6 Fairweather Labels We’re Over

To some extent, everyone identifies with some type of label. Whether the label is degrading or uplifting, politically correct or incorrect, somewhere in the world a label is waiting for you. Naturally, said labels are also served with a massive, Thanksgiving portion of stereotypes. Thanks to kids these days with their murder and texting* treading lightly is of the utmost significance in handling these labels. Keeping the peace and not telling people how we actually feel is, after all, the basis of American culture.


But it’s not so cut and dry anymore. Back in my day when I was a squirt watching Tales from the Crypt and eating Gushers, labels had 1 meaning. You either were something or you weren’t. Accordingly, you either liked that person for their beliefs for being different or the same as yours or you wanted to bash their head in with a can of Aqua Net. Plain, simple and to the point. We all understood that when you associated with a label, way of life, or belief there was no “fine print” that came with it.

Until now.


I have loads of friends and family who identify as vegetarian for various reasons. Some dislike meat’s sinewy texture, others do it for health-related reasons, and others are animal advocates whose hearts break at the thought of chewing the calf equivalent of Bambi. But some vegetarians don’t make it so simple for the rest of us.

“Yeah, I’m a vegetarian but can I have some of your $10 salmon? Well, I’m a pescetarian.”

Um…it’s not an astrological sign. You either eat meat or you don’t, PERIOD. The modern vegetarian has made it nearly impossible for the carnivores to determine an acceptable dinner menu to serve your indecisive ass.


Understand you, I don’t. It’s not to say that I don’t get you and your beliefs. I just mean that I literally don’t get it. What are the rules? I feel like it changes daily. How can you live in American and be vegan? If I don’t invite you over for dinner, would you be offended? Right when I think I’ve caught a vegan eating a wild animal, they assure me rabbits are totally fine. I kind of think this is a secret society…




I used to identify as “agnostic” when I wasn’t ballsy enough to tell everyone I don’t believe in God so I get it. You’re not really sure what you believe but you believe in Yoda or some higher power that tells you it’s your destiny to eat that cupcake. But much like your first semester in college, just claim “undecided.” It helps the rest of us know whether or not we can tell the PIC jokes in front of you or behind your back.

Green People

Not martians, people who go ape shit for a burlap purse with which to sling their home-grown vegetables in. These people literally kill me. Going green is not a fad or phase, just ask pretty much all of Europe. Having those fun Publix grocery bags that are reusable only make you green if you use them…every time. I can’t deal with the lecture some of them feel obligated to blather on about as they scream at me from their Hummers. Surely every little bit helps but don’t scour at me when I hydrate with a Dasani and you can’t even spell Prius.



Self-Proclaimed Nerds

It is my belief that if you have to “self-proclaim” yourself anything, you’re probably not. That’s like telling people you’re a self-proclaimed bj specialist. Do you think Jenna Jameson has to let people know she’s good at that? The same is true for this new wave of “nerds” taking over our great nation. Non-prescription glasses and plaid does not a nerd make nor does corresponding hash tags. Speaking in binary and thoroughly enjoying the thrill of building a computer, now we’re talking.

Sports Enthusiasts

This is not targeted at fans who have no effing clue what’s going on because as I’ve come to learn, that’s more people than you think. Not to mention, sports in this great country includes the experience of the event. But what kills me are those that swear by the Falcons or pray to the Manchester United gods during playoffs, only. Where were you the rest of the year? Where were you when Matt Ryan needed you in game two and you were too busy not knowing who Matt Ryan is? Being a part of the party is fine but then you’re just a party-goer who happens to like the color red, not a fan.

This isn’t meant to deter you from experiencing all that life has to offer and establishing new interests. It is meant to encourage you to know what the hell you’re talking about though.


*My sister is 100% to thank for this phrase and it should be known this is her doing, not my wit.

Read More

Tanking Energy Levels

When were my preschool teachers going to tell me my youthful energy would quickly wear? Better yet, when were they going to forewarn me it would happen far before menopause or retirement? At 26, I feel this information would have been entirely more helpful than cursive.



Possibly the most infuriating part of becoming an adult is finding things out that seemingly no one cared to mention. I’m nearing my 27th birthday and still refer to men and women as guys and girls. I still don’t consider myself an adult and still look aspire to “be something special when I grow up.” So please tell me why the eff I am exhausted at a century old?


