fucking adult, you’re probably too young to be reading my blog). You’re not going to go to some fancy ball on NYE because you don’t have friends like that, and you are not going to decide you do actually like to wear bright colors. And, while I’m projecting, can we please end the wearing-a-bra-out-to-the-bar-and-calling-it-a-shirt trend? This shit has been going on for too long. You don’t see anyone else wearing their bathing suits or underwear at the bar, so just because it covers your nipples, doesn’t make it OK to wear as a shirt. GROW UP, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, AND HAVE SOME SELF-RESPECT (AND RESPECT FOR THOSE OF US THAT CAN’T WEAR THAT SHIT ahem). You look like slutty Winnie the Pooh.
Men. One of the world’s biggest mysteries, these creatures move from point A to point B without so much as a second look, leaving destruction and confusion in their wake, never to be heard from again. Today, I’ll break down the complexities that is “the man” and try to solve this mystery for you.
The following are based on real-life events. For the privacy of all parties involved, I’ve exposed them and KARMA BITCH.
I’m not saying that women aren’t bat-shit crazy, we are. But men would be too if they had super high levels of estrogen coursing through their bodies so that their nipples are so sensitive shirts hurt and blood coming out of their vaginas when Aunt Flow mistakes the uterus as a stress ball. But that’s just what men want you to think. They do everything they can to deflect and to blame us. There must be some secret class they take throughout their youths that educate them in the art of deception. What I have learned is that men are the most oblivious to their own feelings and can’t admit anything to themselves. When women vibe with someone, they want to text them, talk to them, touch them, see them. When men catch feelings, they are out of there faster than when Scooby-Doo sees a ghost. Men, why you scared?
Here’s the thing, I think guys go into situations with the thought that they are just going to bang a chick and brag to their friends even though they likely lasted 4 seconds and don’t know how to properly pull hair or choke a girl LIKE A REAL MAN. They tell a girl everything they “want” and as soon as the girl delivers, she’s a psycho. The line “crazy ex-girlfriend” is only a deflection but I can tell you guys, we really don’t care. Yes, we hope you are miserable and die but otherwise, we really don’t care because at the end of the day, we know how to ruin your life. That probably didn’t prove my point but it’s true so watch out.
I met a nice guy that had every quality I was looking for – basically Christian Grey. I was doing my thing and dating a few people, so he told me that when I was done dating other guys, reach out to him. So I eventually did and he was feeling it. Then he stands me up on a date and totally dropped off the map. Every few weeks he hits me up. So I said “what the hell are you doing – I did everything you asked and you totally deserted me”. So he says, “I told you I wanted to be casual and you were taking this too seriously and dating other people at the same time” which I wasn’t. I’m sorry what? You want to be exclusive, but casual………. . . . . . . . . Then he changed the story and said that he didn’t want to come home from a long day of work and have to comfort me in everything that is going on in my life. This never happened, not once. Also, what is going on in my life?! Please explain. Throughout this novel of a conversation he had with me VIA TEXT, he at one point said that he was developing feelings and got scared. Then brushed right over and kept saying he wanted to be casual but I was taking it too seriously, even though he asked me to be exclusive. I don’t know what kind of salt he was sniffing but he was speaking language only a true fuckboi can translate.
There was another guy I was dating for a few months, or so I thought, and apparently he got hit by a bus and died somewhere in this relationship. He didn’t, but I hoped he had because that’s the only reasonable explanation for ghosting this nickel. We had 3 dates in the first week, I met his parents, we talked on the phone for 2 hours a day every day. It was perfect. Then boom – bus. Mind you – he was the one that called me every day and made plans for all of these dates that we were going to have. Then when I texted him a few times after he ghosted me, he said I wanted too much and he was too busy for anyone. I’m sorry, were you not the one that reached out first every time? And bitch I’m busy too – I am a grown-ass woman buying a house and I have a full-time job and I’m in grad school. I still had time for him but I guess women are better multi-taskers since we’re used to taking care of babies. I know how attractive us independent, mature-ass women are. I had told him MONTHS before my dad moved to New Hampshire that he bought a house up there and would tell him about it sometimes. One time I was even on FaceTime him when my dad called me and I said let me call you back because my dad is calling and he’s in New Hampshire. A month after my dad moves up there he said to me, “yikes, when did he decide that?” You fucktard. This is why guys suck. Then he said maybe I’m not cut out for friends with benefits. -_- NEXT.
