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Tex Commando

“I'm not angry, just outspoken”

Tag Archives: ass

March 4, 2013 It’s that time of the year again!

It’s the time of the year where a million friends get together for a week of fun and food and sand and fires and nakedness and drinking. Ok, well not everyone gets naked and drunk. Ok, to be fair, the nakedness was in the dark. Wait. That doesn’t sound better does it? UMMMMM……nevermind.

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November 23, 2012 STELLA!!!!!!!!!!!

Who the hell IS she anyway? And why do we care how she got her groove back?

I don’t give a shit about her, but I do know one thing-

20121123-180308.jpgI’M BACK!!

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November 2, 2011 Inconsiderate vs. Rude – the difference

I have been contemplating this for the past day. Yes, there is a difference. Allow me to illustrate:

It’s inconsiderate to take too long in the shower after class at the yoga studio. There are signs up all over the place reminding you of this. People are waiting to use it. Everyone has somewhere to be soon. We are all busy. Stop chatting and rinse your ass and get out of the shower. Five people have been in and out of the other shower during the time you spent hogging the other one. What’s rude is how you blow off the fact that you’ve been in there for 10 minutes saying, “It’s just like home, you know when you get to talking and don’t realize how long you’ve been in there. No big deal.” NO IT’S NOT FUCKING LIKE HOME!!! It is a big deal when I have my day scheduled to the minute and I barely made it to class in the first place because I have shit ‘ta do. It is a big deal that the lady behind me gets to her kid’s preschool in time. It’s also a big deal that you acknowledge your mistake and APOLOGIZE. At least apologize for your inconsiderate behavior when confronted about it (I kept my mouth shut because I wouldn’t have been nearly as polite as the person who did say something).

I’m glad I got that off my chest. Where do you draw the line between inconsiderate and rude?

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June 29, 2011 Show someone you care

You just never know what people are dealing with in their lives. I know we all have shit, the stinky muck that makes our lives hard to deal with, and we all handle our shit differently. Every once in a while someone will tell you about the shit they’re carrying around.

As a personal trainer, people come to me when they’re desperate enough for a change that they’re willing to spend lots of money for my help. They’ve tried or haven’t tried or don’t know how to try to get moving to lose weight. They feel like shit, the sluggish and sticky mess that comes from years of inactivity, look like shit, a soft mess of flesh and bones, and treat themselves like shit with the self-loathing and ugly stories they tell themselves. Unfortunately for some (most) people, even spending hundreds of dollars isn’t enough. They think it’s enough to meet with me once a week. What they don’t realize that they still have to work on their own. What they don’t expect is that I will call them out on that shit, the lies they try to tell me about how they are working out on their own, because I can tell when they are making the extra effort.

I don’t like excuses. Hmmm, let me rephrase that. I won’t accept their excuses. I like excuses. I use them all the time. I’m pretty good at using excuses. But you know what? I can. I’m not 40 lbs overweight. Besides looking awesome in a mini skirt, being skinny means that you can afford to make the occasional excuse. HOWEVER, I ask the hard questions and also have plenty of solutions. That’s a good thing about being a know-it-all, a person who knows everything. (How am I doing, Rena?)

This morning, when I asked my client why she’s not doing her ‘homework’, the classes and workouts I gave her to do on her own between sessions, she practically broke down in tears. She started listing all of these familiar symptoms. And when I asked her if she’s depressed, she could barely squeak out an answer. This, mofos, is what I live for! Not making people cry. You assholes know that I’m too nice for that. The cat’s out of the bag already. I’m a caring bitch. I live for helping people. I live for being a friend and a motivator to my clients. I live for the opportunity to help someone transform into something they never thought possible.

So, I’m trying a new approach. I’m sure it’s just ‘new to me’. I hope it’ll work. I’m going to send her personalized reminders throughout the week. I’ll send her a reminder to pack her gym bag and get it in the car so she can workout right after work. I’ll check in with her to make sure she’s doing her at-home workout over the weekend.

I hope my efforts will make a difference in her life to not only to get physically healthy again, but emotionally healthy too. I know with depression, sometimes just knowing that someone else in the world cares about you can make a huge difference. Don’t worry- I do not think I am a substitute for psychiatric care. I encouraged her to see a psychiatrist and start getting treated by a trained mental health professional, and I will continue to encourage her to do that until she sees one.

But DAMN! I am excited! The look on her face said it all. I am doing EXACTLY what I need to be doing right now.

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May 9, 2011 Just Ignore It

That’s what I have been doing to my belly.

I’ve been ignoring my waist too.

Those motherfuckers have decided that they WILL NOT BE IGNORED!! Those bitches ganged up and decided that they would make my pants take notice.

And my boobs? You know, those floppy skin bags on top of my chest? Those twin ‘hos are fuckin’ busting out of my b-cups. I know my ass is gaining weight if my breastisus are getting bigger.

