To Dion’s (a la Runaround Sue) “Dream Lover”
I bet Dion’s mommy made him all those sweaters.
Every night I hope and pray a dream mother will come and stay
A mom to do my all my chores so I can lay back and snore
Because I want, a mom, to take care of me
I want a dream mother, so I don’t have to be an adult
Dream mother, where are you?
This life is more than I can chew
I want your hand to hold
Like when I was a ten-year-old
Because I want, a mom, to pay my bills
I want a dream mother, so I don’t have to go to work
Some day, I don’t know when
I’m gonna be a kid again
So what about Thing One and Two?
Well, she can be their mom too
Because I want, a mom, to do my laundry
I want a dream mother, so I don’t have to wash undies
Dream mother, you aren’t real
How am I supposed to feel?
I can’t take care of me
Maybe I can get a nanny?
Because I want, a mom, to live my life
I want a dream mother, so I can finally take a nap
I was gonna write a post about this today, and like how I haven’t posted or answered comments or anything. Meh. Maybe next week.
How I see my life . . . (Click to Enlarge)
Poooooooocanhontas, where the wind comes whistling down with colorssss! Sorry about that. I just can’t say that name without thinking of the musical Oklahoma. It fits perfectly. And frankly, Pocahontas starring in a production of Oklahoma would be about as realistic as the Disney version, and involve a lot more hoe downs.
Okay, so story starts off with hunky Aryan explorer who can never convincingly reserve a hotel room, John Smith. John Smith is manly, ya’ll, and you can tell by the way he hops on a cannon while singing. All his crew have man crushes on him, including this one kid, Wesley Crusher I think, who he saves from drowning so he can later shoot Kokopuffs. Oops, spoiler.
Next we have dramatic fog and Native American chanting and oh boy are we going to a reservation? Oh, wait, this is before Our Hero so they are still merrily picking corn and rowing canoes and beating drums and stuff. Pocahontas, or “Pokey” as I like to call her, is up on top of a cliff ready to jump like 500 feet into the water. This should be a short story. But no, she lives and oh we get how she’s like super brave and not at all stupid. It helps that she’s beautiful (except for a missing nose) and has a great bod.
Next we get Pops, the chief and Pokey’s dad. Mom’s dead of course, this is Disney. Dad wants her to marry Kokopuffs (that was his name, right?) but Pokey doesn’t cause he’s like really hot and built and brave but hey, where is his sense of humor huh? What the heck does her stupid dad expect, I mean jeez. At least in this one, Dad is not a Weeble.
Pokey is upset about this so she talks to a tree that OMG A FACE! How did her grandmother get in the Willow Tree? Holy crap that was weird. Anyway, she asks her for advice on her dream about a spinning arrow and like all “wise ones” she yammers some nonsense like “listen to your heart.” Thanks for nothing, grams.
So mostly everything is going okay until the white people get there to screw everything up. We’re good at that. On the whitey side is the femmy head of the expedition, Ratface, er Ratcliffe (his actual name). He has – oh boy, a cute little pug sidekick! Let’s kick it to the side. He also has an even girlier lackey who skips about helping him prepare. This is meant to contrast John, who is like not fancy prancy but All Man.
All Man turns out to mean “suicidal”. While Ratty immediately starts digging up the land for gold (destroying crap is a great way to make a good first impression), manly man Smith starts leaping around tall mountains and singing. “The greatest adventure is mine! Maybe I’ll meet a hot chick!”
While he’s doing this, Pokey is stalking him along with her sidekicks (why, just why) an irritating raccoon and a hummingbird. Whatever. Part of the movie is taken up with the pug and the raccoon running around so the kids won’t go to sleep during the romance junk.
So John hears her and he gets his gun and then Pokey walks out of this fog in this awesome model pose and John’s all whoa I really wanna – get to know her. But, oh no, they don’t speak the same language. How will they . . . oh, right, they stand close and leaves blow around them and BANG automatic universal translator. Convenient.
John calls her a “savage” (oh wait, I only meant your non-hot people!) so Pokey schools him by dragging him all over the wilderness while singing about blue corn moons and painting mountains and wind colors and I think maybe the Native Americans were growing more than corn. She clearly has some sort of leaf blower power, cause leaves are always swirling around her body and in her Pert Plus hair.
