12. We all saw it coming...

That's right. It's late night, teary-eyed confession time. It's been a really long time since I've written on my poor neglected blogger, and I feel bad that I'm reconvening in such a manner, but here it goes.

I'm extremely self-conscious. There, I said it. It's out of the way. No, it's not a big surprise, but that's not really what this is about. More, I hate when people point it out in an "attempt" to get me to stop. I hate my body. I hate all the disgustingly flabby rolls that stick out everywhere they aren't supposed to, and the way I jiggle when I jog. Sure, I try to ignore the disgusting jiggles, but it's still uncomfortable. And sure, I make comments about myself that aren't flattering, and not helpful to my self-esteem, but that's how I grew up, using humor and self-deprecation to cover up the fact that I'm so completely amassed in my hatred of myself that I don't want to face the world.

I know what you're thinking, "boohoo, get to the point," that is if you've read this far to begin with. So here's my point, I hate more than anything when someone points out that I'm talking shit about myself. One of my friends has recently decided that every time I make a negative comment about myself, he's going to call me on it. The problem with this is that he does it very loudly...in front of a large group of people...causing me to feel even more self-conscious than before. He thinks he's helping me, but he's just making it worse.

I'm working really hard to fix my self-image, and to stop saying negative things about myself, and his "help" isn't helping. Maybe it's because he's a guy and doesn't really get it, or something, but I'm seriously so close to crying in front of my entire group of friends it's not even funny.

11. Why?

Why do I always see my dream men at Kroger? I swear, every time I go there, I see some gorgeous man walking through squeezing fruit and loading his cart with guy food, and my mind wanders...A LOT. I went today, and as soon as I got out of my car, there he was....gorgeous man # 579, sited in the Kroger parking lot. And of course I'm wearing jeans, plain t-shirt, and my baseball cap. No make-up, no fuck-me heels, no come-hither stare...just plain. Typical. Me. Suck.

I wandered around the store, occasionally bumping into him, and we even ended up walking to our vehicles at the same time. He was so gorgeous! I should have kidnapped him. Maybe next time.

At least I now have groceries and more eye candy for my mind's collection.

Sad day.

10. Ranidaphobia

I. Hate. Frogs. Fucking. Hate. Frogs. Oh. My. Fucking. God.

I am not exaggerating at all. In fact, I feel like I'm UNDERSTATING the severity of my hatred...nay.... my absolute TERROR of frogs. This all stems from a terrifying childhood experience involving a kamikaze frog doing recon at my grandma's house and his evil to destroy me being stopped by grammy and her toilet. Ever since then, frogs terrify me.

Yes, yes. I know what you're thinking. I've heard it a bajilliondy gillion times. "Frogs are more afraid of you than you are of them. They won't hurt you." Then why the hell am I the one losing the staring contest and running away screaming? Yeah, that's right. Riddle me THAT, Batman. Frogs aren't hopping away and telling their laughing evil froggy friends that they'll just sleep in their cars...er...lilypads, WHATEVER, because the human showed up at their door step...and yeah.... so...yeah. Fuck frogs.

So there's this evil little bastard that has figured out my fear so he likes to sit on my door step and wait for me to come home. My mom theorizes it's because he likes to eat the bugs that are attracted to my porch light, but I know.... I. FUCKING. KNOW. It's because he's waiting to get me alone so he can eat me. He waits here, giggling to himself in his croaky little voice, waiting for me to walk up, exhausted from a long day of work. He just likes to watch me run away squealing. And my friends are in on it. I know they are. When they come over and see him, they "offer" to retrieve him for me. What always happens? They'll pick him up, sweetly pet him, smile at me with that annoyingly knowing smile and say, "see, he's harmless. So sweet and soft and squishy." *stroke, stroke* and then..... THEEEEEEEENNNNN..... the little bastard ninja leaps OFF of their palm STRAIGHT AT MY FACE. That little bastard KNOWS.

