#Beyourself, #Dadbod, #dadflu, #manflu, #covid19, #meatcleanse, #southsideguylifestyle, Health & Wellness, Yoga Pants

South Side Boy

If anyone you know displays two criteria below, please share with them both blogs. If you identify with three or more of these criteria; you could be at risk for a scorching case of coronavirus, eventual renal failure, high blood pressure or chronic health problems soon or later in life: 🙈

Southside Guy Lifestyle

1. Chronically dehydrated: “There is water in coffee.” “Beer starts with water..Duh.” 🙄 Wakes up, showers, drinks a giant coffee or energy drank (not water first). He starts the day dehydrated. Continues to drink caffeine all day because “I’m fn tired”. Does not believe irritability/agitation is from caffeine. Everyone should drink atleast half their body weight in water. Exercise, sweating, alcohol and caffeine delete water intake.

2. Perpetually Sleep-Deprived: “Unwinds” in bed looking at phone not realizing the blue light in phones, computers, TV diminishes the production of melatonin-sleep hormone. (Reading a book, magazine, newspaper for 10 minutes instead better choice.) He may feel tired & fall asleep fine but may experience middle-night awakening or still feels exhausted when alarm goes off. Hitting snooze 3-4 times causing a new sleep cycle to begin which leads to sleep inertia- grogginess for 2-4 hours after sleeping 10 more minutes. However he is not tired when a big game is on (so bizarre how the energy emerges 🙂

4. No-Time To Exercise: Exercise consists of being “active” at work and “on feet all day”. Won’t exercise for months, perhaps years and then go balls out playing at the parish softball tournament and is unable to use his arms for weeks. He may decide impulsively to “get-in-shape” and go from zero to a hundred playing basketball with the guys. Leading to torn Achilles heel or tear in his ACL or meniscus. Five to ten minutes a day adds up over time. There are countless videos on you tube for five to 10 minute workouts. This podcast guest stars a doctor who provides realistic tips: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-marie-forleo-podcast/id1199977889?i=1000489694098

5. Thinks DAD-BOD Inevitable: When an old buddy emerges looking DILF and cut due to exercising and eating clean, he accuses friend of doing a cleanse or having surgery. He may call this DILF names like “soy boy” or “cream puff”. *Jokes he is doing a MEAT-CLEANSE. Believes bacon, pepperoni & salami are sourced of protein. Does not pay attention to sodium intake until he is ordered to by a physician or is already on medication. May unknowingly consume 4000mg sodium in a day. May blame his wife’s cooking is why he looks like he is holding his breath all the time. Tip: Limit sodium to 1500mg a day for women. 2000-2500mg for men *Check with doctor about recommended sodium intake for your size.

6. Vitamin-Deficient: His Mindset=Vitamins, minerals & rest are only when you become sick – not as a preventative measure. Low vitamin D lowers immune system. We cannot rely solely on the sun for Vitamin D – especially in the Midwest. He may believe vitamins are a waste of money because you just “pee vitamins out”. (We actually absorb what we need and pee the rest out). May only consider Flintstones vitamins because that’s what he took as a kid.

7. Underestimates how bad stress/burnout impacts the body, mind, & libido 😳: Too much to write on this topic. Listen to this podcast for better understanding- amazing!! https://brenebrown.com/podcast/brene-with-emily-and-amelia-nagoski-on-burnout-and-how-to-complete-the-stress-cycle/. Indications: May have continued to work or watch a baseball/football game while having a heart attack. “I thought it was heart burn”. Will limp through work for 3-4 weeks with a torn ligament or serious injury. Mindset= “If you are hurt, you don’t get work”. However, the cold or flu- (God forbid a fever) -will literally knock him out of commission for days. Have constant muscle tension, insomnia, or explosive rage episodes about minor things out of his control.

8. SKEPTICAL OF EVERYTHING HE DIDN’T SURVIVE THROUGH: He may begin sentences like this: “This is a crock of shit”…insert skeptic comment. Skeptic comment Examples: “Food allergies did not exist when we were kids” “We didn’t wear helmets when riding bikes wtf my kid is not a nerd.” “I never wear sunscreen, I burn then I tan. I have always been like this”. & “Organic, Grass-Fed—tsk all is a load of crap.” However, he is not skeptical about new modern developments & research that improve experiences such as: pausing live TV, fast-forwarding through commercials and yoga pants*.

*Only likes when women wear yoga pants but thinks yoga is weird & only for women. Meditation is a nap, scrolling on phone or watching ESPN

9. Does not pay attention to sugar content:. White refined Sugar is in almost everything and everyone needs to work on managing sugar intake even if you do not have diabetes..https://youtu.be/bKG1JNq7RyM

10. Chases happiness: Looks externally for sources of happiness instead of internally for joy. Instead of cherishing, enjoying & accepting what IS right now; they are always wishing things were different. Either How is was in the past (trigger for depression) . How it will be in the future (trigger for anxiety). Instead of staying in the present. The present is a gift. If you Always wanting more, you will never be satisfied.. “If we just had more money we would be happy.” “If we had a bigger house, we would be happy.” Once it happens and the happiness “doesn’t come” you either get disappointed & give up or keep chasing. By doing this, you MISS life that is happening now.

Joy is an inner feeling. Happiness is an outward expression. Joy endures hardship and trials and connects with meaning and purpose. A person pursues happiness but chooses joy.

