Harambe

Why am I so awful? I honestly need to know the answer to this question. In regular life, I think I am OK, but this relates specifically to pregnancy. I think there are two kinds of people; the good Pregnants and the bad Pregnants. I am the ring leader of the bads. The interesting thing about it is that your non-pregnant life is ZERO indication of how your pregnant life will be. Anyone can go from a top notch Normal to a total loser Pregnant. You just don’t know, and this is something that nobody warns you about, so I will because it’s fucking necessary.

First of all, in my regular life, I like to exercise. There was even a time where I obsessively exercised which I want to puke when I think about. In general, for me, 3-4 days a week of working out in a CrossFit class is what I enjoy, and as I age I have realized I like it to be non-competitive and non-injury provoking. Great. A lot of women don’t exercise at all, so I should be ahead of those idiots when it comes to pregnant exercise. I should be ready to continue with my workouts (which have changed to at home or at the track since I acquired a sidekick) and I will be the envy of the internet. Um, wrong. I am the envy of nobody. I was so nauseated for the first 21….count…..21….weeks of this pregnancy that I went directly to bed every night after work. Then, anytime I felt normal and thought I could try working out, the exercising would throw me back into 3-4 days of nausea. And now? I honestly think this baby is so big that it might be the reincarnation of Harambe and I run out of breath talking to people at work, let alone hitting the gym for a quick workout. Why? Because I am a bad pregnant and it is uncontrollable, which leads me into my second topic, my awful body.

I know a lot of women who never work out and look so good. I don’t know what they do, maybe they starve, maybe it’s genetics, but I see these people and they are so skinny and beautiful and I admire it. I have never been one of these women, pregnant or not. I am never going to be petite, and all you freaks need to know that every day that I walk around looking normal is a day that I am monitoring EVERYTHING I consume. With that being said, I am NOT a pregnant eater. Between the nausea, the heartburn, and this time around, the heat, I just can’t really do more than one meal a day. I don’t gain much weight either, right around 25lbs both times. The problem shows up AFTER the pregnancy. WHAT is this lump of fat I can’t get rid of under my belly button? Why do I now have cellulite on my butt that I didn’t have before? Why am I holding onto ten pounds when I am doing everything right to lose it? MEANWHILE……all the Thumbelinas who put in no work from what I can see, are 2 weeks out of pregnancy wearing bikinis. How did you do that? If I wore a bikini 2 weeks post baby someone would call the cops. How are you not still wearing a giant pad? I am just going to say this, if you are starving yourself, just say it so that people like me can understand where they are going wrong. You can private message me, you don’t need to make it your status if you don’t want to. Please make it your status.

Next up, delivery. WTF. I had a few contractions yesterday and started to cry as the thought of labor came back to me. When I had Caroline I was READY ( LOL.) I had been exercising and walking and, in my mind, I was going to be the queen. Make no mistake, I wanted all the drugs, but I was planning on getting them at a time that impressed everyone that I had been able to hold out so long. This is not what happened. I was storming the hallways flopping on the tables at 3cm demanding the epidural and saying I was close to death. The thing is, I wasn’t being dramatic, the pain was THAT BAD. Now granted, my kid was almost ten pounds, her head was enormous, and for a first labor everything was pretty rapid (11 hours), but once again, even the Grand Finale of the pregnancy, which I had envisioned being lit af, SUCKED. I sucked at birth. Pushing her out was the worst hour of my life and all my exercise didn’t even seem to factor in because I was sore all over my whole body for 2 weeks. But then you have Gladys from next door who goes in for her 38 week appointment and they tell her she’s 7 cm dilated and she didn’t even know because she was too busy not working out and looking beautiful. I will never understand this.

