Hot Body

I swear J-Lo is taunting me.  Take your 50 year old Goddess body and get out of my face.  You and She-Wolf are why men have insane expectations.  I didn’t look like that when I was in my twenties.  I’ve never looked like that.  So thank you to Shakira and J-Lo for making me feel like a shitty average 36 year old.  Thanks a whole lot.  My ego took a 90 degree nosedive in the 15 minutes it took those two to further divide a nation.  It’s Thursday and people are still posting about it with ALL THE FEELINGS.  I haven’t seen this many opinions about a halftime show since Janet’s areola finale.  Do I think it was the best halftime show I’ve ever seen?  No.  Do I think it was the worst?  Absolutely not.  Do I think it contributed to the rise in gym memberships in the last week? 100%  Do I think there was a severe lack of SINGING?  It was an afterthought at best.  Do I think it was amazing for little girls all over the world to see two women rock the halftime show?  YES.  Do I think J-Lo’s performance in the Superbowl was better than in Hustler?  YOU BET I DO.  Do I think it’s a little confusing that women want to be seen as more than sex objects and then go on stage with very little left to the imagination shaking their booties?  Women are complex creatures!  (sigh)  Show business, am I right?

Being on social media lately is like watching the drama unfold in Parasite.  If you have not seen that movie yet, FIX IT – you have four days until you witness history when it becomes the first foreign film to win Best Picture.  I’m Babe Ruth-ing it.  Assuming the majority of you haven’t seen it, I’ll make a more universal reference.  It’s like watching the alley fight in Anchorman; hand grenades, tridents and this is a direct quote ‘a bilingual bloodfest.’  – what is even happening?  For the love of God, STOP ARGUING WITH STRANGERS.  You’re not gonna change Rick’s views on free college, Beatrice needs her AK-47, Chad thinks you hate animals for not being vegan and Wanda still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that Hillary isn’t president.  Don’t engage.  No one ever said, “You know, I had this conversation on my friend’s facebook page with his old PE teacher who didn’t listen to anything I had to say and kept calling me an idiot and I’m gonna change my vote!”  Channel your energy wisely ya dings.  It’s like watching a bunch of people with abusive significant others argue over which one is less shitty.  Let’s raise the bar, shall we?  I know people talk about California floating off into the pacific, but I think we’d all be better off if DC drifted into the Atlantic while Congress was in session.  Clean slate.  Good grief.  Bunch of babies.  It’s the most infuriating game of red rover I’ve ever beared witness.  Time to clear the playground.  Recess is over.

I deleted all the dating apps and social media might be next.  All it does lately is get me hyped up about stuff I didn’t even know was going on.  It’s like the modern version of 90s news when they’d be like, “…what you’re eating every single day that could kill you…”  I will come through that screen and choke you!  Don’t stress me out more than I already am!  I’m over here making cream sauces out of cashews, searching for my Prince Charming in a dumpster fire of Voldemorts, trying to find a pair of yoga pants that won’t show my ass when I bend over!!  And don’t get me started on how long it takes me to select a white onion at the grocery.  My hands are tied!  I’M BUSY! – so please stop broadcasting any excess trauma.  I don’t need to know every time Trump tweets yet another unedited, ignorant, uneducated ramble about who knows what.  If I wanted to know, I would follow him!  And as far as him not knowing where Kansas City is, guess what??  I didn’t either:

Screenshot_20200206-002248_Facebook

AND I GREW UP IN SAINT LOUIS.  So kick me into the ground while you’re at it.  This coronavirus?  Don’t care.  I thought it was a joke related to the beer – which is ironic since it’s a beer I’ll never drink again as long as I live and I thought – I’m gonna be the last living person on Earth.  And then I thought with the hermit life I’ve been living lately, that might not be the WORST thing ya know?

For all of you holding your breath waiting for me to find ‘the one’, have no fear, ‘Facebook Dating’ is here.  Cause who doesn’t get on Facebook to piece their lives together?  My head just popped off of my neck.  What in the name of pretzel poptarts is going on?  I don’t even like, trust or remember half the people I’m actually friends with on Facebook and now I’m supposed to date a stranger on this thing?  I would rather find the love of my life at a Burger King in Utah or at a strip club on a Tuesday than trust facebook with my future.  Facebook is where I go to watch people argue over memes, stalk my exes and observe distant cousins fight with old coworkers about the political direction of this country – NOT to find my happily ever after.  If Facebook holds my future, I need to speak with the manager’s manager’s manager immediately cause mama’s gonna need a refund.  My fairytale will not be determined by an algorithm dammit!

In other news, I survived food poisoning and if you’ve ever had food poisoning – RESPECT.  I admit, I have a tendency to be overdramatic, but this was some exorcist level bullshit.  Except for I was by myself and didn’t have a priest to compel the power of Christ out of me which would have been preferable.  Three fun filled hours of not knowing whether to put my pants on, keep em off or just sit in the shower and see what happens.  I was lying on the ground with a fan in my face at one point and wondered how long it would take someone to find me.  Then that spiraled into what people would assume when I was found dead in my apartment.  It was that bad.   The only silver lining being that I wouldn’t have to deal with my neighbors ever again.  What’s great about my upstairs neighbors having a dog you ask?  The constant vacuuming.  If they’re home, they’re vacuuming.  When they’re not home, they’re vacuuming.  They vacuum when they wake up.  They vacuum before they go to bed and then they vacuum in their dreams.  Either their dog sheds like a maniac or they’ve grown to loathe each other so much that they’d rather fill the silence that has become their relationship with the soul-sucking sound of a vacuum until forever or they’re slowly plotting the demise of their downstairs neighbor.  Aaaaaaand it’s working.  If I could Pelosi their rental agreement, I would.

This post has been brought to you by the after effects of Whole30, my heating pad, readers like you and moms with hot bodies.  Meanwhile I’m doing planks on a 9 year old yoga mat covered in a toucan beach towel in the middle of my Cheez-it box square foot apartment listening to Britney “sing” about what I have to do if I want a hot body or a maserati.  I am still trying to figure out what I want on the daily.  Somedays it’s a pizza and other days it’s unconditional love.   Everyday it’s happiness.   Stop doing things that don’t bring you joy.  Stop making excuses.  Stop getting into internet brawls.  Go get that hot body life – whatever that means to you! Xx

 

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