I am not a doctor and I could be 1000% wrong. Even the healthiest person could get a horrendous case of coronavirus. I am simply offering some small steps that may pay off in future. Just some tips 😜to improve lifestyle, overall health and to strengthen the immune system. See disclaimer👇🏻

Thirsty for more info: Sone extras that are on point:

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/impact-theory-with-tom-bilyeu/id1191775648?i=1000494035755

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/impact-theory-with-tom-bilyeu/id1191775648?i=1000514361004

Snooze button science : https://youtu.be/VOQE0WOAxBI

#Beyourself, #dadflu, #manflu, #coronavirus, #lifestylechoices, #southsideguylifestyle, #dadbodinevitable, #dadbod, #dabears, #chicago, #southside, #southsidechicago, Coronavirus Southside Chicago, parenting struggles, Yoga Pants

The Moron Twins

One of the symptoms found when you Google coronavirus SHOULD be •acute onset of stupidity•dumb•moronic•

This is a valid & real symptom that no one seems to discuss. The brain fog of covid is no joke. Therefore, I feel compelled to share this with everyone in hopes I can save a few marriages from separation or worst case scenario…murder. 😜

If I was to get married now, post Covid, I would definitely rewrite my vows.

I, (state your name) take you, (lucky bastard) to be my lawfully wedded (husband), to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health*** (see below addendum) , until death do us part.

***Addendum: Questionable. This excludes THE SICKNESS of Covid-19 aka coronavirus. With all due respect Reverend, I can’t be held responsible for this shit show. I will take this up with Lord when my time comes.

Perhaps many have endured the coronavirus as a couple and thought nothing of it. This was not the case for me, as usual.

As I am grateful we all were positive for Covid simultaneously and I was blessed with: 1. Having no sense of smell which came in handy when some were ripping ass left and right.😂

2. Having no taste made eating less enjoyable, (chewing cardboard isn’t much fun; therefore we didn’t eat a lot so no one gained weight.)

3. Initially assuming my feeling like I was hit by a truck, plus paranoia, anxiety and feeling overwhelmed was due monthly hormonal symptoms. I felt guilty for my statements and behavior. Getting diagnosed with coronavirus* gave me permission to be as mean as I wanted but able to use covid as an excuse. 😜. (*oh yea-I had my period and covid at the same time-wtf)

5. Lastly, possessing no memory, decision- making skills or energy: I did NOT have to cook, clean or exercise at ALL for two weeks.

ME: Is this chicken bad?” Kids: “I don’t know. I can’t smell.” ME: “Me neither. I don’t remember how long it’s been in the fridge.” Screw it, let’s get Jimmy John’s…again.

Notice I did not mention husband/father in above example. 👆🏻Unfortunately Dad was unable to leave the bed from April 3rd until April 10th. He was literally knocked.out.cold. by this virus. He dragged self to bathroom to only shower or shit his brains out.

The three of us kinda felt bad for him, however considering all four of us were positive for covid; we would casually joke downstairs about this being “The Dad-Flu”. I showed my kids the parody skits on you tube about the “Man-Flu”.

Us adults received a z-pack and steroids for the bronchial issues. I administered these to him and myself plus vitamins, emergen-c packets, tea, soup etc. I felt better within two days; he was worse. He remained perpetually freezing and bundled up; which led to sweating profusely and changing clothes frequently.

The kids stopped talking to him completely because he wasn’t making any sense. 👆🏻He could not eat because he was so nauseous. After taking famotidine (Pepcid) for 7 days, the nausea finally subsided for Dad, but the chills continued. Wearing a long sleeved underarmour shirt, long sleeved t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, sweatpants, thick socks, yet still freezing…Dad emerged from the bedroom.

So there Dad is, walking in slow motion hooded, unshaven, gaunt and miserable. He resembled the polish version of Eminem.

He kept mumbling to me and when I replied; he could not hear me:

COVID DINNER CONVERSATION. Me: My name is
Him: What?
Me: My name is
Him:Who?
Me: My name is
Him: Huh?
Why can’t you fucking hear me?
Me: My name is
Him: What?Excuse me Me: Just forget it. Meanwhile mumbling under my breath “Stolat” and downing a shot of spiritus.
-Eminem (paraphrased Eminem;)

I make him a dinner plate, tea and ask him if he needs anything else. He shakes his hooded head no. I sit back down, ravenous and start shoveling in the random food.

Him: “Would you get me a knife?”

🤬🤬🤬🤬 We are BOTH positive for COVID sitting at the same table-the same distance from the utensil drawer. This sets me off.

I replied to his knife request, “HOW BOUT I JUST CALL YOU AN AMBULANCE?” Cuz you need to GTFOH.

He replies, “What?” 

I laugh in disbelief, shaking my head at the audacity. I reply softly in an eerie whisper: “Cmon, you can get a knife, it’s five steps.”

Oddly he hears my creepy whisper. He reluctantly stands, walks as if he is walking through water and fetches a knife for himself. 🙄

What I think is happening👆🏻

I give him Alka seltzer cold and he seems to feel a little better. He made a comment about how sick he is and accused me of “Muchasen’s by proxy”. I laughed hysterically at this allegation and think he is turning around. I never wanted him to make fun of me so badly in my life.

This is short lived. He is up all night coughing and gasping for air. I make him wear his sleep apnea machine mask despite his outlandish claims that it makes him sweat more. I threaten him with opening the window. The sheer panic in his face 😬 made me almost feel bad. (Try living with hot flashes year round bitch ass). He surrenders and wears it.

The next morning, when he stands up, he is struggling to breathe. I text my nurse friends and the doctor. All say “If he cannot breathe, bring him to the ER.” I was apprehensive because I haven’t driven or talked to another adult in seven days. I am greeted by security. No sound comes out of my mouth. I have zero recollection of what to say. I blurt out single words like a toddler, “Covid!” & “Wheelchair!” He could not hear, talk or barely walk. Two idiots. 👇🏻

Us on way to the ER👆🏻

In triage, I notice he cannot hear the nurse either. So he was not messing with me. 🤔When he does answer her questions, his answers don’t make sense. Then they bring him back and advise me that I am not allowed to stay because he is a covid patient. A beaming creepy smile 😃 emerged on my face. Hallefuckinglujah I need a break.

I felt guilty for being so happy, but it was overwhelming relief I was not his nurse anymore.

