31 for 31 – A Look Back

Last year, I stole an awesome idea from one of my internet stalkees, Alida, and I did the 31-for-31 thingie.  I liked it so much, I’m going to do it again for my birthday this year!  (For quick refreshment: In Part 1, you are meant to list 31 things you want to do this year.  In part 2, you are meant to list 31 things you’ve learned this year.)

Of my 31 to-dos, here was what I accomplished:

  1. Get my arm back to 100% (or preferably, 120%) – Yeah bitches!!!  I’M BIONIC NOW!  And thankfully, the scar healed up a bit more so I can be less vain about being attacked by Somali pirates.  But the plate sticks out all the time and it’s still frustratingly uncomfortable (as well as one of the screws starting to work its way out), so I may end up removing it soon.  We’ll see.
  2. Be diligent with physical therapy, and stop being so pig-headed and impatient about how long it takes to freaking heal a stupid bone (Ahem.) – I followed this advice, which is why my arm is super-ridiculously-strong now.  My husband, who separated his shoulder JUST AS I WAS GETTING BETTER last March, did not do his physical therapy, and now looks like the Huncharm of Houston.  I told him that would happen, and he was pig-headed and impatient, and that’s what he gets for it.  I can’t take him anywhere with me now.  (Just kidding, baby.  You’re still beautiful.)
  3. Buy a boat (30-34ft preferably) – Bought a 32ft catamaran!  Husband spent about two months solid fixing it up in North Carolina while I worked on the house watched Netflix.
  4. Start jogging – I actually started jogging in March 2012 (as soon as my doctor said I could), and then I got a workout buddy and started going to high-intensity spin classes shortly thereafter.
  5. Get good enough at jogging to start running (if doctor says it’s okay!) – See above!
  6. Lose 25 pounds (minimum) – I lost 35 pounds.  :)  Spin classes paid off! Continue reading

Why You Should Not Spoon Taylor

I’ve spent the last six months almost-writing a blog post, but now bitches, this is happening.  Prepare yourselves.

We’re going to start with a story.  Get your blankies and your giraffe hats, and gather around.

A long time ago, in a land   So one time, I was dating this guy.  Super sweet, cheek-pinchingly adorable guy.  Wouldn’t harm a fly.  He was that guy that would be helping old ladies across the street, didn’t curse (so you knew our relationship was doomed), didn’t have any vices except for video games and a slightly-too-comfortable relationship with all his guy friends.  (Like, they’d have sleep-overs and one of them drove a Miata.  I’m not judging, I’m just saying.  It was suspect.)

Right, so, super-nice dude.  We’d been dating for, what, two months?  Long enough for him to realize I was totally the most amazing person on the planet, but not long enough to say, warrant me yelling at him for anything.  He was still holding in his farts around me, so I guess we were in the honeymoon period.

He still lived with his parents (and I being the older and wiser of the two, had an apartment), so he stayed over at my place a lot.  We were still at the “we love to just cuddle all the time” phase.  Anyway, we snuggle into bed, and he cuddles in behind me like a super-sweet guy would do.  He nuzzles his head into my hair, murmuring something about how I smelled like gingerbread (what?), and falls asleep.  I drift off into dreamland, lovely comforted by the warmth of his body.

Except it couldn’t have been that comforting, because I started having a dream about getting into a fight.  I have no memory of the dream.  I just remember I was in that halfway-to-sleep, halfway-awake part of the REM cycle, where you twitch a lot.  So in the dream, someone takes a swing at my face, and hits me in the jaw.

Half-asleep, I lurch my head back…right into his nose.  Hard.

Y’all, I broke. His. Nose.

I wake up to a kind of dull ache in the back of my head, and my poor boyfriend, screeching like a banshee.

I know what you’re thinking…”How rude of him to wake Taylor up like that!  She was trying to sleep.”  And I appreciate that, because it’s totally true.  Plus I was traumatized by some whore trying to suckerpunch me in the jaw, so I was already kind of shaken up.

Seriously, no joke.  Blood is gushing everywhere.  All over my leopard print sheets, all over his face.  He’s crying, I’m crying.  It was a whole big ordeal.

