My Christmas Present Is A Pain In The Ass

My husband decided that at 45 and 46 respectively, that we should get healthy in the new year so he bought us both Fitbit watches. I totally appreciate the sweet gesture and concern for our health as we have small grandbabies that we need to be around for to watch them grow up.

That being said my problem with my gift is twofold. For starters I can’t even get the mother fucker paired with my iPhone or my Internet to save my life. I tried for three hours last night and I’m going on 3 hours this morning. WHAT IN THE FUCK?!?! I bet my twelve year old niece could have it set up in like five seconds flat.

My second problem with my very much appreciated gift is that who wants some artificial intelligence telling them to get up off their fat ass and walk, move, etc?!?! At least if a person tells you that, you can tell them STFU!!

So I’m going to smile gratefully at my husband for his thoughtfulness, wear this little judgmental fuck on my wrist and dare that bitch to tell me I haven’t moved in six hours straight!! As long as the Fitbit and I know who’s boss we’ll get along just fine!!

Merry Christmas Y’all💕💕


Yoga Pants: A Blessing or a Curse

Ahhhhh, the almighty yoga pants. What can I say, I’ve owned and worn hundreds of different pairs in hundreds of different sizes. I like to think of them as my pajama clothes, because most of the time my Fibromyalgia won’t allow any other material to get near my skin. EVERYONE loves a pair of yoga pants, therein lies the problem….as my dear old Gran used to say, “Just because it comes in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it.” Boy was that woman on fleek about that subject.

I’ve been small, I’ve been large and every size in between, and the most difficult decision a woman will ever have to make is deciding that her yoga pants are just NOT flattering anymore and that the time has come to move on to sweatpants.

Now I know you young hot bodied thangs think for the most part that yoga pants are God’s gift to mankind, but let me let you in on a little secret, sisters, camel toes are not flattering on anyone. Ever. Period.

For Pete’s sake will someone feed that thing, it’s so hungry it’s eating her yoga pants!!

Thank you my pretties for listening to my rant for the day😂


7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog
— Read on

Great post! I am following waaaaaaay to many blogs just because they followed me first. I appreciate and am grateful to each and every follower, the thing is, I may not necessarily be interested in certain blog topics. It is nothing personal at all as I’m sure that even if I don’t agree with another bloggers views it does not mean that said blogger is not a lovely person. Following too many people is problematic in regards to the fact that the blogs that I do follow closely because I LOVE their content get lost somewhere in the rest. Thank you again to my precious followers for reading about my crazy, topsy turvy life AND for putting up with my excessive profanity, because well that’s just how I roll.

TTFN my pretties💕💕

50 Shades of Cray

My husband is my anchor and my FP. We have had some very volatile times in the past. Mainly over me being batshit crazy and his one time indiscretion.

I think the root of my problem is that I expect utter perfection from him, my parents, my siblings, my children and my friends (all 2.5 of them) and I on the other hand have set a much lower bar of behavior and attitudes than I expect from them. It pisses them the fuck off but the borderline in me screams IDGAF I’m special. I’m special alright…… especially a bitch, especially obnoxious, especially loud mouthed.

I don’t mean to be like this, I make my own skin crawl half of the time.

It’s so damn difficult, being constantly at war inside. Meds and therapy and psych visits are all fine and good but I’d be willing to sign up for shock therapy or a lobotomy if I knew for a fact it would cure what I have. At least I was pretty once. Now a look in the mirror and see a wild eyed, worthless, bloated (I’ve gained almost 40 pounds on my psychiatry drugs) version of my old self. I look like I ate my twin in the womb. I don’t normally put any stock into things as shallow and vain as looks, weight, gender, color, etc…..but with myself I’m the exact opposite. I’m my own worst critic and it’s silently spiraling me into nothingness. I normally use my humor to cheer myself and others up as best I can, but I’m having a shitty day during a shitty week because of this shitty disorder.

I’m not normally known for pitying myself but I’m giving myself a free pass today. It’s my party and I’ll split if I want to.