I understand that this is making me look like a complete stage 5 clinger and that maybe I should get the hint since all feedback is the same. But I have enough evidence to confirm my hypotheses and the answer to this mystery is that guys have a severe vitamin deficiency where their brains don’t develop past the age of 16. That’s it. They’re just done absorbing knowledge, social cues, and chivalry. To all the men (man) reading this – I am not anti-man. Trust, I love me some kielbasa. We just really need to find you some help so you can stop being a skid-mark on the underwear of society and be a decent human being.
If you or someone you know is introduced to a fuckboi, please have the fuckboi reach out to the national fuckboi hotline at +1-605-475-6968.
I took a poll on Instagram to see if my peeps wanted more home posts or life posts. Life took the win because of the mockery that it is, but I wanted to do a combination post here. I promise, my next post will be worth your while as I set out to explain the mystery that is man. However, I bought some really cute things the other day at Target and Kirkland’s and wanted to show my 3 followers. Look at my cute puppy below.
Target is crack to the common white girl. I went in the other day for hand soap and instead left with throw pillows and fake plants. I didn’t even get hand soap! It’s probably because they offer us PSLs right when we walk in the door and my DSLs cannot resist. The rest of the shopping trip went dark.
The worst thing I can ever do is go to brunch and have mimosas, followed by a trip to Target. That’s when I buy all the baby/toddler clothes for my nieces and convince myself I don’t want a baby, even though my womb reaches its hand out and puts that damn set of cute ass overalls in my cart. But in all honesty, Target is the one place I don’t make a shopping list even though I SHOULD. I swear its like a mind-erasing black hole. I always try to make myself feel better by saying, “I’ll buy my groceries here so I can knock that out too.” The groceries at Target are approximately 2.5x more expensive than at a grocery store, and their produce is garbage so it ends up being a total waste of money. I can’t speak to their hand soap since I didn’t make it to that aisle. Since I spent all my money, I had to go home and eat ice cubes for dinner.
Here is what I went to Target for:
pumpkin decor – which my Target did NOT have yet
a tan cardigan
Here is what I left Target with:
frozen pizzas & juice
hand weights (????)
fake air plants
school supplies – not even in school
costume for my dog
a mini picnic table that holds my condiments (????)
Also, going to Target is like an extreme sport. By the time I make it out of that jungle, I get to the register drenched in sweat. It’s like 1000 degrees in there always, but it could also be the double shot of espresso in my latte that ramps up my anxiety mixed with the bright fluorescent interrogation lights, the self-confidence-killing-self-checkout camera and the pack of water bottles I picked up and put down because I couldn’t afford but who needs to use plastic like that anyway – am I rambling? I feel like I’m rambling but idk why because I just had the 3 lattes. Why is it that I look 200+ lbs in that check-out camera? Is it because I am? Because my magic mirror at home shows me looking like Cinderella at the ball and now I am confused by what’s real anymore. Oh and dodging people you know but don’t want to see or talk to so you make your way down the men’s underwear aisle to hide out but feel awkward being there so you act as if you are buying your husband new boxers but really you are just looking for ANYTHING else to do other than talk to someone. Have you seen the new Hanes comfort waist bands?
I finally sweat my way out of Target and bopped down to the other stores like Kirkland’s and Pier One to harvest my pumpkin decorations. While in these stores, I knocked over 2 lamps and 1 picture frame. Hopefully I’m not blacklisted but if anyone sees my picture hanging up, please lmk.
Anyway, now I have to return the following things:
Mom, my dear, only follower, this is your one chance to stop reading if you don’t want to know ~certain things~ about your daughter. But enter at your own risk, if you wish.
Ya’ll… I have to tell you about something that just happened to me this week. I had a Tinder bro call ME a psychopath and that I only was talking to him for my social media. So, BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR because you got it, bub – you are the first Tinder fiasco that made it on my blog. Congrats!
About two months ago, I had a sexual awakening. I am in my late 20’s and I realized that in order for me to know what I want in life, I have to get out there and experience it – be it engaged men (oops), short men, tall men, ~small~ men, or genuine serial killers. And you know, guys can go boink whoever they want, brag to their friends, become famous in Hollywood, but someone will label me a whore or a slut for it. So bring it on, I’m a slut AND I’M NOT SORRY BOUT IT. But also, if you have any single friends let me know because I want to settle down and have a relationship.