 My point in all this is that I am a firm believer that you cannot control anything that happens to you during your pregnancy WITHIN REASON. Obviously, eating a million calories a day and blowing up is controllable, but for most normal people with normal habits, a lot of shit is going to happen that you just cannot believe. To all you good Pregnants out there, I honestly don’t know how you do it. I try so hard to glow and I just end up putting on too much bronzer and looking like one of those Russian dolls that come out of the bigger doll until you get the tiny one. And I am the biggest one.

No New Friends

I am writing this from my phone. I'm already feeling like the quality of my writing will be negatively impacted. Do you ever notice that when you email from a computer you proofread, check grammar, edit the margins, include a glamour shot, etc?  I mean, most of you are idiots so you definitely still make mistakes, but at least you try to make your email look like you weren't in Level 2 English, I hope.

Emailing from a phone? Forget it. It's like getting a message from Charlie Sheen. I send the most ridiculous shit to people from this thing and don't think twice about it. Is that awful? Don't tell me to put a " please excuse mistakes, I'm on my phone" message at the bottom, I'm only 30. If I do that, I'll have to put a signature on my texts and then I might as well just check into assisted living. WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT? It's the fucking phone mentality. I'm not even sorry. 

Recently I posted a status about those dumb articles Moms write about shit nobody cares about. Sometimes they are literally about shit nobody cares about. I would like to address this whole " Mommy Culture" thing by dismissing it. Does that make sense? IT IS NOT A REAL THING. If you think it's a real thing, you need some guidance. Lucky you, here I am typing crazy on my phone. Think of it like this.....

People have been having children and raising them since, I honestly don't know when because I have no idea how old the Earth is. It's been a really fucking long time. Despite this 100% scientific fact that people have been around for an amount of time that is long AF, everyone these days seems to think they are the first person to ever have a kid. Not only that, they also think they can mess the kid up with one mistake while the whole world watches and laughs their asses off. This is just simply not true. 

Kids are great. Babies are greater. I like the pictures, I like hearing that a pregnant person had her baby, I like it all. Beyond the funny stories and cute pictures, I don't give a shit. I am not judging and I do not care.Give your baby a bottle of Mountain Dew if you want. I will whisper " What the fuck?" and go on with my day. Breastfeed your kid until he drives, I will have the same reaction. Moms need to stop pretending that everyone is watching, because literally nobody is watching unless you are being stalked which is awesome and you must have done a great job losing the baby weight for someone to obsess over you. Congrats.

Other thing. If we were never friends in life, I DO NOT WANT TO BE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE HAVE CHILDREN. I get it, parents have different lives than non- parents, but why do you need to have friends with exactly the same life as you? I have been the childless person who goes to their friend's house to watch Frozen 100 times just to spend time with them. I've also had a friend understandingly cut a dinner short when Caroline went apeshit for no reason. There is definitely some give and take for both parties involved, but we are all adults here. I want friends that I already know I like. Why the hell do moms think they need mom friends from the internet?  I will never befriend anyone just because they also have a 1 year old. Then drag Nick to hang out with the husband.......tf is wrong with people? Hard pass on that.

I feel like this was an extra angry rant. I think it's because I care less since I'm typing on a phone. I've had a lot of text message battles in my day, so maybe I'm carrying over that vibe. I like this vibe I feel a little bit Janice Dickinson. Worry about your own kids and do what works for you. You are doing the best you can. Nobody is judging except maybe your mom friends from the Internet. Ditch them, trust me they are used to it. 

* Please excuse mistakes, I'm on my phone.*

Don't Be THAT Mom.

I am 8 weeks away from having this baby. I can’t wait because I want to see what and who this kid is. Anyone who is newly pregnant or is thinking of becoming pregnant, I can’t urge you strongly enough to NOT find out what you are having. The wondering is the main factor getting me through these last 2 months.

I noticed when you ask other moms if they found out what they were having and the answer is “yes” they ALWAYS follow it up with “we wanted to prepare.” You don’t owe me an excuse. You can admit that you just couldn’t wait. I don’t believe the preparation BS for one second. You just WANTED TO KNOW. That is fine. Own it. I am surprised that I was able to do this without caving in. No excuses play like a champion.

