Saddle Shoes & Back in the Groove
I meant what I said yesterday.
I still wonder where the punchline is. Like, when is someone going to tell me that this is a major joke and it's going to get better soon.
You know, like...where is Amy Grant to come out with the happy people and the dude dressed like Spiderman to say "little birdie, you're free cuz he paid the price".
That's what happens when I take Tylenol PM too early.
Sooo yeah, last night, I sat up and thought. I had no choice because I was up front with CJ and he hides remotes.
I let something get to me that had never gotten to me before. At age 28.781, I allowed something that has affected me from birth finally get me down. Something that I had cracked jokes about, hid quite well and even ignored...had broken my spirit.
After tearing up, I had to ask myself why it bothered me this time. What about this last month made me so upset.
I realized why...because I actually started to pity myself.
Tamara...pitied herself.
I am the bouncy, bubbly vibrant soul who uplifts and amuses everyone else, and I was pitying myself.
After I pulled CJ off of the PS3, I then had to wonder why I pitied myself. What made me feel so bad? I shouldn't have asked why because I almost had to break out a class of Crown. Instead, I settled on some tea. Milo's to be exact. Milo's is some good ass tea. It comes in a gallon and it's kind of like the tea that you have to cut a little with some ice, but you find it's a tad crackish.
Alas, I digress.
I got tired of limited options. Everyone heard about THE dress I bought. I had almost 10 people around the region trying to find shoes for me to wear with it. As of today, I still have none. It hurt my spirit because it made me realize why I never tried to fix myself up in the first place...because even after a shopping spree, a little Carmex and 8 strategically placed curls...
...I had no shoes...
Well, I GOT shoes, but not THOSE shoes.
You know...
*Amy Winehouse voice*
When you walk in the bar, and you're dressed like a star...rockin' your f-me pumps.
*Tamara voice*
Yeah, I could buy the kickassiest of ensembles and would still be in flats, usher shoes or something that really doesn't go well, but I made it work because I could.
THEN, as if I wasn't already mad as a wet hen, I decided to try exercising because I wanted to tighten up the hindparts and my feet got mad. Those sumbitches revolted.
Actually...THAT was funny. I had struck out Power Walking in my new Reebok ZigZags and I had just gotten my heart rate going when my left foot said I was done. My upper body was still going and so naturally, I fells. So, the sexy stride I left with died before I could get to the chorus of "Africa" by Zo! & Tigallo.
***solid remake by the way***
I know I have a solid workout option waiting, but I had to motivate myself. I didn't want to be like "WELP, it's raining" and go back in the house. I needed to get my own ass moving. But again, my foots said "no".
I just felt crappy because everything I do..I am reminded that I am legally handicapped due to my bastard foots. While that helps with parking at the Southern Heritage Classic, it's annoying. Even when I push my body to the limit, I am not at my limit because my feet would have given out already. One attempt at a mile walk resulted in bleeding.
THAT was grody!
In short, I hit rock bottom. I started to wallow in my misery. Kathy Bates, even.
I looked in the mirror and felt destined to forever be 79% because my feets wouldn't let me be whole. I would always be "damn near".
Damn near sexy...
Damn near burning maximum calories...
Damn near catching up...
...all because of my feets.
BUT, the sexy thing about hitting Rock Bottom is that you win the match if you do it right.
Yesterday, I took Pity's bitch ass and Rock Bottomed her.
I swore to myself and the other thing floating around me (as I am a Gemini) that I would not allow myself to feel muddy over the hand I was dealt. I have won Uno games with one Wild card and a bunch of numbers, so I didn't always need the Draw Fours. I am not going to ask God "why did you give me this" again. I am not about to waste another day pouting and crying about something beyond my control anymore.
Since my condition is beyond my control, I am going to work around it. I may not be able to walk two miles with you cats, but I'm going to ball (uh ruh, relatively ball) for a half mile until I can go further. I can't break out stilettos with the best of you, but don't be shocked if I pull a Janelle Monae and wear some Saddle Shoes. Why?
Because when life gives you lemons, make Lemoncello.
I'm going to get frustrated every now and then, but I'm going to walk it off. Well, waddle or whatever it is I do. I'm investing in more Technicolor Dreamsocks and I am going to laugh at myself again.
And who's to say, I might have fun in the meantime.
Oh...and don't be hating on the Saddle Shoes. I'm copping a pair and I'm bringing the retro back to Memphis...
