Legs Like Stojko

Okay, so here's the thing; I have big legs. I mean, I have really, big legs. I have always had them. Always. My niece, bless her little heart, has them too. It's not really a curse, as they consist of mostly muscle, however they can be down right annoying when it comes to buying pants that fit. No, I can not wear shorts either. Yes, I am aware that your legs will touch when there is muscle. No, I do not like the way shorts rise up to your crotch when your legs are too big and make the fabric gather. It bothers me. It bothers me on myself. It bothers me on other people.
It's aggravating to go into a clothing store and have to try on pants, jeans mostly, that are massive in the waist, just to fit over my legs. Aggravating. You know, I don't think that is really a strong enough word. Infuriating. Yes, I think that is a better fit. Unlike the jeans I try on in disgust, over and over again. Standing in the dressing room thinking "why don't you freakin fit? you know you want to fit. you know you should fit." Then I yank on the belt loops so hard, trying to get the crotch of the pants to my crotch. Never much luck with that. You might think my hips would be the culprit, but they are not. It's the inner thigh. I'm beginning to think Lipo, although I'm not sure how much help that could be as they would refuse to suck out the muscle. Bastards.
The worst part, no matter how much weight I lose, regain, lose and regain, my legs will always remain the biggest part of me. Always. It also depends on the day how big my legs will be. Depends on the day whether or not I will be able to wear the new dress pants I got last week to work. They fit nicely when I tried them on at the store. They fit nicely still when I tried them on again once I got them home. However, they did not fit nicely when I tried to wear them to work three days later. Sausage casing comes to mind.
What's that? Yes, my jeans did fit me fine before I trained this morning. You're right. And now that I have had my work out for over an hour, yes, that's right, the muscle has swollen, and no, the pants are not wanting to fit anymore. Would you mind terribly if I just sat around in my gi pants until the swelling goes down? Say about three hours? Thanks, that's swell.
Sausage casing. The main, if not only reason, people with big legs should never wear jeans with Lycra in them. That's just my opinion, but regardless of what you may think, I am totally, completely 100% right on this. Yes, I do understand that 98% of the jeans manufactured these days contain Lycra. Yes, I also understand that by adding the Lycra to the cotton it helps to elongate the longevity of the jean. Honestly, who cares about that? I love watching my jeans fade out and tear...on their own. No, I will not spend $80 on those jeans that have been torn up for me by the designer. Stupid. No, I do not want to try on those jeans that are on special, that may look fabulous on your skinny legs, as I already know that I will look like I have stuffed myself into a sausage casing...and we have already been through that.
There are only a few stores that carry 100% cotton jeans now. It's depressing really, especially since the one pair of jeans I truly love and enjoy wearing, are no longer in production. I have had that happen with my last three pairs of favourite jeans. Yes, please cry for me Argentina. Cry like a pansy boy who has had his biked ripped from his hands by his older bastard of a brother. It deserves to have tears shed it it's honor.
I love rants. Especially when they veer drastically of course and the message gets lost completely. Yeah hoo for the rant!!!
My legs today thought they could get away with wearing the new dress pants. Wrong. Sausage is in full effect. On the brighter side...as there is always a brighter side...my ass looks fabulous. Of course it does. You may notice that people with big, strong, muscular legs have great butts. Squats and lunges people. Squats and lunges. Until you realize that you're one of the "lucky ones" that can build mass in your quads quicker than Elvis Stojko can fly over the podium with his gold medal in his pearly whites. Nice visual eh?! I liked it too.

Valentines Day?! Poppycock! Shoe Day!

Some would like to claim that today is just another day to spend money on the one you love and hold dear to your heart. I would have to concur. So, that being I said, I went out and bought myself two pairs of shoes. And a pack of gum. I feel great. Yesterday could have been called Valentines Day too, as it was an even better retail therapy day, as I treated myself to 11 new pieces of clothing, none of which were pants, so I'm going to have to continue my shopping journey and fix that. Pronto. I can only milk this "valentines day" thing for so long.
I am seeing a boy, but I don't want to make a big deal out of this ridiculous spend-money-day, so I picked him up a couple things yesterday and just gave them to him. Not because it's V-Day, but simply because I love spending money and shopping for other people and there were some things I saw that I knew he would like. He was thoroughly surprised and tremendously thankful and honestly, that's good for me. I'm not even going to see him tonight. I told him last night to call me on Thursday. I'm spending this night with some girl friends. Girls that are in the same boat as me. Have a boy, but don't want to make it bigger or more complicated than it really is. I have a feeling there will be a substantial amount of alcohol being consumed. I guess I should make a stop at the liquor store.
This has been a great week, and it's only Wednesday! Tomorrow will be even better, as the S-Man (Roger Sanchez) graces the decks in the Century Room and I have Friday off! Woo Hoo.
Happy Shoe Day to everyone!!

