I need new yoga pants. In the case of the missing (most comfy) yoga pants I have 3 suspects. They are all strangely the same names of my daughters. I see yoga pants that I want so badly, find the perfect pair and then realize I look nothing like the tan, smooth skinned, 6-pack adorned model that is in said pants.
Why don’t they have mothers of 6 modeling those things and in the description say things like, comfy, stretchy, not itchy or too clingy or shiny. Doesn’t show that your gluteous maximus is sliding slowly into your knees. (Just an idea)
I love cashews like they were candy on a tree. They speak to me in the mornings as a small handful jump weightlessly into the palm of my hand and moves into my gaping mouth. We conversate while one of us chewing mid-day when I need something to eat but I’m not ready for a meal. At night, just before I retire to my sleepless dreams they again whisper as I turn the lights out to my craft room and I as a loyal lover of nutty goodness grab yet another handful and giggle to myself at how lucky I am to have such a good relationship with my best friend.
I’m out. I find myself contemplating my marriage to he who is to bring them home without fail.
I have an unhealthy addiction to chipboard and cardboard. All of it, packing boxes, empty cereal and granola and low-fat cracker boxes. Shoe boxes of varying sizes, pizza boxes (the lid that doesn’t have grease on it) and small appliance boxes. I have projects in mind so that justifies the collection of such things. Unhealthy in the fact that it takes up a quarter of my living room which isn’t all that large. It blocks my exercise area that I wasn’t really planning on using anytime soon; mainly because of the broken down and stored boxes. (See how that worked?)
I love them. I will keep them. I will start my projects (soon). Besides, if I move the boxes it will only be one more space of hardwood floor to collect dog hair. Now if I start collecting that… freakin’ heck it’s time to call the professionals.
I want to grow my hair out again to that long, twisty locks of curl that are slightly boho mixed with hobo.
But I might cut it short again because I can. And more especially because people freak out when I cut it. I like tension and exercising my power.
I love to dance, like the back in the day type of dancing you would do with a partner to Michael Bublé or Nora Jones type of dancing. I think about it often, it lifts my spirits to think of gliding along a marbled floor (or cement patio whatevs) the sway to a slow ballad or the skate of an upbeat 40’s 50’s tempo.
I have no one to dance with. I don’t really know how to dance; except when I’m daydreaming when I’m supposed to be sleeping. I still want to dance.
Until I get my cashews back I am currently eating my body weight in Fritos and Roasted Red Pepper Hummus. Oh, the love. I mean there is real love involved in this combination of classy meets redneck.
The flip-side is that my body weight is all attached to my back fat at this very moment. That was the only thing I didn’t mind to see go when I got sick and lost weight. I have actually tricked my body into thinking Fritos and Hummus is a food group. And cashews. True joy, the backfat will have to just stay behind me as I move forward with this glorious combo…
Well, that’s about all I’m feeling so far. Pretty earth shattering I know. Have a wondermous Tuesday. I’ll be thinking about it… (smirk)