He has an ECG, chest x-ray, cat-scan, & labs; which are all within range. His cat-scan shows the beginning of mild Pneumonia (aka covid lung) which is common for covid. He is discharged with a z-pack, inhaler, and a cough prevention medication with orders of “just let the virus run its course. Keep checking the pulse ox, if it goes below 90, come back.”

He is frustrated and is becoming anxious. The normal, unfortunate reality and fears hit him hard. Fears about about going back to work. Fears about how is he going to function at work. Fears that he is draining his vacation time. The terrible “what if’s” are frightening. I inevitably begin to feel scared as well. Thankfully my defense mechanisms kick in.👇🏻

He is unable to leave the bed again for two more days and is still struggling to breathe. The pulse ox dropped to 88, 82 and 78 when he stood up. His doctor said to go to ER immediately. He is then admitted for five days for double pneumonia. He is discharged and does not seem much better. The nurse and doctor advise that it is “a very slow recovery.”

He was a wreck post hospital, we felt so bad for him. He was so understandably confused. He used four weeks of vacation time. He had to see a pulmonologist. He now has fibrosis, scarring in his lungs, that require nebulizer twice a day still. Obviously compared to many individuals, this is mild and we are lucky.

The point of my discussing this and violating his privacy 😜: He’s 48 years old, no prior medical problems, he does not smoke or drink. He works 12 hour days, goes to bed at 9pm every night even on weekends. He wakes up at 4:30am for work. This is where the WHY comes in. Why did it hit him so hard?

He teases me that I: O.H. (over-hydrate) & O.V. (over-vitamin). 😂 At times he is annoyed with me that I prioritize my mental health and physical health before anyone else; even my kids. I leave the house a mess and go workout first, always. He states that our cabinet looks like a pharmacy:

I see his point, however my outlook is not necessarily the norm around these parts when it comes to health and exercise.

If you ain’t full, you got nothin to give anyone else. Translation:”You cannot pour from an empty beer bottle, guys.”

Kelly Durnelly. Mtg Hooder 1974-2004

Besides being the most tired man in America, he has never been “sick” more than a day as long as I’ve known him. It is very puzzling WHY. Was he just unlucky? Genetics? Stress? I could be 100% wrong, but I do believe some things could have contributed to how bad it hit him. The suggestions made by all the doctor all were to stay ahead of hydration, take vitamins D, C & Zinc daily, and rest/sleep.

Perhaps if some do this before contracting covid, maybe it won’t affect a person as severely. 🤷🏻‍♀️ If you or anyone you know exhibits one-two symptoms on below list, forward this to them immediately. Maybe they will listen to me.

Southside Guy Lifestyle Criteria: 👇🏻

https://quillankelly-dunn.com/2021/05/12/southside-guy-lifestyle/

#brenebrown, #doitanyway, #freedom, #greatpretender, #homeschoolingrealshit, #millenials, #opportunity, #sidehustle, Badassery, brene brown, glennondoyle, Health & Wellness, Lin Manuel Miranda, narcissism, narcisstic personality disorder, parenting struggles, relationships, unlockingus, vulnerability, Women's Fight, Yoga Pants

Sympathy For The Devil

I may not KNOW a lot of things but one thing I do believe for sure is that BOB (Esai Morales) from La Bamba is one BADASS mother fucker. He has to be THEE coolest and most captivating actor on the planet.

He should have won an OSCAR for best supporting actor for his performance; (Esai Morales) truly MADE the movie.

He literally SEDUCES the audience.

That being said, what I find most ironic is that no matter what he did or said, I still liked his character. I thought he was hilarious, I still do. What is even more puzzling, is that he is a complete dick.

(Side note: Esai also appeared on Ozark for a season or two- I was immediately entranced. )

As a woman, I completely identify with Rosie. As a mother and wife, I empathize with how she feels; I hate how she is treated by Bob. What was also puzzling is that she ANNOYED me. 🙈

I can actually feel her pain, grief, & confusion. You can see it written on her face. The “wait…wtf-just-happened?” face. The “how-in-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here” face. She displays this facial expression the majority of the movie. We all know that face.

This puzzled face☝🏻The “Rosie” face.

We all know that feeling: When you realize you’ve been had. You got screwed over. The worst part about it, the majority of it was your own doing. You assumed. ASS-U-ME.

I get how she assumed as well. Any woman in a could easily fall into Bob’s trap; especially the married ones. Bob’s seductive allure could have wise woman entranced in his spell: After Bob flirts with you: Huh? What kids? What husband? You don’t have a job you say? Ballsy. Hot…You drink every day? Wild & crazy. You live in your mom’s trailer? Sounds cozy. Humina Humina 😍🥰😛

I am embarrassed to admit this, but I remember thinking: Awwww just leave him alone Rosie.. it’s your own fault you got yo self knocked up

☝🏻This is the work of the devil.👆🏻

I STILL liked him after that horrible, disrespectful and honest statement by Bob. Like “Dayyyuuumm.” Why?

Currently, I am an adult and an educated & wise woman, yet I still like Bob. Wtf!? How come? 1. Clearly excellent acting by Esai Morales 2. Amazing directing

However, I am not satisfied with this. Inquiring minds want to know!!!

I was concerned with my reaction when I watching this movie recently. When the mother, Connie Valenzuela, minimized Bob’s cartoonist abilities and reminded him that he is about to become a father, I thought: Jeez Connie, buzzkill, what did you have to go and do that for!? Why don’t you get out of Richie’s ass and pay attention to poor Bob. He is trying. POOR BOB

Poor Bob: your womanizing, chauvinistic, selfish, entitled, immature, unemployed, alcoholic, manipulative, man-baby-son who just was released from prison.🤔 (Bob sounds like a real catch on paper doesn’t he?🤥😂)

Idle hands are the devil’s workshop; idle lips are his mouthpiece.Proverbs 16

From a biological & genetic standpoint, Bob does what Bob does best. Bob is a an alpha male who is genetically predisposed to flock his sexy shit to attract females. Bob does whatever possible to get laid; ultimately procreating more human beings to populate the earth. (Biology 101: It is vital for males to compete for reproduction and for females to choose between those competing males.