Making My Way Out Of Bed

I'm feeling a bit better today. I'm leaving it at that.
I still feel like I'm spiralling out of control and into the abyss. I'm not sure why that is though. I should be feeling like I'm on more solid ground than I was on last year at this time, but I don't. I'm the farthest thing from that. I've been having a lot of days where I just want to be alone and not answer the phone and not answer to anything and just be sick. But then I suck it up and fight it out and make my way out of bed. For what? That's yet to be determined. Like a new company without a name. A work in progress, if you will. Like my life. My life. Meh. I've found a boy that seems willing to love me and yet I couldn't want to run away faster. I don't think I'll be like this forever. I think it has something to do with the compatibility between us. And the lack of passion I feel. The lack of passion I sense within him. I could be wrong. I've been wrong before. I may not know what I want, but I do know what I don't want. I want a guy that has and shows passion for something. Anything. But I don't get that from the new guy. Is that the only thing that bothers me? I don't think so. No, definitely not. Regardless, even if it was, that would be enough for me to not want to stay. I don't know. I have enough pressure on myself to get out of this rut without having to worry about some dude that I don't even find sexually appetizing. Isn't that crazy?! I think it's outstanding! Maybe after I get my shit together and settle into my skin again I'll see things differently. Never say never. I have lots of other crap scraping it's dirty talons along the chalk board in my head, but I'm not so much in the mood to get it all out right now. I've been making journal entries. Made one last night actually before I went off to meet the Sandman. He and I have been good friends these past few days. Although I'm not sure what kind of good friend sneaks up behind you and scares the piss out of you before dragging you into the depths of the unknown. Maybe I should have a chat with him. I say that, but I won't.
My Gramma came to visit me this morning on the streetcar. I had been staring up at the moon thinking about her when an elderly black lady walked by me, with my Gramma's grey eyes. She paused by my side and shared with me a smile so warm my heart melted. I miss her terribly. And that's all I have to say about that.

Meds Are From Satan

I thought meds were supposed to make you better. I have often been scoffed at, yelled at, made confused of, for not wanting to take any medications prescribed to me. I have good reason for not wanting to take heed to the doctors orders. I, personally, know my body a lot better than any doctor who has had the pleasure of dealing with me when I am not functioning at 100%. Case in point: A couple weeks ago I managed to do some real damage to my big toe. I mean real damage. With the nail pushed unnaturally into the skin base, I knew I would have a problem. I waited it out, as long as I could, then made my way into a doctors office. I asked him point blank to just cut it off (the nail, not the entire toe), and after some debate he simply wrote me out a prescription for antibiotics. I fought that too. I needed to wait until I got paid anyways, so I guess it worked in my favour anyways. I opted for soaking the infection out for about a week. It did the trick, for the most part, but soon I could feel the infection seeping into the deeper tissues of my foot and thought it best that I finally fill the prescription. To my alarm and dismay I was handed a full-to-the-brim bottle, full of decently sized oblong tablets, marked with a nice 500 along the sides. 500mg. Nice. After doing some research I found out that these puppies came in 250gm, 500gm and 1g doses. Glad I could fall into the middle-of-the-road slot. NOT. Not only was the bottle full of high-potency mammoth pills, I was to take them 4 times a day. Yes, that's right. 4 times a day. So I have been. At first I didn't mind feeling a little strange, however that strange feeling turned into something all together different. I volunteered all weekend, and I guess I should count my blessings that I was able to come through for that. I haven't been so lucky for work though. I woke up with a ridiculous migraine yesterday, or should I say I was awaken by it. Long enough to be blinded by the stream of sunlight that got through my curtains. Long enough to puke my guts out in my toilet and not in my bed. This morning wasn't as bad, depending on how you look at it, I guess. My migraine has tailored itself into a humming headache and my vomit urges have tuned into the most amazing stomach cramps I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. I'm not sure which I prefer most. At least with puking you can move without having to clutch at your guts, trying to rip them from your body. I'm trying a heating pad right now. It seems to be working. Maybe I'm just used to the pain now. I hate meds. The bottle is still half full. I want to die. All this over a damn toe. The doctor should have just cut it off.