Meanwhile Pokey’s dad sends some scouts to check out the new guys, and one of them gets shot and he gets this wild idea that these peeps might be dangerous. He calls some of his friends over for backup.
John tells Ratty that there’s no gold so naturally he figures the Indians are hidin’ it and they should kill them all! Perfectly logical plan there.
But that won’t stop our lovebirds! Pokey gets caught by her pal, but hey, what’s the threat of war when you’re in luss . . . love! John sneaks out too, and is followed by Wesley the brat he saved earlier. John and Pokey make out, but turns out Pokey’s pal ratted her out and oh oh Kokopuffs is pissed, and tries to put a tomahawk in John’s skull but Wesley shoots him dead. Whoops. I never saw this coming, did you?
John is captured and waits execution while Ratty gets his men together to rescue John and retrieve the weapons of mass des- the gold. Pokey is still confused, so she wastes time yammering to the willow tree before figuring out that she should maybe stop this. At the last second, she flings herself over John, stopping the club. She reasons with her Dad, who is suddenly like oh, okay, let’s all stop fighting and stuff, what was I thinking?
But too late cause Ratty tries to shoot him. John plays the hero and takes the bullet (omg he is so manly). The settlers turn on Ratty, but there’s no happy ending for John and Pokey cause John has to be taken home to be treated (the natives can’t pull out a bullet?) and Pokey must stay to keep peace (yeah that’s gonna work). They make out in front of Dad a bit then John sails away while Pokey shoots some leaves his way in goodbye. Aw.
Now for the “behind the fairy tale”. If you think Disney goofed up fairy tales, that ain’t nothin’ compared to what they do to actual historical figures. The real Pocahontas was roughly eleven when she met the twenty-eight year old John Smith. You can clearly see the romance potential here, but no, they were just friends, sorry Lolita fans.
John Smith (who was an explorer but hairier and not quite as hunky) did write that she saved his life when they were about to smack him in the head with a rock. Others say he had a tendency to brag about women saving his life (totally macho there) and that possibly he misunderstood and this was really just a ritual, not an execution. Either way a large blunt object was involved, so I’m not sure if it matters all that much. At least it didn’t to John.
Disney does include several of the real people – well their names anyway, the actual setting, Jamestown, and the famous rock incident which was probably true. They leave out the part where she later is kidnapped by the English she’d been feeding and held for ransom but Daddy didn’t want to give up his guns so she got to get all Christianized and married to an Englishman and her name changed to Rebecca and entire culture obliterated for a new one, oh and also how she was dragged to England to be paraded around like a monkey before catching smallpox and dying at about 21. Fun stuff. I can’t believe Disney left this out.
Stay tuned next time when Disney decides to lighten things up with The Hunchback of Notre Dame!
So I’ve been thinking about what to write and I’ve had no gripping, world-changing ideas lately. Because nothing compares to that whole condiment Sex Ed discussion. You can’t just hide your spices away and pretend nothing is happening people!
I could use the excuse of not being able to type on account of my fractured arm and my messed up toe (if I wrote with my toes that is). That was why I loaned my blog to Thing Two for a little bit (ten-year-olds: you give them an inch and they want your whole blog). Thing One had part of a post ready to go but then declared she was too lazy to finish it. At least she’s honest.
I can write now, even though my arm is still messed up, just as long as I don’t turn my arm like this. OW. The doc said I have to keep moving it or it will get stiff so you know, keep messin’ with that elbow. Pain is good! I have exercises for my arm that make me look like I’m doing the Robot.
So I was thinking I should get back to the old writing gig. But wait, maybe not, cause I just got a negative comment the other day from a concerned reader who Googled his name. The comment was on an old post entitled “Libraries are for Porn?” (because I am always classy) that featured a list of silly reasons people offered for banning books. Here’s a bit I lifted from that post including the list.