If a member of the opposite sex finds your tail, your song, or your dance moves sexy, you will have a chance to fulfill your primary biological role as a member of your species: to reproduce.

https://biogeoplanet.com/how-do-animals-find-mates-sex-and-sexual-selection/

This is “Bob’s” “primary biological role” aka his job and he rocks it. He got Rosie pregnant so now he needs to “move on” and to do this again.

It’s not his fault…yet. (Please don’t get angry, hear me out;)

From a biological/genetic standpoint, Bob is doing his job. He behaves how all male animals act. Bob is genetically predisposed to be what humans would consider “an asshole”.

The problem is, he also doesn’t know any better. No one has taught him otherwise. No one has had the chance to teach Bob to step above his biological urges.

Please don’t cause him to feel inadequate by making him have to THINK.

Don’t make him feel like a failure by asking him to have COMPASSION or EMPATHY? That is NO FUN.

What a DRAG it is getting old.

What would cause a human being to behave this way? Or to treat women this way?

Bob’s True Story & my psychological interpretation😜:

Just like Rosie, Connie also hooked up with a bad boy at a young age and got herself impregnated (with Bob.) The hot, sexy biological father took off.

I know you “love him” Rosie, but unless you want to cook dinner on his motorcycle…

Connie then met someone else (Steve) and Connor married Steve when Bob was two years old. Steve loved Bob and treated him as his own. Steve and Connie then had a child, Ritchie. Ritchie was a reflection to Connie what she did right=Ritchie=golden boy. However, Bob was a reminder of her bad decisions.

Connie, Steve, Bob & Ritchie were doing well together for a while. Bob assumed Steve was his biological father and Bob loved him.

In an interview, the real Bob Morales states his life took a bad turn when he was 14 and his parents (Connie & Steve) separated.

“I moved in with my mom while Ritchie went with my dad. One day I told my mom that I wanted to live with my dad and and that’s when my aunt told me ‘Why do you want to go with him if he’s not even your real father.’Bob Morales 

Despite Steve conveying to Bob that he loved him as his own son, the shock devastated Bob. Also, it was horrible timing for Bob to find this out because soon after this discovery, Bob began high school.

Bob was getting into fights frequently so he stopped attending. Instead he gave money to the homeless nearby who would buy him alcohol.

While his now single-mom was working two jobs, Bob was not going to school and had no structure all day, no guidance, no direction=idle time which is the DEVIL’s playground.

Therefore, Bob ended up going to a detention center from age 12-17! Connie, his mother, signed him over as a ward of the state. He did not see his family that entire time he was locked up.

👆🏻AKA Go Fuck yourself Connie. I will never let a woman hurt me again.

The first time Bob saw his mother or Ritchie in years; was the day of Steve’s funeral. Which also means he didn’t get to say goodbye to Steve or to grieve properly.

Bob learned to adapt to his lonely life by becoming the life of the party. He learned how to get what he needed by finding comfort in women and selfishly move on. This probably soothed his resentment toward his mother for while, but then he felt guilty; so he drank the pain away.

Of course he was jealous of Ritchie. Ritchie got his Dad and his Mom. He got nobody.

The point is that all of US are capable of evil depending on what we are exposed to.

I thought of this blog when I was about to bitch at my son for not cleaning up the mess he made after making quesadillas. I realized that I can’t assume he knows how. Instead, I showed him how clean it up. I told him that this is what I expect. I didn’t talk to him like he was stupid. I thanked him for making his own food. I didn’t clean it up for him. This is the only way they learn.

Mothers: We cannot assume that our sons are just going to know how to treat women when they’re older. We cannot assume that their Dad’s are going to teach them either. Most Dads are working their ass off and are never home. (Probably chasing tail 😂 not knowing why. Kidding!🤪)

We have to teach OUR SONS what WE want from them so they can learn how to GIVE this to their future partners. We need to teach them about affection, connection, friendship, compatibility, respect, and the long term.

We have to teach them that this may be a biological urge to continue to chase women and populate the world, HOWEVER, we are not animals.

It costs a lot of time, money, energy to raise a human child properly into a respectable adult.

We need to teach them that human females can be hot and smart. Women can be attractive, fun, brilliant, and confident. We have to teach them, not ASSUME, that a Human FEMALE’S purpose is not to populate the world.

It’s Biology Rosie- kidding! You can have both!

We also have to teach our daughters: What they tolerate will become their future. Being a victim will not get you anywhere.

It’s OUR job to ALSO teach the FUTURE MEN of this world these skills. We need to teach them how to love unconditionally. Parents need to be a TEAM.

There is a chapter in this book on how we “go easy” on our sons because we don’t think they can manage it all and are tougher on our daughters 🙈

https://markmanson.net/love

https://markmanson.net/compatibility-and-chemistry

#markmanson

#ericthomas

#glennondoyle

parenting struggles, Uncategorized, Women's Fight, Yoga Pants

My Whole Life is “Have To”

“Do you really have to go?” She asks during a heated discussion.

“My whole life is HAVE TO.” Steve Martin sneers.

I have no idea how but I truly believed I “had no time” prior to having children. What the hell did I do before? How did I ever have the balls to complain about anything?

Parents HAVE TO show up no matter what. There is no break or stopping. I am reminded of this quite frequently as I am about to plant my ass on the couch or eat a hot meal. I am stopped from stopping.

“Mom! Where’s my uniform? Mom, I can’t find my shoes.” Or some fight breaks out while they are both screaming my name simultaneously “MOM!” and overreacting in some kind of hysterics.

However, When you don’t have time to trim your toenails or make a doctor appointment to check out your vadge…this might be a sign you need to calm the fuck down.

