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
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
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
You know that moment when you sorta start to get somewhere with your goals, your hopes, your dreams? I always thought that moment would be, like, amazing. I’ve dreamt of that ‘Tonight Show’ moment when you’re ‘in’, and joking around because the person interviewing you is genuinely interested in you and your career.
Yeah. That did not happen last week.
I booked what I thought was my first interview of sorts…I was listening in, getting ready to dial. The hosts were having a blast with the other comedians asking about their backgrounds, and jokes they write. I’m thinking, ‘Oh! This is so awesome!’ These people are from my hometown, and I’ve just got home from a stint in the UK. ‘So awesome!’
I was opening a gig for Grandma Lee and Jeff Zenisek. I was stoked. Pretty cool, huh? Yeah. I thought so…until, just as I was calling in, the hosts took a call from someone else. The drunk guy. I got stuck with the drunk caller. It was very painful.
You always try and handle the heckler with style and grace. I did not. Dropped the F-bomb on air, cause nothing else was gonna come outta my mouth. Yeah, wasn’t as graceful as I wanted to be or imagined myself being.
I wasn’t even sure at one point what I was even doing, why I was even on air. It was slightly embarrassing. Okay. It was totally embarrassing. I’m sure they thought it was going to be funny, but the guy that called in was shwasted. For those of you that don’t know, that means: drunk out his ever loving mind.
Right off the bat Schwasted Guy is like, ‘You don’t know me’. I literally just went weird. As I start talking he interrupts with, ‘What the fuck are you even talking about?’ The hosts even told him at one point, ‘we appreciate you calling in.’
Um…I don’t. Dude just starts slamming me while I’m talking. All I hear is “BOOOOOOOO” over everything I was saying. The hosts are laughing. Not me. Then! Shwasted Guy starts telling me I should be more excited about my own gig.
I got to the point where I was able to talk and here comes Shwasted Guy with, “I do things that still matter.” Right as I’m plugging my Clash of the Comics gig at the IMPROV in Kansas City.
There was a moment where he asked if he could give me advice. Of course, why say no? He comes out with, “Why are you calling in looking for advice on plugging yourself and shit?” Dude. I was calling in cause I thought these guys from my hometown were trying to help me promote myself as a comedian, and interview me for an upcoming gig.
I was wrong.
As if it wasn’t awkward enough. I wanted to be like: You don’t know me either. I’ve done stuff. I’ve done stuff!
I couldn’t even say what I had done professionally because the Shwasted Guy wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise on his little drunk dial spree. Finally, one of the hosts asks what all I have done, and I’m like–Uh…
I don’t know. Clearly nothing. I couldn’t even name the last venue I performed at in the UK. I shut down.
I finally let Shwasted Guy have it. Said he was in dire need of a blow job. He asked if I was gonna give it to him. I should have channeled my inner ‘Karen Walker’.
But not your penis. *insert cheeky grin.
I didn’t do that. I just sat there. Very awkward. Especially when he told me he wanted to give me advice. I’m not here to ask for advice, Drunko McDouchebag Pants. This is not how I thought this was gonna go.
I thought I was gonna be like: Yeah, I got into comedy when I started writing for Second City, Hollywood. Just finished up some sweet gigs at Komedia and Oxjam Festival in the UK. Am currently working on a feature film with a brilliant Italian director and producer in NY. Getting ready to hit Clash of the Comics in Kansas City at the IMPROV. I write a comedy blog, that was developed because of a novella I published on the comedy of dating, called Hope You Have An Amazing Birthday…and get raped by a Bear. Yeah, I titled my book that. So, Charleston is my home town and a lot of people have been asking when I would do a gig here at Comedy Zone–thanks to Sam and BT, we made it happen. Then the guy interviewing could be like ‘So, you wrote in the UK. What’s comedy like there?’ And so on…
Unfortunately, that did not happen. Drunko McDouchebag Pants turned me into a blubbering fucktard. Then he started telling me what to do. I just wanted to be like:
Only I can make fun of me, Buster. I kinda know what I’m doing. I should have just said: Google me, Mother Fucker.
But alas, I am not that cool in an interview.
Next time I shall channel Paul Rudd. Genius. He’s a genius on Conan.
I could be upset about the interview, but I’m not from North Korea. Might not have been what I expected, but it was awesome–either way. Cause I learned some stuff, and made some friends. Or so I thought. Dammit. They offered me a spot on this week’s show. The first spot, which is 30 minutes. They advertise said show yesterday: I’m not on the list of people on it. Some other comedian is…
I’m pretty convinced I’m the butt of some cruel joke, or people here just aren’t interested in me. I’m the everyman. I really have done some pretty cool shit. Just no one asked me about it. That, and when men move their lips here, I’m now convinced, they’re pretty much lying.
However! I am classy and sassy. So. I will heed the advice of the great comedian Taylor Negron, who was the ‘classic’ everyman, and wrote this beautiful sentiment just before his very untimely passing:
“I look at my alternative everyman predicament this way. By letting go of what you thought was going to happen in your life, you can enjoy what is actually happening.
That is what I do.
I’m That Guy.”
Upward and onward. I’m not giving up on that interview with Jimmy Fallon, though. Mark my words: I’ll sit in that chair across from him, one day, dammit.
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