When the days are filled with chaos at work and clients are demanding erroneous things, I feel like someone hit my face with an iPad. Alternatively, when I exert minimal effort doing actual work and peruse Pinterest for the length of an American work day, said feeling continues to set in. Sometimes I attempt to outsmart my exhaustion by caffeinating hard, like really hard, like why can I hear my cells moving hard? By then my computer screen is shaking and that makes me tired. What about a workout you say? They give you so much energy and make you feel amazing, you say? Unless I missed a trick that the rest of the active world is doing, working out exhausts me beyond belief. I sleep great and don’t get night sweats from the day’s carb-loading but I pass out at an embarrassing hour.


When the weekly grind is done and clients are no longer harassing me, I’m free to gallivant around in the nude until ungodly hours. False. The nudity is still rampant, of course, but I am still tired. Every weekend I sleep in until 9 or later after having gone to bed between 11p – 1a. As long as I have no interfering plans or I schedule my day around the priority that is my nap, Husband Face and I kill 2 hours of sleep around 3p – 5p. Coffee is guzzled and yet 11p arrives like a period; unexpected, loathed and painful to get through. Married to a sleep anomaly, I’m convinced that “you slept so long today you should easily be able to stay up until 2a watching South Park and giggling with me.” Maybe he doesn’t suggest giggle fits but they occur and are a treasured experience. Each weekend I have to suggest an excuse as to why I couldn’t hack it:

Friday night – I’m tired from the work week as a whole

Saturday night – I think the coffee wasn’t strong enough this afternoon and I worked out.

Sunday night – I need to get a good night sleep for the work week.


Despite my frequent and constant need to sleep, there is one scenario that defies all of my sleep logic. When I have been called upon to rage. Going out significantly less than my 20-year old self, it should make zero sense that I could hang until sunrise. But for some unexplained reason, the party fairy sprinkles her magical dust (this is not a drug reference) and I become a figure comparable to Frank the Tank.



Countless girls’ weekends have ended with people being genuinely shocked at my “abilities,” coupled with slight respect and possible fear. Yet, when the adrenaline of strip clubs and vodka sodas eventually wear, I find myself spending much of the following week being….you got it! TIRED!


Because we live in the land of the free and the home of the brave, it wouldn’t be fair to ignore a possible diagnosis. According to WebMD.com, it’s possible I am tired because of how much I exercise, what I’m eating and how much I sleep. I’m pretty sure these 3 are true if they are “not enough” but we are well aware I sleep as much as a koala, I eat…oh, I eat and the exercise depends on how tight my jeans are but is regular.

Thanks to process of elimination (another fine skill my teachers paid little attention to honing but came in great handy), I’ve ruled the “top 3 reasons for fatigue” out.

Because it’s WebMD, that now means I am possibly:

  • Anemic
  • Deficient in key nutrients
  • Thyroid reject
  • Diabetic
  • Depressed
  • Sleeping problems due to sleep apnea
  • Heart disease

While none of those hit the nail on the head as I hoped they would, I am now depressed at the possibilities and fearful to eat cookies. As always WebMD, thank you for your guidance.


Read More

Becoming a Millennial

The millennials really fucked everything up for everyone. Left and right, people too young to rent a car are running multi-million dollar companies. What Kool-Aid did they get and why the hell was I not invited to that happy hour?

The foundations of our workforce were built in a time where having a long-term job with a stable company meant plenty of Wonder bread and Crisco to feed the family. Things like a 40-hour work week, 1-hour lunch breaks, not conducting business on the weekend and never on precious Sunday were created. Clearly, past generations weren’t planning on an Atheist population to exist.

But what if you’re not a millennial spending your Friday nights building alogrithms for the next social media craze? What if you missed the generational wonder and are a product of the 70s or 80s? Does hard work even matter anymore or do we all look pathetic for not having started a business?

While I have my fair share of gripes about the millennials, they are an anomaly to take notice of. Is it their “fuck you” attitude that makes the prime candidates to take a business risk? Do they have genius ideas because the rest of us just deal with sending a regular photo to a friend that lasts a lifetime rather than a dick pick that gets deleted in 10-seconds?  Pretty sure Snapchat was funded by politicians…

There is no one thing that defines a millennial with the exception of the time in which they were born. I only narrowly escaped this  horrid fascinating generation by a few years. I was born in 1988 and still understand the value of manners and busting your ass to reach your goals. I moved out when I was 18, you know, when you’re supposed to. I balanced school, work and an avid social life and never managed a DUI. I didn’t wait for people to praise me for my work ethic, I just paid thousands of dollars for universities to send me a degree to confirm that. When I fucked up my parents told me I did and that I needed to fix it.