When you’re walking around unaware that your shoulders are at your earlobes and you are appearing neckless…it might be a red flag to slow your roll.

As I mentioned that parents never stop, I really am unable to stop “doing stuff” and most of the time, it’s not by choice. I set a rule: one sport per kid at a time. However, what usually happens is there is a 2 week overlap where one sport is ending with playoffs/championships and another sport is beginning. These are the weeks I lose my shit.

Exercising helps and so does wine;). In order to mirror my non-stop lifestyle, I usually gravitate toward a fast-paced heated yoga sculpt; or a Beachbody workout with cardio/weights smashed into 30 minutes. These workouts are non-stop; like my life with only 10-30 seconds of rest. These workouts are essential when your whole life is “have to”.

This past Sunday morning I escaped while everyone still sleeping and I took a 75 minute heated yoga fusion class. Yoga fusion, Bikram, or Vinyasa are slower paced yoga classes. They entail poses that are held for longer periods of time; these are classes “I don’t like” or try to avoid.

I was extremely frustrated through the first half hour of this class. I was annoyed and irritated at my lack of balance and focus. I could not hold any pose for more than a second; then I would stumble. I had the urge to walk out of class because I felt so stupid; yet I was projecting my annoyance on the yoga instructor.

The yoga instructors constant reminders to lower my shoulders from my ears was irritating. I noticed every pose I held would become more difficult as my mind traveled to other places.

Examples:

During tree pose: I was initially focused and balanced, the instructor then advised us to hold this pose for five breaths. Met with the silence and only my thoughts, my mind wandered somewhere else then this dumb class. My focus switched to the music; which was Dave Matthews, One Sweet World ….My mind traveled to Reilly’s beer garden reminiscing about dancing in the sunshine…Then wondering why I am in this dark class on this sunny day…Ahhhh… happy place…

BAM…wipe out… back in present and staggering out of tree pose. Grrrrr.

During wild dancer: I listened to instructions and got in pose, then as everyone had to hold it with no one speaking…my thoughts wandered again…”I wonder what Dave Matthews is up to these days? Man that double CD “Live at Luther College” with Tim Reynolds is the best. I need to pull that out when I get home. I should go see Dave at Red Rock, oh yea and marijuana is legal in Colorado…SaWEET!”

Knocked out of my thoughts…I falter out of wild dancer.

Standing Split Pose: Again initially balanced and focused … then Rusted Root’s Ecstasy begins to play…Thoughts, “Am I too old to sit outside in Reilly’s beer garden? I wonder if they have live bands outside still on Sunday’s?”… I blunder unsteadily and tip over face first ….

What is the deal with this instructor’s class? I thought. She sucks.

This repeated over with my wandering thoughts.

“Did I even shower yesterday?”

(Teetering then fall)

“Jeez I need a pedicure.”

(Tip over, again)

I should day drink more often.”

(Wobbling)

“I can’t do this.” I thought and decided I hated the yoga instructor. “I like heated yoga sculpt Better. I like my workouts at home better.”

Then I painfully recognized what I was doing. I was uncomfortable, therefore I wanted to stop. I wanted to blame someone for my embarrassment. I was no longer in my comfort zone. The workouts I want to do are fast paced with constant movement…kinda like my life.

I was failing because I wasn’t in the present. I was struggling because this type of class was uncomfortable since I rarely slow down.

I pushed through the class anyways now that I realized I did not loathe the instructor; I loathed how I felt. I felt stupid and clumsy. I looked and felt foolish.

Then the wake up call…Reality check…No one gives a rats ass what I am doing, what I look like or even notices me. Everyone is too busy focusing on their own poses, demons and thoughts. I gradually got “out of my head” and “into my life.”

I pushed through the class now, wiser. When my mind began to wander, I counted backwards 54321. Trick learned from the book The Five Second Rule by Mel Robbins. It was the only tool I could think of to do in that moment.

When I finally reached the end of this 75 minute class; I sensed relief. I made it to corpse pose (Shavasana) and my mind was completely blank. Shockingly I was thinking of nothing. I had no recollection what I was doing after this class or the rest of the day. “It doesn’t matter right now“. The teacher, now my BFF, gave me an ice cold washcloth with essential oils for my face. I now felt like a million bucks!

This was an excellent reminder that stepping OUT of your comfort zone helps you step INTO the BIG PICTURE.

I am not a mom.

I am not a wife.

I am not a daughter.

I am not a woman.

I am not a coach.

I am not a counselor.

I am

I just …am

I am enough.

#thefivesecondrule

#parenthood

#stevemartin

#mywholelifeishaveto

#melrobbins

#slowyourroll

#brenebrown, #greatpretender, #homeschoolingrealshit, #opportunity, #sidehustle, Find A Way, parenting struggles, Uncategorized, Women's Fight, Yoga Pants

My Brain Is Oatmeal

I was home (in between jobs 😜)from January 12th-March 6th. Sounds awesome right? However about after a month and not having money (because not working kinda limits all the “fun things” and “projects” you want to do while off.)

I have found it doesn’t take much to throw off your momentum and routine. I believe sick kids is literally the #1 routine- sabotager for moms. Somehow shit is everywhere, you are trapped at home and eventually you have to give in at some point.

Just throw in the towel and watch movies with your sick child who requires hourly snacks and drinks. (Ironically they never eat this much when they are well.) Then of course, mom succumbs to the illness, further jacking up the routine for another week or two.

Then the “getting back on track” phase begins, where you want to jump back into action, however you have mountains of crap to catch up on and clean because the sick child’s stuff is all over. Finally after about three days, you are ready to get back to your “routine”.

My “routine”…After I get the kids to school and calm down from the morning rage of screaming at each other to get going; I do the morning dishes. I wipe the counter and table, which leads to scrubbing the stove, and then washing floor in the kitchen. Let’s be real, cooking real dinners are messy AF and since I was “off”, making real dinners, not chicken nuggets or pizza, was expected. Reasoning: I am off work, I should be able to start dinner. Hence, “Should.”

