La Maison de Fatty

I’ve finally gotten some things up on the walls and elsewhere. I’ve decided to share pictures of some of my favorite spaces in my new digs. As you will see, I have pretty eclectic taste. I also love girly stuff too. My style is so bipolar. I really love me some funky signs, sugar skulls, Britain-themed anything, Steampunk-esque aquatic themes, and retro collectibles. Who says you can’t incorporate it all?!

Oh poop. Pewp. I’m such a 12 year-old boy…

Octopus are my favorite. 

I think my shower curtain is my favorite thing ever. 

I HAVE A CEILING FAN!

This is hard to see, but I finally have my coveted clear makeup organizer that just gets uber dusty. The price we pay. 

I can’t stop admiring my new lace and fabric peach-colored flowers. 

Sugar skulls and vintage globes.


I love this little guy.


All of my most prized possessions. 


This is so I don’t forget where my kitchen is. 

Errybody loves my hobo stew. 

Because every skull lover has to have a skull-themed cookie jar. It’s a must!

Found this in all places-Elko. It’s one of my favorite possessions. It’s just so me.


An empty candy dish, because I can’t be trusted with a full dish of candy. 


If you want to learn about who I am as a person, just check out my magnet collection. 


Don’t judge. This is quite possibly the smallest, lamest bar in all the land. I had to do something fun with this retro telephone cart. Ain’t no one got time for landlines anymore. Also, I don’t drink much, but when I do, it’s likely to be a Moscow Mule (but, I’m out of vodka. And ginger beer. I’m the worst). Also, Fireball, because I’m classy like that.

I have a makeup table, but it’s not finished. In case you didn’t know, every single lady has to have a makeup table. I’ll share when it’s blinged out! 

I hope you enjoyed the pics of my crazy, eclectic apartment. 

Toodle-oo and ta-ta for now!

Reasons Why I’m Fat #2,347 and Other News

I’m working on a post on Friday at 1 in the afternoon*, because I’ve been in bed for two days still feeling like I’m swinging in a yoga silk. 

Ugh.

It started last week. At the end of class, when we wrapped up like fat vampires (well, I’m the fat vampire) to cool down, the new instructor moved us so we spun in our coffins of carnival-ride-hell. It was absolutely terrible.

Terrible. 

Just thinking about it now makes me want to vom. Ugh. Bleck!

This past Wednesday, I asked the instructor not to make me sway *there it is again. Excuse me while I calm down my gag reflex*

Everything was fine until she forgot. She realized just seconds later and got me to stop moving, but the damage was already done. 

That whole night I had dreams of all sorts of nauseating things. I’d detail them, but I just can’t without my head spinning. 

The next morning, I barely got out of the shower alive. I’m a real wuss when it comes to fitness and committing to eating plans, but I’m simply not one to call in sick all the time. However, there was just no way I’d make it in. I could barely stand for five minutes without feeling like I was in a fun house of horrors. 

As a teacher, it’s usually just easier to suffer through the pain than to put in for a sub, create last minute sub plans, and ask your already-overworked-fellow teachers to help you out. 

This meme knows:


However, sometimes it’s the difference between barfing during your Number Talk and barfing with dignity in the privacy of your own bathroom. 

Already, long story short, I think aerial yoga is making me motion sick. 

Seriously, this just fucking figures. 

Right when I feel my body feeling tighter. Right when my arms have less swing. Right when I’m feeling a definition in my sausage legs, the fitness that can be thanked for this miraculous change makes me physically ill.

I try to get fit, but fit don’t want this. 

Fuck it all. Seriously. 

In other news, I guess there are worse things than fitness being attributed to sudden illness, because I got a message on Plenty of Fish by…

Adult Baby

Friends, when I received my first message from this “guy”, I thought he was the first truly honest dude on a dating site. 

Instead of finding out after you’re already invested, he’s kind enough to lay it all out, right in his username. 

Adult Baby says to me: 

I will pour myself a bowl of cereal, get more on the table and floor than in my bowl, and I won’t even notice. 

I can’t hold down a job, unless posting horribly written Yelp reviews about massage parlors that offer happy endings counts as a job. 