Fuck the bugs drawn to the light defense. He's after me. Sometimes I'll see him hiding in the shadows. Just watching. Quietly calculating his next move. One day he's going to get me. And you'll all be sorry. And all you frog lovers....you're out of my will.

9. A giant step for fat kids everywhere

So tomorrow is going to be the first day that I implement my new dieting plan. Of course, I have to go shopping for the supplies when I get off tonight, but whatever, I'm gonna do this. I'm also going to implement my plan to not sleep til 10:30 and lay in bed dozing until 11:30. That can't be healthy. Somewhere in there, I'm going to try to fit in some exercise. I brought my wii up from my parent's house, so the wiifit is going to be my new bitch.... actually, realistically, it's probably going to make me it's bitch, but whatevs.

I'm really hoping I can do this. I got some unexpected, harsh motivation the other day from several different sources, so I want to do this. Seriously. Not just for the people and places that make me feel like complete shit, but because I'm tired of being so down on myself that I just want to die. I'm not giving up, like some people think I am doing. I'm going to make this change, I just have to do it in a way that works for me.

And now it's time to get ready for work, and I need to chill before I go to work. This whole blog has made me pissy for some reason.

<3 AJ

8. Now, let's talk about my ass.

I know... you've been dying to hear about it ever since you noticed it in my title. Well here we go. Hitch up your belt loops, and away we go.

I went shopping today. Now, I will admit here, I'm one of those fat kids that goes shopping in fairly high spirits, damn me. As I dig through all the size zeros and ones and twos, I start to dip into my usual fat girl depression, and by the time I get to the dressing room with my meager choices, I'm near a meltdown of epic proportions. Then I get in there and find that yet another pair of pants, yet another adorable top, does not freakin' fit. Well, that's what happened today. And the more clothing I tried on, the more I wanted to seriously punch the mirror so I didn't have to look at myself anymore. I refrained, as if I happen to lose weight, I want to be allowed back into the store. So anywho.... after much glaring, pulling, tugging, huffing, and puffing, I came home totally deflated and drowned my sorrows in a Beef and Cheddar. It's a vicious cycle really, one that I've been stuck in since I was 14. Puberty hit me hard...with a shovel...and now I'm using that shovel to stuff as many bad food choices into my mouth as possible.

So here's my solution. I'm going to start limiting my calories majorly. I'm going to plan out my meals a week in advance and eat only that. No allowances for other stuff. If I want to change, I'm going to have to make a drastic change in my lifestyle. I've already written out one day, and it's looking good. six days to go, but I'm not worried about it. I'm going to start getting up earlier, as I've been sleeping until about ten thirty or eleven everyday, and I'm going to make myself go walking or jogging before class and work. I have to change or I'm going to end up with all the health problems that my family suffers from, on top of all the ones I have already....not to mention I won't be welcome back to Old Navy for punching their mirrors out.

So here's to not being fat anymore! Well, working towards not being fat anymore anyway.

<3 AJ

7. Slackerbitch

So... for some reason, blogger is converting my text to Arabic or Hebrew or something...not sure how that happened. I'm just going to type like normal and assume it'll work itself out. Or maybe you lovely readers with learn Arabic or Hebrew or something.

When I started this blog I said, "I'm going to write at least one blog a day! Yay me! woohoo! Motivation and shit." WRONG. I've slacked off amazingly bad. Once the play started, I was done writing everyday. My motivational well have dried up. Much like the wells containing motivation to lose weight, learn guitar, get along with my family, keep a not-psychotic boyfriend, and learn to sing and dance.

Wow. I'm a slacker. I have so many things I want to accomplish, but no motivation to accomplish them. I'm a lazy fat-ass stuck in this horrible slump at the age of twenty. I should be shot for my unproductiveness. I should be outside, running ninty miles, while playing the harpsichord, painting a masterpiece, writing an epic, and beating sudoku all at the same time. And then have time afterward to play leading lady next to Johnny Depp and sip a latte. Now THAT'S a fun time. But no. I'm sitting here, doing nothing. Abso-freakin'-lutely nothing. I'm so tired of nothing. I'm really hoping once I move I'll get so motivated by constantly being alone that I'll get off my fat ass and go do something. Though not a play. I'm done with plays. This last one nearly killed me. Bible, it did.

