Hmmm…. no excitement today.
This morning, I had Special K Red or whatever it’s called. It was good. I didn’t even put sugar on it, which was my way of being all hard core. And I’m thinking of going to the Y and getting another membership going… maybe just for summer, but we’ll see.
What is more, Mo mentioned now that she saw me in my jeans (which, by the way, FIT! Did I mention that they FIT!?), she realizes that all of my other pants are all way too baggy and floppy looking and it’s not doing me any favors. So, woe is me, I must buy smaller pants. Smaller pants. Smaller pants. I must buy smaller pants. It’s almost like a little song, non?
I actually had someone tell me yesterday that he would fall in love with me if I wasn’t overweight.
WHAT?!? WHAT?!?!?! Oh, well, then, let me say this…
Phew! That was a close one!
Not that I cared. I mean, I’m very happily married. But WTF? This brings up an interesting issue. I mean, right now, my curvy round goodness acts a bit like an asshole indicator. Something about being a curvilicious girl brings that out in people, I guess. Now, I am not intended on getting to Ashley Judd stage, or even Emme. I’m still going to be a plush kind of girl. I’m still going to be shopping in the plus size stores. It’s who I am. I’m ok with that. The world is not. If I were the MTV notion of a babe, then how would I be able to tell who is an asshole?
And I hate to come off as though I’m all fat grrl power. I’m not always ok with it. Last night, in particular, was a fairly bad evening, because I was so excited to be wearing my jeans and then to have that bomb dropped on me, combined with the skinny bitches at the bar last Saturday, it kind of wore me out. The problem is that I tend to think I look great and then I get reminded that other people might not think so. So it’s a bummer.
God, this is so angsty I can barely stand it. Why do you guys put up with me?
I’m thinking of getting some kind of roxy red streaks put in my hair but I’m nervous about what the pool will do to it. Ward and June’s pool is now up and aching for a little cute Land’s End plus sized tankini action. I swam on Saturday, after going to the golf range with Carissa (and before almost kicking some skinny asses at the retro bar) and apparently, they’re using some kind of kinder gentler chemicals in the pool. It doesn’t smell or taste like chlorine at all, but it did dry out my skin a bit. I’m worried about what that will do with my hair.
Also, in my endeavor to grow my hair longer, it has gotten quite a bit shorter. That’s crazy girl logic for you right there, but it is what it is. If I’m going to grow my hair longer, I’ll have these weird streaky things for a long time and that’s not a great look. And honestly, I’m starting to get a LOT of grey in my hair now. I keep attacking it with the Tweezerman, but eventually, I fear that I will be all Kojak. Which is fine for men. Really. Just not me. I need bangs in a bad way.
At the same time, however, I’m feeling really old. I’m turning 31 next week and it’s really making feel like I’ve wasted my twenties being responsible and thinking out my actions and always going with the route that looks good on paper. I never do anything stupid.
That’s it. I’m getting streaks. It’s either this or have a randy affair with the drummer of a rock band. It’s settled.
Red streaks and smaller pants. The answer to all of the angst in the universe, right there.
