“If worrying were an Olympic sport, you'd get the gold for sure.” ~Stephenie Geist
I came quite close to titling this post “Freaking the Fuck out” but then figured that the fine folks over at BlogHer ads wouldn’t want “Freaking the Fuck out” directly below an advertisement for strollers and how to help busy moms practice good time management skills. But I am. Freaking the fuck out that is, not a busy mom.
You must know that not only do I have a bit of a hyperbolic tendency, thus going to extremes with every situation, but my nerves and anxiety generally manifest themselves in a ridiculous eating habit that would rival that of a marathon runner at the height of training. Which means that I made a foray to Trader Joe’s to pick up essentials such as garlic & chive yogurt dip, pita chips, chocolate covered peanut butter filled pretzels and pretzel thins. Alas, my arrival there was marred by what could only be described as a horrendous clusterfuck due to a 16 wheeler trying to back itself into a parking garage on a street that is, at best, 4 feet wide, thus not giving nearly enough room for the average Washingtonians BMW SUV and yet somehow they make it work and carry on.
That said, I’m now consuming Argentinean Syrah and several wrap shrimp things that were being sampled at Trader Joe’s. And well, half the box is gone. Thankfully I am also a nervous gymmer (I made that word up by the way) and managed to run many miles, which means that the amount of time spent on both the elliptical and treadmill, combined with lifting and a little ab work, will cancel out the fried shrimp and wine and the overwhelming amount of carbs to be consumed tomorrow and my bubble ass, won’t get too much more…well…bubbly.
OY. It’s poised to be a long day*.
*This post brought to you by the fine folks known as our Fore Father's for giving us life, liberty, and the freedom to change things up every once in awhile. Otherwise known as Election Day, yo.