If you were built on the same values but massively envy what appears to be shear luck of milllennial success, let’s hang out. Also, continue to read.

Why Millennials Succed

  • They don’t know any better – the older you are or the more you know, rather, the more you have to lose. You know what it means to fail and to fail hard. Psychology has a lot to do with success and if you don’t associate yourself with failure, you’re likely to succeed.
  • They see the solution to your problem -  our generation and those before us are satisfied and grateful for what we have and as the old saying goes “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” Wrong. If it’s working fine, figure out a way to make it better, faster, stronger ( Thank you Kanye West) and the masses will love you for it.
  • They are impatient – another useless saying we were raised on is “patience is a virtue.” Millennials don’t have time to be patient when there are Coachella’s to go to. The desire or need to get results needs to happen as fast as possible. This could be mistaken for tenacity but because we’re talking about millennials they get impatient.
  • They don’t stress over a plan –  it’s safe to say they don’t stress at all but they definitely don’t stress over making a plan. Getting started immediately on the little things that add up to the bigger picture can shave months off the process. Not to mention, not having to visualize the steps it will take to reach their goal and doubting their success, they press on and complete what they can each day.

The true value in mastering these skills isn’t just throwing on some high-waisted shorts and starting a business. It’s being able to balance the enviable traits of old-school America with the annoyingly enviable traits of new-school America. You’ll set yourself apart from the dicks not knowing how to write a check or host a dinner party. You’ll also be able to thrive in the habitat of the most hated generation.

Read More

Progress Pics

At the end of the day, we are affirmation-seeking peeps who just want to be cuddled and told how wonderful we are. With the technological advancements in social media, we are now able to gain this need from our friends, family and complete stalker creeps adoring strangers.
When Facebook first started, posting pictures of you and your friends taking shots was completely acceptable. Over time, however; we started posting pictures of ourselves “taking solo shots in the hizzy before the biffles gets here #whitegirldrank.”


These selfies now include super ripped pictures of the insanely active individuals of the world.

“I can count my abs on two hands now! #selfie #nofilter #rippedsonofabitch”

“Hittin’ the gym for the 2nd time today. Dedication = smokin’ bod #selfie #nofilter #protein”

While I love salivating over a good progress picture for inordinate amounts of time, is it considered “faux pas” to showcase yourself to the world? If the ones who had a 4-pack last week and a 6-pack today can do it, can’t the rest of us post a cellulite/no cellulite pic from time to time?

The answer is YES! But under these conditions…

1. You may post a progress photo if their is visible progress. This would exclude pictures of your new lulu lemons, new shoes, pouty face with a new headband or anything else that has zero to do with your actual body.

2. You may post unrelated pictures occasionally. I get it. You dropped $80 on some new gear and want to show it off. That’s perfectly fine but please don’t exploit your name brand ways. It makes the rest of us feel like shit and only talk shit that you don’t actually work out because you’re busy taking photos. You get some freebies but use them sparingly.

3. You may post a before and after photo is your before is you looking terrible and your after is you in gym clothes. We don’t need to see you looking 5lbs heavier on the left and out at “duh club” looking trim but drunk, on the right. The point is to show your dedication to your body, not to the nightlife.


4. You may post a progress photo if you’re doing something a-typical. Proud that you can sit in the Crow position for 7 minutes and enjoy a tea? Snap a photo and Instagram that shit! Even if your body hasn’t changed on the outside, yet, show us what you’ve conditioned yourself to do 20 manly push-ups! I currently “like” I See Fit People on Facebook and one of the 3 people who run that page does 50+ burpees all the time and every time I see the update, I’m filled with rage motivated to hit the gym.

 The whole point of posting progress pictures is that you feel so confident in yourself you don’t care who sees it and of course await the compliments you believe you deserve. As with anything though, keep it in moderation or there will absolutely be an “I Hate Fit People” page started in your honor.


Read More


I’m back in grad school which means fewer blog posts. I sincerely apologize but I’m pretty confident that due to my moment of idiocracy in signing up for a class located at the campus 3 hours from here, I won’t be as busy as I had planned.

