If You Give a Moose a Muffin Top...

Okay, so it's been a really long time since I've been on here. I know, BAD BLOGGER! BAD! Things have been a little crazy. My babiest sister turns 18 the day after tomorrow (memo to me--mail her a lotto ticket, porn, and a pack of cigarettes), my younger sister is getting married in less than two weeks (scarier things have happened...like...well...hmm...I'll come back to this...), and I have been in JBFC cabin planning frenzy mode because I'm a total militant nut when it comes to orchestrating shit. I mean, what if, by some crazy coincidence, all 11 of us mysteriously forgot to bring deodorant? There's enough stank going around with 11 beer-burping, farting, shitting women trapped in a log house for a weekend, and that's WITH the use of antiperspirant, so the risk of all of us forgetting ours or it being lost in transit or it being stolen by psycho deodorant thieves is just far too great. This is why Wal-Mart has that handy dandy aisle filled with miniature versions of, well, everything. Is it a little nuts to feel the need to bring shrunken versions of deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, body wash, tooth brushes, hair brushes, dental floss, and Scope? Possibly...but we'll be covered in the personal hygiene department, and this happens to be important to me. "Why?" you ask? You have obviously never been trapped in a log house for a weekend with 11 beer-burping, farting, shitting women!

Now onto happier news...I have lost 12 pounds. Well, technically, that's not true. I didn't lose them. I know exactly where they went--off my boobs. I find it highly inconvenient that my weight loss always starts with my boobs. I would much prefer to keep the woobles and lose the wobbles in the gut region, but God doesn't care so much about my personal preferences. "How have I accomplished this task?" you ask? Man, you're freaking inquisitive today! So yeah, I'm losing weight by threatening myself. Hey, it works! I'm feisty and intimidating. I have decided that come hell or high water, I'm going to be something slutty and scantily clad for Halloween next year. This gives me a year to not look like a slutty moose...because if you give a moose a muffin top, then it won't go home with anyone, and I kind of like to go home with that guy I married. He's cute, and he liquors me up. A moose with a muffin top...at least I finally thought of something scarier than my little sister getting married in less than two weeks! POINT! MOOSES! Meese? Yeah, we're done here.