- “Encourages children to break dishes so they won’t have to dry them.” ( A Light in the Attic, by Shel Silverstien)
- “It caused a wave of rapes.” ( Arabian Nights, or Thousand and One Nights, anonymous)
- “If there is a possibility that something might be controversial, then why not eliminate it?” ( Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown)
- “Tarzan was ‘living in sin’ with Jane.” ( Tarzan, by Edgar Rice Burroughs)
- “It is a real ‘downer.’” ( Diary of Anne Frank, by Anne Frank)
- “The basket carried by Little Red Riding Hood contained a bottle of wine, which condones the use of alcohol.” ( Little Red Riding Hood, by Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm K. Grimm)
- “One bunny is white and the other is black and this ‘brainwashes’ readers into accepting miscegenation.” ( The Rabbit’s Wedding, by Garth Williams)
- “A female dog is called a bitch.” ( My Friend Flicka, by Mary O’Hara)
- “An unofficial version of the story of Noah’s Ark will confuse children.” ( Many Waters, by Madeleine C. L’Engle)
If you think no one would really suggest banning a book for such a stupid reason, you clearly have too much faith in the human race.
Anyway, here’s the comment:
Anyhoo, back to the blog. I’m wondering what to write about next (and how to make more people angry). I’ve had other themes I’ve started and never finished like Game of Thrones reviews (interest in violent nakey parody seems to have waned), the “Behind the Fairy Tale” series (I’m to Pocahontas – ZOMG how can I not do that? There’s just so much there, so many, many awful jokes), and of course my tortures of virtual people like Boppo Sadface that are my most popular posts, taking over from the Dragon Tales psychopaths who were seeking out my blog. Now people just want to know how to kill pixels. Refreshing.
But what do you want, good readers? Let me know in the comments below!
Hello, its thing two here. Mom had fell down last night and wailed right next to my sisters room (and never heard a thing somehow) while i was working my way to the matrix of sleeping.Then i heard a big wail and had a sigh of greif “gosh darn thing1, not another nightmare of being at grandmas.” i stumbled out of my bunk and fell on the second step to find mom on the floor covered in laundry. She turned out to have a broken toe and fractured wrist,so no typing for her. So she decided I should write a post today cause of all my 100’s i got in writing. So here it goes.
Ever since my friend had showed me the awesomeness that could happen in a survial game i am now in a objective i like to call “minecraftian slave” i watch minecraft videos every single day. if you don’t know what minecraft is then let me simply explain it to you
minecraft is a real life based game where you have to survive in the wild to live, you can build, craft and mine (duh its called MINEcraft). there are also mobs to avoid such as spiders,zombies,creepers,enderman,skeletons, and also cute animals that roam around and you kill for food and villagers that you can trade.
minecraft is an amazing game advalibile on xbox, pc and tablet that lets just say MOST AWESOME ADICTING GAME EVER X3!!!!!!!!! adventaly i don’t have the game, so i just watch lots of videos here are some minecraft youtubers i watch
7. team crafted
Do you get it now? just in case RANDOM POPULARMMOS VIDEO ABOUT BLOWING THINGS UP!!!! (link drop!)
So the other day the girls and I were discussing how salt and pepper reproduce. Yes we were. Don’t look at us, this happened in a cartoon – FOR CHILDREN! Blue’s Clues, to be exact. Now I touched on this weirdness in my review quite a while back (LINK DROP) but it still bugs me, because I think about this kind of stuff instead of say, world peace. One thing is for sure, world peace ain’t never gonna happen while condiments are allowed to party in the kitchen cabinet while you sleep.
So what am I talking about exactly? If you guessed Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper and their spice spawn, then I’m really sorry, cause that means your brain is storing the same useless information as mine is.
A brief summary of Blue’s Clues. There’s this mentally challenged guy named Steve or Joe, they’re pretty much interchangeable, and he has a dog named Blue. She can’t talk so she gives “clues” using paw prints. Now the weird thing about this is that while the dog can’t talk, practically everything else can. Soap, a side table drawer, a shovel and pail, possibly Steve’s underpants, and of course the salt and pepper shakers. Who are married. Of course they are.
But that’s not all. Oh, no. Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper have a BABY. Her name is Paprika. I can’t for the life of me figure out the logistics of this – there’s just too many holes. I mean, in the lids. Besides that, I’ve tried combining salt and pepper together and I do not get paprika. Thing One found a video that discusses why they made Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper talk and not Blue, and how they wanted to teach kids about getting younger siblings and . . . wait, what? That’s right. It happened AGAIN. They had another baby named Cinnamon. I think this is getting out of hand. In this video Neil DeGrasse Tyson – yes the astrophysicist – asks why Blue can’t talk and Paprika, the inanimate object, can. Pay special attention to 1:12 in the video for something really whack.
