I Can't, Vol. 37

Oh man, y'all. Can I just start this post by saying I'm sorry for not posting recently? Or do I really even need to say it, because true love means never having to say you're sorry? Just kidding. What a load of bullshit that is. If the love of my life accidentally farts on me in his sleep or tries to do the laundry and ruins my best shirt or fucks up in some other major way and is like "but I don't have to say sorry though," I'll be like BITCH, THINK AGAIN. I've been in a fog the last two weeks. Work. Life. Dating hiatus but not really but kind of. I mean, I put together that list of gifts for you guys, but it wasn't very funny. It was a straight up list of things you could possibly get for people this holiday season — no witty one-liners or pithy commentary, really. So I felt I owed you guys something to make you smile since you're most very likely in full holiday mode at work even though you aren't officially off work until next week (because I know that's where I'm at mentally). 

So here we go.

I can't...

tell you how long it takes me to pep talk myself into changing my bed sheets. It's not okay and I know it isn't, but FUCK ME. Putting on fresh sheets is a commitment. I sweat, a lot. Like I genuinely build up a serious sweat when I'm messing with stripping the bed, fixing on the new sheets, etc etc. It blows. And then, when I finally do, my precious amazing perfect but very curly-furred dog who gets everything stuck in her hair jumps onto my freshly made bed and leaves tracks of dirt all over everything and I want to set my house on fire. So.

I can't...

respect a human who goes out of their way to change words like asshole to butthole, then take it a step further by BLEEPING IT OUT to "b***hole." ARE YOU EVEN REAL? HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A PENIS OR HELD SOMEONE'S HAND OR BEEN OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE?

I can't...

believe my reaction to Adele's show on NBC the other night. I mean I can, but I can't. I knew I'd be into it and I know my vaginal powers switch into high gear re: anything Adele, but I was literally unable to sit down and settle in due to pure astonishment and excitement. I stood in the center of my living room, in my nightie, holding half a glass of wine, just watching and crying and singing along. My brow was so furrowed throughout most of her songs that I took a picture to document how furrowed it really was (pictured below). Oh, and my friends and I were texting about it so incessantly, that one girl on our thread was on the phone for 20 minutes and came back to find 117 texts waiting. LOLOLOL. #GIRLS. 

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I can't...

with my best friends and I's group text thread in general. It's the only constant in my otherwise whacky life. The best part is the name: WHATABURGER. Why? Because one of our friends was typing WHAT! and it autocorrected to WHATABURGER! and our forever-thread name was founded.

I can't...

make it through the day without knowing how many steps I've taken anymore. Life doesn't feel as full without my Fitbit. I left it at home on accident the other morning and was like, why did I even bother doing life today? What's the point? It's all meaningless unless I know how many steps I took and how often my resting heart rate shot up throughout my work day.

I can't...

OMG MY RESTING HR RIGHT NOW IS 66. AM I A PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE? AM I STILL ALIVE? HELLO? IT'S ME.

I can't...

even tell you how great it is when my Internet friends I've never met reach out to me. There's something so wonderful and twisted about making friends via your blog or social media and feeling connected to these bad ass women in different states and feeling zero shame in liking every single thing they post and being their biggest fan from afar. You know who you are and can we meet in person when/if I come to San Fran/New York? Kcoolthx.

I can't...

when Cece quite literally loses her shit in public. I tried to be #Dallas with her this past Sunday, stopping at my local Starbucks to grab a bevvie then head for a walk on the Katy Trail (posh walking/running/armed robbering trail in Dallas). Well, she got so worked up about it, she started releasing her bowels before we could get even a few feet away from the entrance of the 'Bucks. Not too big a deal as dogs shit and you have no control over where or when, but what made it so bad is that she couldn't exactly... pinch it off. So I had to assist. And there were not one but two attractive males in the vicinity. And there I am, cussing so hard under my breath "Fucking shit, Cece. Really? Are you fucking kidding me right now?" And it was messy. And horrible. And basically I told her to get in the car and that we were going home, lectured her the entire drive back, and then proceeded to cut it out like chewing gum from a toddler's hair. SUNDAY WALKS, AMIRIGHT?

I can't...

hang on. I was going to write about how hysterically brilliant @trevso_electric is, went to google him, and he's dead. He died. Like in October. I'm freaking the fuck out. It's late and I can't research this as deeply as I'd like, but OMG? How? Why? What happened? I am so upset. He was actually the funniest person on the Internet. Most of my screenshots in my phone are his posts (and texts with guys I send to my friends for deep analyzation). If you didn't follow him and this is the first you're hearing of him, go check out his Instagram page. Wow, I'm upset. Geez. Here are some of my favorites:

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I can't...

when you finally decide to divulge all the little callouts about a guy to your best friend and just sit back and watch her react. It's like, grab some popcorn and some wine because this is gonna be a fucking show. 

xox,

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