Another thing I noticed about pregnant/new mothers is that they lie their heads off about everything. If I didn’t have the most honest friends and mother in the world, I wouldn’t know ANYTHING about all the gross shit that happens in pregnancy. Moms are SO obsessed with acting perfect. It’s so bizarre. NOBODY ENJOYS EVERY SECOND OF PREGNANCY. Want to know the things that have happened to me? My boobs leak. If I walk for more than 15 minutes it feels like I have balls. Recently I have these 10-15 minute insane streams of thought where I think I ruined my life by getting pregnant. I don’t like it when the baby hiccups for hours on end. My hips ache. I have trouble breathing when I exercise. I can’t really shave my legs at all. I have bacne. Want me to go on?

I guess I just don’t understand why mothers pretend that these things don’t happen. Is it for fear of seeming like a bad mother? Well guess what….you can post as many pictures of your happy baby on Facebook as you want….I know that one time his bottle burned his mouth. Or you let him sit in a shitty diaper for 2 hours before realizing it. Or he fell out of the swing. I am not saying post “OMG my kid drank anti-freeze” on the Internet for the world to see, but Jesus Christ, the amount of expecting and current moms judging one another and acting like they are perfect is sickening to me. I have no idea what I am going to do with this baby when it comes out, and that is perfectly fine. Right now, it drives around all day with me listening to Drake because I am white and 29. We will probably just continue doing that.  My baby will be just as great as yours.

I think my main point of all of this is that I am not a fan of pregnant and new mothers who are SUCH MOMS. Like…keep a little of your identity. If your biggest accomplishment is keeping your mom fails a secret so that you can judge others, you are the absolute worst. I may have a child, but I am not infallible. I am a mess. Kids need to see that their mothers are people with likes, and opinions and senses of humor. You can be an excellent mother without jamming a stick up your ass. From what I have seen, a lot of people opted for the stick.

Not Boring Post....I guess?

I write a lot considering how infrequently I post anything. I always think I have this great idea, start writing, lose focus and just end up with some piece of shit paragraph about how I drank 4 Gatorades in 2 hours (I did.) I am always afraid that my writing is so boring which I now realize is such a 2002 fear. We are living in Facebook time. People will read anything. Like...almost every day on my newsfeed there is a wordsearch that 4,965 people comment on saying the first 3 words they saw, so this blog definitely cant be the worst part of your day. I mean, it’s no “ Where would you have disintegrated in Hiroshima?” quiz, but I think it’s pretty OK.

As far as this baby goes, I honestly don’t have that much to report. The growing is constant. The cute, pregnant lady I had pictured that I would be for my entire life does not exist. I have always been giant and now I am just more giant. I am definitely not exploding like Jessica Simpson (I haven’t even eaten one PopTart with butter on it), but it is hard to be cute when you are 5’8 with a size 10 shoe to begin with. The enormous belly doesn’t help my lack of adorableness. In my next life I am coming back as one of those white, baby seals. Or the smallest, youngest member of the U.S. Olympic gymnastics team who steals America’s heart. Tiniest white seal in a leotard would be the best option.

One interesting thing is that we do not know if Baby Ray is a boy or a girl. For some reason this drives people to insanity. Everyone thinks that we absolutely must have a perfect pink or blue room ready for our legally blind bundle of joy that doesn’t know one thing about anything. Babies can’t see! Babies are so dumb! They also don’t really leave the house and do you want to know how I dress when I don’t leave my house? Wicked ugly.  Of course we are going to have a nursery for our baby and buy it nice, comfortable clothing, but I can’t see myself, 15 years down the road, sitting in family counseling because my kid didn’t have a “ Handsome Like Daddy” onesie smashed onto his body one minute after birth. That being said, I completely understand wanting to know what your baby is because I am so, so, so nosy and terrible by nature. But guess what?  I am always happy and I always click “like” when you announce your baby’s gender on Facebook, so just let me have my gray room filled with weird, beige bunny clothes. Thanks.

