Since joining the military in 2004, I've lived by certain standards because it's my job. The things I've had to change or alter are things you (the non-military you) probably take for granted.
My hair is a certain length because the best hair style to fit my face is an "in between" style that is too long to wear down in the military, but too short to pull up in accordance with military regulation. So I can't have it. I instead have a bushy rat's nest.
My nails are a certain length because that's how long I can have them. They aren't painted because what's the point if they can only be clear or flesh tone? (I actually remember the year they began to allow french tips in the Navy! THRILLING!!!) Might as well leave them be. (Unless you're in the USMC and wearing your dress uniform. Then you get the privilege of wearing red or shades of coral! SNAZZY!)
I stopped wearing earrings because it was too hard to find the specific ones I could wear in uniform in my jewelry box. And finding regulation earrings isn't exactly an easy task. (Yes, there's even a regulation for the size and type of earrings you can wear! There's a regulation for EVERYTHING!!!!)
I've never been too adventurous in the eye shadow department, but even if I had, there's no point to it... plain jane is what I can wear.
Men's boots and shoes are my every day accessory to my khaki top and black slacks. I couldn't tell you if big belts or skinny jeans are 'in' this season. But I can tell you the exact measurement from the shoulder to the bottom of your service ribbons and name tag. And if you don't have your warfare pins correctly measured, I'll call you out on it.
Last night with Abby and my new Canadian friend, I had a revelation! I seriously need a full recuperation from my service. And I'm not just talking about Veteran Affairs compensation for various disability ailments. I mean, I deserve a military funded make-over to prepare myself to be in the world of NO REGULATION!
I mean, other than no white after Labor Day, no ICP (Insane Clown Posse, aka Freaks) clothes other than on Halloween, and spandex is a bad idea for EVERYONE, there doesn't seem to be many rules when it comes to fashion. Or maybe I'm just naive. Maybe there are rules and I don't know them.
I'm pretty sure one of the rules is don't show up to an interview with gnarly man-feet. That's probably going to be a problem since I have man-feet...they're crusty, dry, and cracked. The nails are hap-hazardly polished. I have calluses that ordinarily you wouldn't see in boots, but now that I'm about to enter the working world and I have to wear pretty shoes, I'm going to need to get filed off. Pedicures will be required. It might take an industrial team... or hungry fish. (If you haven't seen the pedicures by fish, check them out. Nothing says 'I want to feel pretty' like getting eaten by fish!)
I'm going to need an entire head treatment too. We're talking deep conditioner, full cut and style, and whatever face potions can help erase the decade worth of worry lines I got in half that time. Not to mention I'm going to need some de-brainwash treatments to get all the damn rules and regulations out of my brain and make room for whether argyle socks, leggings or tights go best with my outfit for the day.
About Me
- Betty Bakedgood
- I'm a working single mom who loves to write in my spare time... so bare with me when there's a lull in the blogging. It means I'm out enjoying my daughter, Elly's, crazy antics!
Friday, September 9, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Taking a PJ Day
If you live on the East Coast then you're getting dumped on right now. And by dumped on I mean rain not being defecated on. (Unless you pissed off Lady Luck/ Karma/ or some sick, twisted fucker, then that's not only gross, but your own fault. Or you could just be a mother of a child with IBS.)
It's super soggy out, standing water everywhere, reports of flooding coming from all over the region. Basically we're ankle deep in a monsoon. So in the last couple weeks I've survived an earthquake, hurricane and now a monsoon. So that would make me a what? A quakecanesooner? QUICK! Someone get me a glass of wine... or better yet, a cookie!
And the more the clouds roll in, the rain falls, and the temperatures drop, I can't help but feel like a waterlogged slug. I don't feel like doing anything. I just want to wrap up in my quilt and lay on the couch in my pajamas. The problem with that plan is that I'm now a mother. PJ days as I once knew them are over.
Don't get me wrong, I still wear my 'jammies' all day long, but it's because I never got a free moment to shower or change that day. Now that Elly is growing at the speed of light, she's also on the move and needs more exciting play time. So I'm busy coming up with fun things to entertain her. Often this involves singing and dancing through the house to Katy Perry.
As much as I love spending time relaxing all day in my shorts and t-shirt pj's, I feel like a bum if I don't get dressed too many days in a row. In fact, getting dressed and doing something with my hair (and GASP! putting on makeup) is more of a treat nowadays for me.