I tell you this because I had a dream last night, where I was fighting with a kangaroo (playfully.  That motherfucker would have laid me out if he’d wanted to), and in my dream, he hit me in the face and I jerked back my head while waking up, and for a split second all I could think was OMG I HOPE HUSBAND ISN’T SPOONING ME.

And he was.  I could feel his arm curled lovingly around my waist as I was sobering from the dream, and I remember just gasping really loudly, like I was already expecting the collision.

But then, by some sheer miracle, he had his head tilted back just far enough that he escaped the head attack.  I don’t understand how that happened, but thank God.  He is far less accepting than the first guy I beat up with my punch-dreams.  He’d probably make a big deal out of it, and want me to drive him to the hospital and shit, and I just wasn’t in the mood for that kind of drama on a Monday morning.

Bullet dodged.  But now, I think he might need to wear protective head gear, just in case.

 

WTF is a Fish Pedicure.

No, I’m serious.  WTF.

I saw something on Google News about fish pedicures causing all kinds of illnesses.  I sort of assumed it had to do with fish eating your feet (since I’ve had numerous forays into river swimming and had those fuckers nibble on me if I slowed down long enough), but I mean…why??  Are you too good to scrub your own feet?  You want some fish to do it for you?  How about just give the guys some real fish food instead of your skin leftovers.

But no seriously, I want one.

Also, I do like the new word I learned today: Ichthyotherapy.

Next up, they will bring back leeches to cure our ailments.  I’d like to give a shout out to Willem Dafoe, for making leeches even creepier.  If you don’t know the movie reference, you may waste 2 hours of your time watching Speed 2 to see what I mean.  Or you can just look at this picture and imagine him putting leeches all over his torso at the same time.

No, Dafoe.  No.

 

Please tell me one of you has had a fish pedicure.

Ski Diving Sounds Lame Now.

So my cute and adorable pregnant friend won tickets on some radio show.  She always wins, and I never win anything on the radio.  Probably because she calls and I don’t.  This is probably the same reason I have still not won the lottery yet.  There’s some logic there, but I don’t get it.

Anyway, she reports that she won tickets to go ski diving!!!!  Which despite realizing that she probably meant sky diving, sounded like SUPER FREAKING FUN to me.  I am picturing them dropping you from 16,000 feet onto a mountain that you can ski down.  I was exhilarated at the mere thought.  

I immediately began researching this, because I. WANT. TO. SKI DIVE.  Now would be preferable.

Continue reading

Pandora, you’re starting to piss me off.

So, first off?  Apologies for being out a week.  I know some people have no regard for posting with any regularity because they don’t care enough about their fans to keep them entertained, and then have the audacity to tell me that I will be writing on their blog for them!  (I think he assumes it’ll be a total honor to do his dirty work for him, which it totally will be is totally rude to assume totally will be, but don’t tell him that.)  But I will discuss Patch’s transgressions in more depth on his own blog, because that’s the kind of classy lady I am.  You didn’t come here to hear about that.  You came to hear about how amazing I am, not him.  (Except that he totally is, but if you tell him I said that, I will totally deny it.)

Continue reading

Five Reasons Why You Might End Up Hating Me

Well hello there!  So, you’re on my blog.  This is great news for me (you are filling my head with notions of grandeur!), but let’s discuss a few items before you decide whether it’s great news for you:

Item One: I curse. Like a lot. My own husband gets uncomfortable when I go in public (and he’s a mechanic), because who knows when I’m going to be playing with a toddler who has just kicked me in the shin, and screech out “holy fuck, bitchface!  What the fuck?!”  I can see it in his eyes sometimes, people.  He doesn’t even really allow me to be in the presence of his own (staunchly Southern Baptist) mom, because he’s that frightened.  (And let’s be honest.  He should be.)  Usually, he will wince when I’ve just cursed in front of a preacher, or his sister, or some newborn (like they can understand me), and then his eye will twitch, and he’ll be like, “Taylor.  Why must you curse all the time?” and my response? “Because fuck you.  That’s why.”

Continue reading