jock-olate chips

well, in case you hadn't heard - our food system in the US blows. we are being poisoned by food companies who are infiltrating our bodies with harmful ingredients. this really angers me and i vowed to take a stand. i'm going on month 4 of making dinner every night for my family that incorporates a clean eating menu (www.thefresh20.com.) and the other day i did my part by signing a very important petition urging kraft foods to stop putting food dyes in their mac and cheese. i've sworn off any dairy or meat that comes from antibiotic-ridden cows or chickens that aren't grass fed and cage-fee. and, in just 2 weeks tj and i will start using the nutribullet system to do the juice cleanses dr. oz recommends. the only part i'm struggling with all of this, however, is the fact that i fucking love cookies.

oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, butterscotch, sugar, snickerdoodle, lofthouse, peanut butter... i'm pissed that kraft uses yellow #5 in their pasta, but god knows if they made a yellow #5 cookie i'd eat the hell out of it. it's not just cookies, either; i purposely stopped buying boxed desserts of any kind at the grocery. i used to have a box of betty crocker hershey kiss brownie mix in my pantry at all times. i knew that if the temptation weren't there than i wouldn't have a choice in the matter - but after a quick inventory check, this happened:

9,000 search results and an hour later i was shoving a brownie in my face

if i could just finish my book and get a movie deal then i'd be famous enough to go on celebrity rehab with dr. drew and he could help me with this sugar addiction i have. everyone would be tweaking out and taking their methadone while i inject my hip with insulin like a mad woman. i'd have tj sneak chips ahoy in his jockstrap and i'd get kicked out. 

well, this blog just got weird. of course none of that could really happen... tj doesn't even own a jock strap.

a thong gives more support

so exciting stuff with my blog yesterday. for a long time i've been following nicole at moms who drink and swear. as her title implies, we have at least 3 things in common. i consider her to be hot stuff in the blogosphere and i sent her a link to my blog. not only did she read my email, but she shared it with her 250,000+ fans and all of a sudden my day became centered around sitting in my pajamas hitting F5 every 30 seconds - completely neglecting my children and my real job. that judgy mom who wrote that overly-dramatic narrative about moms staring at their iphones while their kids twirled around annoyingly begging for attention would have been sporting a journalistic boner over my household on tuesday.

tj came home early and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. i explained to him that this was my version of a hole-in-one. (i have to talk sports terms to him or he just sits there with a derp face on). i told him all about the link being shared and how she thought i was funny and that she even commented on how much she liked my hair. here are tj's top 3 responses to my new z-list internet status:

1. "how many blogs do you have?"  tj only reads actual text if ESPN sends him a text message or if he is taking a shit while reading ESPN mobile. if i want tj to know what i've written in a blog i have to read it aloud to him in the same voice i read to my 2 year old. 
2. "do you ever blog about how your husband doesn't read your blog?" i am now.
3. "you should send her a picture of your hair right now and see what she says."  sorry i didn't spend 33 minutes rubbing $40 pomade all over my head like you did this morning. dick.

for the remainder of the evening i acted like i was a famous person and every time tj asked me a question i told him to call my agent and then, in my best dave chapelle voice, would scream "I'M RICH, BITCH." i explained to the girls that this was the boost of confidence i needed to get crackin' on finishing my book and told them when mommy becomes real-life famous she would set aside enough money to buy them each their very own tramp stamp when they turn 18. 

i could go on and on about my hopes and aspirations, but i have to get ready - i have zumba in an hour. 

zumbadoos and don'ts

so i started zumba.

zumba is so weird - at one point i'm doing sexy salsa steps and the next minute i'm doing some retard version of gangnam style. during the part in gangnam style where you look like your riding some kind of stupid animal, i noticed my tits flying up dangerously close to my chin. as i rode along on my fake ostrich i realized the huge contrast between the support of a sports bra, and the support of a nursing bra that looks like a sports bra. my nursing bra wasn't the only article of mom clothing i was sporting either - i was also wearing my black, stretchy maternity leggings. i still like to wear all of my maternity leggings because they have that big panel i can pull up to my collarbone in case i want to eat a steak or drink beer - or in this case, tuck my tits into them like some kind of weird zumbaroo.

because it's been so long since i've taken an aerobics class, i made sure to get the spot in the very back by the door. i figured i could hide my lack of coordination, plus have an easy escape in case of heart attack or stroke. this was a great idea until students for the next class started huddling up outside of the door with 10 minutes of zumba left to go. the next class happened to be a little girls' tap class and when "i'm sexy and i know it" came ironically blaring out of the speakers, these girls came like moths to a flame. there i am tripping all over myself trying to watch our instructor (who apparently drinks a cocktail of 5 hour energy, red bull and cocaine before each class) do some move i can only describe as having sex while standing up, and these little girls are laughing. they were laughing at us. more specifically, i was starting to wonder if they were laughing at me. i began some weird inner-monologue about how i was an adult and i wasn't gonna let those those little punk ass tap bitches psyche me out of zumba. i looked over to see if any of my classmates were feeling the same unbearable scrutiny and the first lady i glanced at had... well, she had a beard.

 immediately those little tap jerks faded out of my existence and i became enamored by the bearded lady. i know these things unfortunately happen... but it's like she doesn't even try to maintain it... just a thousand random pubic hairs kinda shooting out in every direction from her face.

anyways... i always end my blog with some type of joke or funny moral, but today there isn't one. i just wanted to write about my zumba class and how it turned into a bit of a hairy situation.