Meg, who made not only the one above, but also a second one, which will be up in a future month.
Thank you to everyone who heeded my cry for help. Y’all rock, you really do.
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I forgot to mention yesterday that one of the things that REALLY pissed me off about the hotel is that, after we’d checked out, I perused the statement they gave us, and I discovered that they’d charged us $1 a day for the room safe. WHICH WE DID NOT USE, SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE IT WAS A BUCK A DAY, AND I CAN THINK OF BETTER THINGS (FUDGEFUDGEFUDGE) TO SPEND A BUCK ON!
Clarion Inn & Suites, 1100 Parkway, Gatlinburg, TN. DON’T STAY THERE, PEOPLE!
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I weighed myself an hour ago. I gained three pounds in Gatlinburg. THREE pounds – and I’m retaining water like a motherfucker due to PMS and sore muscles.
Do motherfuckers retain water? I suppose they must. Everyone does at one point or another, I think.
I am amazed that I only gained three pounds, because the amount of fudge that went in my mouth was staggering. It was a heartbreaking work of staggering fudginess, is what it was. Fred said “I feel like wherever we go in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, we stop and get half a pound of pecan fudge.”, and that was pretty much the way it was. Here a fudge, there a fudge, everywhere a fudgefudge.
This really belongs over in the weight loss journal, but I have to watch my language over there, and it gets tiresome. I just don’t love the weight loss journal the way I love this one.
Three pounds! Three pounds!
Plus, if I posted over there that I’d gained three pounds (and trust me, people – this is not real weight. This weight is from the water I’m retaining and the crappy food still wending it’s way through my system. This three pounds will be gone in the next week as I get back to eating right and moving my ass, I guar-on-tee it) I’d get a bunch of preachy emails.
You won’t send me preachy emails, will you? Emails telling me to eat more/ less protein, more/ less carbs, that sugar is the devil, that I should stop drinking Diet Coke, that the dollop of ketchup I have every so often is the entire reason I haven’t lost any weight?
Heh. I’m bitching about my weight loss journal behind it’s back! I hope it doesn’t do a Google search and find this entry! It might say nasty things in it’s entries about this journal, and start a flame war!
Three pounds. Whee! I’m probably the only one you know who’s glad to have gained three pounds.
Because three pounds ain’t ten, is why I’m happy.
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On our last evening in Gatlinburg, after we ate dinner, we were walking back to our (crappy) hotel. I saw a store that looked like my kinda store, and so I told Fred I wanted to check it out. As soon as I walked through the door, I saw a big display with tons of bath bombs, in different scents and colors. I headed for them immediately, for I am helpless in the face of yummy-smelling bath stuff.
I sniffed a couple of the bath bombs, and thought about buying a few so that I could take a bath when we got back to the (crappy-ass) hotel. And then I saw the price.
Seven fucking dollars and ninety-fucking-nine cents.
$7.99. For a bath bomb. I was so aghast that I actually went out and dragged Fred inside so that he could see the price. And also because I was sure that if I told him the price later, he would have scoffed.
“$7.99 for a bath bomb? I think you read the sign wrong!”
But I did not. Not at all. Not only were they $7.99, but lest anyone get the wrong idea about the whole thing, and perhaps think that $7.99 was the price for the whole freakin’ display or something, they made sure to add the word “each” underneath the price.
Holy fucking shit. I was appalled and horrified, and most of all pissed off. SEVEN NINETY-NINE FOR A BATH BOMB. Bath bombs are made of citric acid, cornstarch, baking soda, oil, and fragrance FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
I was so pissed that even though there was a bunch of other cool stuff in the store, I refused to buy ANY of it.
Fuckers.
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Not the most flattering picture, god love ‘er.]]>