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Waking Up
 

MaximusB
Level 5

Join date: Apr 2006
Posts: 14820

SmilingPolitely wrote:
Its gonna be one of those mornings.

It started last night when I get a phone call from the ex-H because he couldn't find our daughter's T-Ball stuff for her first practice. Of course my first response was, "what the hell do you want me to do about it?" but I bit my tongue on that one. Turns out she brought her equipment to school with her for reasons still unknown (she is in before and after school care) and I found out this morning that she left it in the gym.

Of course this was after I had to make her cry by threatening to take away her DS if she either 1) couldn't find her stuff or 2) misplaced it again. Shit like that just leaves a hole in my stomach for the entire day. Nothing worse than seeing your kid cry as you walk away and know you won't see them for 2 days.

Then the commute to work. When I was a kid, truck drivers used to be the best drivers on the road. Call me crazy, but I don't think a 2 week course at the local community college is adequately preparing these bastards for life on the open road. So to you Mr. Trucker... I understand how frustrating it is to be stuck behind a rig going 40 mph up a hill. But what sucks even more is when I am cruising up the hill at 80 and you decide to cut into the left lane and proceed to go 43 mph.

Don't be a dick. Am I completely hallucinating, or isn't there some law that states trucks are not allowed in the left hand lane of a 3+ lane highway? I will readily admit I may have made that up just to fuel my road rage, but I'm pretty damn sure its an actual thing. Which leads me to wonder how I know this and you don't.

And I realize I am defaming my own gender here, but can we please find someway to tag female drivers so we know to stay the fuck away from them? Mirrors. Use them. Please. Its called a blind spot for a reason. Of course, had you been paying attention while driving, you would have seen me approaching in the first place and been at least somewhat cognizant that a car may be on your side. I know. I know. It is hard to work those side view mirror joysticks, but try.

And here's a little pointer. The truly anal will tell you that under ideal driving conditions, you should allow 1 car length for every 10 mph you are driving. If the roads are wet and visibility poor, you should allow more. I get how this won't work during rush hour, BUT when I see a line of 15 cars in front of me, I have enough working brain cells to recognize that attempting to drive my vehicle up the tailpipe of the guy in front of me actually accomplishes very little.

The flip side is when I see you shaking your steering wheel back and forth because your douchebag bf does shit like that in his Eclipse all it forces me to do is increase the distance between myself and the car in front of me to ensure that should said line of traffic suddenly come to a stand still, I have enough time to slowly apply my brakes because slamming on them will put your fucking 3 series in my back seat. I hate you.

And it wouldn't be a proper rant without addressing professors. CAN I help you design your experiment? Yes. Is it my job to design your experiment? No. Do you talk to me like I am a fucking moron every other day of the year unless you want something? Yes. Are you going to thank me for working through my lunch hour to help your students? Not a fucking chance in hell.

Whew!!! I feel better now.



Reading this made me strangely aroused. Great stuff SP.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

Glad you liked it Max!!

I volunteered to work the Tough Mudder this weekend near my house. http://toughmudder.com/ I had missed the cut off to register and thought volunteering would be a good way to help out, meet some people and hopefully hose down large groups of dirty boys.

200 volunteers signed up, but when I got there at 6am Saturday morning, only about 80 or so made it to the mountain. I really wanted to get a position on the course (somewhere so I could watch the action), but registration was top priority so most of us ended up there.

However, I was working with some fucking crazy awesome people and we had a blast. Nearly everyone who was running was really friendly and it was a great atmosphere (particularly when a brave soul would walk up in only a loin cloth in 45 degree weather). We got a little unruly at times.

Once registration closed, we were promised that we would be rotated between various posts on the course. The organizers had their hands full with the 10,000 participants who showed up over 2 days so I do not fault them at all, but somehow I found myself in bag drop hell for the entire afternoon.

