Everything feels a million times magnified when you come out of a breakup. You start noticing your friends are all in relationships, a million new engagements pop up on facebook, here comes the babies, and lets not forget you’ll no … Continue reading
This was supposed to be the ‘Summer of Fun’. Instead it has been the Summer of Suck.
‘One thing after another’ has been the theme of the week. Someone kindly reminded me yesterday that my writing was sucking, too. *that comma is there to annoy him. 🙂
I lost sight of who I am. What I want. My drive, my focus, my passion. So, God hit the reset button.
I was fighting ambiguous loss. I lost, the one person, the most important person in my life. I read an article in Elite Daily today, and it all started to make sense. We have to be able to learn from everything, especially the bad stuff. The stuff we don’t want to happen. Things we have no control over. “You don’t need someone who understands you, just someone who wants you,” Paul Hudson says in Dating. He goes on to say,
“If you want to find the right person to spend your life with, then find someone who recognizes you as being important enough to fight for.”
That’s it. When do we convince ourselves to let go of something that was important, and move on? Remember my three day rule from Hope You Have An Amazing Birthday…And Get Raped By a Bear? That didn’t apply here. I fought. I fought hard. With blogs, love letters, texts, calls, and an mp3 file via email. LOL. In the end I wasn’t important enough to fight for.
I know. That is a hard thing to admit, but you have to treat people who walk out of your life like the dead ones. You mourn them just like someone who commits suicide because there are no answers. The sooner you quit torturing yourself for them, the faster you can begin to heal. And how does this Sassy Lil’ Biscuit heal? With a new writing gig involving dating–and sex toys! Shit yeah. So, it’s back to online dating. “Hey Girl, looking for something serious?”
Also, it’s back to writing that second book…
A journey of self-discovery, self-healing, learning how to live, and I mean really live. I’d Rather Die Than Eat Thai is a book about ambiguous loss, and how to pull yourself out of self-loathing. I thought this book would end with a true love story, but I’m not Elizabeth Gilbert. Then again, maybe I should be:
I woke up today realizing that I haven’t eat in three days. I’ve been so depressed I just fucking forgot to eat. And I forgot to fucking curse. I forgot who I was…I forgot to moisturize. I can’t get saggy skin. OR bags under my very pretty eyes. I’m single.
So, I’m gonna eat some mother fucking pizza today. Screw weight loss.
I also have a date tonight. No doubt you’ll hear about it soon. Just because someone walks out of your life doesn’t mean that you have to quit living. If they don’t want you, you need to surround yourself with people who do.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
This blog. My other blog. They have both ruined my life.
I started this thing to plug my first novella. A novella that I wanted women to relate to…the blog then carried on as a tale tale of dating. A world where I could share things that may or may not have happened in my life. My boyfriend read my post the other day. The first post I have made since we met. A post that was supposed to serve as an ‘underdog’ tale. One that lets everyone know that life is gonna be okay. No matter what happens.
Well, fuck my life. He didn’t read it that way. He somehow read that I was leaving him at the end of the summer.
Every guy I have ever dated, sorta dated, simply ‘talked’ to has hated my blog. I didn’t have a reason to blog with my boyfriend, and I’ll be damned if the moment I do–shit’s gone sideways.
I have always prided myself on being me: You get me the way I am. Since I met him, and a lot of you know how crazy this is for me, because I don’t get super close to men…I’ve quit smoking (even when I drink), well I’m trying really hard. I got a vape for when I drink. I’ve started being super kind to people even through being mad. I know, no more cynicism. I’ve decided to go on a full-on detox after my friend’s Hen Do this weekend. He didn’t know about that, but I am. I need to lose weight. Plus it’s glamping and there is no stripper. Can almost guarantee…
I’m getting birth control. I know, some of you just fell out of your chair. I’ve never been in a relationship where I thought it was important enough. No one has ever put me in a position where I want to be awesome for both him, our future, and our family. This guy does.
I’m trying to be super understanding, kind to him, supportive of all the things happening. I woke up today thinking, “And once again my blog has ruined my life.”
But maybe it hasn’t…
This guy means the world to me. I’d like the world to show him just how much. I want everyone in my network, my friends, my family, my readers, strangers, amazing people all over the world to help me let him know that I searched the world over for him. I found him. My name is not Elsa. I’m not willing to just ‘let it go’.
