So I was at the liquor store today buying alcohol for my coaches, and I almost rear-ended someone while I was backing out of my spot.  In my defense, they came totally out of nowhere and were going really fast (Hello, Fuckers!  It’s a parking lot!).  All I could think was just how bad that would look to have a wreck in a liquor store parking lot with a trunk full of booze.  Sure, Occifir, it’s all unopened.  I haven’t been drinking at all today.  Yet.  Egads!  Just kidding about the “yet” – I’m still on restriction for my recent excesses.

D leaves on Saturday, which leaves me coachless for three weeks.  I need to call J and see if he’ll fill in.  The point is, I have to get D’s presents all ready tonight so I can give them to him tomorrow.  He’s getting Grey Goose vodka, Tanqueray gin, cookies, and a couple of silly little things like these mints that we go through like crack whores during practice.  Well, you’re right in each other’s faces.  It’s like people in Hollywood with their Altoids.  I did all the baking earlier, so now my kitchen looks like a bakery exploded in it.  Damn, and it was clean this morning!  Oh well, he likes my cookies, so there you go.  He also likes alcohol, and if my gifties are any clue, I clearly want to get my coach fat and very drunk.  Nice!

My man-friend had to cancel tonight.  He’s sick.  I’m a little bummed, but I’ve been a raving hormonal bitch all day, so it’s probably best this way.  He doesn’t need to see ALL the crazy.

I was insane for three reasons – one is obviously hormones.  I fucking hate Seasonale.  You’re fine for two months, but then the third, right before you’re supposed to start, you end up spotting for like ten days beforehand.  It sucks ass like a mofo. 

Secondly, my mom pissed me off.  She asked me to go to this craft fair today, and I was way too freaking busy (so busy that I didn’t even get to skate today), but she got all offended.  She does that.  Then she tries to guilt you.  I was like, “Uh-uh, no way are you going to make me feel guilty, lady.  You gave me an emotionally fucked childhood with a void where my mother was supposed to be.  You aren’t allowed to make me feel bad.”  I didn’t say that, of course.  The repercussions would not have been worth it at all.  Not even a little bit. 

Third, my sister got pissed at me because when I was on the phone with her, I mentioned my pants were falling off.  It was an accident – I bent down, and when I got back up, my jeans failed to come with me.  She was like, “I wish my worst problem was that my pants were too big!”  Uh, okay … not sure what to do with that.  I mean, I make a choice to try and stay as small as I can without giving up my candy (don’t even think about asking me to give up candy and, no, I do not share candy even with my kid), plus with the skating, I have to try to stay thin.  So really, it’s not my fault.  I just now know not to ever say anything to do with my weight around her.  Oops, my bad.  Plus, is that really my worst problem?  Oh, not by a long shot.  That said, she’s got some bad ones, but it’s not a competition!

The last thing that really fucked with my day was that the Starbucks people were out of soy milk.  I’m lactose intolerant, but went with a non-fat anyway.  Oh, bad mistake.  Poor bathroom, it’ll never be the same.  So gross!  My stomach is still making grumbly sounds.  I call it “Built-in Bulimia” when I eat ice cream.  It’s all just coming right back out, but it’s really unpleasant.