Here's the deal, people would drop off their bag for us to hold during the race and they got numbers. The bags were then put onto tables in the small rental section of the ski resort holding the event. By the time I got there, we had triplicate numbers for many items and duplicates for all. So basically, at least 2500 bags. 2465 of which were either black duffel bags or black backpacks. Yikes!!

Thank God I have been working on my ninja skillz so that I could climb over and under the table with relative ease, but I was crazy sore yesterday from it. Once things started to die down and we got a chance to breathe between rounds of Satan's treasure hunt we started to have a lot more fun with it though. Well, I think the beer may have helped with that one. I will once again say that I worked with some of the best people I have met in a long time and I left on Saturday feeling like a million bucks.

And then I somehow found myself being convinced that heading out to the bar after was a good idea. I'll skim over the details, but suffice to say I got to bed at 2 yet somehow managed to drag my ass out of bed at 6 to do it all over again. I wasn't supposed to work on Sunday, but I kinda figured they would be even more screwed on Sunday than we were on Saturday so I went and told them I could only stay until about noon because my daughter was coming home.

We only had 50 people show up to volunteer on Sunday. The hangover hit me at about 10am and the day definitely lacked the same excitement. Even though it was technically colder on Saturday, Sunday was overcast and damp. I was on registration again and was frozen to the bone by the time I was done.

I actually only got to see maybe 5 minutes of the race itself and that was people falling into the water on an obstacle close to the registration table. I even missed the part with 10,000 volts and the showers were painfully hidden just out of view from bag drop. :(

However, they were projecting to have raised nearly $250,000 for the Wounded Warrior Project and as someone who is currently not in a position to donate money to a cause, I was glad I could at least help out with my time. And did I mention how awesome everyone was? Saturday was just a crazy great atmosphere and I would do it again in a heartbeat (though I think I would rather run it next time). I also got a free T-shirt out of the deal. Yea!!

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KersMTN
Level

Join date: Dec 2009
Posts: 123

^ awesome

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

I'm 75% Italian and 25% Hungarian. This means that I am really quite hairy. Left to its own devices, the bush will wind its way well outside the socially accepted boundaries for even 70s porn and stop somewhere above my knee cap. It is downright exhausting keeping that shit in check.

But I didn't mention my ethnicity to discuss pubic hair. If only the follicle onslaught ended there I would be fine. But nooooooo. Fate had a far more sinister ploy in store for me... By the time I was in 3rd grade, it was abundantly apparent that something needed to be done about the hair on my upper lip. Now I know this is a sensitive subject for some, so I will try to be as gentle as possible.

The first plan of attack was bleaching. Given the fact that I was all of 8 years old, the smell of bleach accompanied by the stinging and itching was sheer torture. And of course my mother, being the compassionate soul she was, purchased me a jar of bleach and sent me off to the bathroom without so much as a lesson on proper application. Any woman with naturally dark hair knows what happens when you don't leave the bleach on long enough....the hair turns orange. But at 8 years old, I didn't put 2 and 2 together so I walked around a good portion of the time looking like I had just polished off a bag of Cheetos.

By 7th grade I was ready to advance to Nair. I would put it on in the bathroom, but I could never stay in there for long as the smell was enough to knock you out. After about a minute the itching and burning would start to set in and I swear by Thor's hammer time actually slowed down. No amount of deep breathing could distract me from the sensation of a thousand needles slowly digging into my upper lip. Oh but that sweet rush of relief when I could finally rub it off to reveal the now hairless, throbbing, beet red, inflamed upper lip that was sure to drive all of the boys wild with desire.

Somewhere around the time I started high school, I discovered wax. Wax is by far the superior option. Sure, the pulling out of hairs is not so much fun, but it is quick, easy, and cheap (all things I like). I buy wax by the brick and aside from the one time I accidentally waxed my eye lashes shut, I've never had any major problems.

The other night I was tucking my daughter in and she asked about the waxing/facial hair. I explained to her that it is just something that some women get but hopefully she will get her father's genes and not have to worry about it. This was apparently the first discussion about genetics so she was puzzled and inquired further.

