Run…Like you stole something

Standard

So I’m doing this 0-5km thing that I downloaded as an app on my iPhone. Lately I’ve been working out with a goal to at least get in a hard 30 minuets of cardio three days a week. And sweet mother slabbing fuck does it suck. Except those work outs, as much as they made me suck air, seemed like they had to real drive behind them. So this is where my new app comes into play. Again, sweet mother slabbing fuck does it suck. It’s 35 minuets with a 5 minuet walking warm up and then intervals where you walk a minuet and a half and then run for a minuet six times and finish with a five minuet cool down and then you stretch. Literally it’s 6 minuets of running out of the whole 35 minuet ordeal. It sucked, but it felt so frickin’ good at the end.

I walked out of my house, all dressed up in my basketball shorts, running long sleeve thing and sports bra and walked out into my drive way while I configurated my iPhone to run the 0-5km app while my running play-list and thusly moments later the ordeal started. First there was construction happening on my side of the street so I wound up playing in traffic for a few seconds as I ran out into the clogged traffic of my street. A few horns honked, but I totally pretended that they were because I was looking so damn fine and not because I’d just run out in front of a moving vehicle that was stopped and stuck in traffic. It was raining and because my boobs are so darn big, water immediately began to trickle down between them, so I had to zip the zipper of my running long sleeve thingy up to keep my tata’s from getting soaked.

I’m not going to lie. I love the rain. During my warm up I stomped in every puddle I walked near and even went out of my way to jump in a big puddle in the middle of the street. So yeah, I played in traffic a little bit more because this puddle was too awesome to turn down. I got to the park I was planning to do the bulk of my running in because it has this big grassy field that surrounds a basketball court that no one ever uses during the time of day that I work out. At the end of my first minuet of running, my eyes were stinging and I had to keep blinking because it was either raining that hard or I was already pouring sweat. I can definitely say that it was for surely raining that hard, but I can also for surely say that I was already pouring sweat because the stuff getting in my eyes stung. But whatever, the first minuet passed by quickly and I figured that life wouldn’t be that bad with this work out.

Just before the second minuet of running started one of my favorite booty shaking songs came on. Except I don’t shake my booty when I run, so I ran to the beat of the song, figuring that this minuet would be over quickly like the last one. Which it wasn’t. When I walked I walked quickly and kept up a super good pace because I was damn determined to get in a hard 35 minuet work out. And by walking at a super good pace, I made sure that all my jiggle parts jiggled because then I knew that I was really moving. I’m a big girl, but it still takes a little bit of work to make me jiggle and boy did I make myself jiggle when I walked. Which meant that minuet two of my run, I was slightly winded from all the jiggling and about twenty seconds in I was sucking air and debating walking through my next run interval. Then I kicked myself in the twat for thinking that. I was going to win this work out and I was going to win it without cheating.

But sweet monkey paw soup! Running minuet three was harder. My jiggly bits had been jiggling solidly since I’d started the work out. My boobs were trying to escape my sports bra and slap me in the face and knock me out. I considered the fact that my boobs were so big that that biggest sports bra I could find couldn’t handle my massive tata’s and decided that it was a good thing that I was trying to get back into shape again. Maybe my tits would shrink down small enough to fit into my sports bras and would no longer try to escape the confines of my over the shoulder boulder holders and knock me out cold with the sheer size of them.

Running minuet four I was counting as I breathed. It was a trick my skinny-arsed younger sister and I used to do when we’d run together in high school. We’d count as we ran to keep our minds off the fact that we were running. She was always there to push me because I’ve always sucked as a runner. She was there to count with me in two’s and three’s as I struggled to breathe and keep running as long as my leggy sibling could. I felt homesick for that entire minuet as I wished my sister was there to count with me. But I was totally beating this work out into submission. I was winning. I was full of win as the end of running minuet four came to an end. It was glorious! My legs felt like there were going to give out, but I punched the air in triumph and told my jiggly bits that we were so close to being done and told my legs to suck it up. This was end game! We were pushing for the win. The score was something close to something close and I was one point behind and all I needed was to push a little harder to score that last basket and win work out 1 of the 0-5k app on my phone.

Running minuet five was a sheer force of will. I stayed stubborn. I pushed myself to keep running. And by running I mean I was barely moving faster than a walk, but I was pumping my legs, breathing hard and I was drenched from the rain. Well, rain and sweat. Both were pouring down my face, soaking and plastering my clothes to my body and I swear all the liquid had soaked into my boobs and they’d grown another cup size.