The gym is officially 100% part of my life again and has been since my breakdown mid-October. I still have days where I feel like skipping a cardio session to cuddle on the couch and be a complete waste of humanity but they are much fewer than before. Getting into a new schedule has actually been fun. I know that sounds entirely insane but I always enjoy getting back into a new routine after some time off because I have a significant amount of determination to hit the weights harder or eat a little cleaner.
A part of me thinks my meltdown was necessary because I have never felt better than I do in this moment. My diet is as clean as I could and would like it to be while still indulging from time to time, my gym time is maximized and never wasted and the work is paying off. I actually called my mom this evening to ask her if we can have asparagus for my birthday dinner tomorrow because I am craving it. Craving asparagus?! I have seriously had an awakening.


But….this blog post wouldn’t be complete or me without a big but(t). What the hell is up with the asymmetry of my body?! I once heard that beauty can be defined by the amount of symmetry in a person’s face. Considering I get a lazy eye when I booze and the rest of me doesn’t match it’s opposing limb, I’m hoping husband-face finds abstract beautiful.

My left leg has always looked better than the right. It’s more toned, it’s losing fat faster than the other and has the shape of an ideal leg. The right leg is stumpier but doesn’t measure any bigger than the left. It has a few more dimples and resembles more of a linkin’ log. The strangest thing about this particular asymmetry is my right leg is actually stronger than the left. What I can lift with my right leg is more of a struggle for the left; so much so I consider changing the weight for the poor feeb.
Recently I started noticing this asymmetry throughout my entire body. My right arm is slightly more toned than the left which makes zero sense for a left-hander such as myself. My left eye’s lashes are much more cooperative and longer than those on my right but my right has the better brow. My left boob is less small than the right and I saw that instead of “bigger” because they are continually shrinking. My left ass cheek is shedding fat much quicker than the right but my right side is better for photos.

Passing others on the street I don’t recall observing the same disparities I find in myself. Then again, we are our own worst critics right? If the worst thing I have to complain about hours before turning 25 are mis-matched limbs as they transform into better versions of themselves, than I feel pretty damn lucky. I hope that by this time next year, my complaint will be that I am perfectly symmetrical and cookies have no adverse affects on me anymore.



Read More

Win Some, Lose Boobs

Before bed last night I was brushing my teeth and couldn’t help but notice I had reverted to 14 again. I turned to the side with my brush still vibrating and noticed the little bumps where my boobs used to be. I even lifted up my shirt thinking “surely I’m not that flat.” I felt better when I went Girls Gone Wild on myself but was still slightly ashamed.

I started thinking about my old body in comparison to my “new” body. In high school I had big boobs by the time I was in 8th grade. I had a C cup for as long as I can remember and they only got bigger if I got bigger. Eventually I was hovering between a full C to small D.  I dug this gem up as proof that I am not lying.


Mind you my cheeks and other such body parts were also a little more full but at least I had my womanly parts. Now that I eat an extremely healthy diet and exercise regularly, those womanly parts have started to fade into memory. I still have a large rump that is increasingly more round and firm but alas, the bosoms that once graced my chest and filled out dresses are no longer.

The more I thought about this the more I started wondering; what would I sacrifice for the “perfect” body? What is the perfect body?

For me the ideal body would consist of a 36-37 inch hip with a nice round booty. Much like Ms. Latona’s:


My arms would be toned without looking too veiny or masculine but without being flexed you could tell I hit the gym. My legs would have ZERO cellulite and always be tan and my abs would have the outline of a 4-pack. Finally, my boobs would be a perky 34C that were never affected by any weight goals.

Unfortunately, that ain’t happening and I can’t afford implants. Not to mention, I have only ever heard horror stories from anyone I’ve known with them.
Because perfect bodies can’t be ordered online, there must be some sacrifices you make to obtain as close to perfect as you like. With the more toned my abs get will I care less about the absences of breasticles? If my could fill out blue pants like Amanda Latona’s, would I not mind so much that I had only a 2-pack set of abs?

I tried convincing myself this was the case because I the loss of my chest mass I have also lost significant fat on my legs. If anyone knows me, they know my legs have and probably always will be my #1 problem area.  To see results in an area I have struggled with my whole life was extremely gratifying and kind of negated my boob-encholy. I mean they make push up bras and padded swimsuits now of which I own both.


