total. chick. post. does this post make my butt look big?

I think that by now all 5 of you can guess what my favorite four-letter word is. You know, it's that one, the BAD one, the one I pretend like I'd never say but I actually kinda say it all the time. I can't help's a great word. It's fun to say, it's fun to do!

Now, my least favorite four-letter word, that's a whole other story. There are a few that made it to the top of the list. Snow, WAY up there. Shit was a contender for the top spot, only because I am again knee-deep in someone else's poop for the next for years (that one's just for you, Retropolitan. I know how you loves you some poop talk...). Move, oh move, I do hate you so. You are evil and bad and I wish you would just go away. Move is almost the worst one. But not quite as bad as the "D" word.

Not Damn, you sissy. Does damn even count anymore? No, I'm talking about Diet. Ughth, I can't even believe I just said it. I think I need to go wash my mouth out with soap. Hold on a minute....



Ok. Here's the thing. I just had a baby and I gained 60 pounds with her. I have absolutely no problem telling you this because I gained 105 with B (yes folks, that's ahundredandfive pounds) and 80 with T, so I feel pretty damn good about the little itty bitty 60 L slapped on my ass. But, see, I can't seem to lose any of this damn weight. I walk everywhere (still don't have a car, by the way. It's ETA still says 7/13 on the shippers tracking site.), I eat reasonably healthy foods, I just went 7 weeks alone with three children and moved an entire household to another country. Shouldn't the stress eat away even a little of it?

I've managed to drop half of the weight, but I have been stuck here at around 150 ever since. Maybe that doesn't sound like a terrible lot to you, but I am 5'4" and 150 sounds like quite a lot for me. Especially since it's all from my wide ol' hips to my big fat knees. And my boobs. They're ginormous.

So, here I sit, packin' 30, and my trouble lies in this: I am going to Las Vegas in, like, 7 weeks. It is my first (and likely last) trip there and I am so freakin' excited I could spit. My sister is turning 29 (again) and we are going to stay at the fanciest hotel we could find, sit by the pool all day drinking drinks with rum and umbrellas in them, get tattoos, eat at super nice restaurants, go dancing, go shopping, flirt like thirteen year olds and generally have a helluva time. It will be my first for real vacation ever. EVER. I went to Brooklyn a few years ago, but I stayed with a buddy and it was too cold to go outside. I ain't never done nothin' like this before and I want it to be perfect. And perfect includes a little brown bikini with blue trim. And little brown bikinis with blue trim do not work with 30 extra pounds sitting right here on my belly button.

And so, I will have to go on a d..., oh, I can't say it. It's just too awful. Tell me it will be worth it when I am all slathered with suntan oil and drunk at noon. It will be, won't it?