Wednesday, February 11, 2009

I Want 18 Kids Now, Or At Least My Virginity Back

It is Hump Day, but there will be no humping in Casa Zipbagofbones due to an unfortunate combination of Gray's broken arms and the hell spawn that is my period. Ah, to be reminded of my empty uterus. It's bliss. Aren't you so glad to know? I thought you would be. If I have to be reminded, then YOU will be reminded. That's how it works around here.

Gray signed up for a gym membership last fall, and he accidentally worked out 3 times (ok, maybe 4 times) before he was able to come up with a list of reasons why he could not/would not work out anymore. I believe the list included things like "my back hurts", "I'm feeling pressured to go and since I refuse to do what other people tell me to do on principal, I'm not going", and the ever-popular "I'm going tomorrow, and I know I said that yesterday, but I actually mean it this time".

Last week, however, Gray actually WENT the gym with his younger (substantially more fit) brother. They went on Friday for, like, a couple hours and then they went again on Saturday, with a little bit of disc golf (Frisbee golf)((I'd never heard of it either)) thrown in for good measure. Gray's younger brother lifts weights on a regular basis. Gray does not. Apparently, it did not occur to either man that perhaps Gray should take it easy on his first visit to the gym in 6 months. Gray did NOT take it easy at the gym.

Remember those Barbies with the arms that stayed bent at the elbow? Not the bendy-arm kind, the solid plastic arm kind. Remember how hard those Barbies were to dress? Gray was one of those Barbies. He was unable to move his fucking arms for about 3 days, and had to go home from work because his arms were stuck in the "bent" position, which was not conducive to his career as a casino games dealer. He walked around looking like a bad impression of a robot. Or a retard. No offense to the robots.

He's doing better now, thanks for asking. I told him not to over do it (be a moron) next time.

Anyhow, as we're well into the second week of February, I thought I would update you all about my progress on the Month of No Spending. Here's a list of everything I have shelled out for:
  • $3 on quarters for laundry
  • $3 wasted in the vending machine trying to get quarters for laundry (aka Sun Chips, Coke, and one serving of air)

That's it. That's all. I have paid a couple of bills (the kind I have to pay to continue living with lights and insurance), and I put gas in my car on Saturday (only because the empty light had been lit for several days). But otherwise? I haven't bought anything.

We are running out of eggs, we are TOTALLY out of produce, and the milk is several days expired (it doesn't smell "wrong" yet), so I anticipate a trip to the grocery store this weekend to pick up a FEW perishable food stuffs. (I've always loved the term "food stuffs". It seems like getting away with saying "thingies" in regular conversation without appearing to be a dumbass.)

Here's the kickers: I AM OUT OF BOOZE PEOPLE. Not "booze people", but "booze, people". Although if anyone knows any "booze people", could you ask them to send me some vodka? I drank my last glass of wine on Monday night, and I'm too cheap to go buy more. For now. We'll see how generous I'm feeling by quitting time today. I'd like to tell you that I spent an entire night booze-free (actually, my therapist would like me to say that, but only if it were true), but instead I dug around in my cabinets until I came up with a bottle of amaretto - which I hate - (it was either that or Grand Marnier, but I have no fucking clue what that is or why it cost so much money) and sucked on that bottle whilst watching the rerun of A Very Duggar Wedding on TLC and the 60 Minutes interview with Octo-mom.

And then I cried myself to sleep because I know I haven't remained pure and saved my whole heart for the man that god "would have for me", and I didn't realize that all I need to have an army of children is a little Botox and some student loans.

But I consoled myself with the knowledge that my dad didn't give me the Sex Talk and attempt to explain the intricate details of married intimacy by saying, "It's like Legos".

So, you know, overall I'm really kicking ass in February.