I am an unintentional slob while cooking. I leave cabinets open, I always over boil pasta and get the filmy stain on the stove. Most of the stuff I chop ends up on the floor, and I have like 15 different seasonings and ingredients on the counter. I’m like an OCD person’s worst nightmare.

I move on to the laundry and find myself frustrated about the baskets of unmatching socks mixed with items the kids barely wore and putting it in the wash. I sit on the floor attempting to match my daughters 17 pairs of socks in various colors, that are “almost the same” color but not quite. I cuss and then realize I also have many different colored socks that require matching and curse myself for being me. When I start becoming euphoric when I find a sock match, I know it’s time for me to get a life and do something else. I stand up feeling old AF because my hips and knees ache from siting like that so long.

I decide to take a break from the maddening sock-matching battle, get out of the house and take an exercise class. When I arrive home, I’m starving and thirsty so then I ponder about what to make that is the least messy to clean up. While I’m thinking, I mindlessly eat some donkey chips or nuts. Once I make something, I clean up again, try to figure out what to make for dinner and I’m now exhausted.

I aim to take a “meditation nap” while listening to headphones by 1pm before I shower and pick the kids up. I wake up to my alarm at 2:00pm and check my texts, somehow I’m on some article on Social media and 30 minutes goes by. Son of a… so no shower…again.

I’m getting headaches frequently, probably from dehydration because I keep forgetting to drink water. None of my clothes fit except yoga pants. I have no energy to walk in addition to my workouts. I am barely hitting 5000 steps on my Fitbit. I have forgotten two appointments and like 6 of my kids practices already because I didn’t put it in my calendar. My house is being consumed by clutter and randomness, and the sad thing is, I don’t even care. However, I do begin caring about dumb shit and worrying like “my friend didn’t text me back, is she mad at me?”

I noticed the universal intervention while I kept procrastinating about cleaning my bathroom. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Until one fateful day, in the middle of washing my face and my daughter asked me something. I dried my face , went to help her and brought kids to school. When I arrive home, I discover the back room floor wet. “Damn kids, what the hell?” I think. Until I go upstairs and realize I left the sink running the entire time. Now I really have to clean my bathroom. Declutter and throw away tons of crap that should’ve been gone years ago.

Fast Forward: Start job March 6th.

•Have to wake up at 4:20am in order to get everything done and leave a time-window open for my scatterbrain-ness•

Below is all that I accomplished:

  • •Exercise•Shower•Get dressed•Wake kids•Make them breakfast•Ensure they are ready and brush their teeth to eliminate dragon breath before I leave•(why don’t kids care these days about not being the smelly kid).
  • The Night before all this is ready: Kids lunches/snacks/water•Meal prep my lunch/snacks•Run dishwasher•Laundry•kids uniforms/shoes/socks all ready•(the cursed sock and shoe search is the biggest daily time sucker).•Lay out my workout clothes (with socks and shoes)•Pick out work clothes including underwear, bra, socks and shoes (I am just as bad as my kids, who am I kidding?)•
  • Leave for train at 6:35am.
  • Hall ass 25 minutes in the cold to my building
  • I eat the food I brought with me.
  • I drink tons of water, probably 20 ounces an hour without thinking about it.
  • I get 10,000+ steps in by halling ass back to the train station.
  • No naps,
  • Home by 5:30

It continues…

•Make dinner•Clock in as an unpaid Uber driver and cart kids from school extended day, games and practices•No missed practices because I put everything my calendar immediately upon receiving the coach’s email•I keep on the kids about putting their crap away•I hold kids accountable to get their shit ready for the morning•No guilt•

Repeat.

Notice the difference? Now it is clear and concise like a fucking resume. Lots of Action Words.

No bullshit.

It’s all done. No elaboration, no details.

It’s completed because it has to be.

I don’t have a choice.

There’s no time to think.

No time to procrastinate.

I have to just do it.

The less time you have, the less time you waste.

Uncategorized, Women's Fight, Yoga Pants

Aunt Flo is clearly not Catholic

So…The time has arrived again for my monthly quarantine. Where I just allow myself to suck it up and accept the fact that this is another obstacle women have to deal with. I find myself talking about this monthly problem to anyone of the female species who will listen. I keep wanting to double check, “Is this right? Is this normal? Am I really supposed to bleed this much?”

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I find it preposterous that I am supposed to cope with this on a monthly basis! I am literally debilitated.  I am not even joking or exaggerating, I wish I was.The vadge-splitting, ovarian stabbing, excruciating cramps have not been this bad since childbirth labor contractions. Only each month, I do not have an epidural to cope. I would consider myself a pretty tough chic, but this is my kryptonite

With Aunt Flo’s arrival, I am also blessed with menstrual migraines from the hormonal fluctuations. These migraines have me waking up to the skull-crushing pain on the side of my head that doesn’t go away until I take my prescription migraine medication. I have a friend who has severe cases of vertigo with her migraines! She cannot even drive at times! How terrifying!

The only thing that got me out of the house yesterday was my daughter’s two volleyball games and my commitment to my volunteer duties of concession stand. My leaving the house was made possible by: four Motrin, then two Extra Strength Tylenol and multiple different witch doctor remedies I have tried over the years to function. I do not even bother with tampons anymore. I feel like my baby-maker would actually laugh out loud if I even tried to put one of those in.

Baby-Maker says to Tampon: “Psshh”.

So I opt for the extra-long overnight pads to prevent accidents even during the day. They are one step below what we receive in the hospital after we deliver a human being out of a hole as big as a quarter that expands to fit a football. (Why aren’t we paid equal wages as men again?) Anyways, these bad boys usually don’t miss anything unless I am unable to change them frequently; about every 45 minutes or so. You know, because I have nothing else going on in my life.

