A day in the life of PMS...warning - foul language may appear

PMS. Officially it stands for pre-menstrual syndrome. And officially, it sucks. Now, you will never hear a real woman say that PMS is not real (in fact, saying that just might get you bitch slapped). And if by some weird freak of nature some woman does say that, she's a bitch and she shouldn't be trusted. (Don't leave her alone with your kids or husband.) PMS is real like the big girl PMS underwear I'm forced to wear right now. (P.S. For all you ladies out there...please tell me that I'm not the only one who has a stash of what I call "big ass grandma period panties" located in the very back of the unmentionable drawer.) Uh. PMS. I hate you. You know...I think someone should do a survey of all the women in prison. I bet you almost 90% of those women were PMS-ing during their offense. Especially the ones who cut a fool.
In "celebration" of PMS...here's a little taste of what a day in the life of my PMS is like.

What is up with the teenage zits on my face? Um...last time I checked, I was well past puberty. And taking one good look down my shirt...I know I am well past puberty. PMS= Pimples May Surface
Did my bra shrink overnight? And my pants? Everything is tight...uh. Why aren't women allowed to wear elastic or sweat pants to work? I'm actually contemplating buying some maternity pants for days like these. That is perfectly acceptable, right? Dress codes. I got your freakin' dress code. PMS=Pass me My Sweatpants and Puffy Mid Section
Why yes, chocolate does make it better. And Doritos. And Ben & Jerry. And caramel popcorn. And pizza rolls. PMS=Provide Me with Snacks
Oh. No. You. Didn't. Just. Cut. Me. Off. In. Traffic. On a normal day I would just honk at you. But today, I will honk at you, flip you off and look straight at you while I say a few curse words. PMS=Pardon My Shouting
It was Friday night. I was supposed to be out. Having fun. Or at least doing something that partially resembled fun. Instead, I was stood up again by quite possibly the biggest douche bag on the planet, curled up in my grandma's patch-quilt blanket, sobbing like a baby, with thoughts like, "Why is my life so horrible?" PMS= Psychotic Mood Shift and Plainly, Men Suck! and Pardon My Sobbing.
Person standing too close to me at Wal-Mart: Don't you see the ice cream in my cart? Next to the Tampax? You better back the hell up. PMS=People Make me Sick
Checking out facebook, I notice that a lot of people keep their status in the same genre. I mean, if your status is always about the same thing, like your kids...or your job...or your pregnancy...or your diet...you are boring. Mix it up a little. We, the audience, need some variety. PMS= Pissy Mood Syndrome

Hope you enjoyed that.
From,
Your big-panty wearin', sweat-pant sportin', ice cream eatin', emotional crisis havin', PMSin' biggest fan.

Hey, it's ok if...

One of my favorite things to do is read magazines. And one of my favorite sections is in Glamour magazine called "It's Ok If..." So here's my version.

It's ok if...

-You'd rather read a celebrity gossip magazine over an intellectual novel.
-You browse Wal-Mart on the weekends because there just isn't anything better to do.
-You open to the middle of the Harlequin romance novels to see if the rumor is true: that dead in the center of the novel is the "good part". (Wait...am I the only one who has done that?)

-You secretly hope the cute somebody standing behind you is checking you out as you walk away.
-You color-code your closet or alphabetize your DVD collection.
-If you put all your grandma panties towards the back of your panty drawer...just in case someone decides to take a peek. You want them to see your sexy undies...not the "these are what I wear when I feel like a bloated pig" panties.
-You seriously contemple kissing a total stranger.
-People ask you if you are homeless and living in your car because it's so dirty.
-You paint over the chipped nail polish because you just don't have that kind of time on your hands.
-You are fascinated with ear wax.
-You stand in front of the mirror and try to shake your booty like they do on BET.
-You sleep in...and then take a nap...and wonder why you are still, in fact, sleepy.
-You fantasize about what sleazy/borderline-trashy outfit you want to wear if you ever hit your goal weight.
-You spent an ample amount of time considering how you'd spend that million dollars you just might win someday. 
-You have your "if I ever see him/her again" speech planned...for what you want to say. (Although it never seems to go that way does it?)

So, yeah. It's ok. We are all a little strange.

One awesome date - modern man take notes

I am absolutely, without question, frustrated with my experience with today's modern man and his ability to date. Allow me to vent...because I have a few questions that maybe someone can answer...

Is dating unheard of these days?! Whatever happened to someone calling you up and actually uttering the following phrase: "I was wondering if you'd like to go out this weekend?" Instead, I get a random text message asking if I wanna "hang out" later (which is code for "let's watch tv".) Long gone are the days when a man actually asks you out, plans a date and picks you up. That has happened once in my adult life. Once. And while that date did not turn into a relationship, I still, to this day, rate that as the best date I have ever been on. You know why? Because the guy called me up (a week in advance! I know right? I can still hardly believe it myself) and actually asked me out (which I realize is a big deal because a guy can always run the risk of being rejected) and planned the date himself. He knocked on my front door, brought me a nice flower, opened the car door for me and whisked me away and treated me like I was some kind of royalty. Let's skip to dinner...he took me to a nice restaurant and actually suggested something on the menu. Not in a bossy way, but in a super-hot take-charge manly kind of way. (SO tired of hearing the boring response of "Whatever you want to do" to my question of "What do you have planned?" UHH!) So...back to the awesome one date I had like 8 years ago...I may not have ended up in a relationship with this guy, but the point is this: this guy knew how to date. Perhaps he should teach a course to today's modern man who thinks a date is "hanging out". Um...hello...it's not! I'm not at all opposed to hanging out with you...but if that's it...it isn't a good sign.

I don't require fancy restaurants. Nor do I require any amount of sufficient funds. I don't require fancy places or clothing. But I do require effort. I require you, modern man, to get up off your ass, make a plan, and ask me out for heaven's sake! I'm not even asking you to be creative...just ask...preferably at least three days in advance. Do you not know how hot that is? How manly that makes you? I just refuse to believe that I am supposed to settle for "hanging out" every blue moon. I mean, it isn't that old fashioned is it? I'm not asking for a horse drawn carriage and to be courted. I just want a freaking date!

Back on the bandwagon

So sorry blogger friends...I have sorta taken a hiatus from writing. And from exercising. And from eating healthy. But never fear, I am jumping back on the bandwagon! I'm trying to go back to what threw me off from my awesome weight loss streak I had going...I'm not quite sure, but I know the following life events have not helped:
1. Working at a restaurant during late night hours is torture on a diet. Resisting cheese fries for half price is almost an impossible feat. And what is open at 12 a.m.? McDonald's. Taco Bell. Krystal's. (Not good for a trying-to-be-healthy gal.)
2. Whenever I have a new crush or am dating a guy...I get all giddy and happy and forget that working out must still remain a priority. 
3. I had some sort of severe side pain going on for about a week which landed me in the emergency room. I wasn't able to walk/run for a week (and I unfortunately have not since) and wasn't able to run in the 5K I had planned due to that injury. Which really sucked. Like, majorly. But, mark my words - I. WILL. RUN. A. 5K.
So...there's a small little up-date. I promise to be more faithful to my ten readers. Lol.
Love and cheese fries,
Danielle