I'm ready to not be sick anymore so I can go jog a marathon or something. Or at least be able to climb up the stairs without falling over. That'd be GREAT.

Enough rambling. Time for a lazy bitch nap.

AJ

6. Happiness in Silent Moments

It's been a while since I've posted, and here's why:

I'VE BEEN FREAKING INSANE.

No, really. I have. I've been in a constant state of stressed out uber panic for about two weeks. A constant throng of school work, money troubles, disappointing rehearsals, bitchy ass friends, and job searching failures have led me to near nuclear meltdown levels of stress. Wait...no, scratch that. NUCLEAR MELTDOWN LEVELS OF STRESS. There we go. I'm pretty sure my friends and family are soon going to have to learn their emergency evac plans from CSEP because the arsenal here isn't the only thing doomed to explode.

I've seriously gotten to the point where I don't even want to function anymore, because I know the stress is just going to get infinitely worse each time I crawl out of bed in the morning. Basically, I've figured out that my body just wants to shut down. Have you ever been so exhausted, stressed out and/or beaten down that you no longer have the energy to open your mouth? I'm there.

I don't even want to speak anymore. I'm usually a fairly bouncy, loud mouthed wise-cracker (heh, cracker) but lately I'm just more content to sit here stewing in my own mental juices, which I'm pretty sure is just as disgusting as it sounds. Strangely though, in those rare moments when I can turn off my brain for a few fleeting moments, I sit here in the silence, and I can think about absolutely nothing, and I'll catch myself smiling.

Surely this is a sign of the apocalypse. No normal person stares at walls, glazed eyes, drool pooling at the corners of their mouth, and smiles at nothing. Not unless they're wrapped in grade A straight jackets and slip on shoes sans shoelaces with the therapist telling them, "You're normal, little timmy, you're normal." See, that doesn't really count to me. If I'm smiling, there needs to be a damn reason, or I need to be quickly and quietly shipped to the nearest loony bin ASAP.

This post had a point.....it got lost somewhere up there.... and by up there, I don't mean just on the page. I mean in my head too. My head is a scary place to be right now. I really can't wait to have some time to myself where I don't have to worry about anything or anyone else. Even if it's just for a few hours, I'd be content. That time is coming soon. I'll make sure of it, before I start punching every person I see in the giblets.

5. Warning.

Why is it that when I'm in a good mood, but just feel like being quiet, I get fifty people asking me what's wrong or if I'm okay, but when I'm in a terrible mood, nobody seems to notice? This is incredibly annoying, and starting to greatly piss me off.

If I have an issue with something, I am more than willing to share what's going on, if it's any of your business. For once though, if I say "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong." I want to be taken at face value. Obviously if I want to talk about what's bothering me, I'll talk about it. After suffering a very long and daunting trip yesterday, full of constantly hearing, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" I want one day where I don't have to hear it. Jesus Christ, I'm not in the mood. And no, this isn't directed at any one person. It's multiple people. That's why I'm giving the general overview instead of naming names. I don't need everyone coming to me complaining because they got offended. Generalizations rock like that.

I was in a great mood, but a combination of a migraine, severe annoyance, and stress has made me a very cranky person. Here's where it would be prudent to ask what's wrong....not when I'm trying to read something on the net or work on a project and choose to be quiet while doing so.

Pretty soon I'll be busting out the shanking stick and going to proverbial town. I would prefer not to shank people, but fuck, sometimes it's necessary.

In other news, it's late and I can't sleep. The fun times just keep on a'rollin'. I'll type more about my ridiculous trip when I don't feel so cranky. That story's bound to put me in a bad mood as is.

