Well, tonight, my daughter FUCKING ROCKED THE HOUSE. Yes, the school play. Last night I gave her some notes:
Be confident - you rock.
Don't get stuck in the back. If you need to, tap someone on the shoulder and get in there. You're all up there and timid in your own way.
I know you hate singing, despite your awesome singing abilities. Lip Sync if you don't want to sing. Don't tell me you don't know all the lyrics by now!
Don't stand with your arms folded. You look scared or guarded. Check the other girls. Sway in your poodle-type skirt. Lots of fabric to grab. Keep your hands alive!
And damn, she listened to every word.
After that stellar performance, I went home and hubby went to the gig. I have too much crap to catch up on. Let's call it craptch up.
But I took that second Tamoxifen Pill and I'm still alive. Is it ok that I'm now chasing it with a Schmailey's?
Whatevs.
We went to the gym today, and I felt like a freaking girl again, it's been at least a week since we were last there getting our testosterone on. But, I still feel like I accomplished some things. I lifted heavy things, cursed under my breath, said I couldn't finish but finished impossible sets anyway. I hate obsessing about how uneven I look. Hubby swears nobody notices but me, but men are pigs - I mean, boobie loving pigs, so a chick lifting weights in a tank top is prime ogling material. No, I can't lift in a baggy sweatshirt, or even really a baggy shirt - where the hell is my form? So, I lift with my tank top, watch my form, and realize that it doesn't matter what any of those smelly dudes think. It's MY smelly dude that matters. And he loves me.
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