I still wonder where the punchline is. Like, when is someone going to tell me that this is a major joke and it's going to get better soon.
You know, like...where is Amy Grant to come out with the happy people and the dude dressed like Spiderman to say "little birdie, you're free cuz he paid the price".
That's what happens when I take Tylenol PM too early.
Sooo yeah, last night, I sat up and thought. I had no choice because I was up front with CJ and he hides remotes.
I let something get to me that had never gotten to me before. At age 28.781, I allowed something that has affected me from birth finally get me down. Something that I had cracked jokes about, hid quite well and even ignored...had broken my spirit.
After tearing up, I had to ask myself why it bothered me this time. What about this last month made me so upset.
I realized why...because I actually started to pity myself.
Tamara...pitied herself.
I am the bouncy, bubbly vibrant soul who uplifts and amuses everyone else, and I was pitying myself.
After I pulled CJ off of the PS3, I then had to wonder why I pitied myself. What made me feel so bad? I shouldn't have asked why because I almost had to break out a class of Crown. Instead, I settled on some tea. Milo's to be exact. Milo's is some good ass tea. It comes in a gallon and it's kind of like the tea that you have to cut a little with some ice, but you find it's a tad crackish.
Alas, I digress.
I got tired of limited options. Everyone heard about THE dress I bought. I had almost 10 people around the region trying to find shoes for me to wear with it. As of today, I still have none. It hurt my spirit because it made me realize why I never tried to fix myself up in the first place...because even after a shopping spree, a little Carmex and 8 strategically placed curls...
...I had no shoes...
Well, I GOT shoes, but not THOSE shoes.
You know...
*Amy Winehouse voice*
When you walk in the bar, and you're dressed like a star...rockin' your f-me pumps.
*Tamara voice*
Yeah, I could buy the kickassiest of ensembles and would still be in flats, usher shoes or something that really doesn't go well, but I made it work because I could.
THEN, as if I wasn't already mad as a wet hen, I decided to try exercising because I wanted to tighten up the hindparts and my feet got mad. Those sumbitches revolted.
Actually...THAT was funny. I had struck out Power Walking in my new Reebok ZigZags and I had just gotten my heart rate going when my left foot said I was done. My upper body was still going and so naturally, I fells. So, the sexy stride I left with died before I could get to the chorus of "Africa" by Zo! & Tigallo.
***solid remake by the way***
I know I have a solid workout option waiting, but I had to motivate myself. I didn't want to be like "WELP, it's raining" and go back in the house. I needed to get my own ass moving. But again, my foots said "no".
I just felt crappy because everything I do..I am reminded that I am legally handicapped due to my bastard foots. While that helps with parking at the Southern Heritage Classic, it's annoying. Even when I push my body to the limit, I am not at my limit because my feet would have given out already. One attempt at a mile walk resulted in bleeding.
THAT was grody!
In short, I hit rock bottom. I started to wallow in my misery. Kathy Bates, even.
I looked in the mirror and felt destined to forever be 79% because my feets wouldn't let me be whole. I would always be "damn near".
Damn near sexy...
Damn near burning maximum calories...
Damn near catching up...
...all because of my feets.
BUT, the sexy thing about hitting Rock Bottom is that you win the match if you do it right.
Yesterday, I took Pity's bitch ass and Rock Bottomed her.
I swore to myself and the other thing floating around me (as I am a Gemini) that I would not allow myself to feel muddy over the hand I was dealt. I have won Uno games with one Wild card and a bunch of numbers, so I didn't always need the Draw Fours. I am not going to ask God "why did you give me this" again. I am not about to waste another day pouting and crying about something beyond my control anymore.
Since my condition is beyond my control, I am going to work around it. I may not be able to walk two miles with you cats, but I'm going to ball (uh ruh, relatively ball) for a half mile until I can go further. I can't break out stilettos with the best of you, but don't be shocked if I pull a Janelle Monae and wear some Saddle Shoes. Why?
Because when life gives you lemons, make Lemoncello.
I'm going to get frustrated every now and then, but I'm going to walk it off. Well, waddle or whatever it is I do. I'm investing in more Technicolor Dreamsocks and I am going to laugh at myself again.
And who's to say, I might have fun in the meantime.
Oh...and don't be hating on the Saddle Shoes. I'm copping a pair and I'm bringing the retro back to Memphis...
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