I can't exchange these genes...darn it.

I recently decided it would be a good idea to get a body composition test done. I work out regularly and I thought it was time to see where I was at and what I needed to do to improve. So I got weighed, hooked up, and a couple of minutes later my printout was ready. It was a little depressing, only because I work out pretty hard and I still wasn't quite in the "good" zone for body fat percentage. Wtf? I looked at the "excellent" percentages and figured that those were just a pipe dream and I don't smoke. The test did confirm my long held suspicion that my metabolism sucks. It turns out my basal metabolic rate is something like 1400 calories, which is less than what they tell people to eat who are trying to diet. So that means I basically have to diet to not gain weight, and in order to lose weight I have to work out like a maniac and only eat green beans. Fabulous. So all you naturally skinny bitches out there - take a moment to thank whatever deity decided to bless you with great genes and then go eat a brownie...just because you can. Lucky motherf-ers.

She works hard for the money

If you're a woman (and I'm assuming the vast majority of you are) and you've never been to a strip club then I think you should go. And I'm not talking about dude strip clubs (those are a bit harder to find anyways). My friends and I went on a whim one night. It was very embarrassing. We went to a dingier place (definitely more typical of what you'd find in Iowa). It was definitely an eye-opening experience for me. For example, I learned what "sniffer's row" was and why it held that title (for those of you who don't know it's the row of seats closest to the stage and I don't think I need to explain the title, eew). I also didn't know that for $1 a stripper would literally shove the guys face between her boobs and start rubbing, and for $5 you could get a lapdance or go behind the black curtain (I never did make it back there). I guess I was surprised at how physical it actually got. Honestly, it pissed me off. We talked to some of the strippers (while studiously avoiding looking at their giant breasts that were staring at us). They were all nice and curious as to why we were there (I think they were hoping to do a lapdance, I would imagine it's more fun and less threatening to dance for another woman). I was disappointed in the lack of pole dancing. I expected it to be like Demi Moore and have the girls coming tearing across the stage, ripping their costumes off and flying around the pole in some cool leg manuver that I could never do. Instead they mostly walked, er, slinked around the stage, I think due in large part to the HUGE heels they had to wear (seriously, I would have broken my ankle in those things). There was one girl who flipped around the pole and we made sure to applaud and cheer her on. I was also surprised by the number of couples there. See, that I don't mind. I think whatever you do as a couple to enhance your sex life is your own business and nobody else has the right to say what's weird and what's normal. So, if your gal wants boobs in her face and that turns the both of you on I say go ahead and get out your dollar. The married men that frequent strip clubs on a regular basis, well that just creeps me out. I always tell TGD, you want boobs in your face all you have to do is ask.

B.O.B

Alright alright already. So my sister's gettin' on my case about not blogging. Well, I've been tired and busy, neither of which conditions are conducive to blogging. When I'm tired my brain is mush and my loyal readers deserve nothing but the best (I know some of you just snickered "this is her 'best?!'" Well screw you, I never claimed to be an intellect or an English major, so this crappy writing is what you get. I'm all about mediocrity. See, I don't even think I spelled that right. And when I just typed 'right,' the first time I wrote 'write.' So just be thankful that I can make any sense at all). blah blah blah who cares. Okay, on to the real topic of the post...finally...
So this weekend was my thrice-annual Girls Weekend. It's when I get together with my best friends from high school (there are 7 of us) and we hang out at somebody's house and do wacky things. We've done things like wearing wigs and going to a strip club (ooh, another topic for a future post), dressing up in 80s costumes and roller skating, going dancing and almost getting in a fight (okay, that was me, but that little college bitch had it coming!), and other more non-remarkable things that women do when getting together (you know, shopping, eating, talking all hours of the night, playing the American Idol video game, what have you). Well this time we had a "Pure Romance" party. All of us thought it would be fun because we have absolutely no secrets from one another, and at 30 years old (and all married 5+ years) we're all interested in anything that could improve our sex lives (okay, this is the part where all you prudes need to quit reading). Anyways, I was pleasantly surprised at how much we all enjoyed it. It was really fun. We got to take goofy pictures with all the toys (the big purple "Mr. Dependable" was my favorite, only because it had a suction cup on it which made "fridge boner" possible along with all sorts of raunchy jokes). I also had my first taste of rocky road lube. It was pretty good but I honestly think lube is like bathroom spray - you spray to cover the smell but it ends up just smelling like "vanilla poo." Well, the same thing happens with lube - it just ends up tasting like "rocky road balls." But I did like the smell of the flavors versus the plain lube. Plain lube smells like I'm about to have my yearly check-up. Not really the mood I want when getting intimate. There were some toys that were pretty funny. One that really weirded me out was the bullet vibe, only because if you had your legs closed it could buzz right up them to your cooter. It reminded me of that SNL skit "Woomba, the feminine hygiene robot." And I'm not really a fan of remote control vibrators - wouldn't that be awkward with the cord getting in the way? However, I did manage to find a few things, none of which I'm going to tell you, dear reader, because the circle of trust has been broken (see Small Town Living).