It's like PJ days have become the norm and pretty days are the new treat. I need to get back to a life where putting on pretty clothes feels ho-hum and laying around in my PJs feels like a treat. I'm thinking the first step to weening myself off the PJ routine will be to get myself a pair of pajamajeans. I mean, they're pajamas, they're jeans, they're the best for crazy moms looking to wear clothes but still hang out around the house in their jammies!
Maybe my first step to wearing pretty clothes should be to stop watching infomercials in my PJs and start going to a shopping mall in real clothes!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
It's super soggy out, standing water everywhere, reports of flooding coming from all over the region. Basically we're ankle deep in a monsoon. So in the last couple weeks I've survived an earthquake, hurricane and now a monsoon. So that would make me a what? A quakecanesooner? QUICK! Someone get me a glass of wine... or better yet, a cookie!
And the more the clouds roll in, the rain falls, and the temperatures drop, I can't help but feel like a waterlogged slug. I don't feel like doing anything. I just want to wrap up in my quilt and lay on the couch in my pajamas. The problem with that plan is that I'm now a mother. PJ days as I once knew them are over.
Don't get me wrong, I still wear my 'jammies' all day long, but it's because I never got a free moment to shower or change that day. Now that Elly is growing at the speed of light, she's also on the move and needs more exciting play time. So I'm busy coming up with fun things to entertain her. Often this involves singing and dancing through the house to Katy Perry.
As much as I love spending time relaxing all day in my shorts and t-shirt pj's, I feel like a bum if I don't get dressed too many days in a row. In fact, getting dressed and doing something with my hair (and GASP! putting on makeup) is more of a treat nowadays for me.
It's like PJ days have become the norm and pretty days are the new treat. I need to get back to a life where putting on pretty clothes feels ho-hum and laying around in my PJs feels like a treat. I'm thinking the first step to weening myself off the PJ routine will be to get myself a pair of pajamajeans. I mean, they're pajamas, they're jeans, they're the best for crazy moms looking to wear clothes but still hang out around the house in their jammies!
Maybe my first step to wearing pretty clothes should be to stop watching infomercials in my PJs and start going to a shopping mall in real clothes!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
I HATE RUNNING
I don't think the title of this blog does my feelings justice. I truly fucking hate running. I would do just about anything else. Actually there is only one thing I'd rather do less than run, and that would be go to work at my current military job.
So if you're keeping tabs, here's how it goes from LEASET to GREATEST things I'd rather do with my time:
10) Report for military duty
9) Run
8) Get my legs cut off by a dull butter knife
7) Lose an eye to a red-hot pitchfork
6) Have each and every fingernail pulled out one-by-one by a Viet Cong prison camp dictator
5) Drink my husband's weight in melted butter
4) Drink my weight in milk
3) Eat salads five days a week
2) Eat oreos for every meal
And ultimately, 1) I'd much rather just wake up and magically be skinny.
But needless to say, if I'm ever going to get my perky ass back without having a baby in the next few months, running is my best option.
Why am I running? I actually would really like to join a roller derby team. But to do that, I actually need to be in some kind of shape other than round. And I'm not nearly ready for wheels yet. So I'm trying to set some attainable goals to get to the derby queen goal. First up... run even just a little, then run a 5k in December (granted, it's a Hot Chocolate 5K. So after I complete it I get a hunk of chocolate. Good enough motivation for me!) Prove to Stoofy (and myself, honestly) that I can set these goals and achieve them, buy a pair of skates and find a Fresh Meat club and get skating!!!
So, I've put on my big girl pants (literally) and my running shoes and got my ass moving. Here's what I've learned in the last few nights of running:
1) It's fucking dark running at night. You'd think that running on base would provide some better lighting, but you'd be wrong.
2) Frogs or toads or whatever the fuck is hoping alongside me on the sidewalk are gross and scary and need to stop following me.
3) I run as fast as my 79 year old grandmother mall-walks.
4) I am a little bitch when it comes to running. And I run with a constant monologue of bitching, that and the sweet motivational tunes of Ke$ha.
5) Running past the wounded warrior transition barracks makes me feel guilty about being a little bitch, so I suck it up and run faster.
6) Constantly going through the list of things I'd rather do than run helps take my mind off of the running.
7) I hate the assholes I see with 26.2 stickers on their cars.