So, overall, I feel great. I still do my regular workouts (though a little modified) and I walk a few days a week. My boobs are so weird but I don’t want to talk about it. My appetite is low to normal with the occasional “ Eat like Magic Johnson’s son” day thrown in (watch Rich Kids of Beverly Hills.) My weight gain is actually low (in a good way, not a scary way) which I will casually mention to anyone who will listen until the day I die. My arms, face and neck have since depuffed from the pictures taken of me at my cousin Meg’s wedding when I was 12 weeks pregnant #blessed. Everything is good!

I apologize if reading this took time away from finding out what happens if you stare at 3 dots for 15 seconds and then look quickly at a picture of a donkey wearing a dildo on its head. Sometimes the best things come to those who wait.

The Bad and the Ugly

I am so blind. I can’t even read anything I type. I have to squint and pull on my eye to move my contact lens around, it’s awful. If my kid is blind I will know it is my fault and I will feel like a bad mother. Glasses babies are cute as hell, but to never know what it’s like to just wake up and SEE??? It’s unfair. Trust me. If I ever got stranded on an island or like, at the gas station one mile from my house, with no contacts or glasses….I would be dead. I would just flop down on the beach, or in the middle of Route 1, and will myself to death. I can’t put my kid through that.

Passing on bad traits to my child is something I think about a lot. I only need 5 minutes of silence to start thinking about death and diseases and tons of other tragedies, so 18 weeks has given me plenty of time to ponder all the ways my kid could suck. In fact, I even made a list.

 

1)      Blindness – As I said, glasses babies are cute. But once the baby turns into a kid who goes to school, anything a bespectacled child says is automatically a billion times more annoying than if a non-glasses kid says it. Think about it. Normal kid says “What is 2+3?” and you’re like “ 5…good question.” Glasses kid asks same question and you’re like “Whyyyy are you Urkel?” Major problem.

2)      Bossiness – Oh my God am I bossy. I will boss the living shit out of anyone. Do I have any idea when I’m doing it? Nope. I mean, I am 28 and I just kind of, sort of, started to realize that I am bossy because my brother Mike mentions it every 5 minutes. Who knows how many people hate me at this point, probably millions.

3)      Food Obsession – This speaks for itself. I could give birth to a fatty round head. Which leads me to…

4)      Round head…..again, self-explanatory.

5)      BAD AT MATH. SO BAD. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO BORROW. LIKE….IN SUBTRACTION…CAN’T DO IT.

6)      Loud – Don’t ask me if I know how loud I’m talking….I don’t.

7)      General Lack of Empathy – I don’t cry at Sarah McLachlan commercials. I would cry at a Sara McLaughlin commercial if she was in despair, but I don’t have the ability to really think beyond my circle. Don’t judge me, I’m not evil. I just am not like my sister who would cry over a dead chipmunk in South Korea. #blacksoul

 

I could go on, but I think I have made myself look bad enough. I guess I pose this question….is it normal to fear your bad traits may get passed to your kid? Another question…should I do a post of Nick’s bad traits? HA. I could have him write it about himself, but you wouldn’t get to read it until after my baby had already grown up with the roundest head, fattest body, F’s in math and the soul of a demon. Nick performs daily tasks at the same speed as the Queen of England.

I am the Mother of a 3 Inch Baby

It is a weird feeling when you realize that you are old enough for pregnancy to be a good thing. But here I am! Old, married, knocked up and there is nothing anybody can do about it. I still say knocked up even though I am pretty sure the father is my very own husband, Nick. And I still make jokes like that even though I am technically 3/10 of a mom and should be 3/10 on my way to a Subaru and a bowl cut. WELCOME TO YOUR WEIRD LIFE, LIL RAY RAY!!!!!