Finally it happened. My phone announced that I should start running minuet six. I wasn’t going to finish this like a puss. I was finishing hard. I drove my feet into the ground and my knees into the air and I ran like I’d stolen something. And I know what it feels like to run like you’ve stolen something because I’ve stolen enough lawn gnomes and had to bolt out of enough back yards to avoid getting caught. I ran like there was a bigger girl chasing me up a rugby field, ready to snap me to the ground if she caught me. I ran like I used to when my basketball coach used to yell at me to push myself a little harder. I kept thinking that I CAN’T FINISH THIS MINUET and I could hear my Uncle Phil telling me there was no such thing as CAN’T. Every inch of me was drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain and I forced myself to increase my stride and sprint the last seconds of my minuet.

And then…it was over. I didn’t have to run like I stole something because I’d escaped. The basketball coach that was in my head had blown the whistle to stop. I knew there was no such thing as CAN’T because I just DID. I was full of mother fucking win and I had owned these six minuets of running. My boobs hadn’t escaped my bra and I had bent this work out over and spanked it hard in the end. I’m not in the shape that I used to be, but I know after this work out I can keep going and eventually I will be able to look over my shoulder and say in the famous words of Cher, “FOLLOW THIS YOU BITCHES!”

And then I remembered that I’m going to do this all over again on Friday. But whatevs, right? I’m either going to kick this apps ass or I’m going to die trying and who cares if I die tired? At least I died having fist pumped the air because today I ran like I stole something and it was awesome.

Advertisements

The One Where I Got Hooked Up With a Gay Guy. Again.

Standard

I love my friends. I’ll be the first to admit that as life goes on, we’re slowly starting to drift a part and that sucks, but we do our best to stick together. This is all in spite of children, husbands, school and the fact that I prefer green pills to blue pills and they prefer that I not be single and stop sleeping around. So sometimes set-ups happen. Weirdly, like, 4 times out of 10 they’ve tried setting me up with gay guys. And by that I mean that there have been four times in total that they’ve tried to pawn me off on their gay guy friends who they didn’t know were gay.

They think it’s rude to ask, but I think it’s a totally necessary question to ask when you’re getting to know a guy. How hard is it to ask if a guy prefers taco to wiener or a meatsicle to sushi?

Sadly, after four very awkward experiences, I had this conversation with my friend last month:

Dani: Do you want to come make potpourri with me and the girls tonight?

Me: This is like that time you asked me to come make candles and you tried to hook me up with that guy who turned out to be gay isn’t it?

Dani: This one isn’t gay!

Me: I don’t mean to sound closed-minded, but why would you think I’d want to date a guy who willingly would go “make potpourri with the girls”?

Dani: You’re being unreasonable!

Me: No being unreasonable would be me fearing that this guy would trap me in a hole in his basement and yell at me “IT RUBS THE LOTION ON ITS SKIN OR ELSE IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN!” because any guy who makes potpourri would totally do that!

Dani: I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.

Me: I can’t talk to you when you want me to make potpourri!

Sadly for me, my friends never give up. Today I was supposed to baby-sit the four-year-old T-Dawg after pre-school and take her to some Mommy’s Group play date at some obscure park, but that got cancelled because the poor girl blew chunks all over her bed this morning causing T-Dawg and mom to stay home for the day. Instead I slept in until I had to get ready to head to an interview (which I rocked) and then I set up shop in my favorite Starbucks to work on my Data Analysis homework.

Sadly I told my friend, Dani, where I’d be and what I’d be up to and this led to her randomly showing up in my Starbucks with a very cute guy in tow. Naturally she was so surprised at running into me and wanted me to meet her friend, Tyler. But like I said before, she has a habit of trying to make me date gay guys or guys that like to make potpourri. So I had to double check this guy…

Me: So Tyler, tell me. Do you prefer penis or vagina?

Tyler: Excuse me?

Dani: RACHAEL! REALLY?! DO YOU HAVE TO DO THIS?!

Me: *calmly sipping my venti Java Chip frappacino* It’s a really simple question. What kind of body parts do you prefer? Male, female or dead?

Dani: WHY MUST YOU EMBARRASS ME LIKE THIS?!

Tyler: *sitting stunned and looking like a deer caught in the headlights of my silver 91 Saturn SCI that I drove when I was 18 and a horrible driver and had blown the brake cables the week before but was still driving around in*

Me: How is this a hard question? Penis, vagina, dead flesh or all of the above.

Dani: I CAN’T TAKE YOU ANYWHERE!

Tyler: I love lamp.