8) I'd really like to slash their tires.
9) But if I did that, then I'd have to stop running and then I'd never keep going.
10) Lucky for those assholes!
So if you see a crazy ass woman "running" down the road in the dark with her glow-in-the-dark safety belt, talking to herself, yell something motivational. But if you've got a "I <3 runners" sticker on your car, I'll probably flip you the bird because I fucking hate running.
Want to win ad space on The Bloggess? Link up your best post at lovelinks on free fringes like I did!
So if you're keeping tabs, here's how it goes from LEASET to GREATEST things I'd rather do with my time:
10) Report for military duty
9) Run
8) Get my legs cut off by a dull butter knife
7) Lose an eye to a red-hot pitchfork
6) Have each and every fingernail pulled out one-by-one by a Viet Cong prison camp dictator
5) Drink my husband's weight in melted butter
4) Drink my weight in milk
3) Eat salads five days a week
2) Eat oreos for every meal
And ultimately, 1) I'd much rather just wake up and magically be skinny.
But needless to say, if I'm ever going to get my perky ass back without having a baby in the next few months, running is my best option.
Why am I running? I actually would really like to join a roller derby team. But to do that, I actually need to be in some kind of shape other than round. And I'm not nearly ready for wheels yet. So I'm trying to set some attainable goals to get to the derby queen goal. First up... run even just a little, then run a 5k in December (granted, it's a Hot Chocolate 5K. So after I complete it I get a hunk of chocolate. Good enough motivation for me!) Prove to Stoofy (and myself, honestly) that I can set these goals and achieve them, buy a pair of skates and find a Fresh Meat club and get skating!!!
So, I've put on my big girl pants (literally) and my running shoes and got my ass moving. Here's what I've learned in the last few nights of running:
1) It's fucking dark running at night. You'd think that running on base would provide some better lighting, but you'd be wrong.
2) Frogs or toads or whatever the fuck is hoping alongside me on the sidewalk are gross and scary and need to stop following me.
3) I run as fast as my 79 year old grandmother mall-walks.
4) I am a little bitch when it comes to running. And I run with a constant monologue of bitching, that and the sweet motivational tunes of Ke$ha.
5) Running past the wounded warrior transition barracks makes me feel guilty about being a little bitch, so I suck it up and run faster.
6) Constantly going through the list of things I'd rather do than run helps take my mind off of the running.
7) I hate the assholes I see with 26.2 stickers on their cars.
8) I'd really like to slash their tires.
9) But if I did that, then I'd have to stop running and then I'd never keep going.
10) Lucky for those assholes!
So if you see a crazy ass woman "running" down the road in the dark with her glow-in-the-dark safety belt, talking to herself, yell something motivational. But if you've got a "I <3 runners" sticker on your car, I'll probably flip you the bird because I fucking hate running.
Want to win ad space on The Bloggess? Link up your best post at lovelinks on free fringes like I did!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
In Search of...
My perky ass.
I had it about six months ago and now it's gone. Talk about devastating.
If you're doing the math and realize I'm talking about my pregnant ass, your calculations are correct. When I hit about 4 months into my pregnancy, I began to notice one 'perk' of being pregnant. My ass was on it's way up.
Yup! You read that right. Pregnancy was making my ass defy gravity, mother nature and all that is right in the world.
I have no idea how it was even possible, but I really did have a great ass. So much so that my BFF even noticed!
A: Did you get those Reebok butt shoes you wanted?
B: No, why?
A: Well, your butt was looking extra perky and I thought the shoes were helping out.
B: Nope, but thanks for noticing my ass!!! It does look good, doesn't it? ;-)
Who knew that when my pelvis bones spread to prepare for a watermelon to pass through, it would help put a little extra lift in my step.
But now, six months later, it's gone. My hips have shrunk, my swelling is gone and long gone are the days of having a hot ass.
Now, there's got to be a way to get it back. I'm not saying I'm trying to get knocked up again. Hell no! (I need another baby like another hole in the head right now. Don't get me wrong, I love my daughter, but now is not the time.)
I just want my perky ass back without any pain. And I think that's where the problem is.
To get it back, I'd need to do something crazy like run or Zumba. And let me just say, uh no, to both if I can help it.
My other option could be butt implants. But that's wrong on so many serious levels. Plus, if I'm going under the knife, I'm getting my thighs done!
