I'm a Hot Mess. Promise.

I'm actually not that hot right now.

Thanks Maine for heeding my warning.

And no I'm not claiming to be hot, like, I'm so Sexy I'm a Victoria's Secret Model Hot.

Unless they're looking for half-pasty, half-sunburned ghetto booty models. Then sign this kid up.


What makes me a hot mess (also often self-refereed to as a Struggle-Fest) is that I'm consistently struggling to get my act together.

See?  I even own a bracelet that says I am.

 So that must makes it real. Like putting your relationship on facebook.

Still don't believe me?

Fine, make me pretend I'm a lawyer.

Exhibit A:

As many of my faithful readers know, I work part time at an ice cream stand during my summers to avoid thinking about school make a little extra cash so mamma can haz nice fings.

I woke up this morning. Thought about what I'd do before I went to work. Then realized I didn't know which shift I was working. SO. I had to pack a bag in case I was going to the gym, and a bag in case I was working. 

 Normal. 

 I showed up, checked the schedule, I wasn't working until 4:30. 

No big deal. I am just one of the oldest employees who can't keep her 4 day a week schedules straight and knocks over spoons every single shift.

Hot mess.

Exhibit B:

Let's move onto the gym.

I am "running" a race in a week. To be specific a 10K. That's a little over 6 miles for all of you mathmaticians out there. 

Notice running is in quotes. I have never in my life consequetively ran 6 miles at a time. Right now I think I can do maybe 3. Which is all fine and dandy, but unfortunately only half of this race. So I use the word running very lightly. I will probably be walking half. Because half of it is hills. 

If that doesn't sound like fun on a Saturday morning to you, I really don't know what does.

Also, I just got new sneakers that make my feet fall asleep. We're down to just the toes now. Progress.

Either way. I jump on the elliptical and set myself for an hour. Almost 6 miles.

About 15 minutes in, this man saunters on over into the area. 

I would just like to point out that my gym has 3 rows of ellipticals. There are probably 20 in all. Counting myself, there are only two people on all of these machines at this moment.

Now, there is no way to describe this man without being rude.

Have you seen Toy Story 2?

via

 

 

 

 

 

Take away the glasses, and make him juuuuust a touch bit heavier. This is what I was dealing with. 

Now let me repeat, there are ellipticals everywhere. My row alone has 6. I was in the middle. And where does Mr. Toy villian plop himself after very obviously making eye contact. 

RIGHT NEXT DOOR. 

Never mind the total disregard of gym etiquette, but due to his size alone he was overlapping in some of my arm space. I wanted to move, but I didn't want him to confront me. He seemed like the type.  And Gaga was blasting. I mean come on. I was just getting going.

So he sweats it out next to me going probably half of my speed, staring straight into the mirror in front of us most of the time. Don't worry, he lifted his shirt plenty of times to wipe sweat off of his face.

So he gets off about a half hour in, wipes himself off with towels, and then continues to meander around the gym literally doing nothing. Just straight out chilling and moseying on by machines. 

I finish my workout, I've lost track of him at this point. 

After gathering my things in the locker room, I head for the doors, I notice enough that someone is behind me, but not enough who it is. I don't hold the door open for the person, but let it linger so they can grab it.

"Thank you so much."

I turn around.

via

He wasn't giving me a thumbs up, but he might has well have been.

This is the part where I awkwardly started walking very fast away from him.

He slowly walked towards his motorcycle and was looking around himself. Just not getting on. I decide I don't need any stalkers and head for the car next to mine. Because if I act like it's mine, and he's really a hardcore stalker he'll go for this person right? 

So I walk over to this other car,  pretending to text before I get into drive my apparently new BMW SUV. 

I look down. 

There's a woman in the driver's seat on talking on her phone.

Hot mess.

Exhibit C:

 Is it just me, or am I the only person in the world that when they finally get the time to go to the bathroom, (We're not talking #1 here people.) their cellphone decides to go off. Every time. 

And of course it's usually a phone call you've been waiting for. Every time. 

Hot mess. 

( I apologize to any male readers for Exhibit C. It's my understanding that you would like to believe that woman do not go #2, but rather just go into the bathroom and throw sparkles and rainbows around until we're done. The secrets out I guess.)

Exhibit D: 

You know that sunburn I got last weekend? 

It turned into bubbles on my shoulders this week. Like double double toil and trouble witch style bubbles.

Now? Oh, don't worry, just peeling like a boss.

It's not like I'm going to the lake or anything with my family this weekend.

Hot mess.

Exhibit E: 

It took me literally a day to write this post.

I would write a sentence and then realized I had to either go to work or the gym. (Remember? I didn't know. I hope you remember. You read that like 5 minutes ago.) 

Or I would write another sentence, and go into the bedroom to help Dave fold laundry only to fall asleep on it. For the whole night. Whoops.

Hot mess. 

Exhibit F:

I have been a "bad blogger". Not responding to comments in a timely manner. Not getting posts up as quickly as I'd like. Not doing all of the networking that I'd like to be doing after getting all of the wonderful feedback from this post. 

Also, my last post was about dressing my dog up in human clothing. It hasn't been pulitzer prize winning stuff. 

Now, I'm not going to apologize. If I've learned anything from teaching, it's been that. 

Unless you accidentally hit a kid in the face with your elbow because you just got so excited about how important adjectives are in the middle of the classroom that you started spining around about it. 

Apologize then. That was just rude. And calm yourself down. Parts of speech aren't that exciting, you just think they are when you've been drilling them in the head of 13 year olds who would rather be texting.

I DIGRESS.

Not apologizing, but promise I'll try and post a little more often. 

Well, except for this weekend. I mean, I'm going to the lake.

But after that, promise. 

Now, to go google whether I can still get a tan when my peeling skin is covered in SPF 50...

(Love my blog? Think it's random? Then please vote for me here. I'm number 47. LYLABS! That would be Love You Like A Blog Stalker.)

So hold on tight until I can blog again, vote for me, and 

Dooooon't you... (dah dum) forget about me... (dunn) don't don't don't don't. Don't you..  (dah dum) forget about me.