Anyways, as I served Gatorade, water, ring pops, nachos, and popcorn to cute, adorable kids way younger than mine; I neglected to notice the 45 minute mark had passed. We were now in the red zone of 90 minutes and counting. I missed my time to change my diaper and now it is havoc. I was quickly reminded when I felt my jeans get hot and swampy while laughing at some hilarious women. These women were ecstatic about how we finally got Diet Coke at the Concession stand; there reactions were cracking me up. They made the Diet Coke sound so tantalizing that I considered having one myself, which I would have had to steal because of course I had no cash😂. My thievery idea was interrupted when I was paralyzed by the sensation of laying an egg in my jeans. Apparently, the more I laughed or moved, the more I triggered my uterus to shed…during the day…in public. Don’t mind me everyone, I am just passing a clot…from my vagina, no big deal.

img_6843-1When my concession obligations ended, I walked to my car slowly as if I didn’t want to wake a sleeping child; do not wake the beast. This missed diaper change resulted in an “accident” and my having to wash my clothes and another vain attempt in finding some kind of clothes that were “diaper” worthy. I remembered when my kids diapers would leak, I had to put a onesie on them to keep them in place. I was beginning to consider the onesie idea for myself; except my tummy is so bloated and tender that would be difficult for me to pull off snapping the crotch alone.


I woke up on this Sunday morning in January feeling grateful that I didn’t sneeze at my daughter’s games yesterday (which usually results in the floodgates opening.) I was thanking God and baby Jesus that we had no games today so I could stay in the privacy of my own home and bleed out. I decided to allow myself embrace Aunt Flo for all the joy she brings. Her arrival is a gentle reminder that I am not having anymore children, that I am not crazy because the last few days of rage were just hormonal related and my scorching case of irrational hunger is not from a tape worm.

Then I saw on my calendar today was not empty because we have Mandatory Mass for Catholic’s Schools week.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

img_6841My God, why have you forsaken me? I am not ready to put on real pants again. I can only hope that God understands it is not my fault and it is the hormones I was blessed with. I want go but if I have to take these baggy-black-loose-waisted-maternity type pants off again, I may loose my mind.

So I did the unspeakable today.

They both got ready in their uniforms, I dropped them off at church and I went back home.

The guilt is almost too much to bear. However, none of the meds have kicked in yet so I got over the guilt quickly. I have endured hot wax being poured on various parts of my body and had the hair ripped out by its follicles; I could tolerate that with little effort. However, Aunt Flo’s wrath is one that kicks me when I’m down. Aunt Flo waits for no one and clearly does not care if it is Catholic Schools week! She doesn’t care that I need to be on my game. If Aunt Flo is Catholic, I imagine her like this:

img_6840I already called my doctor, a left a message. Yes on a Sunday, so I do not forget to do something about this. Once she leaves town, I forget about the hell she just put me through…until next month!

I will not allow myself to forget this time that Aunt Flo violently strips down the walls of my uterus resulting in excruciating pain, rage and feeling unable to function for three days! I am sick of feeling terrified to sneeze or laugh or revolving my schedule around this skank.

Be it Tube Litigation, IUD, Hysterectomy, the pill…I do not care. I am done. This bitch is goin down!

Please feel free to share any funny or traumatic experience in the comments. It feels good to get it out and laugh about it!

Ross Stores, Women's Fight, Yoga Pants

Fight Club: Business Women in Yoga Pants

Fight Club: Business Women in Yoga Pants

The First rule about fight club is that we should talk about fight club.

We should talk about the constant fight for women to do it all. We are supposed to be business women, short order cooks, waitresses, housekeepers, unpaid Uber drivers and oh yea, moms.

What I envision when someone says “Business Woman” is Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl.

1. Power suit with huge shoulder pads

2. Big office with name& Big TITLE on the door

3. Briefcase & Business cards

4. Stiletto heels

5. Big coffee

6. RBF

This vision seemed to be the only kind of women who could support a family on their own.

Have you ever tried to cook dinner in a dress, blazer or pantyhouse? Total fire hazard.

I could never imagine myself in this role, nor did I ever want to be. Plus I like to be comfortable in my clothes. I thoroughly enjoyed being a worker bee and a mom. I tolerated some humiliating treatment in the past because I thought that’s “just the way it is” and some things “will never change”.

When my kids both were in school full day, the “mom-brain fog” seemed to lift and I was able to think about myself again. I got my health and nutrition back in order and found personal development.

It began with podcasts by Chalene Johnson. I noticed that my day went so much better when I would listen to her podcasts before work. I felt more empowered all day and I finally believed that I did not have to tolerate anything I did not want to.

These podcasts brought me to the realization that after working at the same job for 12 years; I was bored. I was unchallenged, frustrated, fed up with coworker-scheduling dynamics and micromanagement. In my heart, I knew I was meant for more. I was also tired of working evenings, weekends and holidays.

I was ready for the next step…BOSS.

That is what “moving up” means, right?

You become what you think about.

So, I made Pinterest Boards entitled “CEO” “Like a Boss” & “Boss Bitch”. I began actively looking for clinical supervisors and managerial positions.  

An opportunity presented itself and I was offered a Clinical Director position.

I enjoyed giving my two weeks notice to my manager and advising him that I would be leaving to be a DIRECTOR of a department (a title higher than his). I fantasized about this moment for months and his uneventful reaction solidified that I made the right decision to leave. (However I was disappointed he did not beg me to stay, counter with a pay increase etc.)

If you could fight anyone who would you fight?”

“I am the Director of this department” was  broadcasted by me as many times as possible throughout the day. I relished in watching people’s facial expressions change or check their tone when speaking to me.

I am IMPORTANT.

I am POWERFUL.

I thrived on getting up early, working out, sending emails, checking the status of “MY” department.

I owned it.

I rocked boots and $12.99 dresses from ROSS (I know-I am so fancy).