The last option would to be pregnant again. But that seriously wasn't fun or painless. The whole process of my pelvic bones spreading was painful enough to know it's not fun. My friend once described it as a bunch of Keebler Elves chiseling away at your joints. Uh, yeah. No thanks for now.
So I guess it's run or live without my perky ass. Talk about the ultimate let down!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I had it about six months ago and now it's gone. Talk about devastating.
If you're doing the math and realize I'm talking about my pregnant ass, your calculations are correct. When I hit about 4 months into my pregnancy, I began to notice one 'perk' of being pregnant. My ass was on it's way up.
Yup! You read that right. Pregnancy was making my ass defy gravity, mother nature and all that is right in the world.
I have no idea how it was even possible, but I really did have a great ass. So much so that my BFF even noticed!
A: Did you get those Reebok butt shoes you wanted?
B: No, why?
A: Well, your butt was looking extra perky and I thought the shoes were helping out.
B: Nope, but thanks for noticing my ass!!! It does look good, doesn't it? ;-)
Who knew that when my pelvis bones spread to prepare for a watermelon to pass through, it would help put a little extra lift in my step.
But now, six months later, it's gone. My hips have shrunk, my swelling is gone and long gone are the days of having a hot ass.
Now, there's got to be a way to get it back. I'm not saying I'm trying to get knocked up again. Hell no! (I need another baby like another hole in the head right now. Don't get me wrong, I love my daughter, but now is not the time.)
I just want my perky ass back without any pain. And I think that's where the problem is.
To get it back, I'd need to do something crazy like run or Zumba. And let me just say, uh no, to both if I can help it.
My other option could be butt implants. But that's wrong on so many serious levels. Plus, if I'm going under the knife, I'm getting my thighs done!
The last option would to be pregnant again. But that seriously wasn't fun or painless. The whole process of my pelvic bones spreading was painful enough to know it's not fun. My friend once described it as a bunch of Keebler Elves chiseling away at your joints. Uh, yeah. No thanks for now.
So I guess it's run or live without my perky ass. Talk about the ultimate let down!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Saturday, September 3, 2011
That's not fair!
We live in a world of haves and have nots. I have a lot compared to a lot of people in the world. (Actually, I have too much stuff now that it's time to pack up and move again. So I've been having a garage sale trying to get rid of my crap and allow others to have more crap in their life... all for the low low price of $2 a bag!)
So is life.
I've accepted this as the way it goes. Well, for the most part.
I have more than a lot of others. Yet, people who have more than me still approach me and tell me thank you. Why? Because I'm in the military. I chose many years ago to raise my hand and pledge an oath to serve our country. And every day I'm grateful I did.
My service has given me a lot to be thankful for. I met my husband because of the military, I've traveled the world, and I've made the best friends a Betty could ever ask for.
I've gotten a few free meals and free drinks. I've attended concerts and sporting games on someone else's dime. I've received discounted clothes, shoes and vacations. I've even gotten tax free computers, furniture and a breast pump. I think the best thing I ever got super cheap from being in the military was my hospital stay when I was in labor with Elly. FREE!!! BOOO-YAAAAAH Bitches!!!! (The stretch marks and puking were just an extra bonus thrown in by Mother Nature.)
I'm very grateful that in this day and age, the American public feels strongly about supporting the troops. There are endless programs out there supporting us- everything from job initiatitaves (let's hope that helps me out soon), home programs, to helping out around the holidays. And Sears is one of the companies helping out the military.
They have a program called Heroes on the Homefront and every year service members can register to win a gift card for the holidays. A friend of mine got $100 last year. Not bad considering he'd gotten back from Afghanistan and just had a baby. Thanks Sears!!!
But the registration this year was a bit of a cluster fuck. It was yesterday, but the system had a technical glitch. So they scrapped those and did it again today. Although, not everyone knew about the update. Needless to say, a lot of people ended up not getting registered before the deadline today.
And once that happened, so did all the bitching!!! THAT'S NOT FAIR!!! I DIDN'T GET REGISTERED!! BUT... BLAH BLAH BLAH!
Are you serious people? This is a gift for God's sake. You are not fucking entitled to it. It's not yours just because your husband is deployed. It's not yours just because you've been stationed a few sucky places with a few sucky chains of commands. It's not yours just because you have to stand duty this holiday weekend. IT IS A GIFT!!!