Finding out you are pregnant is really strange. You are so happy but also so confused even though the confusion doesn’t make any sense. I found out that I wasn’t the only one in the room in particularly bizarre fashion, too.  I don’t think that will surprise anybody. I had been feeling terrible and had extreme, supersonic level heartburn, so I decided a pregnancy test might be in order. I peed on the stick, looked at it for one second, saw one line and threw it out. The next day I saw it in the trash with 2 lines. I don’t even have the patience to focus for 3 minutes on a pregnancy test. I can’t wait to devote a million years to a child.

Telling Nick involved zero fanfare. I handed him the test and made a weird face. He was so elated which was cute because, again, I said I am PRETTY sure I know he’s the father. His instantaneous happiness brought me from my state of quiet panic into his world of blatant excitement and I returned his physically and proverbially giant smile with my normal sized one. Precious moments.

Currently I am nearing the end of my first trimester, which I hear is a good thing. I am so nauseated constantly and I can’t wait for the day when I can eat normally. There are several times every day where I feel my only two options are CheezIts or death. Having your life on the line so many times a day would be exhausting for anyone, let alone a mildly in shape pregnant girl with questionable sanity and morals.

For the most part I have been lucky. I have not vomited to the point where the vomit has actually left my body. My heartburn only feels like I swallowed dynamite sometimes. I get only 2-3 new pimples a day (could be like, 4.) The nausea is constant, but I can still function as long as I permanently look angry. And finally, I am only one week away from this supposed kick ass, wonderland called the 2^nd trimester. Oh, I forgot the worst symptom….I am SO short of breath all the time that people are scared of me. YES.

I hope to be able to post updates here and there, but for the love of God don’t hold me to any sort of schedule. I am not the first person on Earth to have a baby, so I don’t think that the details of my pregnancy are something you would be beating down the door for. Also, I can barely take out my one contact lens without a taking a water break and I am considering being Med Flighted somewhere after the amount of sweating this one post caused me. Low expectations lead to pleasant surprises.

In all seriousness though, I think you have to have a sense of humor in pregnancy and parenthood to get through it without turning into an awful person to be around. You can’t let becoming a mom change you into a boring idiot who is all of a sudden offended by everything. All jokes aside, we are so excited for this baby, but neither Nick nor I plan on changing who we are to become what some book says we should be. This baby will probably know 2 Chainz before it can even count to 2 and guess what…..it will turn out just fine.

Hopefully I post again before 2015. But don’t hold your breath. It scares people when you are gasping for air I’ve heard.

Typical Girl Award

For a good portion of my life, I was the same. I liked my comfort zone. I thought everything that I personally didn’t do was weird. So like, if you told me 6 years ago that you did karate I never would have spoken to you again and I would have told everyone you did karate while laughing. I was THE BEST.

I think that at age 16, I became sort of a “real person” (meaning I would probably not die or call Ms. Cleo for 2 hours if left alone for a day) and for approximately the next 8 years, I stayed that same exact person. The kind of person that only did things that could not possibly stir up any judgment from anyone; and also the kind of person who judged the shit out of everyone else. I didn’t try new food. I wore all the cool trends, even when the trend was low rider jeans and my muffin top was 50 inches wide. I drank vodka sodas at bars that I stood in line for an hour to get into. I ran for 45 minutes on the treadmill 5 days a week listening to Black Eyed Peas . Honestly, I can’t say for sure if at the time I thought I was happy, or if I just have embarrassment induced amnesia, but when I look back at that time period I wish I could go back and strangle myself with my Coach “wristlet.” The word “wristlet” is fucking ridiculous. And Coach isn’t really for white people anymore FYI.