I explained that genes are the traits you get from your parents. Traits? Yes. Things like brown hair, brown eyes or if you can roll your tongue. Her eyes got very wide for a moment as she put it all together. "I have brown eyes", she said. "And I have brown hair. AND I can roll my tongue. Does that mean I'm going to have to wax?!!" The look of sorrow and terror on her face was HILARIOUS.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

Its official. My ex-husbands gf must be destroyed.

Let me start by saying that it is nothing personal. She seems like a nice enough girl. Never the less, she is my new arch nemesis.

I purposely kept the candy light for Easter. I did not want a house full of chocolate, jelly beans and what have you. Despite the pound of chocolate from my grandmother, it was all going according to plan. That is, of course, until I picked my daughter up today and saw what the gf gave her for Easter; a basket of cookies.

Normally cookies are not a big temptation for me, but these were no ordinary cookies. These were big, delicious, home-made sugar cookies with a good half inch of icing. This is my fucking kryptonite. I've already tried a bite in the hopes that perhaps she accidentally used salt instead of sugar like I did once when I was 9. No such luck. Now the other 12 (yes. The evil bitch put 12 fucking monstrous cookies forged in the firey pits of Satan's kitchen in the basket) are calling out to me despite being safely stowed in the bread drawer.

Obviously, she could not have known the precarious situation she was hoisting upon me, but really. What 6 year old needs that much sugar? I pay the medical and dental bills sweet heart. Ease up a little, huh? Now I have to hope that my daughter forgets about their existence and I can throw them out before I fall prey to a moment of weakness and hoover myself into a diabetic coma.

Luckily, since cookies are not usually in the house and I conveniently glossed over their presence when getting a bedtime snack for the little one tonight, I should be able to jettison said baked goods within another day or two without my daughter noticing and relaying the transgression to my ex (which she totally would because she's a little fucking tattle tale).

In the meantime....pray for me.

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Doug Adams
Level 10

Join date: Sep 2006
Posts: 4867

[spooky voice] Coooommmmeee enjoy my sweeetnessss essssssppppeeeeeee! Yoooouuuuu knooooooow yoooouuu want toooooo! [/spooky voice]

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

Don't fuck with me Douglas. I'm a woman on the edge!!

You have any auditions/roles this weekend? Perhaps something that involves carrying around some more gold painted ladies in tubs? Because I kind of expect to get pics next time ;)

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Charlie Horse
Level

Join date: Mar 2011
Posts: 5826

Hi SP I loled many times reading your posts.
I wish I had gotten my moms hair gene, she doesn't grow any on her legs.

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Doug Adams
Level 10

Join date: Sep 2006
Posts: 4867

SmilingPolitely wrote:
Don't fuck with me Douglas. I'm a woman on the edge!!

You have any auditions/roles this weekend? Perhaps something that involves carrying around some more gold painted ladies in tubs? Because I kind of expect to get pics next time ;)


No more pack mule roles, but I did get a role as a college quarterback who gets killed while making out with his girlfriend in a car! Just once I'd like to live until the end! haha..

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

You also seem to get a lot of roles that involve dry humping young, impressionable co-eds so I think it all balances out there big guy!




Hi Charlie!! I've never met your mother, but I kinda hate her a little.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500



I was supposed to get a delivery at work on Tuesday. At 3pm they called and said that it didn't ship and to expect it on Wednesday. 3pm on Wednesday another call saying it didn't ship. I called this morning to check and they told me it shipped on Monday (they are fucking retarded).

Some of you may wonder what the big deal is. Well, I need to sign for this particular delivery and it needs to be stored properly immediately upon arrival (that makes it sound much more interesting than it really is....cool!!) The thing is. If I am really doing my job, I should not be in my office much. That's kind of one of the things I like about my job; not having to sit still. Since I don't know when this delivery guy will show up, I am trapped in my office until he shows.


