Comes With Sprinkles

Because everything is better with sprinkles

Everybody Should Read This

Full credit to whatever, etc for this. I’ve copied it word for word from her blog. I did not write any of it myself. (Here’s hoping she’s not mad that I stole it). I think it’s important that everybody see this and rethink what happens too much of the time when a woman tries to report a rape.

A Modern Sexual-Assault Tale

Hello, I’d like to report a mugging.
A mugging, eh? Where did it take place?
I was walking by 21st and Dundritch Street and a man pulled out a gun and said, “Give me all your money.”
And did you?
Yes, I co-operated.
So you willingly gave the man your money without fighting back, calling for help or trying to escape?
Well, yes, but I was terrified. I thought he was going to kill me!
Mmm. But you did co-operate with him. And I’ve been informed that you’re quite a philanthropist, too.
I give to charity, yes.
So you like to give money away. You make a habit of giving money away.
What does that have to do with this situation?
You knowingly walked down Dundritch Street in your suit when everyone knows you like to give away money, and then you didn’t fight back. It sounds like you gave money to someone, but now you’re having after-donation regret. Tell me, do you really want to ruin his life because of your mistake?
This is ridiculous!
This is a rape analogy. This is what women face every single day when they try to bring their rapists to justice.
Fuck the patriarchy.
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My hair has long been a source of consternation for me.

When I was younger, I didn’t appreciate how amazing the thickness of it was. I would instead bitch and moan  about how a simple haircut for me took three hours when a full perm for my younger sister took one. I would gripe about how I couldn’t wear it down without a blow-dryer and a flat-iron and several hours of work taming it.

Pardon the underage drinking in the above photo. Ahem. Focus on the hair. 

That’s a bit more lady-like. But holy cha-cha – look at all that hair!

Through the years, my hair has stopped looking like that. I guess I can’t even say that it happened over years because it happened actually very quickly. One day I had beautiful thick hair that drove me batty with its frizz and its inability to stay in place and then whammo. I got pregnant. It thickened up even more, as is typical in pregnancy and then four-months post-Ana, as is also typical, it fell out. Except it kept falling out. And more and more and more until I couldn’t keep it long anymore because the ends wound up looking so awfully ratty.

Now my hair is just thin and limp and gross. I never wear it down anymore because even after fluffing it up with a blow-dryer, I have zero volume. It still frizzes, but now you can see air between all the frizzed out strands because there isn’t enough hair there anymore. I am crushed. I’ve even been advised against bangs by hairdressers because IT’S TOO THIN. I miss having nice hair. I wish I hadn’t hated it so much when I had it.

Look at that hair. Ew. 

The entire purpose of this post is to mention that a few days ago Nathan tweeted a link to an article about going shampoo-less (I refuse to use the phrase no’poo because I find it annoying and disgusting). I had heard of people doing this before, but always shrugged it off. In my past, my biggest hair problem has been dryness- not grease. Not so much anymore. At this point? I’ll try anything. I’ve tried product after product. I want hair again. Nice, thick, hair. My new project is trying out the no shampoo thing. I’ll wash with baking soda and rinse with apple vinegar so don’t fear, my hair won’t be completely disgustingly dirty. I’ll post pictures every few weeks to update and to see if there’s actually any change. So without further ado?

Day One. 

With no shampoo.


You Know You’re Tired When…

… you come home from work to realize that you put the carrot sticks away in the freezer.

… you go to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer, put the dryer sheet in and then turn on… the washer. Which has no clothes in it.

… you drive right on past where you pick your daughter up from daycare nearly every. single. day.

All things that I’ve done in the last week.

Me thinks I need some sleep.


Going The Distance

While I have always thought that running is the most awe-inspiring of all the displays of athleticism out there, I have always likened the actual experience of running to sitting in a dentist’s chair having a root canal while two sadistic beauticians wax your legs. In other words? Torturous.

Couch to 5K has turned so much of that around for me. Yesterday this fat girl managed to RUN for 16 minutes, chopped into two eight-minute segments. For those who are used to  being fit this may seem like nothing, but for a girl like me, who cheated when counting laps in high school gym class, it is AMAZING.

My first week went by pretty smoothly. I thought “Yeah, hey, I can do this. No problem! I’m a runner! Woo!”

And then I came into week two. And I was still going alright, but the attitude was more like, “Yeah. Cool. I’m kinda running. Kinda sweating. Kinda ew. But hey! Feels good!” I almost stayed an extra day (or week) on week two, but my awesome friend convinced me that ya know what? We could do this. Let’s keep going. So we did.

Week three. Whooooeeeeeee. Week three was good. More running, for sure. Day one of the third week was fantastic. Day two of week three had me convinced that I was going to keel over dead on the treadmill. Day three of week three? Holy ever-loving god, the only reason that I made it through was that I kept chanting to myself that if I’d done it twice before, that I could do it one more time. No way, no how, was I going to move onto week four.

Guess what? I moved on to week four. Again, I almost died. Again, I was convinced that there was not an ice cream’s shot in a microwave that I was going to do week five. I just might stay on week four the entire remainder of my LIFE. Sensing a theme here?

I moved on. And I DID IT. I ran. I ran five minutes and then walked three. And then I did that TWO MORE TIMES. And I felt SOOOOO good. It felt even better than week four. And then yesterday, I ran eight minutes, I walked five and then I ran another eight and let me tell you, I was grinning my way through that last run. It felt so good. When I thought I couldn’t go anymore, I just started counting. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Over and over and over again. And I smiled. And I ran. And I did it. I not only did it, but I walked for an extra half and hour and logged just under four miles. FOUR MILES! From a quasi-fat girl!

I’m so amazingly proud of myself and of Miss Meghann, for being right there with me and doing it and hitting it just as hard as I am. I can’t believe that we’re becoming runners. I am so happy for us.