gut rot

I swear I look 5 months pregnant right now. My gut is this huge bloated thing just sticking out, trying to get in the way of my hands as I type this post on my laptop (which is, well, sitting on my lap of course). I think it's still growing, eventually getting so big as to flop over onto the keyboard. I'm going to have to push the blubber off to the side so as to continue this post. Ugh. It's a living thing, an entitity in of itself. And right now it's this horrible fire-breathing monster trying to ruin my life. See, it's punishing me for my earlier food digressions at card blub, I mean club. Make it stop! I'm sorry I had that slice of cheesecake when I was already full, and that extra bowl of snack mix during that last hand - that had "mistake" written all over it. I won't even get into the nuts. I knew from the get-go what those would do to me later. But did I stop? Did I at any time have any control over myself? Hell no! My only goal when faced with such an appetizing array of goodies was to see how much I could possibly fit into my stomach without puking. I have no control over myself when it comes to food. I go right up to the line between "full" and "so stuffed I might vomit." So now here I am, miserable once again from eating way too much. Apparently I don't learn the lesson that my gut tries to teach me everytime this happens.

a serious post to match my serious picture

I read a book on my vacation (in one day because that's ALL I did...*sigh*) called "The Adultery Club." Of course it was chick lit (is there any other kind of lit?) but I thought it was good and somewhat thought provoking. It's about a married couple dealing with an affair (probably figured that one out already) but the interesting thing is that it's told from all three perspectives - that of the wife, husband, and skanky beeatch...I mean mistress. The funny thing was I knew what was going to happen but when that moment came I still got majorly pissed off and wanted to rip the husband's balls off. But when push came to shove the book had a good message in the end. I really tried to get TGD to read it but he wasn't too interested (he's not much of a "reader" unless it involves some medical crap, which I'm sure all of his patients appreciate). Anyways, a friend of a friend of mine recently went through all this so we had been discussing the whole cheating thing for a while now. At first her husband seemed like he was going to leave her but in the end I think they decided to try to work it out and get counseling. Personally, I don't think I would ever have to worry about TGD. He's the most steadfast guy I know, I don't think he could EVER do that to his kids (he lives for those girls) and I'm pretty sure he's still happy being with me (most days). Some people might consider that naive but I don't think I am. I mean, we've talked about it, I've considered the "what if" scenarios, but I don't ever let myself start doubting. I guess I'd rather be totally blindsided than paranoid

When did this happen?

I went out to a couple clubs while in Mexico. I love to go dancing and rarely get the opportunity to, so I tarted myself up a bit and went out. I was feeling pretty sexy (which doesn't happen very often) until I got to the clubs and realized the majority of the population was much younger than me. I was surrounded by young women with their pre-marriage/pre-baby bodies, wearing their mini-dresses and short shorts. So after a bit my sex-goddess high was gone and in it's place was an old bitter hag who wanted to tell all those girls "just you wait honey! You'll get yours! (insert maniacal laugh here)". So what I want to know is, where are the clubs for people my age? Where's the club where you have to be 30 to get in and they're still going to play good music and not all 80s classics? I don't think one exists. If you know of such a place be sure to clue me in.

TMI

I just read my last post to my husband (who couldn't believe I was actually going to blog about my yeast infection) and after listening to the whole thing he said "What's TMI? Too much intercourse?" I found this hilarious and then went on to explain that's it means Too Much Information. Thought I'd clarify that for any of you thinking along the same lines (although probably not since I'm pretty sure he's the only dude that reads this, and only a dude would turn the I into Intercourse).

Baking bread

Hola mis amigos! I'm back! I had an enjoyable trip and I have tan, peeling skin to prove it. I also have a nice little yeast infection thanks to the antibiotics I had to take to kill the bacteria I somehow ingested (that should mollify a few of you jealous bitches out there that were left behind). I haven't had a yeast infection in a long time (what, TMI? Um, there's no such thing on my blog so unless you don't want to hear the gritty details of my life you might want to check out some other do-gooder blog out there). I have eaten yogurt, taken the pills and it's still driving me f-ing crazy! This is one of those times when I really really hate having a vagina. I tried to stay home as much as possible today so as to avoid the "itchy-crotch" walk/dance that one must do so as not to itch themselves in public (this is also known as the "I have a wedgie and I'm trying to work it out using the force of my butt cheeks alone" walk). Now, if I were a guy I'd just scratch myself whenever necessary and not think twice about it, but since I am a girl and thus have a more delicate sense of propriety (not much but it's there) I would be forced to do the funny walk or be rushing to the bathroom every 15 minutes. Frickin yeast.