I will be patient, understanding, and caring. I will love him even in the dark days. Through the ‘bad’ times, the ‘stupid good’ times…the ‘I need to be alone’ times. The times he sticks his fork in my mashed sweet potatoes, or tries to kiss me when I’m getting ready. The times he isn’t feeling great. The times I really just need to help him pick his nose. What? We’re weirdos.
The weirdo will introduce you to the freak inside you.
You think you know yourself, and then you meet someone who challenges every part of your being.
Weirdos make you rethink your life, your passions and what the hell you’ve been doing this whole time. You go from who you were to who you could be.
Through the highest highs and the lowest lows. I vow to be his best friend, the person he can talk to even if he thinks I might judge him or be upset–I won’t. I will try to understand the situation, and be patient in whatever comes next. I will try very hard not to be up his butt either.
The weirdo will never question when you need to take time for your own adventure.
Not only do weirdos support your personal endeavors, they push them. They don’t just want to be there for you; they want to show you the way. They believe in everyone as much as they believe in themselves, and that support will change your life.
My whole life, every blog, every trial and dating tribulation I have gone through to get right where I am: without you, Baby, it’s a waste of time. People envy what we have. Our love is everything I saw in that stupid set of Prince Charles and Princess Diana paper dolls that drove my dreams to a life in England when I was six years old. You are my fairy tale.
I don’t promise that things will be awesome all of the time, that we won’t have challenges, but I can promise that the love that’s there is real and that it doesn’t have to make sense to be awesome. I promise I will be your rock, always on your team, to help you figure it out–and vice versa. You’re my lobster. My actual lobster. That doesn’t mean I want to take a Rachel and Ross style break, but I’m willing to take a step back so you can breathe.
But who is gonna help me reel in my shit attitude?
Who’s gonna be inappropriately racist with me?
I mean, no one else gets this joke:
Or this one:
Who’s gonna laugh when I’m really funny?
Or make me laugh?
Or give me hope?
Or remind me that this day was the ‘first day’ of my life:
I know you think things are moving fast. But we don’t do things ‘normal’. I know it’s crazy, but it shouldn’t make sense–it’s not right if you haven’t lost your mind. I mean, there is a song about all of this. I guess I just want you to know ‘I love you’. More than any other man I have ever met in my entire life.
The ‘first day of my life’ was built on an eleven hour first date with the most brilliant, kind, sweet, sincere, loving, handsome, talented, funny, intelligent, beautiful man I have ever met.
“You with me, ‘Betty’?”
Yep. I said ‘Betty’. The situation called for it.
xx Brittany (p.s. cue the reminder tunes)
Gotcha! Not a real baby, a metaphorical one. I think in today’s society with media being in your face 24/7 you need to know when to birth the pain in your ass, and sever the bloody umbilical cord. Pun totally … Continue reading
I have been a non-blogging machine lately. Sorry guys. What? I’ve been in Italy working on my next film. Woo! The sun was bright, the fruit was in full bloom, and the air was refreshing…
While I was on a very strict production schedule, scouting locations, wining & dining, and meeting people in the Italian film industry, I couldn’t help but think of what happened the night before I left England. The man who has ‘wrecked’ me in the last few blogs came back from France. We talked privately about what had happened between us. He simply admitted that I scared him, then he kissed me. Twice. He told me to have a brilliant time in Italy, and that he’d be there when I got back.
He didn’t speak to me the entire time I was gone. I went through massive feelings of anger and hate, and had to just work through it…I was in Italy for Jesus Christ and peanut butter’s sake! I was also so very prepared for a grand speech when I saw him again. What? I had some free time.
Two weeks later I was back in England, and when I saw him: he immediately said it was so good to see me, and so nice to have me home, and he commented on my tan, and my super blonde locks–Oh, God.
I just smiled and got on with shit. He had simply got over the fact that I was back in England for work and my love for the city of Bath had nothing to do with him, and maybe he really does want to be my friend or something…because he told me to stop by for a drink, that I could take his dog on play dates with my really good friend and her dog, and walked me to the door, letting me leave with “I’ll see you soon”.
Dude sat right in front of me and lied to my face. If you really know me, that is a big, fat ‘no-no’. I’ve tried to get in touch with him and what have I got–once again? Ignored. Straight ignored. Dude, if you don’t wanna be my friend ‘fuck off’. But don’t kiss me before I leave, and tell me it’s great to see me when I get home, and that you wanna hang out, and I can stop by whenever, because that was bullshit.
