She'll Be In Vegas

I received confirmation yesterday that my mother has finally booked her, my grandmother, and my sister for Vegas in September. Relief was my first feeling and happiness was my second. It's important to me that they all be there. To see Thomas and I get married. To actually have a vacation with my family. Something I haven't done in over 13 years.

The last vacation I took with them was a get away to South Padre Island not long after my grandfather passed away. We were all pretty beat down after dealing with his sickness and his eventual death and we needed the break badly. Most of the memories I have of our time together on the beach is of a great time spent together as a family. Unfortunately, some of the memories weren't so good either. My mother's alcoholism was present in every thing we did and even though she's been sober for over two years now it still effects us to this day.

My relationship with mom has been a rocky one for years and we're just now getting to a point where we can tolerate each other and even have a good time together. I've learned to accept that she's not the same woman I grew up knowing. She's softened a lot, but at the same time her mannerisms, her attitude, and her outlook on life has hardened. Maybe it's age or the bad cards she's been dealt from time to time in her life, either one can cause a person to be slightly bitter.

I'm not one to blame my parents for the mistakes I've made in my life. I don't blame my parent's divorce when I was three on the fact that I didn't get into an ivy league college and that I'm not making hella jack right now. What I do though is I blame my mother's alcoholism for my critical view of her. Her inability to embrace any kind of moderation in her life lead her down the path to rehab, twice. Each time she went away I was there to clean up the mess (literally) that she left behind. Each time hoping that this was the time she would stay sober and maybe she would see what she was missing in life by sitting on the couch drinking her days away. Her alcoholism has left her physically different, mentally different, and has permanently changed our relationship. I am cautious around her, to a point. I take everything she says with a grain of salt and a "I'll believe it when I see it" attitude. I'm more critical of her and quick to jump on her when she irritates me. I truly believe this comes from years and years of putting up with her bullshit and at the same time keeping my mouth shut when it comes to her. I'm at a point in my life where I refuse to keep quiet about her. She has let me down more times than I can count, but her being there for our wedding in September is helping me to forgive her.

Don't doubt this, I do love my mother. In some ways we are so alike it's scary and in others we are as different as night and day. I spent a good portion of my life looking up to her. Doing every thing I could to make her proud of me. When I finally realized that she was only human and was capable of her own failings is when her and I got to a point where we could never go back. Right now my disappointments out weigh the good feelings I have about her. But I applaud and appreciate her effort at this point. She's trying and so am I.

Retail Therapy Works. Beer Also Helps.

And just like that I feel good as gold again. Yesterday was a rough one for me. I did hear back from my mother and although she STILL hasn't booked her trip to Vegas she did state that she was coming and to count her and the rest of my family in. I'll believe it when I see it. If mother states she'll do something I usually take that to mean that she MIGHT actually do it. I give it a 45% chance. I'm quite the optimist.

Another great way to turn your mood around? Spend money. I was dreading buying a new swimsuit for this summer. I hate, no scratch that, I LOATHE buying swimsuits. One reason being the typical female response to putting on something made from lycra or spandex, which is, "Good GOD Almighty I look fucking FAT!" And the second reason - have you ever noticed how expensive they are?! I mean really, people. $20.00 to $30.00 per PIECE? Cause there's no way in hell I'm wearing a one piece. But seriously, per piece?! I know I'm not thin by any means but must we charge that much for such a small piece of fabric? I'm telling you, women get screwed when it comes to buying these things. SO anyways, I bought it and took it home all prepared to be absolutely horrified at how I looked in it only to be absolutely shocked as hell to realize that I don't look half bad. And in the end, do I really and truly give a shit what other people think of me in a bathing suit? Especially after a six pack at the pool? Helllll to the nizzo.

And now for your viewing pleasure I present to you the swimsuit because I think it's cute and it also has bows...

Pity Party, Table For One, We Can Seat You Now

Pardon me for a moment while I complain about asinine shit.

I haven't been feeling well for almost a week now. I was certain that the anti-inflammatories that the doctor had given me was the culprit of my stomach pains and queasiness but as I'm sure you know, most sicknesses are in your own head. Stress, worrying, and also being hurt has made for a bad combination. My appetite is shot and my waistline is starting to show it. I've been hormonal/insane for over two weeks now and at this point I'm just ready for a good cry.