4. The point that I lost my mind...

The point that I lost my mind was probably when I agreed to do a children's play. Let's do a little math here, shall we? AJ (who has a pretty extreme dislike of children)+screaming, kicking, squabbling, sniveling children=A migraine and a very pissed off AJ. I end up watching the director reach near-meltdown every night, because kids can't hold still and remember their lines. Now, I must admit. Watching poor Bob run at these kids while screaming at the top of his lungs, or seeing him grab one of them and shake them a bit is quite entertaining, having to pretend that I remotely understand kids for two and a half hours is just WAY too trying.

If you know me, you understand. Kids and I don't mix. If there's a screaming child around, that's a sign for me that it's time to leave. I never want to have any kids, and I'm okay with that. So what part of my brain decided to misfire the day that I agreed to do a CHILDREN'S PLAY. Apparently that's the day I lost my mind.

Now granted, it's tough for a kid to pay attention, so I can't really get too mad at them for not holding still on stage...but they seem old enough to know better. I'm never doing a children's play again. Sometimes the urge is great to go help Bob shake them, but then we'd both go to jail. I prefer to take my pleasure from recording his rantings on my cell phone and showing them to him, so he won't get arrested for shaking children either.

So, in this twisting heap, the moral of the story is.... If nothing else, Children's Theater is a great form of birth control.

3. Drama: My anti-dating

When we last left our protagonist, AJ, she was crawling into bed after an emotionally exhausting day of dealing with school troubles, friendship issues, a dying grandma, and the fact that her evil twin brother Stefan was also her father...

Okay, so the last part isn't true. But the rest is, and when I crawled in bed, I wanted to sink into oblivion for a while. So amid the chicken squabbles of my creepy neighbors fighting over who wants to cap whom and other such nonsense, I dozed off.

Nine minutes later, I awake to shouts of, "Lauren, STOP!" "No! You stop!" "I'm sorry, just hang on a second!" Now... normally, I'd just put in ear plugs and let them kill each other. I don't really have the time to fill out police reports after all, so why be a witness? But alas, no ear plugs were to be found. So I'm forced to listen to this rendition of Drunken Apartment Dwellers 90210.

Lauren-"If you're so sorry, why did you do it?"
Man-"Just shut up and leave it alone. Go home, get some rest."
Lauren-"Don't tell me to shut up! I knew I never should have dated you!"

Aha! I just realized it. They were filming an episode of the Hills outside my apartment window. I knew I'd heard that crappy writing somewhere before. So I laid there among my comfy blankets and fluffy pillows, listening to their anonymous drama being shouted at two in the morning, wondering how I could explain away ignoring a gun shot...should I hear one, when finally, there is silence. Huzzahs all around. I can finally get some sleep............. I can't fall asleep.

Crap.

I contemplate hopping in my car and driving the hour back to my parent's house for the night. This kind of retarded drama never happens there. They live in the country. Worst noise there is a deer farting in the woods. But sadly, I didn't want to drive, so I laid there in wait for the elusive sleep monster to swallow me whole.

Finally, it attacked. I was content.....nine minutes later, they returned.

Man-"LAUREN! CHILL THE FUCK OUT!!"
Lauren-"NO! YOU CHILL OUT! I'M ALLOWED TO BE MAD!"

*twitches* Not at three in the morning you aren't. Not when I'm trying to sleep, and there's currently none of that happening in here. I felt like I was being cock blocked from sleep. Sleep blocked, perhaps? So with Vietnam flashbacks of fights in my own past relationships, I army crawled to my window to ID the perpetrators so I could go in for an embarrassing daylight confrontation to let them know that they need to keep the drama inside like any normal fighting couple would. Sadly, I couldn't spot them. It was dark, rainy, and my contacts were soaking away in acid... Screw it.

So I army crawled back in bed, their fighting came to a close, and I fell back to sleep after another two hours of praying the sleep monster made it a quick death. And people wonder why I'm wary to date these days.

