Go figure that right after I make my claim that things are going to get better/more frequent that life throws a wrench into the works. Or more accurately a Jeep Wrangler. Continue reading
“Smile big, hug bigger! Talk big, act bigger! Stop judging, do something! Shut the fuck up, do something!” – excerpt from “(Shut) Up the Punx” by Bomb the Music Industry!
So, a quick update and a call to action. It’s been quiet on the frontier lately on account of my personal life getting pretty crazy busy. I’m getting ready to move…again…and after said move, I should have more time to devote to dancing for your amusement. I apologize for the sporadic frequency of posts, and promise it will get better.
“If I didn’t have so much of this life all wrong, I would have gotten it right by now.” – Buddy Wakefield
Welcome back to “The Misadventures of Fatty-Boom-Blatty,” or as I like to call it, The Captain Hammer Project.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine called me. She was walking around at a thrift store and called to ask me what size pants I wore. Cue phonograph needle scratching noise.
What. The. Fuck.
The emergency sprinklers in my brain burst to life trying to kill the panic fires that just started. This is an annoyingly common reaction with me, and I’m assuming with most people with weight issues. Under regular circumstances, we avoid the subjects pretty actively. So when something comes up that asks you to directly address your weight or something related to it and there’s no place to run, it causes distress. Your mileage may vary.