It’s not just the salt and pepper having funsies, you guys, nope. If you look at the frame below, you can clearly see what looks like a baby mayo, ketchup, mustard, hot sauce, and I have no idea what the green one is – guacamole? Who knew this could happen? And if it can, why on earth do we go to the grocery store? Why not just breed our own condiments?
I’ll tell you why. Because it’s just WRONG, that’s why. If we allow this marriage of Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper, who knows what will be next? Col. Mustard and Mrs. Ketchup making their own special sauce? I don’t think so. That’s why I have all my condiments and spices spayed or neutered, and you should too. And never, ever let your salt and pepper stay in the same cabinet, not unless you really need a new spice rack in the next few months.
Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper offer up so many other questions. Like, when you refill the salt shaker, is that like a blood transfusion? If it runs out of salt and you wait too long, does the shaker die? What about if the spice inside the shaker passes the expiration date? Is that like old age? If so my spice rack is a freaking morgue. Thing Two claims a friend of hers actually buried an empty salt shaker after exposure to Blue’s Clues. Really, people, we must think about the CHILDREN. I can’t believe Fox News hasn’t picked up on this smut we’re showing to our impressionable youth by now.
Also, try not to think about what Steve and Joe do with that poor living Soap. No – no, not there!!!!
This disturbing PSA brought to you by Alice and her Things.
Okay, time to lighten things up around here. Especially on my feet. Cause I’m done talking about jerkwads that fill up cyberspace. Back to talking about me! And my feet! Also my insane obsession with fitbit which led to walking which led to said foot issues. This is totes going to be more exciting than reading the Dr. Scholl’s website (motto: You be old, here be cushy stuffs).
I mean, it just figures that I would go and try to get healthy and then cause something else to go wrong. I’m like one of those cars you got a really good deal on because it constantly breaks down. Speaking of cars, did you know you are supposed to rotate your shoes every six months or 5,000 miles or whatever? Neither did I. I’m not sure if it’s true or if the shoe mafia planned this together to make us buy more shoes.
Anyway, I started walking more and it was great because not only was I making myself healthier (I think) I was also releasing lots of Alice rage and anxiety which is a good thing for everybody. But THEN, then my feet started to hurt. A LOT. Thing Two loves giving foot massages with lotion. I can’t complain; the kid comes cheap. But it just wasn’t doing the trick. I was still in pain.
So I figured, hey my shoes are um, let’s see, when did I last buy shoes . . . uh, yeah I should get some new ones. So I dragged my husband out to the mall where I tried on several different highly priced athletic shoes.
First Lady Footlocker. I was told I should have my foot measured. Well I did, and this dude says I wear size 6 even though I’m pretty sure I’ve been an 8 since high school. As it turns out, he’s wrong, I’m at least an 8. Also, according to him, I have high arches. News to me. Anyway, that was why the shoes did not fit, says he. I was tempted to buy some socks or something from him (did you know there are specific socks for walking and running? Me neither!!!) since he worked so hard and got nothing.
We walked down the mall, passing Payless Shoes, and stopped at Hibbetts Sports. My husband said “Hey, let’s try this one.” because he didn’t at all want to get this over with or anything. I tried on a few pairs there with Mindy or Cindy or Sarah, whatever. Her nametag said “Newbie”. I mentioned back pain and my supposedly high arches and she pulled out some fancy insoles and these heel things that feel like jello (my husband suggested actual jello as a cheaper substitute but I doubt the long term effectiveness). So we shoved all these things into some shoes. I found two pairs of shoes that were pretty good. In the end, the one that was 70 dollars cheaper won out because I’m poor and because I was buying these fancy inserts that were going to make everything better but made the price rise significantly.
So I wore the shoes out and things seemed okay. My husband was relieved at least. Then I got home and walked in the shoes some more and realized I was having trouble balancing and the tendons just above my foot now hurt and dang those stupid inserts might be working but they were way too hard. Considering how much I spent, I was slightly annoyed at this. I decided to return them. This was all about shoe comfort, and not at all about cost or buyer’s remorse or the fact that I can’t make a freaking decision. I thought my husband might beat his head against the tree he was trying to cut down because . . . saws and man and stuff. But at least he didn’t have to go with me. What with the tree.
Luckily, the dude at the cash register was willing to take them back without a fuss – he looked like someone who just wanted to get home and play Xbox. I left and stepped into Payless Shoes. And woot, found shoes looking almost exactly like the shoes in the last two stores, except I got two freaking pairs for 30 dollars vs . . . the extra amount I spent before. Score.