2. Being female, and other extreme sports.

Let me start off by saying, I'm not really a girly-girl, much to my mother's constant horror. Growing up, barbies were forced on me, when I just wanted to play with GI Joes and Power Rangers and throw mud. I was dressed up like every Disney princess for Halloween, when I really wanted to dress like Batman or Superman. Only a matter of time, my mother must have thought, and then all that freakin' pink would just soak into my brain and I'd giggle and flutter like any decent little girl should. My poor mother. I've always been a disappointment in the glitz and glam department. She cringes at my ripped jeans, grungy chucks and fascination with blood and gore. I'm pretty sure she's still constantly shocked, though relieved, that I didn't end up a lesbian.

Well I've found out over the last few days that a few of those frilly female thoughts and reactions actually did sink in. And I don't like them. Now, to make this easier for my mortified brain, I'll break it up into a couple of instances.

First, I was reading scary articles on wikipedia. No, I do not currently possess an active social life. Welcome to my hell. So anyway, sitting in the quiet living room of my creepy apartment, reading about the skunk ape, melon heads (yes, it's creepy. shut up), and crybaby bridge, something touches my shoulder. Now, normally, I'm not that jumpy. I can keep my calm when someone grabs me, or taps me. Not this night. I screamed like a girl, yes, le gasp, a girl, and fell out of my chair. I never used to do this. If something scared me, I'd jump, but I've never screamed like a girl. Ridiculous. Turns out, a damn bug had flown in the last time the door had opened, and decided to land on me. Apparently he thought I was cute. I told my mom about it today, and she was so proud. Strange reasoning skills, my mother has.

Second, while clearing stuff out of an old suitcase to take to my parent's house today, I stumbled upon a spider. Normally, I'd get kind of heeby jeebied, but not enough to really matter. Usually the heeby jeebies are solved with a swift kick to the multi-eyed face of the eight-legged creepster. Well, apparently today, the new and improved frilly AJ felt it only appropriate to squeal...you guessed it...like a girl, do an "ew-ick-creepy-icky-buggy-gross" jig, and hop clumsily up on the bed. I'm absolutely certain this move saved my life. That spider was sure to eat me. He looked vicious. I'm pretty sure he even barked at me as I hopped across the room. So yeah... my mother would be so proud to know that I now hop and squeal and tremble at the sight of creepy crawlers and scary happenings.

Thank the heavens, I finally grew a vagina.

1. Where to start?

This is a very exciting day for me. I mean, come on, my first post on this shiny new blog? Yep, a monumental day. Give me a moment to bask in the glory of it. *basks*

Okay, enough basking. So you may be wondering, what the heck is this blog about? Well, as you may have noticed from the title, it's about my views on life, love.....and you guessed it, the size of my ass. Well, not really MY ass, but just asses in general. Wait, okay, maybe that didn't come out correctly. Well, anywho. I can see you scratching your heads in just a bit of confusion, so let's break this down into the three basic categories so things make a little more sense.

I will be talking about...

1. Life- For instance, today while driving to campus, two girls walked right out in front of my car. Now while my first reaction on a good day would normally be "Ooo... 20 points!" When I'm in a rush, this isn't the same. No, my reaction is to slam on my brakes, shout profanity at them through my open window, and then gun the car for the nearest intersection filled with small children and fluffy animals. After all, even on my bad days, I am an equal opportunity un-safe driver. (insert improper female driver joke here) Now, here's where I'll insert other anecdotes and probably offensive jokes. Sorry in advance. Now class, let's move on...

2. Love- A friend and I decided today that the reason we don't date is because we don't want to be one half of a boring couple. Yes, you know these people. They sit around and do nothing together. Or rather, all they do is watch movies together, or play video games. No one else is included, and they never emerge from their happy couple lair. Not that anyone wants to invite them places. Now I'll pause here because I'll be going into more detail about this particular topic later. And finally....

3. The size of my ass- Yes. A strange topic indeed. my ever elusive ass. No, I'm not actually going to be talking about the state of my ass, so all you internet creepers can just go away now. I will probably write about my trials and tribulations trying to lose weight. No, this will not be an inspirational blog with a weight tracker and all the calories I've eaten for a year and such. I'm not that dedicated. Mostly, you'll just see me bitch about it a lot.

All right, and now that this has gotten unbearably long, have a lovely night, and stop thinking about my ass.