So here's some Monty Python to pass the time.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

I know what you're thinking, "Really, SP? A post about a dream you had?" Well, I'm sorry, but this one fucked me right up.

I don't remember much about how everything came to pass (which is probably good for you, because there is nothing worse than someone telling you about a dream and it taking a million fucking years for them to finish.) Let's just stick to the main points, shall we?

In my dream, I wake up from what I would assume was a coma. It turns out that myself and 2 random people, who may or may not be movie characters, were held prisoner and tortured by some kind of hell beast. The thing is, I have no recollection of this happening. None. My brain refused to process anything that happened during that hellish ordeal, BUT I am completely beat to shit so its obvious that something went down.

And I occasionally have flashes about what happened, but no clear picture. Like when I notice I have a bloody, crusty stump where my finger was and recall it being bitten off. I have flashes of my comrades getting anally raped. And I look at myself and I am bloody and bruised. My skin is barely hanging on and charred. Just all sorts of fucked up shit, you know?

This is where I am going to blame the ZMA/melatonin combo as the fact that something like this was lurking around my subconscious is a little too much to process at the moment.

As I was driving in to work today, I reflected on this dream and wondered whether it is better to remember a horrible trauma or to have your mind just block it out? Yes. The scars would always be there; a constant reminder of the agony you suffered, yet have no idea about.

Would not knowing drive you completely insane? Would you go through therapy and memory recovery just to find some peace of mind? Or would you be relieved that the nightmare is over and you don't ever have to relive it? The important thing is that you survived.

Believe it or not, its been weeks since I've gotten high ;)

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yukkarn
Level

Join date: Mar 2010
Posts: 75

SmilingPolitely wrote:
Believe it or not, its been weeks since I've gotten high ;)



Well that answered my next question... good to see you're back posting over here (not that I haven't appreciated your T-Vix contributions... thanks for those btw)

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athomefitness
Level

Join date: Feb 2011
Posts: 46

Melatonin will seriously fuck with your dreams.

To answer your question, I think that not remembering is your body's natural defense mechanism when something extremely traumatic happens. I do think that sometimes its probably better to just not remember.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

Hi Yukkarn. There's been a ton of shit going on lately, so I have been purposely avoiding writing anything lest I lapse into long, drawn-out tales full of self pity. Yick!!

And athome, the melatonin/ZMA combo is doing me no favors in the dream department (the other night I dreamt the world was going to end by massive conflagration but we were all cartoony woodland creatures and the other dick head furries wouldn't let me hang out in their burrow so I had to shack up in some house on an island that had no roof while the rains fell. Weird.) Unfortunately, I have been suffering from insomnia for a while now and the lack of sleep was causing some major health problems. sooo......... get used to rants about my fucked up dreams for a while ;)

Now. The thing that has spurred me to write today is the uncomfortable feeling that I am officially getting dumber. I don't know when this happened, but it is quite alarming. It started out in little ways like dropping the "r" in "your" when typing too fast. But the other day, I mistakenly typed "your" for "you're" and by the time I realized it I had already posted. It was humiliating!

And its spreading. I was typing something and put "right" for "write". That one is not even fucking close!!!! We have a serious mother fucking problem here folks! I mean I let it slide when I started using emoticons. I rationalized that since it was the interwebz, emoticons are sometimes necessary to convey sarcasm. But now? It's gone completely fucking insane! I'm using :p like it is going out of style. (And I insist on using the lower case p as I feel it looks more like a tongue sticking out though tradition dictates it should be a capital P.....Who the hell spends their time thinking about shit like this? Argh!!)

I look at the women in my family and they are all bat shit crazy. OK, granted my mother has an excuse as she had brain surgery a few years back, but still, she was totally wacky before that. What is really frustrating is that the situation seems to be worsening since I cut way the fuck back on drinking and smoking. This is counter intuitive. Shouldn't I be getting better not worse?

