Guten tag, friends! How was your week? How many hours did you spend watching Amy Schumer clips??? If the number is anywhere less than a grand...reevaluate. You can get started with a few of my faves here & here & here & here anddddddddd here.
Oh and here.
Basically just put up your out of office, type "A-m-y-s-c-h-u-m-e-r" into the YouTube search box thing, pour some vodka into your coffee and settle in.
Susan. Boyle's. Toothbrush.
Anyyyway, what's up for the weekend? I'm suprem-o excited to be heading down to Pennsylvania tonight , my cousin Amelia is gettin' hitched tomorrow! I'm really looking forward to seeing family and tearing up the dance floor with all the Ho's.
Butttt on the sad side, two friends are also getting married this weekend here in Brooklyn and, excited as I am for my sweet cousin, it's still a bit of a bummer to miss these other nuptials. This is actually one of two instances this year and four over the course of our relationship where we've had two weddings on one weekend and had to choose.
It's so hard being so in demand! Basically my whole life be like:
I know. So sad. HOW will anyone's wedding and life carry on without me there to drink all their champagne and flail around the dance floor? I hope they can find a way to cope.
Enough about the future. Let's turn to the past and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.
You know what they say: if you want to make an omelet, you're going to have to break a few eggs. And you know what *I* say: the best way to do that is to ever-so-delicately pack them in their own grocery bag, so they don't get smushed by any of your other comestibles and then walk home wildly swinging said bag because god forbid you ever walk, like a normal human being and smash the bag into an errant tree-branch on the side of the road, effectively smushing all the eggs you worked so hard to keep unsmushed.
Viola! Broken eggs = omelets and omelets = delicious.
This Workout Ensemble:
Let's see what we have here. Sneakers? Check. Socks? Check. Sports Bra? Check! Top? Chec times two, apparently. Bottoms? Bottoms? Bueller? Anyone?
I hauled myself alllllll the way to the gym over lunch the other day (ok It's like on block away but still! It's the GYM! OVER LUNCH!), stripped down in the locker room andddd realized I had no bottoms.
Ugh. Like basically anything else I could have just gotten away with, somehow and still squeezed in a workout but, much as I adore the pantsless life in the comforts of my own home, ain't nobody need to see that out in public.
I re-dressed and slunk out the same door I walked in just 2.4 minutes earlier.
Maybe I'm just so fit, that's all I need!
There are so many times I slog over there hoping I'll find the gym has like, burned to the ground and I can just be like "too bad! At least I made an effort!" but this time I actually wanted to work it and twerk it and no dice.
My life remains the hardest.
The reason I'm so bajiggity on working out lately, aside from the sad but true fact that I'm super vain and concerned about looking "hot" in a bikini, is that I have committed myself to another half marathon. Why oh why do I do these things? I'll never know.
But I do. And so May 16th I'll be joining 8 million of my fellow New Yorkers for the Brooklyn Half Marathon. Woot.
I'm horribly behind on training and not nearly as jazzed as I was the first time around, but I'm sure I'll still finish and not die. Meh. My bum bum has been totally fine until this weekend when it was just rocking with pain after a long run. I grabbed this bag of peas to sit on - as The Schmoops has taught me, there's no better way to heal a wound than chilling it with some frozen peas- and didn't realize the bag had been opened and then improperly closed and the next thing I knew, there were peas alllllllllllllllll over the kitchen and adjoining living room and probably also the bathroom and in our bed and everywhere.
I thought I swept them all up but I keep finding effing thawed peas in every nook and cranny. They're like, the pine needle of the frozen veggie world.
Also I have no one to blame but myself for this mess. One of our greatest disputes in our marriage is over food storage...I actively utilize chip clips and plasticware while someone else just throws uncovered food into the fridge all willy nilly. I'm not saying one of these methods is better than the other but, come one...my method is better.
And yet, last week I made pasta with peas and was too lazy to find a clip and just shrugged and shoved the bag back into the freezer and who paid for my poor decision?
Me and only me.
Again, my life? The hardest.
Ok this was all kind of boring. I should have just stuck with the Amy Schumer links and shut 'er down. I just deleted a really long story about how I got drunk and sent Brian a bunch of texts that started racy and then devolved into me just begging him to make me a sandwich but then I remembered my readership is like 95% family and also he's a teacher and who knows how public this is and maaaaaybe I should stop talking about my sex life and get some boundaries (LOL boundaries? What??) soo I deleted it. But point of that story: I had a bit of an accidental Tuesday Boozeday the other night and Brian totally greeted me at the door with a homemade, piping hot, oooey gooey grilled cheese sandwich (with tomato!!) followed by, ahem, dessert (boundaries, Liz! BOUNDARIES!) and I know I'm going to cause spontaneous barfing here but sometimes I just grin and wonder how I got so lucky to land this guy.
Vom, I know!
Also sue me, I really love gifs.
Theeee end. Have a splendid weekend, bitties! Don't drink and text!
JK do, it's the funnest.