In general, when I look back at my life so far, I feel like I wasted a lot of time trying to be cool. In my social circle, that meant having the newest clothes, going to popular bars, bragging about your cardio routine, eating grilled chicken wraps, and constantly being in head to head competition with your “best friends.” I ALWAYS lost in the “being the skinniest” department and still do. But the friends that I have now, some of them right out of this very group I speak of, have also given up on this weird, fake, race to be the best at being typical, and have become their own weird, awesome, selves. They would rather die than talk about running and compare clothes and we are usually too busy eating and laughing to do that anyways.

However you look at it, following the crowd sucks. All it does is make you so self conscious and jealous of the person who ate 2 less bites of her chicken wrap…..bitch. The sooner you figure this out the better it is going to be for you, just so you know. If you let this go on too long and become an old person running around trying to find yourself, everyone will judge you and this time you will deserve it. Get it together sooner rather than later. I am not saying how old “old” is so shut up.

My point in all this is that the Haley of today is way better than the Haley of yesterday. The Haley of Christmas past would never write this blog. I used to turn my papers in upside down in class so nobody could see my feelings. These days I am so full of public emotion and you freaks keep lining up for more. Likewise, I haven’t followed a fashion trend in 3 years and I get more compliments on my outfits than I ever did when I wore a “shrug” or a skinny pastel belt or giant hoop earrings that made me look like TBoz.I am in a competition with no one and it feels GREAT. Not to sound cliché, but you have to let your freak flag fly before it’s too late. Everybody is too worried about themselves to give a shit about how far you ran, how much your purse cost, or how well you described slitting your wrists in your black journal with a skull on it ( I am assuming that Emos have some sort of popularity scale as well), so just do what you goddamn want. You will thank me for this someday, but I probably won’t know what you are talking about.

                            

Here I am at " Hot Dog on a Stick" carrying around an eraser or 5 ants in my tiny wristlet. As you can see, I was someone to envy.

The title of this post was inspired by my uncle, George “Pilotwhale” Hayden. A great living example of rebelling against conformity…especially with his internet persona.

Extreme Danger...May Die Today

The other day I saw a post on Facebook that said something like “Even if a bitch aint one…99 problems is still a lot of fucking problems.” You know what? That’s like, REALLY true. I have approximately 4 problems, one of them being that I can’t find my favorite pair of tights, and I might kill myself at any moment. If I could slowly chip away at my problems until I had none, I would be as happy as Obama motorboating Blue Ivy at a Marxist themed luncheon. But even if I did manage to find my tights, stop watching the Kardashians for 5 hour stints, and get a record deal…I just don’t think there is anything I can do about my NUMBER ONE PROBLEM IN THE WORLD…coyotes. There are so many reasons that I hate coyotes that I think a list is the best way to go here….ughhh…I am ready to puke….

REASONS I HATE COYOTES

1) WTF is a coyote? Are you a wolf? Are you a fox? You know what…I don’t care what you are because I already know that you are FRICKEN DISGUSTING. Your face looks like the guy from Boardwalk Empire and your body looks like Mary Kate Olsen on all fours.


2) They are obsessed with me. If I am driving at any time other than the middle of the day, a Mary Kate will run right in front of my car looking all tense and freaky. If I am on my porch with my beautiful, little Millie, they are clomping around in the woods waiting to eat her and barf her up (bulimia.) I mean, I can’t even sleep with the window open without them banding together and yipping like one of those weird naked African tribes right outside my window. Once I saw one stand under a streetlight until I looked right at it and then it ran away. Dick.


3) I can’t do anything about them. You can’t shoot coyotes except for during a certain time of year and you can’t shoot within 500 feet of a house. So basically, you can all just pretend I have AIDS because eventually one of these assholes is going to maul me to death in my own yard. It just makes no sense to me that this predator is allowed to roam around and we can’t even get super drunk and shoot them out of our bedroom windows. I equate my current real life situation to the hypothetical scenario of being locked in a room with the Craigslist Killer. In this scenario, I am just sexy, awesome Haley and the Craigslist Killer is a psycho, scrawny murderer, but the big twist is that he is also “protected.” We have to live in this room together, and he has guns, knives, handcuffs, obviously his Red Sox hat, and he is incredibly ready to cut off my underwear and shoot me in the face. I, on the other hand, only have the option to sit there and wait to die. Think about that and tell me my life doesn’t suck.