My only hope is that it is a temporary side effect of the new medication I started. I don't think there is anything about turning retarded when typing posts for an internet lifting forum, but I did kind of stop reading the warning label after dry mouth and nausea so perhaps its there.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

I want to scream at the sky and shake my fists
Willing the gods to listen
Am I worthy yet?
Have I suffered enough?
Can I finally move on and find peace?

Yet there you are
Running around collecting my words
Never to let them reach the heavens
Pocketing my pain
Ashamed to let the world see it
To see what you have done

I just want you to go away
I've begged and pleaded
Move on with your life
I am not coming back
And yet there are your words
Not letting me go
Forcing me to hold onto anger
That I want so desperately to wash away

Your time is over
Every resource spent
You pushed and you pulled and now it is gone
She may be dead
But the grave is still fresh
Don't bring flowers
Let me be
If you mourn
Let me be

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

In case my ever so emo poetry post didn't clue you in, I was PMSing this past weekend. Sure, there were things that happened that set me off, but a simmering crock pot of hormones forced those emotions to manifest themselves in the form of prose. Sorry.

In addition to bad poetry and the masochistic desire to watch sports movies and cry like a little bitch, PMS also causes me to eat non-stop. Which is precisely how I spent the weekend; eating. I knew I was in trouble when I picked up that one pound bag of Twizzlers Friday afternoon, but the little devil popped up on my shoulder and assured me that it was, in fact, the greatest idea in the history of the world. Who am I to argue with rhetoric like that?

I don't recall exactly how long I was in the car before ripping into that bag of licorice goodness, but I am pretty confident that my key did not make it to the ignition. "I'll just have one" I said to myself. This was later amended to, "I'll just have one on my way out of the parking lot. Then one at the light. Oh look, a truck is pulling out up there. I should have another one. Ooooh. Good song. I need one for this." and so on and so on.

It wasn't long before I was deeply immersed in strawberry flavored ecstasy. There is something so ethically disturbing yet massively satisfying about the texture of Twizzlers. Sometimes I like to tie them in knots and then eat off both ends and save the knot for later consumption (and by later I mean 2.2 seconds later).
Warning: this is not for novice Twizzler consumption as great care must be taken to ensure the knot does not become untied, rendering all your work to be in vain.

The advanced Twizzler connoisseur can effectively obtain several knots from a single straw IF said straw is of the larger variety and not from those crappy little packages. While the individual pack is undoubtedly fun to rip apart, they are clearly the inferior Twizzler.

ooooh. And how awesome is it to fold a Twizzler in half and watch it slowly rip itself apart? That anxious anticipation. Where will the first tear begin? There it is!! Slowly, the chasm widens like the smile of a child. That exhilarating rush when it splits open followed by the inevitable depression when you realize just how quickly it happened. (I once again find it necessary to remind you that I am not actively smoking pot at the moment. This is how crazy I am stone cold sober. Frightening thought, I know)

About halfway through my one pound bag I had the overwhelming urge to go out and buy a soda. Now I haven't had soda in about 4 years, but suddenly all I could think about was dropping a majestic ruby straw in a tall glass of coke and slurping away. That perfectly synergistic relationship. Twizzler adding strawberry flavor to Coke while the carbonated goodness slowly dissolves it from the inside out. Sheer Heaven.

By Sunday morning something needed to be done and not unlike the smoker who vows to quit every Monday, I opened the garbage can and dumped what was rest of my beloved one pound bag into the trash; careful to make sure they fell out of the bag and onto something gross or else I seriously didn't trust myself to not go back and dig some Twizzlers out of the bag later. (If I take one from the middle it won't be as gross since the others protected it March of the Penguins style, right?)

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

I had a doctor's appointment today. Nothing too serious, just a recheck on a few problems I have had recently; namely wrist and medication. In both cases, the doctor informed me that my problems would drastically improve if I stopped being a dumb ass (I think its a clinical term).