And then he got up and left the Starbucks with this weirdly stunned look on his face. I nearly choked on my frappacino laughing at the whole situation and the fact that I had scared off a potential suitor or scarred some poor guy for life and gave him a good reason why he preferred penis or dead parts.

Dani: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Me: I had to make sure he wasn’t a flesh eating zombie. Or gay.

Dani: WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!

Me: Because I don’t want to try and date a guy guy or a flesh eating zombie. My vagina would later be offended and my feelings would get hurt. Do you want me to get hurt?

Dani: I’M ABOUT TO HURT YOU!

Then my normally vegan, non-violent lifestyle friend who yells at me for enjoying chicken nuggets continuously petting her cat and telling what good Chinese food that it would make realized she threatened to physically harm me and got this weird shocked, but constipated look on her face. I recommended that she go poop. She seriously looked ready to deck me. So I went a bought her some crazy soy beverage and we sat quietly for 10 minuets before she calmly looked me in the eye and said…

Dani: You’re not normal. Have you taken your meds today?

Me: I’m not on meds. But I do like the idea of lots of crazy candies to take daily.

Dani: I think I’ll stop trying to set you up.

Me: That’s awesome. Now we can move past denial and into the other steps that we need to take for stuff.

Dani: Don’t you want to know how fulfilling a healthy and happy relationship could be?

Me: Random sex is fulfilling too.

At that point I wink-winked at her and she rolled her eyes at me. Then she hugged me, said she loved me and left me alone to do my homework. I quietly giggled to myself, hope that I didn’t overly scar that poor Tyler guy or horrify him too much and continued on with my Data Analysis homework.

Thirty minuets later Dani called me to say that Tyler was gay, but her husband had a co-worker who would like me who was definitely not gay. It was then I realized that someday, all you can do with your friends is love them for exactly who they are, no matter how many gay guys they fling at you in hope that one of them is so deep in the closet that he’s finding Christmas presents from 5 years ago and I lead a dysfunctional lifestyle with them. Seriously, that’s about all you can do with your friends: Love them. And possibly use as helpers in building pillow forts. But that’s the gist of it. Love and pillow forts.

I Have Pooping Issues

Standard

A few weeks ago, I started sleeping with this guy, Kody. He’s a nice fella. Good in bed, makes me laugh and sometimes picks me up after my night classes. Unfortunately we’ve only been boning for the last three weeks so he’s yet to understand some of my contradictions. Dude, gets that I’m weird, but he doesn’t quite get fully how weird I can be. Or how set in my ways. He’s 24 and I’m 25 and well, I’m old and happen to have habits that I have no plans of changing anytime soon…like liking to poop alone. I’m a nervous pooper. I simply just don’t shit in public or with people too nearby. Which means that in my tiny basement suite, I never poop when people are visiting. Sadly Kody didn’t have to work today so he figured he’d stay longer than his usual up and gone by 5am thing.

And I’m a fairly regular shitter. I usually wake up around 9am and have to kind of poop, but I always go back to sleep until my alarm clock goes off at 9:30am when I have to actually poop. That’s when I get up and go do my morning business. Except this morning. Because I had a 5 foot 11 inch, 265 pound man laying in bed with me. So I held it, thinking that he would leave once he figured out I was going to the college early to do homework. Except that he didn’t so I just kept on holding it through my morning routine.

But 10:45 rolled around and I felt like I was going to explode. I mean I was in so much pain from not taking a poop that I was sitting, doubled over on my bed with him rubbing my back and asking me what was wrong. Was there anything he could do for me?

Me: Yes, leave. Now. I need to poop.

Him: You’re kidding right?

Me: No. Leave now. Or at least go outside for 10 minuets.

Him: Babe, I’ve seen you naked and I’ve seen you pick your nose and flick it into your bathroom. Just go poop.

Me: NO! I can’t poop with you around!

Him: Are you seriously choosing now to get a sense of modesty?

Me: I’M A NERVOUS FUCKING POOPER! LEAVE NOW!

Him: I could just sit here until you go take a shit. That would help fix your nervous pooperness.

At that point I got up and hobbled into the kitchen. I felt like if I unclenched my ass that I would explode everywhere and I happen to be against pooping myself for any reason whatsoever. My momma and baby-sitter and other family members took the time to potty train me so I will control my bowels and keep them from evacuating in my drawers.

Him: Why are you going into the kitchen?

Me: To get a knife to stab your face off.

Him: You know I won’t let you do that, I’m stronger and you can’t even shoot a deer so how could you stab my face off?