We're less than 100 days away from the wedding and my family still hasn't booked their flight or their hotel. Of the 16 people that were invited to attend my mother, grandmother, and sister are the only ones who are a "maybe". Thomas' family? Booked. Our friends? Booked. My family? Who in the hell knows. To most people this wouldn't be that big of a deal. We're still three months away from the trip right? It's no biggie cause I'm SURE they'll be there! Yea, okay. This is my family we're talking about here. The same family who has visited me in Texas once in the last 7 years. Even when I had plenty of room and asked them to come did they? No. Why? Beats the shit outta me. I have no clue. Now, how many times have I made the 8 hour haul to Missouri and back in those last 7 years? Too many to fucking count.

In the last ten years that I've been out on my own I've never asked my family for anything. Not a favor, not a helping hand, not a single dime. Have they all been generous to me on Christmas' and birthdays? Absolutely. I'm always appreciative for what they've given me. However, I've never asked my family for a thing. When Thomas and I decided to get married they were one of the first ones to know. We've kept them in the loop about all of our plans and we've made sure that they were included in everything we're hoping to do in Vegas. They received all of the same emails as the rest of the group and all they had to do was book their trip, sit back, and enjoy the ride. No gifts, no paying for anything when it comes to Thomas and I. Just show up and watch the show. There's been some stalling from my grandmother and total silence from my mother. I'm not sure what the deal is but at this point I've about had it. I love my family, no doubt about it, but they are fantastic at letting me down.

While I'm grateful for the slimming down that a loss of appetite brings I'd rather be back to myself. I sent my mother an email this morning very careful and very kindly asking her what in the holy fucking hell is going on and why hasn't she booked yet. If it's anything like the last email I sent her I'll get nothing back or maybe she'll finally just tell me that they're not going. Either way, at this point I don't care. I just want to know before I drive myself (and Thomas in the process) bat shit crazy.

Thank God I'm Good At Swallowing

After six days of pure torture and agony I finally went to the doctor yesterday. The knee just kept getting worse and even with copious amounts of rest, booze, painkillers, and begging it to stop hurting I couldn't take it anymore. Worried at the possibility that I had caused more damage to myself than I knew I went in for my x-rays and waited to hear that I was well and truly fucked. Funny enough, I wasn't. It was a muscle sprain. A sprain that would heal in a week or so with more rest, a knee brace, and some anti-inflammatories. Not bad right? Heh.




LOOK at my sexy fucking brace. Isn't it DIVINE? Hell yes it is! In coordinating black with TWO Velcro straps and a sweet hole for my knee to breathe through. Also, please take note of my fabulous shoes and even more fabulous pedicure. Purple nail polish rocks my face off. And yes, that's a flower painted on my big toe. A FLOWER! With a sparkly bedazzled thing in the center of it. Cause I'm the shit.

Now, here's where the "cure" for this injury gets a little scary. I'm not a huge fan of swallowing pills to begin with so imagine my horror when I was given these...




Do you SEE how big it is?! It's almost an inch long! An inch may not seem like a whole lot to you but try sliding one of those down your throat and trust a bitch, I think you'll be changing your mind. I've got no problem taking your regular everyday over the counter pain relievers so I'm no baby about pill swallowing, but this thing is just ridiculous. However, this pill is supposed to be a gift from Jesus himself in that it heals all and even though I have to snap this fucker in half in order to get it down my throat I will take it. Thank you dear sweet baby Jesus for your healing pills. They better fucking work. Amen.

Fantastic

I <3 Zach Morris

Taking It Easy

I was doing SO GOOD, y'all. Working out every day. Eating clean and keeping my calories in check. And then BAM!, I got hurt.

It seems that I've gone and hurt my right knee at some point this past week and unfortunately, I can't run. I'm not even sure I'm going to be able to work on the elliptical machine until I heal properly. I decided that I would be smart and take the weekend off from the gym. Try assess the damage done to my knee and take it as easy as possible. Lay out by the pool, drink a few beers, and pray that I'd heal up and be ready to run again by Monday. No such luck. Instead, I did a lot of walking around a large mall and then THIS happened...



That is Five Guys. That was about a gajillion calories that I consumed in roughly 15 minutes. Funny enough I didn't feel overly guilty about it all. I had worked hard over the last few weeks and I couldn't necessarily DEPRIVE myself of a damn tasty burger now could I? No way.