My wrist. Actually doing better now BUT I haven't done Parkour in almost 2 months and have changed up my workouts to take as much stress as I can off of them. I also haven't hit a heavy bag in about 5 months which is good for wrist health, but detrimental to my sanity. The other day I was seriously considering installing a speed bag in my apartment. I live in a converted old farm house so I have an exposed wood beam running right through my living room that would easily support a heavy bag much less a speed bag. Now to find a way to sell the landlord on the idea. Hmmmm. Anyway, the next time I try Parkour (maybe Sunday?) I am going to attempt to wrap the shit out of my wrists (another clinical term) to see if that helps subdue the blunt force trauma my wrists endure during vaults.

The medication. I am still feeling a bit dizzy but making sure I get a good night's sleep and taking my meds is helping a lot. The nausea and tight chest after a run/during a workout has subsided and a lolly pop on my way back to my office seems to really be helping to keep me from passing out. Hooray!! My doctor only chastised me a little bit after my most recent attempt to stop my medication.

And my final thought is so controversial not even the major networks are covering the story.... Sock manufacturers are actively fucking parents up the ass!!

You heard me. Its about time someone has the balls to say it. I realize that some of you may not be familiar with this horrifying trend in retail, so allow me to explain. Kids socks are small. We're talking 3 inches if you are lucky. Kids take their socks off whenever and where ever they damn well please and no amount of beating with a phone cord seems to correct their maddening affliction of throwing the socks where ever their fancy deems appropriate. And even IF your child is finally old enough to grasp the importance of a laundry basket, these little fuckers (the socks, not the kids) actively seek out the space either behind or on the side of the washing machine where they instantly adapt to their environment and become completely camouflaged. My point is, they get lost all the damn time!!

Admittedly, I cannot blame sock manufacturers for this. What I can blame them for is the fact that a 12 pack of socks comes in 12 slightly different designs. One has pink and yellow stripes along the top. Another has pink and orange. Blue and green. Green and pink. etc. etc. You can't buy these fuckers any other way. This is how they come...period. Therefore, within a month you are left with 11 socks that match fuck all and you are faced with either sending your child in to school in mismatched socks and alerting her teacher to the fact that you are a horrible parent who can't even be trusted to dress her child properly or who have to go out and purchase more socks. And while some of you may be thinking "well at least you will now have spare socks" You're wrong!! By the time you go back for more, the style of sock you purchased last time has been replaced by socks with flowers along the top instead of stripes.

So in closing....Fuck you sock makers of the world.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

I really try to keep my personal shit out of this thread as much as possible, but sometimes things just bubble over. I will try to put the most humorous spin possible on this while avoiding the urge to spiral into a fit of bitter and angry loathing. I figure it will be a good exercise for me as I need to find a positive spin for this one.

I think it is fair to say that every woman my age has seen Pretty Woman and hence has had at least a passing fantasy of becoming a prostitute. Sure, she may not admit it, but don't tell me that the idea of cheap, tawdry sex sex with a handsome stranger hasn't moistened her panties at least once or twice.

Similarly, I have toyed with the idea of stripping in the past but then I remembered that my dancing abilities ceased to progress after learning the Electric Slide so that is clearly out of the question.

I remember when I was still married and money got tight my then husband had two different ideas. The first was he tried to sign me up to join the police academy. The second was he was in full support of me entering the illustrious world of phone sex operators. Three cheers for variations on the world's oldest profession!

I'm just starting to get back out into the dating world after being single for 5 months. I mean, I'm talking a couple weeks in. I only have every other weekend free so trying to plan anything is difficult since a lot of men don't fully grasp the concept of 4 free nights a month, but I digress.

After telling me that he probably can't see our daughter on Father's Day because he "mistakenly" made plans to go hiking that weekend (WTF?) my ex goes on to tell me that his hours are being cut and he may lose his job soon. Now certainly this is bad news, but what kills me is he was looking for me to console him when I all I could think about was, "there goes child support".