Except I still needed insoles because I wanted them a little more cushy. So I went to Wal-Mart with Thing Two who suggested I try the Dr. Scholl sizer machine because she likes seeing mom balance on one foot. She was most annoyed it wouldn’t tell her a size. Probably because she’s ten years old and her weight’s not even registering. What a problem.
So I found my supposedly custom fit (which said I have normal arches btw), but wtf they were 50 bucks which was more than two pairs of shoes. Sorry to you Mecca employees, but I was a very bad Alice and opened the sealed box to try on the insoles and they did feel good. But I wasn’t sure because after all I had not researched this to freaking death yet. So I put them back and instead got this one for “athletes” (stop laughing) because it had gell all over. And was 30 bucks cheaper. It feels okay. But I wasn’t done yet.
I looked on Amazon and read reviews about this miracle Dr. Scholl insert thing that is just for your foot (You get like a number- I’m a 310! I think that means my foot is very smart.) and found that they had the same inserts for 30 bucks. So I bought them. I’m not sure how much I have spent, gotten back, and spent again at this point. And I’m still researching because OMG I am obsessive which is great for my job but not for anything else.
Who knew walking was so much trouble?
Yesterday I saw an article posted on Facebook about Adam Richman, the guy from Man Vs. Food. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of that show – it’s about a guy who travels the world and shovels food in his face to win such novelties as a T-shirt and heart disease. But, hey, he travels! So totally Travel Channel. I’m just shocked it wasn’t on TLC.
Though no one on TLC, it turns out, is as big a scumbucket as this guy. It makes me angry to even recall it. The show has been off two years, though Travel continues to show it again and again. In that time, dear Adam lost a lot of weight. Yay, now he looks so much older! Oh, and he’s totally healthy because thin! He posted a selfie of himself bragging about his weight loss and using the hashtag “thinspiration.” Turns out thinspiration is a term people with eating disorders use. News to me. Anyway a blogger named Amber Sarah (who OMG is fat!) told Adam about this and he said “Oh, didn’t realize that. I’ll just drop that particular hashtag.” Hahaha, no of course he didn’t. He told her “Do I look like I give a f**k?” She tried again, and got a friend to try, and when they were ignored, she hit up her followers who started bugging him. So he just ignored them.
No, of course he didn’t. He went freaking off the wall crazy, tweeting such gems as “If anyone acts like a c**t, I’ll call them one. It’s not misogyny, it’s calling a spade a spade.”, “Eat a bag of sh*t”, and most chilling of all “Seriously, grab a razor blade and draw a bath. I doubt anyone will miss you.”
It is impossible to fully express my anger at this because it’s wrong on SO many levels. And it just gets worse if you look at the comments. I know, I should never do this, but I thought surely people would be as enraged as I was. Nope. Here are some of the responses from various articles.
“There is no excuse for HER behavior. She weighs 1,000 pounds and doesn’t want anyone else to be happy that they are thin and in good shape.”
A picture of her – on her article – with the caption “Its Tinkerfat the land whale princess.”
“People are way too sensitive. I don’t think anything he said was wrong. He’s lost a lot of weight and is proud of himself, as well he should be.”
“Who wouldn’t want that nutjob to commit suicide? He may have been ranting, but be honest . . . most of us were cheering him on because we are so damn tired of people trying to cause trouble or thin skinned or offended by small thing. I know he’s in the public eye and has to apologize . . . but I hope it is the fakest damn apology ever.”
“Since when does a “Blogger” like that monster Amber Sarah have the power to get a television show pulled? She’s a BLOGGER! They aren’t real! That pig should take note of what he did and hit the gym. So sick of Liberal PC nonsense ruining people’s lives.”
Commenters who disagreed with these views were often disregarded with slams like “You must be fat yourself.” Right, cause you have to also be overweight to think telling another human being they should kill themselves because they are worthless is wrong. Here’s news to these people, and to darling Adam. There are PEOPLE on the other side of that screen. People who kill themselves everyday partly because they are judged by their appearance.
The ironic thing is that many overweight people are not unhealthy. They eat well and exercise. Some people will always be thin because of metabolism, even if they eat McDonalds for every meal. That doesn’t make them more healthy. And even if the person IS an unhealthy weight, that doesn’t mean their brains work less. It doesn’t mean they are worth less.