The struggle I had in coping with my changing body was remember a time when I had them. They were a focal point, they were nice and they got compliments all on their own. I was never offended and I actually liked the attention they brought. Not in whorey way…well kind of. :)

Now that my best friends have long since abandoned me, I’m grieving their loss and it sucks. I’m trying to convince myself that my new friend, Assandra, will take their place. She’s a great gal and brings all the boys to the yard but instead of the front yard where I can see them, they’re hanging out back. I’ve also gained another great friend, Abby. She’s super awesome and makes my stomach look great in my push-up swim suit.

I suppose everyone goes through some type of metamorphosis where they sacrifice something from their past, chubster life in pursuit of their skinnier one.
P.S. can we please discuss I spent an entire blog complaining about getting in shape and skinnier? This is probably where I need to admit that I’m still a full B and sometimes a small C if the padding is sufficient enough.


Read More

Eating Ain’t What it Used to Be

When I was a young lass (I’m part Irish…then again, who isn’t) I ate just about anything. I have always had a “passion” for food but back then it was probably called an obsession. I was had some healthy Midwest curvature to my figure that I blame wholly on my ability to guzzle gallons of milk, devour mounds of fried anything and let’s not forget the ranch. You haven’t lived until you trek to middle America for some ranch.

ranchI went in and out of trying to eat healthier without fully understanding what I needed to do. I did some fad diets, didn’t eat, woke up and did Tae-Bo while my other 14-year old friends were sleeping in their skinny bodies, everything. My sophomore year I made a major decision that this girl wanted more than small town Nebraska and headed back to my roots. Not Ireland…GERMANY! I spent the next two years of high school in the land of strudel and schnitzel. I exposed myself to foods that were beyond foreign in any city of Nebraska, most of which was either naturally made or grown.

After I graduated I headed back to the states and began having problems eating the same foods I once loved. From one moment to the next I was having complications digesting anything dairy-related. At the same time I began my consistent gym lifestyle. In that change I also started educating myself on clean eating and have since used my body as an experiment to see what works best for me. This has meant cutting out overly starchy carbs, foods high in fat, dairy and beef.

In making these changes I have developed further complications digesting them on a cheat day. Husband-face even went as far as mentioning that I may now be allergic to gluten. As much as I don’t want to be that person, I may have to face the facts soon and “get tested.” By nature, I am now forced to eat healthy. If I cheat in anyway I experience intense stomach cramping followed by the sexiest bodily function ever…

girl farts

On one hand, this has been a blessing in disguise. My body is forcing me to eat healthy or it will wreck me. For that, I have strong discipline that makes eating healthy a lot simpler than someone who wouldn’t be crop-dusting around their house after a pizza.

The disguise is that it’s torture. I started this blog in hopes of inspiring thousands of people who are just like me. They want to be as healthy as possible but still want to enjoy some cheesecake and burgers from time to time. When I do decide to cheat it’s not only sacrificing my progress which can be decision enough not to, but I’m sacrificing my intestines.

As the experts say, a healthy lifestyle is 20% about working out and 80% about eating clean. Nothing gives my abs more definition and the rest of me better results than eating healthy. Around the holidays it’s always difficult for me to decline sweets (major sweet tooth) and making that 20% more like 45%. As of recently I have been extra strict making my cheat meals strike with greater vengeance than before. Could the healthier I eat for longer periods of time be worsening my ability to digest the garbage out there? Until I get to the bottom of it, my cheat meal looks to be pita chips and hummus. Midwest Sarah would be very disappointed.

I haven’t seen a specialist as of yet but may be on my 2013 “to do list.” Have any of you experienced digestive changes since you started a healthier lifestyle?

Read More

My Beef with Planet Fitness

I finally chose Planet Fitness to call my home gym! My decision was based mainly on price and location. Considering the membership I chose is $20 per month which includes bringing friends and family for free, tanning if I am feeling particularly cancerous, and is 1.5 miles from my doorstep, it seemed like a no brainer. Plus I got a pretty rad t-shirt out of the deal

Shortly after I gave them my Herbie Hancock, I started noticing things about the gym. I used to be a member back around 19 and remember enjoying the gym. The only reason I left was because they didn’t offer classes. Other than that I had no gripes about it. In fact, that’s the gym where I learned a ton about fitness and weight lifting.

Fast forward five years and my older much wiser self is not so sure Planet Fitness is for me. I’m no body building or anything close to it. I do however; know my way around a gym. I’m not afraid to pound out some squats or diddle with the free-weights. Most of the time I am one of the only women in the weight area. Coming from a gym that was so unmonitored that all 13 personal treadmill TVs were stolen, I’m not used to playing by the rules.