OK already! I get it. I’ll get my ass back into an actual gym and actually work out in addition to my hot motherfuckin’ yoga. And I’ll ride my bike again. SHIT!!

I’m going to make those bitches pay!

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March 14, 2011 The suck-ass thing

I love you mofos. Y’all know that. I love how you tell me how amazing my ass is. You tell me what a fuckin’ genius I am. You let me vent to you about shit that’s going on in my motherfuckin’ house. Some of you mofos are even traveling to hang out with me next week. If it was possible, I’d hug each and every one of you people while letting you know how important you are to me.

But…

Something’s missing. Something big is missing from my life. And I want it back but I don’t know how to get it back. It fucking sucks to need the one person who you confided everything (well, almost) for the past 11 years, and not be able to call her up and get her support and encouragement when you need it the most. One of the only people in the whole world who loves your family like her own (or at least used to), and knows them almost as well because she’s been there all of their lives.

I want to call her. I want to cry over the phone so she can tell me that everything is going to be just fine. However, I can’t help but think that if I do that, I will validate her belief that I brought on all of my family’s drama because of my actions. In her eyes, I have made very serious mistakes that must be dealt with. And until I deal with them properly, I will continue to have these issues to deal with.

Over the past week, I have been on the verge of calling her so many times. And each time, I stop myself because I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. I don’t want to inadvertently validate her opinion. (Because I know she’d have one)

So, yeah. That’s my suck-ass thing. Do you have one?

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March 4, 2011 What ‘chu gonna do with all that ass, all that ass in side ‘dem jeans?

No need to send someone over to check on me. I’m still alive.

My mom came this week to hang out for a few days. AND!!! She took the 5 year old home with her. We are planning on going to her house next weekend anyway, so it works out great. I feel a bit pathetic and desperate to be so excited to have  a whole week without my youngest child. But whatever, I’ll get over it. It’s actually a good week to be down a kid because Mr. T is going to be gone all week too. That mofo is always going on ‘business trips’. I have told him that I think he is living a double life. It happens, ya know. I’ve read books. I’ve seen movies. I can’t name any of them, and he laughs at me whenever I mention that I think he may have a secret ‘nother family. But at least I get him MORE. So I’m not bitter.

I also found a knitting group that I’m going to this morning. Hopefully, I’ll like the ladies there, and they’ll want me to come back again. I miss my ‘ol knitting buddy, Ariella. I hope she’s on vacation and neglected to tell me about it, because I haven’t been able to get in touch with her all week. I have issues with friends not communicating with me. I’m not calling it needy. I’m calling it, I miss my stitchin’ and bitchin’ buddy.

I’m feeling a bit depressed, I guess. I’m so ready for it to not be cold outside. I really hate it. I don’t want to go out and DO anything. I just want to be snuggled in my bathrobe. It’s getting old. I’m getting fluffy. And I don’t like fluffy. At least not on me. I’ve started eating sweets and crappy food again. Yuck! I really hope the weather is good next week while my little monster is away so I can get back on my bike.

I am excited that I have a little over two weeks before I get to see my bad-ass mofos.

Even I’M not convinced by that last sentence. I’ll work on it. OK?

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January 7, 2011 the conversation heard ’round the country

Mr. T is traveling. He will be on a plane until Sunday. Don’t be sad for him. The asshole is going to be ‘down under’. I think. Is New Zealand considered ‘down under’? Anyways, I’m a bit jealous of his trip. And equally thankful I won’t be stuck traveling on an airplane for like, a week.

We just got off the phone a ‘lil bit ago. He’s at LAX for another hour or so. I miss him already, BTW. We had a rather heated discussion about the x-ray scan that they do to people going through airport security. Let me just preface this by saying that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about the actual process. I have done ZERO research into what the images look like. I am making TOTAL AND COMPLETE ASSUMPTIONS about what the entire process entails. OK?

So, now that we have that all cleared up, I’ll continue with my story.

He was telling me about the doohicky that he had to go in and how it spun around his body or something like that. I mentioned that it made me kinda sick that  just any ‘ol body can see an image of my naked body. Because look, I know I am the shit. I know that I look pretty good. I’m not bragging. It’s just a fact. But I don’t want some creepy person to be able to see me. I am in control of who sees my body, dammit. And I don’t want you (not you, but the random airport people) to be able to see it. Well, I don’t really want any of you to see it either. Except for Mr. T. He can see it. Whatever.

Anyhoo… His point was that they (who?) have this device in place to protect people from crazy lunatics that want to blow us up. The crazy people might have devices on their person (people?) that isn’t detected by the other less-invasive methods. This x-ray machine is SAVING US FROM THE TERRORISTS!!! -or so he says. He mentioned the shoe bomber, and the crotch bomber. Blah, blah, blah. I mentioned that that’s a mere TWO out of a billion. BFD. He retorted, “That’s two that we KNOW of.” HMM, good point. He IS intelligent, ya know.

