We’re on vacation right now. My only internet access is my phone. Access is spotty in the mountains, so I’m mostly disconnected. I assume, if you are reading this on Monday morning, the the breeze was blowing in such a way that I was able to press “publish” on this. I didn’t schedule it. Every time Randy has tried to schedule a post, weird fucking shit happens, so fuck scheduling posts.

I’m cheating just a bit in that Randy raided my first blog Rage Your Way Thin and stuck a bunch of the old articles in google docs. So, instead of writing a new post, I’m just cleaning up a vintage post. I always liked this post because I remember how hard Randy was laughing at me when it happened. The bastard.

When I wrote this post, Randy and I were balls deep into cutting carbs and losing weight like fiends (we have since welcomed the weight back into the fold. Or folds. You know, whichever fits.)

Here it is, from 2010. I think. I’m too lazy to check.

***

You know all work and no play leads to sitting around typing the same thing over and over as you slowly go crazy and then try to kill your family? Or, do I misunderstand the meaning of that particular saying?

In either case, I think that all work and no play makes the work part more sucky.

Randy and I had a chance to play last Saturday night. We got dressed up and spent the evening at an arts center fundraiser. Fine, we were “dressed up” for us. Normally, if I suggested such a thing it would be met will kicking and screaming and pouting and crying, but there was a zydeco band playing that Randy wanted to see, so there was nary a tear.

The evening started out perfect. We got lost. Strangers in a strange town. We got terribly annoyed with each other and arrived 3o minutes late. (HAHAHAHA…this is current me. Terribly annoyed? I fucking remember that shit. We were so pissed at each other).

I wore a pair of heels that I have had for years. Faux alligator. Open toed. Showed off my birthday pedicure. I never wore the shoes because while they looked awesome, they also looked like an uncomfortable death trap. Never got rid of them, though. Too cute.

Anyway…I was amazed by how comfortable they were. I made plans to wear them every weekend. I would wear them to work. I would be stomping around in a pair of sexy, high heeled shoes that didn’t hurt my feet at all. I was convinced they would change my life. A corner would be turned. My weight loss plateau would once again plummet; all because my feet were wrapped in the perfect pair of black, high heeled shoes.

I made it five minutes into the fundraiser before the right heel broke right the fuck off. I had headed for the bar to get my sweetie pie a drink and I did what I always do. I rocked back and forth on my heels. Once. Then the right one gave way. I mourned the loss, realized that all my life changes would have to come through working for them and that they really weren’t all that comfortable anyway.

The art center crew, seeing my plight, found me some glue. Craft glue. Fucking craft glue won’t hold a four inch heel and my rocking back and forth ass.

Then, I decided that a temporary solution would be to snap off the other heel so that I wasn’t walking around like Quasimodo. Would the left one budge? No. Superman couldn’t have broken off that fucking heel. So, I did the next best thing and walked around barefoot. I hope the other people there, if they noticed, thought it was quirky and artsy and bohemian. Not skanky and disgusting and rude.

But I digress.

At this fundraiser, they had people walking around with food on trays. Fancy. Sitting on said trays were cupcakes. When I say cupcakes, I’m not talking your run of the mill cupcakes. I’m talking Cupcake Wars cupcakes. I took a cupcake that looked like it had been made by angels. No, wait..baby angels. Baby angels on unicorns. The actual cupcake layer was chocolate; that was topped by a thick layer of ganache; which was topped by a round cheesecake thingy. Plus, the whole thing was covered in sparkly sugar. Seriously, this was a fairy tale cupcake.

Fuck waiting for the prince on a white horse, trust me, this cupcake could have made any princess happy.

To be completely honest, I don’t really know if it was a layer of ganache or not. I don’t know what the fuck ganache is, but from watching the cake shows on the Food Channel, I at least suspect the middle layer was ganache. In my reality, cupcakes come from a box and are topped with icing from a can. End of cupcake experience.

Randy and I split the cupcake.We watched the band. I watched other people win my raffle prizes. I wanted the spa basket.

When it was over, I put on my shoes and hobbled out with all the dignity I could muster. Which was difficult because Randy laughed the whole time. In fact, watch this. All I have to do is talk about walking on one heel and he’ll start laughing. See? Bastard, sitting there with tears in his eyes. (Current me again. I just told Randy what story I was reusing and the motherfucker cracked up. This happened 6 years ago and he’s still laughing about it.)

The point is, we did something way out of our ordinary. We didn’t worry (too much) about watching what we ate. We played. We had fun.

Don’t make your journey all work, work, work. Where’s the fun in that? Loosen up. Break a heel. Have a fairy tale cupcake. It won’t kill you.