Sunday, September 29, 2013

No one holds a grudge like me.

When I was younger I was obsessed with Pokemon. I wanted Meowth and Jiggypuff e-ver-y thing. 

I collected the cards, the movies, the pillow cases, etc. If it was Pokemon, I wanted it. I remember the excitement I felt the night I opened that deck of cards. Flipping through them pulling the ones I already had, and there it was. A shiny reflection and I just knew I had finally found it. 

My holographic Charizard was in this pack. I immediately put it in my little book and celebrated. I'd been looking for it forever and I finally I had it. Life could not get much better for a ten year old. But then the unthinkable happened... I was going through my binder of cards one day and realized it was missing... My prized possesion wasn't where it belonged! To say I had a meltdown is a bit of an understatement, I went full on nuclear. 

WHO THE FUCK TOUCHED MY CARDS? Answer: Enter five year old brother. You know what that bastard did? Do you? He traded it. For a beat up Japanese holographic Blastoise and five dollars. I could have killed him, if mom hadn't pulled me off of him first I would have. I was furious. I didn't talk to him for a week. And you know what? Out of everything in the world, (even missing 100% on my spelling test) to this day nothing gets my blood boiling like thinking about the loss of my Charizard. Thirteen years later and I'm still extremely bitter about it and give my brother shit about it whenever I can.

Moral of the story: Don't fuck with my Pokemon. 


Friday, September 27, 2013

The Accent Challenge

I'm slightly stealing borrowing this idea from Alex over at Munchkins  and the Military, but I found a different accent test I like better and thought I'd go ahead and do this one instead. I also decided to force the husband to participate as well, because I just know that an argument is going to break out over the way I pronounce crayon, and I'm sure it'll be entertaining for you.  So here we go  with my first ever Vlog.

See. Told ya we'd get into it about the crayon thing. Well that's us. It's shot from a slightly unflattering angle, but I was not about to try to film that with him again. So, you know, Yolo or some shit like that. Anywhoozles, here's the test:

Where you’re from.

Pronounce the following words: Aunt, Roof, Route, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, New Orleans, Crayon, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Pajamas, Caught, Naturally, Aluminium, GIF, Crackerjack, Doorknob, Envelope

What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is a bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What is the thing you change the TV channel with?

If you decide to do it please link back! I'd love to see what ya'll sound like.



Wednesday, September 25, 2013

And like Harry Potter and Voldermort, a rivalry was born.

On my first day of third grade we had a substitute teacher, she then stayed with us for the rest of the year because our original teacher dipped without ever showing up. I'm pretty sure she ran off to Mexico or something with some dude in a banana suit.

Aaaaanywaaaays. Our new teacher Mrs. Hansen, gave a spelling test every Friday and all year nobody had gotten 100% on a test. She informed the class that we were going to take the hardest test of the year, and she would love to see someone finally ace it. I was ready.

I went home and studied. I studied all week. Any free time I had was spent remembering that I comes before E except after c, and that rule is stupid as shit considering it's actually rarely right, but whatevs. Not the point. I studied. I studied hard. Ryan Gossling didn't even have to tell me to do it, I wanted that A, and I was going to be the first person in her class to get it. 

Test day rolls around and I rock it. I have every word memorized and I just KNEW that I have memorized the spelling of every last word. She reads off each word and I write it down with a passion. Baaaam. I turn in my test feeling like hot shit, I'm going to get that gold sticker on my test, I'm going to get that 100%, and I'm going to be the smartest kid in class. I go to lunch. I come back and run back to the graded tests in a box... Minus one point... I wrote my name so quickly I left out the u in my maiden name, so even though I had every spelling word correct, I lost a point. 

I was pissed, I argued until I was blue in the face but my teacher would not budge and give me my 100%. Even worse than missing an A+ because of misspelling your own name? Amelia getting 100% on the same test and the teacher making a huge deal about how she was the only one to do so. She even called the library to find out how to spell Supercalufragilisticexpialidocious so she could write it on the top of Amelia's paper. Bitch, that was MY A+.



Monday, September 16, 2013

Fifty Shades of Yes Please Sir.