But I still don’t want people seeing my body. It’s bad enough that I can’t go anywhere, really people, ANYWHERE without feeling like people are checking me out. It doesn’t matter what the fuck I am wearing. Seriously, lately, I have been Schlump Commando. But it don’t stop ’em. Those assholes still undress me with their eyes. The last thing I need is to give them the satisfaction of getting to see me naked. And Mr. T, you remember him? The great husband, my one and only true love, the guy I have been telling you all about how great he is? Yeah, he says, “Well, Tex, that’s the price you have to pay for being so beautiful.”

EXCUU-UUSE ME?!?!?

Oh, so I should just deal with it. OK. I get it. I’m beautiful, so it should just be OK with me that people want to (and some might get to) see me naked. Uh-Uh. Nope. I’m not going for that.

But then I thought about it. Out loud of course. If they ‘get’ to see me, that also means that they ‘have’ to see the other people too. (giggle giggle) I mean, let’s think about this for a minute. Pretend that 5% of the people who have to go through security are ‘beautiful’. That means the other 95% of people who go through aren’t . I guess I should just consider it my pleasure to reward those hard working men and women for doing their duty to keep our airways safe.

We ended our loud, heated conversation with a good laugh. Too bad he’s not here, he’d probably get to see me naked tonight without some fancy x-ray machine.

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December 9, 2010 liquid dessert -and- a tiny rant

I had a serious decision to make tonight. Chick-fil-a cookies and cream milkshake or Samuel Adams Cream Stout? Take a wild guess which one I chose?

Should I be offended that the dudes at the liquor store don’t ask me for my ID? Or should I be flattered that they flirt with me and remember me? BTW Mr. Tex, I am just friendly. Not flirtatious like I am with you (insert sexy duck face here).

This post is making me sound like I drink all the time or something. I don’t. If I did, this second beer wouldn’t be slowing down my blogging process as much as it is right now. Enough about my alcohol consumption. Let’s talk about something that’s actually interesting. (crickets chirping) Ummmmm…you mofos are still here? I figured that you would have left by now.

OK, well since you are still here, I guess I’ll keep writing so you have something to do while you’re still here. Yesterday, Koda gave me one of the most awesome compliments. It seriously made my day happier. The spirit must have been guiding him to recognize me on his blog and therefore allow me to see that he found mine and that he liked the post that I had up that day. It’s amazing how blessed and humble I am! But today, it got me thinking about my blogging associates. Most of you people I read are so- smart. At least you write smart. The blogs I read on a regular basis are so intelligent and articulate and analytical (most of them). I enjoy reading them. But I have to admit something to you people because you are my mofos and I know you ‘got my back’. I don’t always really understand what I read. And!!! I most of the time want to comment, but I can’t make my comment sound as smart as the other comments so I don’t comment because I feel dumbish. But then I think to myself, “Fuck that shit! I AM SMART!!”

And now, I’m thinking about a brilliant comment I wrote on Brandi’s blog about people trying to ‘out righteous’ each other. (I’m not linking you to her shit. It’s not really that good anyway. Don’t waste your time.) Do you people think that’s what is happening? Why? We all know that the ex-mormons, disaffected mormons, inactive mormons, less-active mormons, etc., are all smarter than the average person. (Just kidding, don’t get maaaad. You’re smart too. I’m being an ass. It’s my blog. Feel free to call me out on my shit because I want lots of comments about how much of an asshole I am and I want hate mail.) But why do you have to ‘out intellectual’ each other?

That shit is intimidating for a straightforward thinker like me. I write like I talk. I use smart words sometimes. I read. I have a good vocabulary. I generally speak English good (ha ha ha, well). I’m not necessarily asking you to dumb the conversation down for me. I just think that maybe you could be less smart sometimes. Or maybe you all ARE really smarter than me and I really AM just a dumb bitch with a nice ass. In that case, just tell me how pretty I am even though there aren’t any pictures of me on this blog. And if you have seen my ass, tell me how good it is. Ok?

But use big words and lots of symbolism will ya?

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November 27, 2010 Mr. Tex is a fudge packer

He wanted me to tell you about his fantastic skills dealing with fudge. I’m in a bit of a rut about what to talk about, and he suggested I tell you about his skills. Oh yeah, and he suggested I talk about my hot ass too. Before you decide to report us to our bishop about butt sex, get your mind out of the gutter. He made fudge today. He’s going to send it to his dad. Our family has a tradition of sending and receiving a tin full of homemade goodies to his dad. THAT’S why he’s packin’ fudge. And well, my ass is self-explanatory. Tex’s ass = Amayzing!

Do you want to experience my husband’s fudge? Tell me why I should send it to you. I promise, I won’t poison you.

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