4) Daisy Simpson.( Daisy Lachey?) Say what you want about big, fat Jessica….that dog was cute and a coyote ate it. That’s like, really sad.


5) NOBODY BELIEVES ME. I will admit, the amount of coyote encounters that I have is bizarre, BUT IT’S THE F*CKING TRUTH. At least once a week I see a coyote, and at least once every other night I hear them. I come running inside and say “ I just saw 2 coyotes in the street!!!!!” thinking that it’s a big deal and we should call 911. Nick just stares at the TV and lets the Peruvian drug lord with the blurred out face finish his interview and then says “ It was probably a squirrel.” OK maybe I have more problems than I thought.


I hope this post clearly explains to you all that I am in severe danger. If anyone has any coyote advice, I need it. In the meantime, I have been noticing that a lot of my Facebook “friends” don’t really seem to have their acts together at all, and I have a job for one lucky lost soul. You can be my coyote bodyguard in exchange for life/wardrobe advice. We will have such a great time and it can be our little secret. That’s a lie, I don’t keep secrets.

I cant figure out how to attach photos! Sorry! I am a big idiot.

Here I Am!!!!

I decided to come back with a bang. I want to talk about politics. Well, I should rephrase that. I want to talk about how I want to punch Uncle Sam in the dick when people blow up my newsfeed with political bullshizz. You all need to stop that. Facebook is for judging people who have babies out of wedlock, not summarizing congressional hearings. How people haven’t figured this out by now is beyond me, but it’s a damn good thing I am here to set you all straight.

The first issue that I have with posting about politics on Facebook is that it’s BORING. I am not saying that paying attention to politics is boring because I think it’s important to be informed, but nobody cool is reading your stupid article about how Al Gore has a tiny penis. I might read that.

Aside from being boring, posting about politics creates problems. It almost always starts some 45 comment long chain of 2 people (Nick Ray and faceless individual) going back and forth and hating each other at the end. And while the two debaters hate each other at the end, everyone else wants to murder them around comment #3. Get a grip. Post about cats.

Another thing that really grinds my gears is that the people who post about politics are usually posting something negative. “Obama sucks, Scott Brown sucks”…you know something YOU suck. Be positive or be canceled from my newsfeed and trust me you DON’T want that. If I hide your updates because you are sitting there smiling like an asshole and posting articles about how Ron Paul farted on Tuesday, I am not going to see when you actually post something good and leave you an awesome comment. Suck on that.

I think what people don’t realize is that when they try to post articles making an entire political party look ignorant, THEY are the ones who look ignorant. You can’t generalize like that. Some people vote the way their parents vote and don’t care to question it. Some people are followers, go to college and become super crazy liberals that even regular liberals hate. Some people vote based on what the president looks like. Most people don’t vote at all, so why can’t we just be happy that some people actually put down the crack pipe and go to the polls in the first place. I put that crack pipe down and never looked back. Maybe I looked back a few times. But for real, if you really want to post about politics so bad that you might die, why don’t you just invent politicsbook.com and don’t f*cking invite me to be on it? Yay!

I know I might have just left a lot of you thinking “ OMG..what should I post about if I can’t bore everyone with the details of Elizabeth Warren’s pap smear?” but don’t fret my pets. You can always post about the following topics: Chipotle, marine mammals, JonBenet Ramsey, most shows on TLC and anything to do with Precious. Those always get a guaranteed “Like” from your very favorite blogger.

Welcome back to myself!

