Today, “Toddlers and Tiaras”; Tomorrow “Dr Drew”

My eyes won’t.open. I have the feeling someone replaced my eyelids with lead or concrete. That’s ok, because I’m a really good typist. Just don’t ask me to text someone while I’m drinking, because, A: The subject matter may be somewhat inappropriate, and B: the spelling may be a *bit* off.

I feel like I missed out on lots of possible shenanigans in my early drinking years, because it was before the advent of thumb speak. Although, 2002+text messages=possible permanent documentation of….well, let’s just say I may be a bit grateful there was no text messaging. I’m also glad there aren’t cell phone pictures from then either. I’m very, very glad of that. My hair was also fire-engine red. You know what? The more I think about it, the less I am feeling not as much “left out” as “spared”.

However, the very weapon that could have so easily been used against me, is now my lifeline. The damn thing has become so integral in my everyday life, I feel like missing it would be akin to missing a limb. I use it to track my food with My Fitness Pal, keep tabs on my life with Wunderlist and Shopper, workout with Nike Fitness Trainer, and if all else fails, the iPhone is heavy, and works as a mighty fine weapon when thrown at someone’s head. I’ve only done this in my dreams, but the feeling is still satisfying.

All the same, the very best thing about my iPhone appendage is the phone’s original purpose, reaching out. It doesn’t make me any better at it, though. I know I am ridiculously headstrong and proud, and I’m not proud of that. Last night, when I finally got in bed, I was positively drained of just.plain.everything. I’d had it up to HERE with my husband’s job, with my responsibilities, with balancing my work and raising the fruit of my loins, with missing bodypump, with my former (and probably future) employer messing up the terms of my leave of absence to provide me time to work on my other projects. I was exhausted and sick with stress, and I just.sat.there. I just effing sat there!! The strange thing is that I was all zippity doo dah and flower petals, until I was curled beneath the sheets, alone with my thoughts.

Why are we all so do damned bad at reaching out and asking for help? Even just talking for the sake of talking, for the measure of comfort it brings, can sometimes seem and insurmountable task. Finally, exhausted and lonely, in a moment of pure kismet, my friend Chey called me, just because he was also stressed and irritated. We had a total bitch fest for about 30 minutes, and after the easy banter, and horrific jokes about “Toddlers and Tiaras”, I felt great. I was refreshed, happy, and renewed. I also felt very badly for the toddler’s future; it’s all downhill from there, ladies. You’ll have to work so much harder to get people to notice your ass shaking abilities. It will be full-glitz 24-7 from here on out.

I hope you brought your glitter glue.

Too bad staying up late on the phone is a lot harder when you’re in your late 20s, than it was when you were 18. Because, I could really benefit from the use of my eyelids again. I already sport the “runner’s pedicure” of black toenails; I don’t need to break the toes as well.

It’s a good thing I have muffins for breakfast to wake my sorry ass up. They’re vegan. It wasn’t on purpose, but you can thank me later.

Vegan Blueberry Banana Muffins