If you were lucky enough to get registered. Good for you. You still might not get a gift card. And if you bitch about that, then maybe you should stay away from me. Because I might just punch you square in the face you ungrateful snot.
Like I said before, the world is full of haves and have nots. Accept it! Because honestly, not everything is fair in life and if you can't deal with that, be prepared for me to shoot a word-rocket at your face. It won't be pretty. Until I have more than the orange-toned whorebags I love to watch on the TV, life is never going to be fair!
I have a lot more than a lot of people. But I also have a lot less than other people in this world.
I've accepted this as the way it goes. Well, for the most part.
Some days I get really pissed off that I'm not as smart as the Mark or Randi Zuckerbergs of the world. If I was, then I'd be a billionaire. On the other end of the spectrum, I'm also too smart to be Snooki or JWoww, hooching it up for the entire world to see. If I was that easy or trashy, then I could be a millionaire and be a guest on Regis and Kelli.
Instead, I'm just average. Nothing too special. I am married, I have a kid and a dog. I've got a job (for now). I'm the all-American dream.
I have more than a lot of others. Yet, people who have more than me still approach me and tell me thank you. Why? Because I'm in the military. I chose many years ago to raise my hand and pledge an oath to serve our country. And every day I'm grateful I did.
My service has given me a lot to be thankful for. I met my husband because of the military, I've traveled the world, and I've made the best friends a Betty could ever ask for.
I've gotten a few free meals and free drinks. I've attended concerts and sporting games on someone else's dime. I've received discounted clothes, shoes and vacations. I've even gotten tax free computers, furniture and a breast pump. I think the best thing I ever got super cheap from being in the military was my hospital stay when I was in labor with Elly. FREE!!! BOOO-YAAAAAH Bitches!!!! (The stretch marks and puking were just an extra bonus thrown in by Mother Nature.)
I'm very grateful that in this day and age, the American public feels strongly about supporting the troops. There are endless programs out there supporting us- everything from job initiatitaves (let's hope that helps me out soon), home programs, to helping out around the holidays. And Sears is one of the companies helping out the military.
They have a program called Heroes on the Homefront and every year service members can register to win a gift card for the holidays. A friend of mine got $100 last year. Not bad considering he'd gotten back from Afghanistan and just had a baby. Thanks Sears!!!
But the registration this year was a bit of a cluster fuck. It was yesterday, but the system had a technical glitch. So they scrapped those and did it again today. Although, not everyone knew about the update. Needless to say, a lot of people ended up not getting registered before the deadline today.
And once that happened, so did all the bitching!!! THAT'S NOT FAIR!!! I DIDN'T GET REGISTERED!! BUT... BLAH BLAH BLAH!
Are you serious people? This is a gift for God's sake. You are not fucking entitled to it. It's not yours just because your husband is deployed. It's not yours just because you've been stationed a few sucky places with a few sucky chains of commands. It's not yours just because you have to stand duty this holiday weekend. IT IS A GIFT!!!
If you were lucky enough to get registered. Good for you. You still might not get a gift card. And if you bitch about that, then maybe you should stay away from me. Because I might just punch you square in the face you ungrateful snot.
Like I said before, the world is full of haves and have nots. Accept it! Because honestly, not everything is fair in life and if you can't deal with that, be prepared for me to shoot a word-rocket at your face. It won't be pretty. Until I have more than the orange-toned whorebags I love to watch on the TV, life is never going to be fair!
Drama Free?
Why is it that when someone says they are drama free it really means buckle up for an 'I want to be a reality star on any kind if tv show I can find because my life is so desperately boring I have to invent shit to stir up trouble to have any kind of excitement' ride?
Whenever some one tries to tell me they can't stand drama I usually make a mental note and run as fast as I can away. (And i FUCKING HATE RUNNING!!!) Because it usually means the opposite.
I've got dramatic co-workers I keep an arms-length away (mainly because it's illegal to strangle them, so it's better if they're out of reach), crazy family (which because I'm related to them I can't do a damn thing about), in-laws (virtually the same thing, only now I'm not only tied to them because I'm married, but because I have a kid who carries the crazy gene) and then I have the military.
The military brings a whole new level of drama to anyone's life. You do NOT want to try and play the 'One Up' game with a service member.
I've got sea stories of bat-shit crazy things going on that are what's considered normal in the military.