Reflections of the Traveling Pants

I know that I have been ignoring my blog. I really am sorry about it too, because I know what its like when a website that you check all the time stops being interesting. I have a rotation of sites I visit that includes, Facebook, People.com, Craigslist (missed encounters m4w and pets), and my gmail. I would be absolutely pissed if people stopped putting up posts to find “ women in ford Explorir looking hot on root 9,” so I get why you are mad. I have been doing a lot of traveling which cuts into my time to write, but creates so many chances for reflection. So I will reflect. This is me reflecting on variety of topics...

Anthropology

There are no black people in Wyoming. Not one. Also, there are no black people in Iowa. I don't really know what would happen if one showed up, but now that Hootie is a country singer, we should be finding out any day! I can't wait!


Cuisine

You cannot get a black iced coffee in any state in the Midwest. You can make your own black iced coffee at gas stations in the South, but in the South there is an invisible line between normal suburbs and the ghetto and you NEVER know when you cross it. You can be driving along looking at white picket fences and before you know what is happening you are surrounded by 3 legged dogs and Cutlass Supremes with 24 inch rims. Be selective about where you purchase your self service coffee when you are below the Mason Dixon.

Also, the best food in the world is in the Northeast. We are so spoiled here in Boston with delicious Italian food and fresh seafood and Big Jim Melanson. I mean maybe you can get some good BBQ in the south and tons of corn in Iowa, but the staples (burgers, breakfast, anything Italian, margaritas) are the best right here in New England.

Exercise

Working out alone sucks. I have worked out alone in hotel gyms as well as hospital gyms. I have visited two other CrossFit gyms, and all the people have been just as nice as they are at my gym. Not as weird or as loud, but just as nice. Also, despite popular belief, other CrossFit gyms are not places where every single athlete is elite and better than you. In fact, they are absolutely full of fatties and weaklings and geriatrics. You're a star!


Hotels

Hotels are f*cking disgusting. I dont touch the comforter and try as hard as possible to not walk around barefoot. They all bake cookies and think that it makes up for the fact that 16 homeless men had an orgy on the comforter that you are now cuddling up to your face. The clickers are covered in all kinds of disease carrying fluids.

Hotels are also lonely and sometimes scary. For some reason, I always find myself at hotels that are also occupied by large groups of traveling construction workers ( I dont even know.) They drink Miller Lites in the parking lot and stare at me with their dirty fingernails and poorly wiped asses. A nice reminder again, of who/what was wrapped up in my blankets before I checked in.




Air Travel

Oh here is where the fun starts. Where should I begin. First of all, a plane ride is a bad time to breastfeed. There are pumps for that shit. Bring a bottle. Especially when you are in the middle seat and I am in the window seat with a bladder full of my last black coffee for 5 days. Get a grip.

Second, if you know you are a loud breather, dont travel. I cant deal with it. I can only wear headphones for so long before the insides of my ears hurt and then I am forced to listen to you breathing like an asshole. Just stay home if you cant control the volume of your nostrils.

Third, dont eat on the plane if you chew like a donkey wearing a mouth guard. Thats all I will say about that.

Finally (and most importantly) if you are over the age of 6, take all your giant shits before you get on the plane. Adults should know their schedule. I stand FIRMLY by my belief that unless you have food poisoning, a stomach flu, or took 15 laxatives, you should know what time you usually have to go. No adult should ever have to be at a party and take a crap. Or on a plane. Or at a beerfest ( I got into a fight in a port-a-potty line over this.) Its just RIDICULOUS that any adult would expect me to believe that their shits sneak up on them at any possible time. I will never change my mind on this. F*ckin people.


And there you have it. This is what I have learned from traveling the country. Wyoming is awesome. Iowa is not so awesome. South Carolina is similar to Brockton. Planes suck. Hotels usually suck. I wish I had some more worldly things to say, but I don't. I drove all the way to Yellowstone and didn't have any money to get in. I think that sentence is a wonderful analogy for my whole life.


SEE?????