My Thighs Need Their Own Zip Codes – Winter Hibernation Fat Blues

This post is brought to you by the letters P, M, and S.

While being on a “You did something reeeetarded to your back and are not allowed to do any upper body” work out plan, and having my new terminator back on backorder (hey Billy-bob, how about you hop to it, and jump to the future and steal one)… I’ve begun to expand. Like a balloon. Filled with donuts. And bacon.

In other words… There’s a lot of pants I can suddenly no longer fit. I’ve gone from curvy, to “oh my God what are you hiding in your pants?! 2 watermelons?!” (Soft watermelons? Mushy watermelon booty?) My buttocks need backup lights. My thighs are like small toddlers hanging onto my bones. I’m not positive I could pass my military weight test right now. And that’s the first time in over 10 years. Muthafrack me with a pickup truck.

I don’t trust my back anymore. My knees are somewhat shady also. They are plotting to have me fall in front of people looking like a bloated floppy manatee. Stupid back. You suck. At life.

Forget going on a date right now, I’m ashamed of myself. And it takes a lot for that to happen. I mean, I can out weird myself, out gross myself, but hardly ever is self shame. Seriously, my brainwaves are usually more fun than a bucket of monkeys (robot ninja monkeys that I plan to amass for an army, and one day take over the world).

The hibernation fat is just making me doubt myself all the time. It’s like my mental control board got stuck somehow on “PMS Mode Activate”. For anyone that says severe PMS doesn’t exist, go choke yourself with a science book. I’m insane-er during super PMS time, but FGS (Fat Girl Syndrome) has taken this to an alternate reality. I’m unhappy with how tight my pants fit, which makes me want chocolate to cure my fat heartache, and then I’m sad all over again because I just inhaled a chunky slice of chocolate cake and can feel myself expanding! Vicious cycle. On top of that, if I want to take the pain medicine, I can’t take it on an empty stomach. Well, I CAN… But one day I’m sure all the Motrin 800 I pop will catch up with me.

A work friend says cut out bread. But bread is so nummy. Especially toasted with lots of margarine, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Someone else said cut out dairy. But, but, ice cream! And cheese. And milk for my Lucky Charms!

Awww, SHITtake mushrooms. I’m screwed 6 ways til Sunday aren’t I?

Advertisements

Adult Students that Cry Deserve Throat Punches

I had a student cry yesterday, after they sucked big blue donkey berries. There were some more tears today as a couple more failed, and even some happy tears. I’m saying… just no military bearing. You know, it may sound sick, but in the regular military world without the teaching, I took great pride when I made a troop cry. Not because I’m sadistic or anything… Seriously!!! I’ve just always looked at it as that I gave my troops tough love. And all the good ones have always come back to thank me for it.

It’s not the same when those troops are failing students and I’m crushing their dreams like a bully slapping the ice cream out if your hand. “No nom-nom for YOU!” It’s so frackin depressing when you know that they have had this dream to be a great somebody and it’s just gone… With a flick of my mechanical pencil. Now does that mean I feel like looking at the little buggers crying– uh, that’s a big heck no Billy-bob. (Shhh, Billy-bob is a new voice in my head. Trying to make him feel welcome). No, I feel completely out of sorts because I want to say to them what I tell my son and previous troops when they start with the waterworks: fix your face and get your punk self together.

To me, showing weakness like that doesn’t make me feel like you’re a strong person. In fact, it makes me feel like you’re looking for sympathy. And frack that! If you want to one day take my job, take my place and become the next up and coming Soldier/Sailor/Airman/Marine, you don’t show me weakness. Keep it together until you step out of my office. I mean, this is the classroom. If you’re falling to pieces here, what the frack are you gonna do in the desert sandbox when someone is shooting at you? But I can’t say all that. Or I can, but I have to word it a bit nicer, and hand them tissues. Sigh. This is one side of the teaching thing I didn’t really expect. Irritation at the weak butts.

I want a Cabbitt, and I Poop Butterflies – Deep thoughts ¯\(°_o)/¯

So this anime I’m watching (Xam’d: Lost Memories… I love NETFLIX) has frackin cabbits on it! They call them neko-gibberish-something or other, but daggone-it they are cat rabbits!

Sigh… Why didn’t God make cabbits? The funny thing is rabbits on their own are seriously evil beasts to me. Cats I love, as they have my psycho random personality.

Anyway, subject change… Unless you can get me a daggone cabbit… work is hard. Its stressing me out man!

I have a public speaking fear. And I’m a teacher. Of adults. I begged for this job. WTF is WRONG with me?!!! Seriously, if the dry mouth that takes my full lips and wraps them around me teeth, well if that doesn’t kill me at my job, then the butterfly poop will.

What in the heck you talkin’ bout D? Well this… Before every class, I start getting the nervous nellies, my hand gets shaky  and I get butterflies in my stomach. But the son of a donkey butterflies aren’t just doing back-flips and keg stands in my stomach… These bastards are trying to find a way out. So pretty much, less than an hour before teaching, I HAVE to let them fly out… My butt. The saying BG’s or Bubble Guts, is now considered Butterfly Guts to me.

And of course, I’m military, so I have discussed this with coworkers. It’s a frackin epidemic! Many instructors have to release the butterflied beasts from their cage just like me. At least I know I’m normal… Well normal in my group of abnormal people.

My son just says that it the most disgusting thing he’s heard… From me… This week.

Meh, it’s still early.

On a whole different subject, I found out that an emoticon I use for my WTF face: O_o actually apparently means drunk. I find this funny and disturbing in some ways. Especially if I think about all the Facebook and texts I’ve added that darn thing in!