Will There Be Cake?


I turn 45 years old in exactly 8 minutes.

I had lunch today with E and his coworker Steve.  I told Steve that I’m not too happy about this birthday because it puts me right at the midpoint between 40 and 50 years old.  I added that the alternative to aging is death so I’ll take the aging but I don’t have to be happy about it, damn it.

This is also my last weekend of complete and total food debauchery.  I’ve been on a spree since Halloween.  If food was cocaine, I’d be roomies with Robert Downey Jr. at the rehab clinic.  I bought a new Fitbit a couple weeks ago (I’ve lost 3 in watery washing machine deaths.  RIP, Fitbits.) and when I entered my current weight, Fitbit’s digital reply was “Wait.  What?  Girl, you crazy.  Stop fucking with me.”  Lane Bryant is sending me passive aggressive emails which might as well say “We all knew you and your fat ass would be back, bitch.  Here’s a coupon for stretchy pants.”

I start eating healthy and return to the gym on Monday, leftover birthday cake or not.  And who am I kidding? There will be no leftover cake.  I’ll be on that cake like a rabid dingo on a poor, innocent baby.

My motivation for losing weight is the Spring Break cruise we just booked.  I’m not that vain, I just really don’t want to get rolled back into the ocean because my fellow cruise travelers mistook me for a beached whale.  Fuckers.  My only hope for avoiding that fate is to lose a bit of weight and avoid wearing black or grey on the cruise but I’ve already accepted that this will probably end badly for me.  I’m fairly certain the term “harpooning” will be noted as the cause of death in my obituary.

Okay, okay.  Enough with the fat jokes.  I’m looking forward to my birthday cake but I’m looking even more forward to how I feel when I get some of this hibernation/holiday weight off.  It’s been kind of a rough few months so I’m not going to kick myself in the ample ass over it.  I will, however, miss lattes that don’t start with “Skinny”, Sugar In The Raw, fully leaded flavored coffee creamer, cookie dough in any form (fuck you, Salmonella!), and my recent wine kick.

The next time I post a blog, I’ll probably be going to or returning from the gym and tits deep in sweat from giving these cushy love handles I’m now sporting a haymaker right to the nuts.

But first, I have to finish that birthday cake.  Dingo.  Baby.  Let’s do this.

Full Of Win! My 2013 NFL Pick ‘Em Pool Winner Acceptance Speech

Blogger’s note:  I promise, this is the last football post for a while.

I participate in a NFL Pick ‘Em Pool every year.  My friend Gary started it a few years ago.  It’s easy, doesn’t take a lot of my time like Fantasy Football and it’s fun.  The smack talk is always fun and lighthearted so that’s one of the reasons I keep going back.  It’s also because I kick ass at picking the winners of NFL football games, at least last year.

I won last year’s pool yet the fact that I still haven’t received my $1,000,000 as is promised in the actual pool description, “Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool”, really pisses me off and is quite disheartening.  Also, participation in the pool has doubled from last year’s number of losers so the jibber jabber has escalated.  I feel the need to remind them all (and inform the newbies) of exactly who they’re dealing with.

The following is my Winner’s Acceptance Speech from last year.  Be sure to click on the helpful link to the pool that I offered everyone right before the AC/DC video for “Thunderstruck”.

Did y’all feel that? Like a mini earthquake? But more awesome and way hotter? That was me. Stomping on your Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool hopes and dreams.

For 21 long weeks, we entered our best guesses as to who would come out on top each week in the NFL. Methods were varied and dubious at times.  I still am not ruling out voodoo and the almost surely illegal use (except in Louisiana) of virgin’s blood but that’s the past.  I choose not to live in the past.  I like it right here in the present.

The present that makes me…. (wait for it)… THIS YEAR’S UNDISPUTED WINNER OF THE MILLION DOLLAR PICK ‘EM POOL!

I am also the first female to ever win the pool in its illustrious and sordid 3 year history.  I am the Susan B. Anthony of the Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool.  I am the Neil Armstrong of the Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool.  I am Elvis Presley’s hips on the Ed Sullivan Show.  You can choose to pan the camera up and ignore them but they’re still shaking, baby.  They still there. They ain’t going nowhere. BAM!

The Buzz Aldrin to my Neil Armstrong, the Yoko Ono to my John Lennon, the Robin to my Batman is none other than ACUWildcats, coming in with a paltry 66.92% pick rate.  It makes me sick to type that number.  It is beneath me.  Me, with my mighty and never-again-to-be-reached amazing 67.17% pick rate.  That’s right.  A .25% difference, according to my calculator.  But here’s the cold hard facts, children.  Calculators LIE!  I kicked ACUWildcat’s butt.  He’s sitting on a medical donut cushion tonight and seeking victim’s assistance from trained professionals in the Denver area.

I spoke to our esteemed pool founder today and he assures me that the moment the $9.99 Super Bowl Spread check has cleared the bank, he will Fed Ex the million dollar grand prize for this pool to me. Of course, there will be pictures, much like the Publisher’s Clearing House thing. And balloons. And cake. Lots and lots of cake and nudity in the cake. I’ve already planned and put deposits down on five elaborate vacations which will shame and totally demoralize Kanye West and leave him wondering if life is even worth it anymore. In answer, no. It’s not, playa. Give me the damned mic and leave the stage, Kanye.

In all seriousness, I hope you all have a great off season. Don’t forget to save the pool link so you can jump back into the yellow and warm waters of the MDPEP next fall. Here’s the link, be sure to bookmark it. You’re welcome.



I hope you all are having a great start to football season, whether you follow college or professional ball.  Also, Gary, I’ll text you my mailing address so you can finally mail that million bucks to me.