So, anyway, I’m swiping, I’m swiping – left, left, left, left, rig-left, left, right, left, right, left, left, and so on (side note: I was told recently that men swipe right to 1/10 girls. Boys, we got like 1/50 on you). BOOM I have a match. We’ll call him Parker. Parker is a nice looking guy in his 30’s, a little mysterious – literally no bio. We’re talking about how we think the other is attractive while starting to make jokes to each other, like how we’re going to make a porno (at least I thought it was a joke). After about two days of messaging on Tinder, I ask if he is ever going to ask me for my phone number. He replies, “I was going to ask you for your Snapchat…” I joked, “Ok, but you can’t have both.” He adds me on Snapchat with a dumb ass username… you think that would be my second clue. He instantly asks if he can send me inappropriate photos and I said, “sure, but I am sick and ugly right now so I can’t reciprocate.” Anyone that knows Snap knows that you can send a Snap picture that disappears after viewing, or you can send a saved picture from your phone. The first two pictures he sends me are one of him with a good Myspace angle, followed by a video of him oiling the ol’ pogo-stick. My god – he had the biggest eggplant parm I have ever seen. So, I entertain it and we start sexting – really I’m just eating popcorn and watching The Big Bang Theory while responding “ooo yeah what else” every now and then. I sent him an old pic and then some others (calm down it was over snap, they disappear)… but enough about me. Each time we spoke following this, he just wanted to sext. I mean I asked him one question – how long was your last relationship? – and he berated me and said “no. nope. we’re not doing this. you’re going to kill it and we both know this is a dirty Tinder fuck and nothing more. Let’s just admit that we’re whores for each other” Oh. Ok. Excuse the hell out of me. Dramatic. Also, one of the first things I said to him was “I’m not just here for sex” and he said “good.” Did I interpret that wrong? Did he not just confirm that we aren’t just talking for sex? Also he made it very clear that when we bump uglies he will not be using a condom even though I requested it (I know, strides). So, tbh, I backed off texting him because I wasn’t sure if I somehow signed up for a Dom service – did they already take my first month’s payment? How do I get that back? Am I actually going to be hung from the ceiling by my butt hole? Eventually he asked if I would ever be into threesomes, “not now but in the future.” “Sure,” I said because, who isn’t curious? And THE ONLY reason I kept talking to him was because he had THE BIGGEST Ballpark frank I have ever seen and, well, girl’s gotta eat. His response to my “sure” was “ok I can make it happen.” Then, god forbid I said, “what’s up.” Big mistake. Huge. He says, “so I’m kind of in a couple right now but its open.” I just said, “what does that mean?” “It means she is an option,” then sends me a pic of her. No. Nope. Hell nah. I’M A CLASSY BROAD.
TBH, I ignored that because I was hanging on to “not now but in the future.” Well, wheels started spinning in my head (I know, a rarity) and I started to think back to how this was most definitely a catfish. He had 4 photos on Tinder, 1 with a Snap filter, and no bio. The only thing I got out of him was that he didn’t have kids and he works in insurance. I asked him on multiple occasions things about his life but to no avail. Also, EVERY picture he sent me was pre-saved. Legit, it was like 10 pm and he said “I’m hard for you right now.” So I said “pic or it didn’t happen.” So he sends me a pic that was clearly taken in his mother’s dining room, sitting on her floral couch holding his willy, with light coming in through the window. He at one point asked if my mom would be interested in our porno and if we could get an old man to film us. Listen, I am into trying new things and I’ll admit, I’m a little freaky – remember, scorpio. But, damn, at this point he wasn’t even treating me like a human being but rather a walking vagina with lips – *wait*. He said:
Seriously, I have no idea what he just said to me right there. THEN HE SENT ME A GIF OF IT. FUCKING IT THE CLOWN. WTF YOU FUCKING SERIAL KILLER. I thought he was joking because he had a weird sense of humor. But instead of answering my “what” on text, he messages me on Snapchat and says that I coaxed him in under false pretenses and that I just wanted to talk to him for my social media and called me a psychopath. Then says “mwah, bye”. I’m the psychopath?! No hunny, I’m a scorpio. And guess what PARKER, you done made it on my social media you GENUINE misogynistic sociopathic catfishing motherfucker. He’s from New Jersey. I should have known that nothing good would come from that.
