Elect This:

 

No one has gotten any work done today at the office.

The writers are all Democrats,
so they’ve been alternately cheering and swooning in despair
over preliminary election results;
the resident Libertarians (one editor, one coordinator, et moi)
have basically shrugged their shoulders
because they know their candidate ain’t making it,
and since I’m in Hollywood,
I don’t think there’s a Republican within 15 miles of here.

Next year?

I’m voting for Mickey Mouse.

La Michauré

 

I love me some crazy French femmes.

Yup.

The Red Cross Knows What’s Up:

 

 

I got to do makeup on a few of these fine folks–
I love me some fresh zombie.

Also?

Tell the Boyo that he did a good job–
he spent the last couple of weeks working 16 hour days,
editing and rotoscoping and tweaking oh my.
I think it turned out great!

Dollah Make Me Hollah:

 

Or a stuffed pig.
That I made into a purse.

 

Ah am the Grand Supreme Sweet Potato Queen, y’all!

 

This is mah pig. His name is Gliiiitzy, and he would lahk you to respek his life choices.

 

Y’ALL. Ah went to another parrrrrty, and there wuz these TWO IMPOSTERING BIIIIITCHES. That one on the right kept trying to EAT MAH POOR GLITZY. *hair flip*

Get Rid of Your Becca; Seriously, She is Revolting:

 

I can’t breathe, and I have an alien gargling in my nose,
but hey, I still managed to reserve a moving truck,
order lights for the reception,
change my haircut appointment,
pack the last of my books,
and reserve a block of hotel rooms for the wedding.

Oh, and I managed to glue approximately 5.1 gazillion rhinestones
onto my Halloween costume.

Sick bitches get shit DONE, y’all.

 

…

Or something like that.

 

Yes. Yes, I do. But with slightly more hair.

Autumn, Don’t Leave Me!

 

Because I want to make this:

Sour Cream Apple Pie OMG

 

And snuggle up here:

 

 

And walk in this:

 

Please come back, Autumn?
You were so pretty.

 

…for the two days you were here.

It is a Truth Universally Acknowledged:

 

That a single post of RAWR and kickass
will, inevitably, cause the Universe to kick you in the face.

Seriously, ‘Verse.
You must have a tiny penis for all of this overcompensating.

Allow Me to Clarify:

 

(A preamble to my preamble:
I’ve had a lot of fitness blog visitors (hey, there!) recently,
and I noticed that several of them tend to slide into the guilt/shame/smug trifecta
that is unfortunately common in our current culture.
This is a clarification of why I do what I do.)

 

I do not work out because I want a perfect body.
Ain’t no such thing.
I do not work out because I feel guilty about eating a piece of candy.
I do not berate myself for eating bread.
Bread is delicious, motherfucker.

Or it is a delicious motherfucker.

Take your pick.
 

I do not and will not restrict my eating for anything other than an allergy.
I will not call foods “bad” or call my behavior “bad” if I choose to eat a piece of pie.
It is a choice, and that is all.

I do not make “guilt-free” foods.

I do not go on juice fasts to “detox” my body–what the holy hell is that,
I can’t even.

Demonizing entire food groups is foolish and unbalanced,
and if you’re wondering why so many women have eating disorders,
in large part, it’s because we are shamed about *everything* we put in our mouths.
(Even salad! “Oh. Salad. You know, that type of lettuce has like, no macronutrients.”)

I will not take part in this.

I do not and will not weigh-in.
(Seriously. You don’t want to get me started.)

I do not work out because I need to fit into my wedding dress.
My wedding dress will fit *me*, not the other way around.

I do not work out because I’m a bad person if I don’t.

I do not work out because my body fat percentage isn’t where it “should” be.

I do not run on a daily basis because I hate running.
It makes me miserable.
My cardiovascular fitness will benefit just as much from sprints and walking.

I do not work out because it’s the thing to do.

 

I work out because it makes me strong.
I work out because it lifts my mood.
I work out because I get to spend time with my chosen family.
I work out because I’m doing the Zombie 5K in a couple of weeks.
I work out because growing stronger keeps my eating disorder at bay.
I work out because I have a desk job, and purely sedentary living hurts my body.
I work out because I can change water jugs at the office.
I work out because functional fitness is awesome.
I work out because it is satisfying to pound out a set of burpees.
I work out because I refuse to give in to fragility.
I work out because it makes me better at my crazy circus classes.

I work out because I enjoy it.

 

Guilt only creates resentment.
Delight will last for a lifetime.
We need to delight in our bodies and their abilities.
No more shaming.
Not yourself.
Not someone else.
Our bodies are incredible.
Now go celebrate that shit, however you like best.

Yesternight’s Workout:

 

x5

10 jump squats
1min reverse plank
100m sprint
30 sec L-hang
20 mountain climbers
1min plank

 

Oooo, wobbly.
We are soooo wobbly today.
I like this combination of fast and slow–
it’s tricksy, Baggins.

I Love My City:

 

NightFall from Colin Rich on Vimeo.

 

When people tell me that Los Angeles is ugly,
I’m going to show them this.