You will have to clean up after me, because I’ve never bought a cleaning supply in my life. Not even a trash can. Is that a cleaning supply? 

This is what I thought. For a quick minute, I thought maybe he was kind of secretly smart and almost kind for being just so outright about his immaturity. 

Then, the term “Adult Baby” was explained to me. 

I’ll never be the same again. 

Just google it. Just.google.it. 

It doesn’t happen a lot, but I’m speechless

I am pretty much convinced that every  dude on every dating site out there just wants to get in your pants or they want you to change their pants. 

I’ll pass. 

I thought for a quick minute that maybe they weren’t all creeps, because I was talking to a really intelligent and witty guy. It was more than just talking. We met for drinks and he took me to sushi. Other than talking way too much and being incredibly long-winded, he seemed like someone I could really see myself getting to know. He knew how to form a complete sentence. He knew who Gary Oldman was. He had a job. It seemed like a win. When I didn’t respond to his endless sexual innuendo jokes that obviously meant he was trying to talk sex, he was suddenly not interested. Cool, bro. 

They seem to all be like this. 

He didn’t even get it…


I’m just…

I don’t even know. Maybe I’ll know in my next blog post. 

Well, I’m off to Google, “exercise that won’t make me motion sick” and to delete the dating site apps on my phone. Or, do I keep them for the sole purpose of endless entertainment? 

What a varied and exciting life I lead. 

*Obviously it’s not Friday anymore. Even more obviously, I’m a total procrastinator and didn’t finish my post on said Friday. 

Plenty of Freaks and OK Nope

Hey guys. It’s been a minute, but I’m back. I know those who know me are anxiously awaiting my aerial yoga post. Yes, I went to a type of yoga that requires upper body and ab strength, agility, and gracefulness-all of which I do not have. Wait for it. It’s coming, and it’ll be good. 

For now, I must discuss the state of the single-and-dating-world, as that is where I am firmly planted. For now. 

OMG, ya’ll. It’s fucking terrifying. 

Like, so scary. So.scary. 

OMG. 

Remember when I said I was going to share a new personal challenge with you? Well, I’ve already begun miserably failing at it. I’m just a fucking rockstar at life. 

I was going to challenge myself to a year of being single. It’s what everyone is saying I need. So, it must be what I need. I see the value in figuring out who I am as a single person before I jump back into a relationship. I see how giving myself a significant amount of time to heal is a smart thing. I get it. But, as with all things easier said than done. 

Literally two days after I posted that I would be challenging myself to something pretty hardcore, I signed up for Plenty of Fish. 

This kind of erratic, bipolar-esque behavior explains a lot in my life.

I’m now on Plenty of Fish and OK Cupid. 

Help me. 

If the majority of the men I’ve been contacted by and interacted with thus far is any indication of how my dating life will go, I’ll be single for a hell of a lot longer than a year. 

I don’t even have the words to fully express my horror/disdain/disappointment, so I’ll just share a few screenshots. I didn’t get the idea to write on this topic before I deleted many a message, so just know, these are just the fucking tip of the iceberg. 

Please share in my pain:


Now, obviously this dude just wants a night of fun. Maybe some woman out there wants one too. Nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is that he “wood” really like me to watch him in a “golf tournament”. Also, not one period or comma. Not.a.one.


When “wanna hang out” doesn’t work, just let it go. Where’s your dignity, man?!


Damn*

Nope.

This one was actually kind of sweet, but please don’t let me know you’re well-endowed in your very first message. And, as a teacher, I’m appalled at the lack of punctuation. The horror!! 


This one…I don’t even…I can’t. I just…have no words. 


Gross. 

OK, the jig is up, ladies. Who’s responding to these sick, macho, sexist, ignorant, and just plain gross “pick up lines”? Obviously, these men think this crap works. There are two possible explanations:

1: It works at least once. I need to find these women to slap some fucking common sense into them, if even possible. 

2: They are truly mentally handicapped, ignorant by choice, or they were taught this is how you pick up women. 

Either way, I’m terrified. I think I’m back to working on my challenge. A life being the crazy cat lady who smells of cans of Whiskas and Bengay isn’t looking so terrible. 