If you don’t know Planet Fitness and their antics, let me brief you.

  1. They have a “lunk” alarm. If you scream too loudly or throw something on the ground that lands with such great force it makes a sounds, an alarm goes off. Scratch that, it’s a god damn siren. It alerts the entire gym that you are stepping out of the herd line and lifting too fiercely.
    My Beef:  Last time I checked lifting weights is difficult and not a walk in the park. If I slam a weight it’s because I just pounded out some sets and my sheer awesomeness was no longer enough to hold them up. Grunting I get but dropping weights? Really?

  2. You cannot drink water from a gallon milk jug. I am never to a point of dehydration where I require that much water in take at one time. If I were, the last place I would be going is a gym.
    My Beef: If anything they should be grateful that I am hydrating myself well enough to guzzle gallons of it. At least I’m no longer a liability like some of the rejects who think they’re in shape because they don’t drink water. If the gallon was full of milk then I’m on your side, PF.
  3. They don’t allow super-setting. If you’re not into lifting weights super-setting is just fancy for doing a circuit of weight exercises and repeating.
    My Beef: I think this one is in place to make sure they don’t have too many people hogging the weights and machines. That makes perfect sense and I don’t have too much beef about this one.
  4. They refer to a lunk as someone who’s name is “ricky” that drinks from a gallon jug and wears a tank top.
    My Beef: That is so hypocritical! For being a “judgement-free” zone that is the most judgemental statement ever. Not to mention there are plenty of gym bunnies running around with their ass cheeks out and management doesn’t react more than adjusting their pants when they walk by. Why can’t the ladies get the same eye candy. So what if a beef cake with terrible math skills and a small peter walks in the door. Let him lift weights and clench dem glutes.

  5. They offer pizza and bagels on certain days of the month to remain “judgement free.”
    My Beef: I have no words. Anyone wanna join me in bringing some smack down to the local rehab facility?

There are a few more posters with an abundant amount of exclamation points hanging around the gym demanding other ridiculous rules. While some of these are true for all PF locations, others depend on management. My particular gym has signs claiming they will cut your nuts off if you don’t wipe your MRSA germs off the machine. Others threaten to lynch you if you dare bring a free weight into the wrong area of the gym. The best and my favorite is the bright orange tape they want you to stand behind in the weight section. For the other patrons, of course.

So far I have yet to be thrown out or sounded the alarm but time will tell. I’m sure someone will gripe about my neon pink pants soon enough.

Read More

Organic Lies

I fully admit that when the whole “organic/vegan” wave tsunamied our stores, I wasn’t having it. In fact, for the longest time I hated vegans and am still trying to accept them in my unorganic, non-vegan lifestyle.

As you know I try and be as healthy as possible while being as realistic as possible. Some days I’m going to go tits deep into some lo mein. I acknowledge it, I’m aware of it, I accept it. When I’m not suffocating in soy sauce I tend to choose the healtier option, 9 times out of 10. Because of my constant health choices, I have exposed myself and let others expose me to all things organic, gluten-free, vegan friendly and any other uber positive word that describes our nourishment. Now that I have let my guard down, I am loving and open to anything that is good for me. If i’m supposed to keep a husband for my remaining years, I better treat my body like a temple and ride this bandwagon to the grave.

Then I went to the grocery store this weekend and started an “I hate organic gluten vegan bitches” Facebook page.


As I’m checking out at the register I looked behind me to see who was next in line. I’m a grocery judger and like to quietly judge what you’re purchasing because I’m pathetic. You can’t ever judge me because I bake all my indulgences and eat them before anyone can see.
In any case this hipster appearing fellow strolled up to the conveyor belt in his plaid shirt with the following items:

1 bag of Baked Lays

1 pint of vegan ice-cream

1 box of gluten-free chocolate cake

ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?! Are you so lazy in your journey to become healthy that you are actually convinced these products are still going to get you that six-pack by June?

I get it. This guy was likely not going to go home and eat all of this in one sitting. But it’s also unlikely that he can identify a carrot in the produce section. Or identify the produce section. I mean I am a girl and I know what happens when you buy those type of products at such a late hour.