I listened to audio books on my commute. I was UNSTOPPABLE. This is what I wanted! I made it happen! I am killing it. I am making more Money and MONEY IS POWER!

After one month, I was hysterically sobbing after working late…again… and receiving a humiliating phone call with the CEO on my “day off”. My brothers wedding was that night and I didn’t want to go. I went with puffy eyes.

After two months, I was miserable all the time .

I was so confused.  After all, this is what I wanted?

Why am I so unhappy? I assumed it was the growing pains of change. I missed the connections and laughing with my coworkers.

I was lonely.

However, I told myself every morning

“It’s lonely at the TOP” and I persevered.

I focused on what I COULD do. I created a cohesive, unstoppable team like a tribe! I worked on empowering my team members. I devoted time cultivating relationships with my staff and knowing them personally. I got in the arena with them and did the work. I became the manager I always wanted: Someone who has got your back!

I EARNED the title I had and proved to my team that I am their fearless leader.

That did not matter to management though. Now I understood my previous boss a lot better.

Now I was miserable…empty, exhausted, and depressed.

Yes I made a lot more money “per year”. However, In reality, I was putting in 55-60 hours a week at work and spending 3-5 hours in my car commuting.

How much more money was I really making?

Also, I noticed I never felt free. I finally was “off” on weekends with paid holidays; but I was never truly off.

I had no clue what was going on with my kids. I was missing the kids games and planned dinners with my family and friends. I was passing out in my work clothes next to my kids because I missed them so much.  I was not sleeping well. I was getting massive carpal tunnel in my hands from holding the steering wheel so many hours and from typing, writing, and holding the phone.

The coworker “drama” I used to deal with became silly and comical; like a family argument that you look back on and laugh about.  The coworker drama I was exposed to now was some serious shit and I was the one who was supposed to handle it!

So what did I do? What does every girl do when they feel empty? I shopped. I bought more stuff. I justified to myself that I, I need to look good: I AM THE BOSS. If I look good, I feel good. I worked harder and got deeper into the trenches of my arena.

I refused to give up.

I noticed at my kids games that I did make, I had to answer the phone and be available. I was preoccupied with how my department was doing.

My kids were not doing well at school.

I actually craved punching in and working a weekend shift like I used to. I missed working my ass off and then leaving for the day, completely free.

I believed I was being immature and this is what being a “Business Woman” is all about.

I have to tough it out. I have to keep fighting.

Then one day a friend said to me, “You never smile anymore.”

I started to cry. It was the painful truth I was avoiding. I was no longer myself. I realized my kids looked sad and stopped asking me to do things with them “because you always have to work.” Then I noticed that I stopped giving a fuck…about anything…

“Worker bees can leave. Even Drones can fly away. The Queen is their slave.”

Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club.

One night another friend said to me, “Your kids need you.” The guilt, pain and loneliness was unbearable.

After a chain of extremely stressful events that left me feeling lost and sitting in the parking lot, crying by my car; I had a moment of clarity.

What I wanted to be is the BOSS…OF MY LIFE…

I knew in the gut that this job was not the answer. I didn’t call my husband. I didn’t ask anyone for advice. I didn’t ask for permission. I trusted myself. No excuses.

Thankfully I kept a plan B, I stayed on as registry at another hospital. My supervisor there said he could guarantee me at least 20 hours a week. 

I walked in and resigned from my “BOSS” job.

I felt like a failure. I felt like a quitter. Yet I knew I made the right decision. It was a terrifying ambivalence.

It felt like I put my heart and soul into building and decorating a house and establishing relationships with a family; only to hand it to someone else. -Quillan Kelly-Dunn

Then I randomly found some podcasts by Marie Forleo who described failing as a “WIN” because at least the risk was taken and there wouldn’t be that “what if”.

By taking a risk, you found what didn’t work.  At least you know now what you don’t want. -Marie Forleo

Not gonna lie, things were rough in my marriage for two months, but I appreciated my kids and every moment I had with them more than I ever did in my life. That was PRICELESS.

I enjoyed going to their games, being present, making dinner and punching in and out. I enjoyed the “freedom” of being a worker bee.

My husband eventually realized how stressful it was without me being home and how much time and money we were spending on gas, tolls, and trying to figure out childcare. I was smiling again without the stress of what to wear, what to eat and was able to sleep.

I assumed the full-time career I longed for did not exist; however, I wrote it down anyways.

I surrendered by trusting the universe and having faith. I let go of worrying about how my resume looked. I let the chips fall where they may. I gave up the illusion of control.

Things became desperate financially. Out of this desperation, I accepted the first job offered to me. It was less money, temporary, and not that great of benefits. It turned out to be an amazing fit for me that utilized all my strengths. I found my passion, my drive, my balance and my purpose again.

It turned out to be a job I had never done before in the field and working from home. I spent less money on clothes, food, gas, childcare, & commuting. I was free to drop off and pick up my kids every day from school. It also turned out to be exactly what I had written down:

I wrote down: “a job where I could balance between my family and career while maintaining myself, my sanity, my integrity, and be in charge of my own schedule.”

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”

Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club.

I was looking to feel important, powerful, unstoppable, assertive, ballsy, fearless, empowered, driven and fulfilled. I was looking for a job to make me feel that way.

What I truly wanted was to feel in charge of my life=a title does not equal that.

I am without a full time job again today 1/23/28(my company closed 1/12/18). I am writing this in my yoga pants, with messy hair/no make up on; yet I feel more important than ever.

I feel in control and more powerful than I ever have.  

I feel like a business woman.

I can give myself whatever title I want.

My office is anywhere I want it to be.

I can wear yoga pants or a Ross dress if I want. I’m ready to FIGHT.

“What you see at fight club is a generation of men raised by women.”

Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

After all, you do not have to “get ready” to fight if you are already wearing yoga pants.

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 Next Blog:

https://quillankelly-dunn.com/2018/03/28/my-brain-is-oatmeal/