Super Awesome Sexy Sweats

So, you know what I was thinking? 
(Hell no, because if you did, you'd be me, and I wouldn't be, and then neither of us would be here, would we? Because trust me, you would NOT be as great at being me as I am.) 
I hate how I have a tendency to get a feeling about things, right before I do them... Like, a warning... And yet, I still ignore it, after 25 years, and am still fucking surprised when I end up falling flat on my face. 


CASE IN POINT:
Friday nights/Saturday morning. I KNEW better than to get up at 3 am, and go do some grocery shopping. I so knew better. I KNEW, somewhere in my mind, that it probably wouldn't end well. That getting all dolled up(read: rolled out of bed, and it was the first thing my hands touched on the floor. Don't fucking judge me. You don't know my entire life.) in my super awesome sexy sweats was NOT conducive to having a relaxing shopping experience, because I knew I would be in fear of seeing someone I knew the entire time. 

The only thing I'm really proud of is that I put on my best push up bra... And that's seriously because it was the only one clean. No jokes, folks. No jokes. It could have been so much worse... What if I pulled a no-bra shopping expedition? Yeah.

Awk-fucking-ward.


(Sorry, did you just feel that long break I just took? I just got lost in the middle of The Oatmeal's grammar poster site for a while... I kind of feel like it's the best site in the world. http://theoatmeal.com/comics/irony I kid you not... I just spent about an hour reading the different grammar comics, laughing and naming names of people I need to send them to. Keep an eye on your mailboxes, mofos. I bet this sounds like a commercial for The Oatmeal. It isn't. But I'm sending those bitches a bill anyway.)


Annnnnnnd, we're back to the story at hand. So I'm all awesome-sauced up in my super awesome sexy sweats, because let's face it... I can rock the hell out of sweats. I mean, it's what they were made for, right? Fat folks? No? 


Then what the hell were they made for?

So, I'm at Walmart, which in and of itself should be a crime. What the hell does anyone need to be at Walmart for at 4AM? Well, I was awake, and I was bored. You can sue me later for being a loser, okay. It's fine. You're obviously reading, and enjoying, this. So I must not be the one with the biggest problem.


I bought all the basics: an awesome strawberry body wash that I'm tempted to eat every time I use it, but it tastes like soap(don't ask, it was an accident,) face wash, and tampons. Seriously, ladies, that's what we do, right? We buy tampons whenever we're at the store, just because we don't ever want to run out. Right? Everyone does that, don't they? Or am I just the paranoid obsessive compulsive?


 Guys, it's like running out of toilet paper. And you've just had chili from hell. 


Oooh, or better yet, it's like running out of beer in the first half, and your wife took the car with her to work. And you have no friends to take you on a beer run. And you live in the middle of nowhere. Yeah. THAT kind of devastating. You're welcome for the incredibly over-described education session.

So, I've got a bunch of stuff in my cart, and I'm tooling along. I'm listening to my music, and humming along, because everyone knows I sing all the time, and I don't want to just go walking through the store, singing, like a damned bag lady. So I sing with my mp3 player. It makes it legit, you know?


And I go to turn into the cereal aisle, and there is the one person I never. EVER. Wanted to see. EVER again. Well, I never wanted him to see me in my super awesome sexy sweats, mostly. 
 I suppose I should elaborate... We all have that one person in our lives we want nothing more than to forget existed. I have quite a few, but that's because I'm just a bigger asshole than you. Get over that. Now is a great time for you to start. 
 It's that person that you swore the next time you saw them, you'd be, like, 100 pounds lighter, and you'd be laughing uproariously at something hilarious, and you'd be super happy, and you'd really make them feel like a crappy person for not realizing how awesome a friendship y'all had at one point, right? Goddamn, that's a great fantasy to have. But the reality is, you will always have that awkward run-in in super awesome sexy sweats. With your hair in a ponytail, because it probably hasn't been washed in like, two days, because you've been chasing down 30 things for school, and work, and the mini-me. And wearing flip flops in January because you're too lazy to match socks. Or tie shoes. And you don't have any slip-on shoes because your friend's dog literally ate the backs off of them. Oh, and with your tampons on full display, at the top of your cart, because you're a finicky bitch about crushed tampon boxes, like it really effing matters. 


Someone please tell me why the eff I would EVER think any kind of 'life's a bitch' fantasy would occur in a Walmart? Because I'm certainly not sure why it flashed before my eyes at that moment. But it did. And I am ashamed. It's Walmart, for frig's sake. 


So, basically, even though Mini-Me needed cereal, and juice, and other such items, I left in a decently paced hurry. I mean, if I'm going to have that "Hey, how's it going?" awkward conversation with someone I have less than stellar feelings about, I'd like to be wearing at least mascara. And have combed hair. And NOT look like I went on a three year fat binge. Because I don't need the past people to think that I hit my peak years ago and it's really been downhill ever since. Even if it really is true. 


Which it TOTES isn't. (Hah, Jenna, that's for you. I'll know if you read this, because you'll tell me all about it.) My life has been on the upswing for a year, now... Which isn't probably saying much about my old life, is it? 


But whatever. I figured it was an awesome piece of my life you would love to read. And one of these days, I'm going to make a fan page for myself on FB, so I can stop whoring my blog out to people who don't want to be bothered with it. And you guys can feel kind of awesome whoring it out from a fan page, and you can say, "Yeah, I totally knew her before she was a famous super awesome sexy sweats rocker." You're. Effing. Welcome.