Another Epic Tale of the Shittasticness that is My Life.

So you know how I was going to take The Toddler out for a 'jog' on Monday afternoon? Ya, well that didn't happen.
Shocker I know.

BUT! I did get an ambitious hair up my chubby pooper and dug out the stroller last night.......before the Torture Session (aka Bootcamp). I totally get extra points for that or something, right?! Right.  Now, mind you, the stroller probably hasn't been used in like months. Mainly because its been a frozen tundra here lately, and there's no need to expose the babe's sensitive skin to that chilly jazz (and I'm not talking about my child here. Me. It's all about Me.)

After I strap her little butt in and I finally get the damn Nike Running app to synchronize it's shit to the satellite and we head off. stupid satellites.

The loop around my neighborhood is about .5 to .6 miles long, so my goal was to do 2 laps. I mean, I know I can be a badass and power through 3 miles on the conveyor belt of death, but pushing a stroller......on a sandy, gravel, craptasticness road, with a nearly 30lb toddler attached, is a WHOLE other story. (Yes, THIRTY pounds. Child weighs as much as a 3 year old. And she's only 18 months. And still demands to be carried everywhere. Which I'm happily doing because that'll help with the Batwings. Totes Awesomesauce. **I was being sarcastic about it being awesomesauce, in case you didn't pick up on that**)

So away we go. I race.....and I use that term lightly....down the driveway and head around the loop. All the while The Toddler is leaning so far forward (to see the tire spin fast), that I'm pretty sure she's going to topple over and take me with her. So I'm reaching around the front trying to reign her back in, I'm still running of course, along with trying to jump over dog shit, beer cans, and other paraphernalia littered along our glorious road. Finally, I just give up. If Miss Sassypants is going to fall out of the stroller, then fine. I'll just deal with it then. mother.of.the.year.

We get about 1/4 of the way around and man, I'm hurting. I mean, my legs are on fire. They feel like the stumps of elephant legs that are stuck in quicksand.
Basically..............I'm dying.



Preach it Sista.

But I push through, like the semi-psychotic fool that I am. And I make it about .4 miles before I'm pretty sure I'm going faceplant the concrete and leave my child motherless in the big scary wilderness. I slow to a walk and actually catch up with some neighbors that I haven't met yet. Praise Baby Jesus for a distraction!!!!! Since I spent about 10 minutes being a little Chatty Cathy.....maybe or maybe not on purpose.....I didn't have enough time to go back around. So sad.

To make a long story short, I plow up the drive way and drop Dillybean in her high chair and zoom off to get my ass kicked by the Queen of Hades.

Good, grand, and wonderful. I'm a rockstar. Three cheers for me.

Fast forward to later that night. I'm sitting on the couch and my dear, sweet, loving husband pipes up and says, 'Hey, was it difficult pushing that stroller around?'

Ummmmm, YEAHHHHHhhhhhhhhhUUUUggggghhhhhhh. Duh. Jeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

'Well, did you realize that all the tires were flat?'

**blink, blink**

'You mean you ran around all that way with flat tires?!?!'

Ohhhh, MuthaF&*ckingCr@pSh!tG$dDa#mnITStupidF&*ckingStroller!!!!!!!!!!

Never would have occurred to me to look at the tires.

At first I was a Marathoner. But now I'm just lazy with a busted pair of jeans.

You know how there are some days when you're all:

I'M GOING TO RUN A MOTHER EFFING MARATHON!!!!



And then like 2.I'mALazyAss seconds later, you're all:



Ya. That's me.
Anyone else with me?!
Thought so.
Procrastinating Pretend Over-Achievers UNITE!

I am, however, still attending Bootcamp 3(ish) times a week. We're into our 5th week. Yippe Skippy for me. Apparently, since I'm working out like a gladiator, my body has decided that I need to eat ALL the foods. Seriously. ALL of it. I can NOT stop shoving junk in my mouth! Oh, there's cupcakes....ok, I'll have 6. Glazed donuts......baker's dozen please. Stuffed Green Peppers......oh, I'll forcefully shovel two large ones in my pie hole. While my 6'5" husband only has 1.5. Yeah. Just ONE would have been enough. Jesus, Mary, and Saggy Asses. GAHHHH!

It's just soooo hard. *enter whiny pitiful voice*

In other news is I'm getting off the juice.

No not the 'roids.

Soda Pop.

Yup. I've gone 2 weeks. Well, I relapsed a little last weekend and had a can of the go-go nectar of the Gods. But I'm still winning in my mind.

Back to Bootcamp.
Otherwise known as Satan's Mistress's Attempt At Torturing The Little People.

You know, some people think it's all:



But it's totally not.
I mean, we work our ASSES off. The little Demon Princess (aka Morgan, Personal Trainer to the Minions) makes us actually sweat! Can you believe that shit?! I know, me either.

Surprisingly, even though I've gained weight and I haven't lost any inches. I do see my pitiful muscles forming. Like, I know that I have some shoulder muscles. And I'm starting to see my Ben & Jerry's (thunder thighs) take shape. And not look like two gigantic watermelons attached to my hips.

Oh, quick note about my Ben & Jerry's. Jerry tried to make a break for it last week. Little bastard. Yup, there I was, about 9:54 in the morning, enjoying a mouthwatering sugar-loaded glazed donut, when I feel a little 'draft'. Or at least I feel like something is not quite right.....down there. Hoping that I just left my fly down, I tentatively glance down.

Farts. (not literally, this is just an expression.)

Yup, Jerry busted a hole in my FAVORITE pair a jeans. Basically going from upper inside thigh to back below my bubble ass. It was about 4 inches. Gives a whole new meaning to 'busted can of biscuits'.

Double Farts.

It's the middle of the morning. I couldn't exactly go home and change because, well, that's just not possible at my lovely place of employment. It's like The Labyrinth here, once you enter, you can't find your way back out. It's a miracle I actually get to leave at the end of my shift......oh wait, no I don't. Because sometimes someone schedules an interview at 4pm. My shift ends at 4pm. Fuck you very much. And it just so happened that the day Jerry tried for a flight of freedom, was my first interview that week. Holy balls, could my day not get any worse.

So there I was, my right thigh just flapping in the wind, and I have to talk to someone about professionalism at my place of work. And to 'join my team', because we're just a special kind of quality. And not actually just a few crayons short of a full box.

Needless to say, I made it through without anyone noticing. Or if they did notice, they didn't say anything. And if it would have been a bigger rip, i would have totally Bonnie-fied it by stapling that shit back together. But, sadly, it wasn't big enough.

I also had a stern talking-to to Mr. Jerry, and enthusiastically stated that any future attempted jail breaks were strictly prohibited, I didn't care if he's feeling 'more muscular' or not. Shit's just not right.

So that's what happened to me last week.
This week I'm going to try and not eat an entire Little Debbie factory.
And I might even run tonight. Since The Weather Gods are feeling generous and are blessing us with highs in the upper 60s. Don't worry tho, I'm sure they'll be little assholes and it'll snow next week. Might as well get out while I can, right?!
Cheers to me trying to push the stroller through sand/gravel!!! Can't wait to see how this goes.