So I splurged this weekend and ate too much and walked around on my bum knee and never made it into the gym. No big deal right? Heh.

The work-out Gods punished me...



That right there is certifiable water damage and black fucking mold. IN MY BEDROOM CLOSET. You would think one would notice when half of your closet wall becomes covered in mold and when the floor is soaking wet. Yea, you'd think that. But in my defense it's a big fucking closet and I had a shit ton of stuff in the way where I couldn't see it. Jesus Christ I am so observant.

So I've got a bad knee which is making me limp around like a damn cripple, I ate like a pig this weekend, and I've got strange men in my apartment right now fixing this mess and probably scaring the shit out the dogs. Not to mention I may have to wash every single piece of clothing in my closet to get the mildew killer smell out. FML.

Sneak Peek

Because it's Friday, because I finally found a picture online, and because I just couldn't help myself...



Now, picture it with a black ribbon and bow, instead of the white one.

Lovelovelove

113 days to go...

Runnin' Like I Stole Somethin'

In an effort to fit into The Dress I am super serious about working out. I have a little more than a month til my dress comes in and I want that sucker to be big on me. No. Scratch that. I want it to be HUGE on me. I want that tailor to get that dress and think, "WTF? Why did this stupid bitch order a dress three sizes too big? Oh I am SOOOO gonna charge her a shit ton of money to take this in." But you know what? I will be THRILLED to pay every single penny of it. Why? Because that means that I WON. I beat my body into submission and made it my bitch. I decided that I was going to look fabulous for the wedding and dammit, I did it. Or at least I'm planning on doing it.

So people, here's the plan...I found this two week body turn around program on the instanets and some how convinced BFF Kim to go along with the torture. We meet at the gym every day after work, do 30 minutes of cardio and the 30 minutes of "strength training". By "strength training" I mean we sit on the mats with our weights, do an ass load of crunches, and talk shit about the skinny bitches around us. Anyways, the first day involved running during the cardio portion and I was dreading it. I loooooathe running. I feel like a complete idiot when I run and besides, it makes me sweat and look unattractive BUT I sucked it up and started running. Well, wouldn't you know it? I actually LIKED IT. I liked it so much that I ran the next day and the day after that. Hell, I'm gonna run again tonight! We may not be sticking with the program like we should be we are some runnin' fools up in that place!

Unfortunately with running comes a faster metabolism. A faster metabolism means I am hungry ALL.THE.TIME. I am not even joking. Do you know how hard it is to keep an under 1000 calorie diet every day when you get all woozy and shit from being hungry?! IT'S HARD. So I eat and an hour later I'm hungry. Then I drink water and my stomach laughs at me cause it knows that I ain't foolin' nobody. I know this won't last forever, it's just my body going in to shock because I'm actually doing something, but for now it's a pain in the ass.

The Dress comes in on July 16th and I refuse to let it and my body beat me. Now, it's off to the gym and to running my ass off, literally.

117 Days...

So much progress for the wedding occured over the weekend. My dress: beautiful, fun, and ordered. Thomas' suit: he's gonna look amazing and reserved for pick-up in Las Vegas the day before the wedding. Thomas' wedding band: picked out, ordered, and also not near as expensive as I had thought it was going to be.

I had told myself that I wouldn't do a count-down to The Big Day. That I would take one day at a time, enjoy the summer, and wait patiently for September to arrive.

Seriously?

Who the hell was I trying to kid?

I am incapable of waiting for things patiently. I'm like a little kid the night before Christmas. I'm tossing and turning in my bed, just WAITING for the sun to peak over the horizon so that I can jump out of bed, wake my parents, and declare, "OMG IT'S FINALLY HERE! Now gimme my gifts!"

I'm not just impatient about the actual wedding day, I'm impatient about the whole damn thing. Seeing all of our friends and family together in one place. Spending four glorious days in Vegas with everyone. Of course, marrying Thomas is the number one item on the "Jesus Christ, is it September 24th yet or what?" list but the entire trip alone has me wiggling in my seat out of pure excitement.

We still have quite a lot to accomplish before we get there but we're on a roll. Now if only I can get through the next 117 days without driving myself absolutely insane...