Me: I kill fish don’t I? JUST GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

At this point I was leaning against the wall and was in such much pain from holding this poop in that I was ready to cry. I also had a knife in my hand, because apparently I’m bat shit fucking insane and like to take the green pills instead of the blue ones. Though in my defense I really needed to poop and my usually gone before the sun comes up booty call had over stayed his welcome.

I’m not going to lie though. The next thing that happened was really kind of sweet. He was naked and standing in my bedroom door way while I was leaning against my wall and almost crying to the point that I had tears in my eyes. With a knife in my hand. I think it was at that point that he realized that I was bat shit crazy and took pity on the fact that I couldn’t poop with him in my tiny basement suite. So he came up to me and ever so gently picked me up (I’m not a tiny girl either, I got the thickness so this was a pretty amazing thing for him to do) and carried me into the bathroom. Then he walked into my bedroom, pulled on his sweats, picked up his cell phone and said the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a while…

Him: I’ll be in the backyard or out front. Text me when you’re done.

And then I took the most prodigious poop ever and it felt amazing.

No Vagina Neck, Please

Standard

My momma received a Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Award this past Wednesday. It was pretty freaking awesome to see my momma get a medal FROM THE MOFO’IN FREAKING QUEEN for all the hard work that my mom does. No, the queen didn’t directly give it to her, but still it’s a Queen’s award for service to your community, province, country, etc. This means that there was an award ceremony that we went to and this means that I got to buy a new shirt because I forgot to pack dress clothes when I went home for a week last week.

So off my mom and I went to our favorite store to look for dress shirts for me. We walked into the store and were immediately greeted by a very friendly sales lady who asked if we were looking for anything in particular. And then this conversation happened:

Me: Yeah, I need a dressy, professional shirt.

Sales Lady: Ok, we have lots of those. Is there anything in particular that you like or don’t like?

Me: Yeah, nothing with vag neck please.

Right away the poor sales lady got this look on her face like she was thinking “WHAT THE FUCK IS A VAG NECK?!” and she actually had to pause for all of 10 seconds to figure out what to say next. First she looked confused. Then she looked like she was kind of shocked that I said “vag neck”  and then she got this real cautious look on her face like she just walked into a room with a giant dire bear waiting to grind her bones to make his bread and she could only say one sentence to make him let her live.

Oh and then there was my mom who was standing next to me. At first she got this look on her face like she was thinking “WHAT THE FUCK DID MY KID JUST SAY?!” and then she just looked ready to slap me when she realized that yes, I just said that I didn’t want any shirts that had a vag neck. Except, my mom never curses except in her sleep, but I imagine that in this case she probably cursed in her head because of my eloquent use of the term “vag neck”.

Finally after these weird looks came across my moms and the sales lady’s faces, the sales lady finally recovered enough to ask what a “vag neck” was. I told her it was that neckline that’s all dangly and folds around your neck.

Sales Lady: Oh! You mean a cowl neck!

Me: Yes! Don’t they totally look like a vag neck though?

Sales Lady: I’ve never heard of a cowl neck being called that before.

Me: But you can totally see it now right?

Then the sales lady and my mom totally wandered off to pick out some shirts for me. Though my mom totally looked like she couldn’t decide to laugh or smack me. She actually didn’t do anything and we wound up picking a very nice shirt for me to wear to her ceremony. And now we all know that my mom totally deserved her award because between the fact not only is she a Salmon Hero Award recipient, a Citizen of the Year Award recipient, but she managed to raise me and my colourful vocabulary and she more or less manages to take my shenanigans in stride. Oh and she totally as never tossed me off a cliff before, even though I probably deserved it a time or two…that’s what people do with dysfunctional children these days right? Or was that just the Spartans?

Either way, the moral of this story is: Vag neck is not flattering on anyone and my mom is awesome.

I Miss My Dog

Standard

A couple weeks ago my families dog, Moose, died. I remember the day we brought him home. My mom, sister and I went to pick him up from the SPCA when he was 6 months old. His owned gave him up because his girlfriend didn’t like this giant Mastiff/Lab puppy. At the time we had filled out a form for the SPCA to call us whenever a larger breed dog came in because that’s what we were looking for. The day we got Moose, we paid for him in the loose change my parents always hoard, loaded him up in our truck and drove home. At the time his name was Brutus though. Like one of those crocodiles in the Disney movie the Rescuers and he had a Harley Davidson collar and obviously Moose’s previous owner was a douche canoe of the highest order. Anyway, the whole way home, we tried to figure out a name for him so we could suggest it to dad when we got home.

Except when we got home and Moose hopped out of the truck and my dad saw him for the first time, my dad yelled, “HE’S A MOOSE!” on account of his long legs and brindled colour fur. Thusly Moose became Moose.