Shame on him. Shame on me, though, for letting him do it again. My life has been so simple amazing lately. He’s just one more piece that doesn’t fit in my brilliant puzzle. That is the hardest thing to admit, as a woman, to yourself. That you let someone be a part of your life longer than they should have, and each person has a breaking point. Mine was the other day.
When life knocks you down, calmly get back up, smile, and very politely say, “You hit like a bitch.”
I realized in my self-pity, that I had forgot to take care of ‘me’. I spent two weeks in Italy binge eating my feelings in the form of pasta, pastry, and fried everything.
Yep. Every damn day, and gaining more weight than I have ever weighed in my entire life. Why? I ate this every day.
Oh, yeah. That’s filled with nutella. A lot of nutella.
I was eating this every day for breakfast with at least two cups of cappuccino. I was turning into the Freshman Girl I left at WVU who was fat, who guys were really mean to, who self-loathed in weed, Cheetos, and beer. I didn’t get this far in life to regress. Plus, I’m a firm believer in:
But I’m currently on the verge of a coronary with all this shit I’m eating, and I don’t look like that girl up there in a bikini. I wouldn’t even put a bikini on right now. I know a thing or two about body shaming and fat calling. It’s not nice. But when did we make it okay to say, “Fuck beauty standards” in order to justify obesity?
Simply put: I’m not happy. I’m especially not happy with the guy I was dating. Most importantly I’d say, most often, we aren’t happy with others, because we aren’t happy with ourselves. True story. So, yesterday I changed all of that.
I started the military diet to jump start healthy eating and weight loss.
No more damn donuts! I’ve decided to keep a diary, take photos, and highlight my whole week in a super, sweet blog. I have to pee like a pregnant lady. But–I have lost weight! I feel so much better already. I’m prioritizing my life to be more creative on a daily basis. I’m also making time for people who want to be in my life.
Oh, yeah! For those of you that have read my book, you are gonna love this: I had coffee with Apollo yesterday…
As for all the negativity in my life, including my bad food habits and lack of exercise…
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
Yeah, you read that right. I know some people would argue period, but I would take a lifetime of surfing the crimson tidal wave over a damn diet. Why? They suck.
I told you guys when I started this blog I was going to be brutally honest, and dieting blows harder than a seventeen year old on Prom Night.
I have been eating disgustingly not-so-delicious food since Jan 1st. Yeah. It’s gross. I don’t care who you are, eating healthy sucks ass sometimes. There are delicious smoothies, and omlettes packed with veggies, but I added loads of clean protein to my diet. *82 grams a day to be exact, and…it tastes like cardboard for the most part. Why? Because I cut out lunch meat, high fat meats, processed stuff like sausage and pepperoni, and…bacon. I know. I’m bat-shit crazy.
My best friend is doing the same thing, but cutting carbs. She’s lost 7 pounds. She also “gags down her breakfast” every day. Like me, and most women, the thought of eating things that you aren’t used to or simply don’t like is nasty.
First thing’s first: Forgive yourself for not being a size two.
Second: Fit takes effort. Lots and lots of dirty, sweaty effort.
From the tasteless cardboard food, to getting physical at the gym full of hot people in lycra, to men and their crappy comments about ‘how you should diet’, I’m here to tell you dieting is absolutely awful. Getting fit takes commitment, and people are still going to be rude to you during this process, so don’t get discouraged. Even if, most days, you’d like to go back to your couch and live there forever, for ever ever.
There is temptation everywhere. It’s like your friends invite you to dinners and parties just to watch you fail.
As if that’s not bad enough, you got assholes posting stuff like this in your facebook feed:
Oh, and men. They’re the worst. Ya’ got guys like this calling you fat…
Stand by this Ladies, you can fix fat. There ain’t no way in hell you can fix ugly. Without a million dollars and a Hollywood plastic surgeon. Yo! Douchecanoes! Stop putting women down and encourage us to look like Tyra or Gisele, dammit.
No joke. Had a man that I went all through school with–who people think is just the most awesome guy ever. He’s not. He was helping me with weightloss last year. I was actually doing pretty good, too. He introduced me to some awesome people, including a very hot doctor friend. Hot Doctor Friend and I talked for a while. He finds out the Doctor and I have developed a bit of whatever. Then tells me Hot Doctor Friend said, and I quote:
She is the most awesome woman I have ever met…but she’s fat.
Who says that? Your arch nemesis. And assholes. Assholes say that. I went home and ate a whole pizza, and cried because it was delicious.
