Dirty Sanchez...Cuz it's Sick..

A mere sixteen days until I am lounging at the beach. Drinking my weight in margaritas, sleeping in, and having as much sex as I want with the manfriend. I mean, perhaps I did die when my treadmill plowed me on the steps, and I'm in heaven. Only, I don't believe in heaven silly. I think I'm just happy. Imagine that.

The boy and I hung out in my parking lot last night when he came over. He downloaded some new music and we had some beers and enjoyed that it was neither 50 degrees, or 100 degrees. We may have engaged in some sort of shenanigans under the stars too. I said may have. Don't jump to conclusions. Pervs.

He told me that he is going to have a car looked at on Saturday that he is interested in buying. You know, good for him...but the shitty thing about that is, I've been planning a party for months. It's Canal Days. Where the whole town gets together and makes a sacrifice of babies to the canal. Kidding, it's a small town, but not small town/creepy. Although I wouldn't object to something like that. Even baby dolls would be awesome, we wouldn't actually have to toss real babies in. Imagine how pissed off people would be over that.

Anyway - we were suppose to go canoeing, and have an all day drinkfest which includes walking to the fair for fried cheese on a stick, having a fire, and making general asses of ourselves. I don't know anything better than that. You may not know this about me but my #1 pet peeve is when people have plans with me and break/change them. Only because I don't do that to other people. If something comes up I'm true to my plans "sorry, I can't, I have plans". I'm too nice. Havn't I said that before? That's life, shit happens. If I've learned one thing in all my therapy it's that what's important to me isn't important to others, and I can't fault them for that. Next.

I had another stellar workout last night. I did 2.5 miles/30 min on the treadmill, 3 miles (notice my increase by a MILE) 20 minutes on the eliptical, and 3.5/15 min on the bike. The bullshit thing is I have cellulite. Yea, it's on my ass and legs. It's not hugely visible, but if I push on my skin I can see it. Guess what I never had when I sat on my ass 14 hours a day, and weighed 50 lbs more? Cellulite. I also didn't have saggy boobs and wrinkles. Whever decided working out is good for you must be a billionaire who can correct all these problems with plastic surgery. I'm personally kinda ticked about it.

Tuesday Kat came over again and we did body sculpting. We kicked it's ass. I made her use 7lbs too. Afterwards, she wrote disgusting things on my chalkboard. Things my virgin eyes shouldn't see. Stuff like dirty sanchez. You know, it's kinda sick that she knew what that was, and I had to look it up on wikipedia.