Over the years, Moose developed the most personality that I’ve ever seen any dog have. He was my dad’s baby and he never spend a night outside in his life. Poor baby Moo had abandonment issues. I can remember coming home late from a basketball tournament with my family and Moose was tied up outside because his poops had gotten too big to let him stay inside and use newspapers to shit on. Seriously though, we could lay down a small square of news paper and that dog would never miss it. Though after we started putting him outside he had a few accidents and for some reason he’d always choose to take a dump in my moms room if he couldn’t hold it anymore and then he would bury it. He was a big dog who took big shits. Makes sense right? Well we called them “Moo Mines” because you could always smell them but they were so stinky that you could never really tell where they were because the smell overwhelmed you. Picture us smelling dog shit in our house and knowing that we had to go look for a giant poop Moose had buried somewhere. But I’m off topic. We came home late one night and Moose ran down his line to greet us and he was so happy to see us that he was literally peeing himself as he ran.

Oh, I should admit that one night around 3am, Moose woke me up because he had to pee real bad. It was summer so I just put him outside on his run (our dogs had long runs that we tied them up to so they could run from the back of our property to the front) and left him out there. I meant to go back outside and get him, but I more or less forgot because I fell back asleep. Moose was a little pissed off at me the next day and spent the day sitting on the couch glaring at me.

Seriously, he glared at me all day and back talked every time I said something. And yes, our dog back talked. His only chore in the entire world was to tell dad when supper was ready. So mom would tell him to “Go tell daddy supper is ready” and sometimes Moose was a lazy ass and he’d shake his head no and run and hide in my room with me and pretend to sleep. He even once whined at my mom “I don’t wanna” when she was telling him to do something. I’m not lying. That dog learned how to whine a few words. Like “I don’t wanna”, “mom” and “no”. Mostly he just learned to cry to mom so she’d let him in the house when he wanted.

I’m going to miss Moose. I’ve never met a dog that could ask for cheese on his chili, spell at a grade one/two level and tell time. He always knew when dad was home late for work. We couldn’t spell words around him like “truck”, “lake”, “Barriere” or any of the other places he liked to go. He also knew how to tell you he was cold so he could get covered up. Not that it was hard since he’d just lay in bed with you and shiver and look at you while he waited for you to share your blankets. I’ve also never known a dog so caring as he was. He always knew when you were sick and needed a good snuggle. I remember once when I was sick he pretty much spent the whole day in bed with me. He was a total bed hog and always stole all the blankets, but the thought was there.

My favorite thing in the whole world though was coming home from school and Moose picking me up from the Greyhound. I woke up this morning, rolled over and was about to text mom not to forget to bring Moose tonight…and then I remembered that Moose wouldn’t be picking me up from the Greyhound anymore. Nothing boosted my ego more than seeing Moose waiting for me at the Greyhound station and the way he danced around when he heard me whistle at him and he realized for the first time that I was home. He always looked ready to pee himself in excitement and always had the biggest smile whenever I came home. Then once he knew I was safe, he’d immediately turn to the other business of peeing on everything in sight, because that’s what Moo’s did.

I’m going to miss that dog.

What Turns Me On and Getting Hot Chocolate

Standard

This morning, even before my alarm clock went off, I woke up cold. As in my teeth were chattering and it hurt to move cold. It sucked. However, instead of moping in bed and trying to get warm, I made myself sit up, turn on my little heater and I got dressed in a pair of black sweats, a tank top and a pull over sweater that I stole from my dad and I walked down the street to my local bakery to get hot chocolate. The lady there is super nice and always gives me lots of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles because she knows I’ve got a sweet tooth. Today though there was this slightly older than me couple in there too getting coffee and other stuff. They were probably in their thirties and looked like they belonged in some sort of fall time magazine with their rosy cheeks, cute knit scarves and jackets that probably kept them too warm.

I was waiting and drooling as the lady who works in the bakery was making my hot chocolate when the guy tapped me on my shoulder and got me to take my headphones out of my ears.

Guy: I’m sorry, but my wife and I are having an argument and I want you to prove her wrong. What’s your biggest turn on?

Me: *raises my left eye brow* My biggest turn on? Either a man who will build me bookshelves or a man with a Southern US accent calling me “darlin”.

Lady: That’s really specific! *looks at Guy* See!? I told you so!

The lady then proceeded to to a very spastic winning dance and I had to commend her on her crazy efforts to imitate an end zone dance of some sort.

What are your biggest turn ons?