I mean, who are men to shame us? They don’t know why we are overweight, what got us there, and it’s obviously a struggle–cause we aren’t dumb. We know, in fact, that we could lose some pounds. The worst thing you can do is tell a girl who is trying to do that, that she is indeed fat.
Men should be praising us for our sexiness. We know we aren’t perfect. Give us a slight kick in the arse to get motivated. Don’t cripple our will to live.
Because when I do get that fight in me, the yearning to transform myself, the will power to go out and get my body back, you might not want to be the guy who called me fat.
Because not only will I possibly kick your ass…I’m gonna look hot doing it.
This blog is for every woman who has ever been put down by a man, made to feel less than awesome because they have a few extra pounds, my best friend who is struggling to gag down a shitty breakfast every morning to look okay in a bathing suit soon. For the girl who was bullied because she wasn’t a size two, the girl who has a female reproductive disease that keeps her from losing that last 20 pounds, the girl who eats her feelings, the woman who simply just can’t get motivated, and the one who works her ass off in the gym and still jiggles a little.
I encourage everyone reading this to start supporting one another. Check out campaigns like This Girl Can and go get your freak on…no seriously. Watch the video below. Just the best damn motivation I’ve seen in a loooooong time, Ladies.
I’m back in the gym with a bad-ass trainer on Monday. Hot Doctor, Douchecanoe School Friend and the guy who rejected me over a package full of 365 handwritten love letters will be kissing my lily white, hot ass in no time. 🙂
Now pardon me, while I go get my sassy lil’ freak on.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit
I read this meme this a.m. as I trolled the facebook. About how everyone in your life has a role. Some will test you, some will use you, some will love you, and some will teach you. The important ones bring out the best in you. They are rare and amazing people who remind you why it’s worth it.
Big, fat, book-sized tears strolled down my face…
I’m okay. Kinda like that time I text my ex, “Hope you have an amazing birthday…and get raped by a bear.” I made a book outta that stuff…true story:
My best girl friend in the entire world swooped in and said ‘Get your ass to my house’. She knew if she didn’t distract me with a booze filled day or two, I would just be ‘mean’ to everyone like those girls in my last post.
Oh, God. I let this guy see the underground garage of crazy that I hoard from most men. And he accepted me for my weirdness. I’m all happy pants, cause we’re having one hell of a conversation, and he suggests I go find myself a ‘fella’…for the second time this week. But I don’t want to find a fella. I found one…and it’s you.
No. No you do not. When a guy tells you to go find love, that means he’s not interested. Doesn’t matter if there are 365, actually 366 because I wanted him to open the first one on New Years’ Eve, sweet little cards in transit to his home in Australia. Plus –plus a card that says ‘if a snowflake were a kiss I’d send you a blizzard’. Oh yeah. I went there.
Damn you, Pinterest.
You don’t tell the truth. You’re gonna look like a nutball, and in true ‘sassy’ fashion, we both know I didn’t reveal that this was what was going on in a casual way. Oh, no. I just blurted it all out. With a big, fat ‘Enjoy all the ways you make me happy. All 365 of them.’
And what did he do? Nothing. No. I mean, he said–nothing.
For the love of Jesus Christ and peanut butter balls. It’s all good. You win some, you lose some. I mean, what part of blog #2 and probably #3 or 4 did you not think said “I like you more than friends”?
Men are so retarded. I know, not PC, but they are. My best girl friend thought what I did was awesome:
Well…he was drunk, but, yes he did.
One of these days, the guy will like me back for my weirdness and all that comes with it: the bubble baths with champagne; the pancakes-bacon-and spooning for breakfast; the ways I make him smile or laugh every day; the talks about holidays in Hawaii; my severe love for pizza; the stand-up, the blogs, the books, and the films I write; the 367 hand-written notes that say, pretty much, ‘I love you in a big, bad-ass way’…and when he tells me I’m amazing, all the time, he’ll mean it.
This one’s for my best guy friend. The one who isn’t speaking to me now. Stop being an Ass Jacket. You need to listen to One Week by Bare Naked Ladies. Google that shit. *the theme tune to all the hilarity that is us.
Now, I’ll sit back and wait til’ you say you’re sorry. What? Just like the song says, “I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve. And truth be told, I have a history of losing my shirt.”
Until then…I’ll be in Pittsburgh, getting my girl time on, and probably whoring myself out to some rum and cokes. And so what, if he doesn’t like me back.
xx Sassy Lil’ Biscuit