Listen, I am not knocking Tinder. I have had some great Tinder flings – looking at you, Kyle – even though none of them wanted to marry me and ended up blocking me. Again, *not a psychopath*. But ladies, if there is even a distant glimmer of crazy – I mean like you’re not sure if it’s a spaceship in the distance on that person’s lawn or tail lights from a truck because you’re just really high – RUN AWAY. I had many signs. I pray that my attack dog, Olivia, protects me when this creepy ass motherfucker pops out of my sink drain in the middle of the night.
For now, I’m gonna go hit up my other 4 matches and see what they’re doing.
I had this crazy idea that my fat ass needed to work out. Mind you, the last time I worked out was approximately 1 year ago and at this point, I could pick up a pack of water bottles and be sore afterwards. I mean like physically shaking. Unless you count the times I go up and down the stairs. Also, my doctor told me I really need to adopt a vegan diet and do some exercise, so I switched doctors. But nevertheless, I decided to start listening to the sound of my blood pressure throbbing in my ear and the diabetes building in my blood vessels, and thought maybe I should try to not die today. Boy, did I regret that decision.
This story was based on actual events from an actual person (me) and may not be suitable for younger audiences. See, we have a gym at work and I have been in this building for over a year now. So I go ignorantly skipping in to what looks like an old electrical room with mirrors (behind the machines – ?????) and it smells like absolute piss. I mean, 1-hundo-p a homeless man used to live in there, I’m sure of it. So, I go into the women’s bathroom to get changed. There are two sinks, some lockers, one toilet and two showers. The shower doors are CLEAR, so I can see what you’re really hiding under that dress, Karen. There is a scale in there that is really weirdly stuck on 202 pounds. It was getting really annoying because every time I stepped on it, it said the same thing!!! How will I ever know how much I weigh if it keeps saying 202 pounds when I get on it? Anyway, I go to use the bathroom and come out to wash my hands. The automatic soap dispenser wasn’t working and with all the sweat and homeless person pee in that place, I was not about to leave the bathroom without soap. Under the sink was a button that I assumed controlled the soap dispenser. I pressed it. BAD idea. The damn soap dispenser wouldn’t stop dispensing soap. Thankfully, I was the only one in the gym at that time. Soooo…. we’re just going to ignore that.
Next, I go out and get on the elliptical. I was surprisingly able to do 30 minutes on that bad boy, and not at all because there was a giant double bacon cheeseburger standing outside the window, waving “come and get me” from the parking lot. I was determined to do other things while I was at the gym, so after my “run”, I go to the stretch area and I lay face-down, like an over-weight starfish on a mat that was already on the ground. When I build up enough energy to begin stretching, I look around and realize there is no sanitation solution in the room. My face was literally laying in someone’s ball sweat, which I can’t complain too much because that is something I am not unaccustomed to. So I shake it off and stand up to do some squats. After about 5 of those, I thought my ass was really looking pretty good already. I wanted to do some crunches before I left so I did about 6 of those (on the same ball-sweat mat). And these were the kind where you lay with your arms back over your head and your legs straight out, not touching the ground, then you pass the big medicine ball from your hands to your feet, then straighten out, then from your feet to your hands, and repeat. This is how it is supposed to look:
This is how it actually looked:
At this point I am really feeling worn out and in need of a 7-day course of antibiotics and a pap smear. I worked out for a ~whole 45 minutes~ and I was proud so I took a snap-chat picture to send to all the boys that have ever slept with me (*and ghosted me) to remind them that I am still here. Well, I go back into the bathroom to wash up and collect my stuff and THE SOAP DISPENSER WAS STILL DISPENSING. I tried pressing the button again but it just made it come out faster. The whole counter top of the sink was covered in soap – like a whole bottle of soap. LOL OOPS. Luckily, I was still the only one in t – and here comes Karen… goddammit Karen.
This was 4 days ago. I still can’t poop, cough, sneeze, laugh or stand up straight. My FUPA hurts so bad I keep thinking I have diarrhea or period cramps. You don’t know how much you use your “abs” until you make the huge mistake of doing crunches. Anyway, I hope by the weekend I no longer feel sore from my 6 crunches and 6 squats. The only workout I want to do is FITNESS WHOLE PIZZA IN MY MOUTH, but I will always remember that one son-of-a-bitch Monday that I made the worst mistake of my life. So remember, my spiceful fiends, ALWAYS CHOOSE DYING OVER EXERTING ANY PHYSICAL EFFORT.