And I'm worried that because I'm so used to that level of drama in my life being normal I won't be able to realize what is actually normal to civilians when I become one. Am I so used to drama at a level 10, that when faced with a 2 or a 3, I won't even notice and will just laugh at them and make things worse. I don't need a RHofNJ Danielle Staub on my hands.
I'm not going to lie, I actually like a little drama. I like it when I watch the RHofNJ or RHofOC or Jersey Shore. Or even when I follow along on a few facebook pages I'm a fan of because it's like reading my own little US Weekly!
I just like to be an outsider watching the drama unfold. I don't actually want to be in the blast radius when the tables start flipping and wine glasses get thrown.
So I won't say I don't like drama, I just like to watch it, not live it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Whenever some one tries to tell me they can't stand drama I usually make a mental note and run as fast as I can away. (And i FUCKING HATE RUNNING!!!) Because it usually means the opposite.
I've got dramatic co-workers I keep an arms-length away (mainly because it's illegal to strangle them, so it's better if they're out of reach), crazy family (which because I'm related to them I can't do a damn thing about), in-laws (virtually the same thing, only now I'm not only tied to them because I'm married, but because I have a kid who carries the crazy gene) and then I have the military.
The military brings a whole new level of drama to anyone's life. You do NOT want to try and play the 'One Up' game with a service member.
I've got sea stories of bat-shit crazy things going on that are what's considered normal in the military.
And I'm worried that because I'm so used to that level of drama in my life being normal I won't be able to realize what is actually normal to civilians when I become one. Am I so used to drama at a level 10, that when faced with a 2 or a 3, I won't even notice and will just laugh at them and make things worse. I don't need a RHofNJ Danielle Staub on my hands.
I'm not going to lie, I actually like a little drama. I like it when I watch the RHofNJ or RHofOC or Jersey Shore. Or even when I follow along on a few facebook pages I'm a fan of because it's like reading my own little US Weekly!
I just like to be an outsider watching the drama unfold. I don't actually want to be in the blast radius when the tables start flipping and wine glasses get thrown.
So I won't say I don't like drama, I just like to watch it, not live it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Grab Ass
I don't know about you, but I have a pain in my ass. It comes and goes every so often and it affects my whole body and mood.
Get your mind out of the gutter because I literally mean a pain in my ass. I have a pinched nerve deep in my fatty, cellulite-dimpled tissue.
It seemed to really develop during my pregnancy. (Don't worry, it's documented in Elly's baby book as evidence when she's a teen so I can tell her she's been a pain in the ass since she was a zygote.) And it's never gone away (much like the stretch marks, also documented for further proof in 13 years).
The thing that helps the most is a deep tissue massage. But since those cost money and I need them so frequently and I'm cheap, I turn to Stoofy for help.
I try and rationalize it as a win-win for both of us: I get pain relief and he gets to grab my ass. But he doesn't see it that way. He sees it as work.
Which I don't get. Why wouldn't he want to help me out? What do you mean kneading my lumpy, dough-like ass isn't sexy? I like it.
And that's when it hits me- I'm old. Grab ass has a new definition and it's lame-o!!!
Dear god! I need an ass intervention!!! Something to perk that sucker up. Do you think Kim Kardashian uses anything special? I hope it's not some extravagant oil potion because I'm on a can of Pam budget.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Get your mind out of the gutter because I literally mean a pain in my ass. I have a pinched nerve deep in my fatty, cellulite-dimpled tissue.
It seemed to really develop during my pregnancy. (Don't worry, it's documented in Elly's baby book as evidence when she's a teen so I can tell her she's been a pain in the ass since she was a zygote.) And it's never gone away (much like the stretch marks, also documented for further proof in 13 years).
The thing that helps the most is a deep tissue massage. But since those cost money and I need them so frequently and I'm cheap, I turn to Stoofy for help.
I try and rationalize it as a win-win for both of us: I get pain relief and he gets to grab my ass. But he doesn't see it that way. He sees it as work.
Which I don't get. Why wouldn't he want to help me out? What do you mean kneading my lumpy, dough-like ass isn't sexy? I like it.
And that's when it hits me- I'm old. Grab ass has a new definition and it's lame-o!!!
Dear god! I need an ass intervention!!! Something to perk that sucker up. Do you think Kim Kardashian uses anything special? I hope it's not some extravagant oil potion because I'm on a can of Pam budget.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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