Listen, I get bare minimum from my ex. I didn't take him to court. We sat with a mediator and they used a simple calculation of expenses vs. income to determine what he should pay....and I gave him a break on top of that. I am not money grubbing, but I do have to spend nearly $10,000 a year in child care so I can work. I also never went after any of the money that he makes from his band (le sigh) and kept the money I pay for dental/medical insurance out of it.

Boobs (sorry. It was getting a little heavy again)

So now I have to find a second job. Not only does this cut into any fledgling social life, but it means I can't see my daughter as much. It means instead of being able to take her to a movie or out for ice cream on a Friday night, she will be home with a sitter while I am out working. Oh, did I forget to mention I will also have to pay for a sitter so I can work since my family all lives an hour away? Nifty!

So, as I was perusing CL last night/this morning I stumble upon various opportunities for web camming. It's amazing how your view of things changes when it goes from a fleeting fantasy to a serious consideration to keep you afloat. (Don't worry dear reader, yours truly may be a whore, but she doesn't charge people :p)

I'm going to do my best to refocus this anger on the track and in the gym and not let it get me down. One day, my daughter will be old enough to realize the sacrifices I made for her and that, more than anything, will show her how important she is to me. Right now I am just stuck in the childish, "I don't wanna" phase, but I'll snap out of it. I beat anorexia, I got myself out of an abusive relationship, I can do this too.

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

OK. OK. I am sorry for the last post. It was an ugly day. I'm doing muuuuch better today. Life ain't perfect but I'll figure it out. I just needed to vent and get it out.

It is hot as balls today!! I tried to outsmart the weather by starting my workout at 10:30 but after finishing my mile warm-up (*ahem* 6:10 pace. One of these days I am going to test my mile time) I was dripping wet with sweat. It was just pouring off my face when I was on all fours doing my hip mobility work before heading in to do squats. YUCK!!

The good news was that the heat/humidity had everyone hiding so I was the ONLY person in the gym for a good portion of my workout today. That was pretty nifty. I was totally grunting and screaming on every rep just because I could (well that and I have a tendency to get loud when I get excited) I am currently eating everything in my fridge at work.

I'm admittedly a Biotest whore, but the last time I placed an order I got finibars and I have to say I have noticed a big difference in my workouts. Sure, I still have to kick myself in the ass halfway through to do it all (I'm a big fan of trying to bargain with myself when I start to get tired) but I am also able to do more so that is nice. :)

So don't you worry about SP. She's doing just fine. Life might not be perfect, but I wager to guess it is still a hell of a lot better than most. A great big thank you to all of those who have offered support and helped me recover. Have I mentioned how great the men on this site are?

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

This special dedication goes out to.....well you know who you are ;)

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SmilingPolitely
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2009
Posts: 1500

Did you ever have one of those weekends when you fucked up so royally you can't eat? I've had a total of 500 calories since Friday morning. Beer and whiskey calories don't count, right?

So I can't keep anything down. This is what I do when depression hits. Stress? I eat. Depression? Hell. At least the scale will move.

So it occurs to me that I better eat something so I look through the fridge and start pulling out the usual suspects for juicing. (Yes. I have been juicing every morning for over a month now). My fridge was low so I tossed in: pomegranite, clementine (pretty normal), kale, swiss chard, ginger (its a little out there, but not too crazy), asparagus and beets (these take a while to get used to.

So I am looking at my very healthy beverage. This will help me feel better. Then I grab the gin. Oddly enough, it did not make it taste any worse.

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Doug Adams
Level 10

Join date: Sep 2006
Posts: 4867

So, did the beverage work? :-)

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scj119
Level 4

Join date: Aug 2010
Posts: 4868

I never looked at this section of the site and didn't realize you had a thread. I know you haven't posted in 6 months, but it was 6 months between your last two posts so maybe you still check and will see me saying hi.

Hope things are looking up.

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