Blogtempter Prompt: Write a public love letter. Doesn't have to be romantic. And mine is waaay more on the bend me over and pull my hair kind of way. Anywhoo.

Dear Charlie Hunnam, 

Don't listen to the haters you sexy man beast you. You are basically Adonis. I mean, look at you. 

You are one delicious hunk of man meat. 

I know a lot of people are upset that you got the part, but I think you'll rock it! I do agree I think Ian Somerhalden was more who I pictured Christian Grey to be, but I think you'll more than live up to expectations. 

I think you may end up on my "I would cheat on my husband" list along with Thor, Captain America, and Channing Tatum. Your body is a wonderland. Slap some black hair on you and some restraints on me and we are good to go. 

And to find out you're doing all your own sex scenes? YUM. I could not be more excited to see you gettin all down and dirty. 

Basically what I'm saying is that I would love to have your babies, or lick your abs, or something. You are one fine specimen and you'll do Christen proud. Unlike Edward who was cast all wrong. Anyways, one more picture for good measure and toodles.



Saturday, September 7, 2013

"Talk to me when you've lost another 50 pounds..."

I mentioned two weeks or so ago making an appointment to discuss my uterus with my doctor. I had planned on getting tested for PCOS because my mother told me I was diagnosed at thirteen with it, I've never felt affected by it, or even knew I was diagnosed with it until she brought it up a few months or go, but ever since she did it's one of the thoughts that play on a constant loop in my mind. Maybe there's something wrong with me? Maybe that's why I've been off birth control for over a year and I still have no small human. Maybe maybe maybe. This appointment was supposed to put my mind at ease, or at the very least get me on the road I need to be on to figure everything out. Supposed to. What it did was have me walking out pissed and disappointed in myself. You see, I brought up the PCOS, the not being on BC, the almost fifty pounds of weight loss, and do you know what her response was?

"I won't even put in a referral to womens health until you lose at least another fifty pounds." 

I'm not asking to be put on any baby making meds, I'm not asking for you to turkey baster me, I'm asking you to just look at my uterus and tell me if it's capable of carrying a small human, that's it. But apparently I'm too fat for that. I thought procreating was a basic human right, nobody could tell you you can or can't have one, look at the people with fifteen kids on every financial assistance program out there. I don't hear any doctors telling them to stop pushing kids out, but I want to talk about having one, and am literally told I'm too fat to even talk to? Seriously?! 

That was my first appointment with this lady, and between that awful taste left in my mouth, her making me feel rushed the entire appointment, the fact that she had FOUR PEOPLE that had NOTHING to do with my appointment pop in to ask her questions, and that she refused to listen to me about my pysch meds and is insisting on sending me back to Psych to he put on all new meds, I think I'll be requesting a new PCM. I have never walked away from a doctors feeling so insulted before. 

So after that appointment I kind of spiraled into a small well fuuuuuck yoooou cyclone of self sabotage. I binged, I slept, and I didn't start the 30 Day Shred. I also got sick (again seriously Alaska choose a weather!) and leaned on that as an excuse. But this behavior hurts literally no one but myself. I have to carry around the pounds I put back on, I have to fight them back off, and I have to fight to keep them off when going back on psych meds (which for some reason almost ALL come with the super awesome side effect of "lets gain 50 pounds!) so I need to stop punishing myself, it's just going to make my journey harder.

I'm taking a page from Holly's book and saying you should never start or finish anything unless it's a Monday, so I'll be officially starting the 30 Day Shred on Monday. I had put it off because I really hate Jillian, and I needed to rearrange the living room so I had room to actually do the exercises, but excuses don't get you anywhere. I can suck up the hatred and it took me four hours by myself, but I have she-hulked all of the furniture in my living room around and now have a HUGE space to jumping jack and plank to my hearts content. I'll be posting before/after pictures/weight/measurements and I want to continue doing this for the thirty days if it freaking kills me! If I post absolutely anything about taking a lazy day, missing a day, etc. yell at me! E-mail me calling me lazy, text me and tell me I have gravy running through my veins, or call me and yodel into the phone until my options are suicide or situps. Something.