Turned to Poo

I was trying really hard to pull an Eat, Pray, Love during my massage today. No, I did not try to sneak in a sandwich (maybe next time). I tried to meditate and think of nothing. I tried the mindful practice strategies that I’ve taught to my students. I tried to concentrate only on my breath and the sensations of the stress being kneaded out of my body. I tried. But, as with most things in my life, I failed. Epically. 

All I could do was think. 

This past month has felt like a fucking nightmare. Parts of the nightmare I can get into, others I can’t and won’t divulge.

Obviously, if you’ve been following my blog, or you know me personally, you know I left my boyfriend. I will never publically bash the man I gave five years of my life to, but I will say that I had thought I had already grieved the end of our relationship. Before I ever even got out of it. Well, I hadn’t grieved. Not even fucking close. Finally cutting the cord was harder than I thought it would be. In fact, to date, it was/is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. 

I’ve never been the one to dump. I’ve always been the dumpee or the jackass who gets cheated on. I’ve always been the one beating the dead horse, holding on for dear life to something that had been long dead. 
When I decided to decline the job offer in England, I knew that despite my not jetting off to change my life abroad, I would still need to make massive changes at home. You don’t always have to pull an Under the Tuscan Sun or EPL to change your life for the better. 

Well, “for the better” has not appeared yet. In fact, almost daily I wish I can go back in time to when my life was a familiar pile of poo, because this new poo smells terrible. 

Yeah, I know, time heals all wounds. And all of that garbage. 

The most eye-opening thing I’ve realized lately, I thought of during my massage today. 

Every single good thing that has happened this past year has turned to utter shit. 

For ease of reading, I’ll just make a stinking pile of shit list:

1. The “writing” gig for Bliss Babe was a joke. 

2. I epically failed my first Master’s class and am in the appeal process still. 

3. While my decision to not go to England was based on logic and lack of cash money, it still sucks to think I could be drinking tea and eating crumpets right now (actually, I’d be asleep, because it’s 5 in the morning there as I write this). 

4. Even though it was inevitable, the relationship I gave my all and five years of my best years to failed. 

So, all of this to say, this is why I’ve been MIA on the blogging front. 

Oh, I forgot one more:

5. After not blogging for a month, I’ve likely lost most of my followers. 

YAY. 

The Apartment

OH BOY, GUYS. I thought I was good, but I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to move into a new apartment without the guy I spent almost five years with. Alone. Just me. 

The night before last I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and a late night trip to Home Depot was necessary. I almost starting crying in the pipe fittings isle. I felt alone, scared, and stressed. 

I feel better off and on. One moment I’m excited for my new makeup table that used to be my entry table, and the next I’m feeling horribly heartbroken that I won’t be tripping over his behemoth shoes anymore (this is craziness, as who would miss this…).

Yesterday, my aunt, mom and good friend  (plus her hubby) helped me move my new bed and couch into my apartment. The presence of loved ones in my new place helped immensely with making it feel more like home. It also helps as I put more and more of my things inside. 

It’ll get better. It just takes time. Time is a bitch, though.

Here is a video I took the night I got my keys. I’ll video again when everything is in place. 

What’s Going On 

Almost. Almost!

I figured I’d write a little update on things. I know that if you’re not consistently writing, you lose followers. Now, we wouldn’t want that! 

Tonight, after what seems like a lifetime, I get the keys to my new apartment! The landlord had the carpets shampooed, the walls painted, and had a cleaning person come in. It’s been a long time since I last moved into a new place. This seems very thorough and it’s much appreciated. The last apartment I moved into I had to clean for a full day before I could move in. So, this’ll be nice! Move in ready! 

My emotions have been riding a roller coaster of epic proportions. One minute I’m excited for the future, and I feel like a strong independent woman who can do anything. The next, I’m freaking out about having to put my bed together by myself, and that, surely, I’ll die alone amid my myriad cats. 

I guess this is life-the constant battle between being happy and feeling at peace and sadness and feeling anxious about everything. The only good part of sadness is that it is needed to feel the good things in life. 

Stay tuned for video and pictures! 

Also, stay tuned for a personal challenge that rivals all of my previous failed challenges! Oooooh!