I am disgusted that my daughters must grow up in a world where completely unrealistic body images are seen as the norm, and deviating from that means ostracism, discrimination, abuse. Where it’s better to starve oneself than to have a little meat on your bones.
Adam has the right to “free speech”. So did the blogger. And the Travel Channel had the right to “postpone his new show indefinitely”. There is such a thing as karma, Adam, and consequences for your actions. I only wish his losing his new show was the only consequence, but it’s just a symptom of a very sick world where it’s better to be dead than fat.
“But which was destroyed, the master or the apprentice?”
-Mace Windu (that dude from Snakes on a Plane) in The Phantom Menace
I have had my Fitbit for less than a week now, but already I’ve managed to find the Dark Side. In my last post, I talked about how Fitbit was a cruel master. And it is – if you let it. There are great things about this handy device, but there are also baaad things about this handy device. The Good: You are encouraged to take more steps, thus increasing your exercise. Also it gives you a smiley face. The Bad: There’s a food log. And a “calories burned” vs “calories eaten”. And the opportunity to lose weight by telling it all your dirty secrets so that it can make you feel bad about yourself by making this little gas meter turn to red which signals FAIL just like the red pen in elementary school. You should also note that red is the color of the evil Darth Vadar’s lightsaber.
I’ve found myself logging my input vs output (output as in how much I exercised not how much I pooped though both make a difference in your weight) to be a real chore. I’ve learned some good things. Like that every thing in existence, even sodas for crying out loud, have salt in them. Also sodas pack a lot of calories for a liquid. So do various desserts. Now I knew about the calorie part (though the salt part: wtf?) but seeing it right in front of you is different. Suddenly you have a limited amount you can eat, like someone stranded on a desert island who must make their provisions last.
As someone who is naturally obsessive and neurotic, this is a bad thing. I find myself thinking about food – too much. Should I eat this? How many calories? It’s not in the freaking database? Now I have to figure this out myself. How much time did that take? Crap, now my blood sugar is in the toilet. Maybe I’ll puke. Hey, I could lose weight that way. Or maybe just not eat much at all cause then I don’t have to walk so much. Yeah!
Then I stopped for a second and let my brain kick into gear. Wait a second. I think I’ve heard of this stuff before. It’s called a freaking eating disorder.
So I looked up “fitness trackers” and “eating disorders” and ta-da, found several articles about how these wearable fitness devices and cell phone apps are an anorexic’s best pal. Now they don’t have to keep the log of molecules eaten in their head; it’s right there in their hand 24 hours a day! And if they eat too many crumbs, they can always exercise more and bing bing look a smiley face!
Now I’m not saying you should just eat an entire pack of Twinkies and say to heck with it. Twinkies aren’t worth it – they’re like eating an actual sponge. But by turning calories into numbers, you lose something. Like say, the nutritional value. Sure you can lose weight by subsisting on lettuce, but is that healthy? No, it’s not worth it. Especially since lettuce tastes like wet cellophane.
Also calorie counting is taking me a long time. I told my daughters to wait a minute while I logged in my food. And then I wondered what message I was sending by doing this.
I thought back to how I heard of this device – David Sedaris. And I re-read his article. Not once does he mention diet when describing his obsession. Just adding a little more walking to each day. Well, in his case, a lot. If he’s really taking in 35,000 steps a day, he should have some fractures by now. I’m gonna leave that to “comedian creative license”. But my point is, if he obsesses about the food log, he doesn’t say so. And I don’t see why I have to do so either.
Yes, if I want to lose weight I have to make sure I’m not eating more calories than I am burning. But what if it’s not just about weight? Is it not good that I’m taking more steps than I was? Isn’t every little bit something? It’s more than I did before. Fitbit starts you at 10,000 steps a day. I put myself at 5,000 cause I hate those freaking frowny faces, and have since kindergarten. Alice don’t do that crap. Besides, it’s actually a good idea to work your way up, especially if you’re used to exercising as much as I am (as in not at all). I got a little thrill when my wristband buzzed today.
Fitbit won’t let me remove the food log. So I hid the little button on the dashboard. And I’m willing myself not to bring it back. Fitbit is a tool. But I am my own master.
Maybe I’m headed back toward the Light Side of the Force.