I hate to judge but it’s kind of true. There are people like Miss Powercakes, that are working so hard to change our country into health-concious individuals. They have blogs, they work out, they get up before the sun, they can tell you where the closest track shack is before the closest McDonalds. They have committed their lives to trying to instill the same passion for health in everyone else and this organi-tard shit all over it.

I am very sorry to the poor hipster who started this rant but it’s a heated topic because it enables the same people who will never change. So many people are looking for the answer to a smaller ass, stronger heart or  cleaner lungs but so few are willing to put in the work. Instead, they wait for the next quick fix to hit the market, buy all of them like a greedy Americans, and wonder why they sprouted a tumor in their rectum. Unfortunately, organic, vegan or gluten-free food has become much of the same to some of those cheaters. It’s a quick fix to make those who aren’t committed enough to a healthy lifestyle, still feel like they are making better decisions. Sadly, we’re so consumer driven that if our advertisements can sell these products to the average consumer, they will make billions of bones more than if they just sold it to Yoga Nancy and her vegan friends.

When those type of products get into the uninformed hands you have people saying shit like “oh it’s organic cake, let’s just eat the whole thing.” This is the same phenomenon that occurred when studies were conducted on individuals who ate fat-free or reduced fat products. The study examined their eating behaviors and found they actually ate more of the product because of it’s health claims. Accordingly, this negated any calorie or fat reductions the product could have offered to the right person.

Sorry for the downer post on Monday but I-WAS-LIVID. I came home and bitched to Husband Face about it but that wasn’t enough.

Enjoy what’s left of the night and please tell me you’ve witnessed something similar before?!

Read More

Friday and Loathing in the Office

AT this point you could easily classify the civilized working world professionals as masochists or just plain mad. Every week we wake up and go to a job we either love or hate.

LOVE: if you love your job you wake up with a smile on your face, refreshed from an equally as lovely weekend. A lot of people are jealous annoyed by your ability to love your job, but Mondays help you power through and love it harder. By mid-week you are still loving it but can’t wait until Friday so you can celebrate that super-awesome Groupon you found that is some super-awesome fun activity with your super-awesome friends who have them too. By Friday you are gladly finishing up your work so you can get home faster and thus, continue to live a perfectly fufilling life

HATE: if you hate your job you wake up on Mondays feeling like your whole life was a lie. essays in middle school about what you wanted to be were all for arthritis. your dreams have officially come to a flying halt until you can hate your job so much you say eff ‘em and pursue your aspirations of becoming a professional hang-glide teacher. until then, you get out of bed and go to work. This is only Monday. By mid-week you are dying for the weekend to come so you can go home and do anything at all that allows you to hate your decision of working where you do, less.  Your anxiousness sometimes gets the best of you and you plan the escape route and exactly what you’ll say to your boss. By Friday you come to the office with you rebellious plan which is scraped when said boss is out for the day. You shred the evidence and spend most of your day surfing blogs, Amazon and hang-gliding classes. After all, you’ve never even been hang-gliding. Suddenly it’s 5p and it’s time to B-O-U-N-C-E. Feeling fantastic about a completely unproductive day, you grab a bottle of wine to cuddle with while catching up on Tivo. Two bottles of wine later, your sobbing in the mirror that you’re lucky to even be employed and you’re too big of a pussy to leave it. After you come to it’s Saturday, 2p.m. and you’re feeling like death. You hit up Burger King, go home and weep that your meal was eaten in the car. It’s definitely time for a nap so you lay down only to wake up at 8p. Damn, where did your Saturday go? You go back to sleep thinking it’s a waste to be concious for the remaining 4 hours of the day and wake up on Sunday pissed you have to go back to work tomorrow.

Sadly, because most do find some type of hatred at their current job. The only fantastic thing about this is that EVERYONE goes through it and therefore everyone loves Fridays.

Fridays literally dominate. They are the rock stars of the work week and we are absolutely it’s STD-laden groupies. No major projects ever start on a Friday. Fridays are usually a casual dress code where you get to wear your weekend gear and nestle into your cubicle. I’ve heard rumors that some companies even start happy hour during office hours, in the office. I don’t know how they are dodging those lawsuits but I’m all for it!

Despite the long hours, the cramping fingers, the strained eyes, the flat asses we get from office sitting, the office drama, the dismal outlook that you will become a hang-gliding teacher, we all experience it. We are one big fucked up, completely negative family that holds hands and skips to Friday. Plus, what other day of the week get’s it’s own incredibly fantastic song?

Read More