Challenged Out

p>OK, so the challenge didn’t quite go as expected for me. As a neglected child from an athletic family,  I can proudly say it wasn’t a losing season  (thank gawd), my challenge record was 6-4.

Not that good, but not that bad either. 

Plus, the challenge inspired other tired wives and lady friends to mix up period panty Tuesdays and full back Fridays for something a little more, how shall I say, less mommy-like. I can also proudly report that I met my husband at home, on a Monday, in the afternoon, for a little vagin / penis meet and greet. Can I get a WHA WHA? I think I let our mid afternoon throw down get to my head though, it was like this act removed me from my obligation to finish the challenge strong. After day five, I got tired. Real tired. it went something like this (minus the fuchsia dress).  

I was actually a bit surprised by the level of enthusiasm by my fellow challengers. Two of them in particular had an almost perfect record.

So what did we learn?

Well, we learned that I can in fact get turned on a Monday and married women can challenge themselves and take their pop tarts to new – well really old heights. That’s pretty much the big take away for me.

Since the completion of the challenge, things in my house settled back into place…. just the way I like it.

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Day 2

Queue the Law & Order transition music.

Today started off similar to yesterday however, my commitment to waking up early was even more deflated than yesterday, in large part due to my triumphant day one. As my bear-like husband awoke me this morning, I thought to myself do it – just do it, now’s the time! It was almost as if I was trying to convince myself that there was a chance I would be able to gather my wits and climb aboard, but all the while knowing that I didn’t have it in me to put him in me. It’s Friday though, and you all know what that means….. cockers, lots and lots of cockers. Lucky for me, we received a nice plump package of fresh Omaho Steaks yesterday that will come in handy tonight, there’s nothing like a medium rare piece of red meat to get my clam chowdering.

Will day two blow my cover? I have this fear of him turning me down or worse, finding out about the challenge…

Mission Status: Pending
Anticipated scene in my living room tonight (I’m playing the part of the reindeer): 

 

Day 2 Continued:
Status: Incomplete
Reason: Rejection
Feeling: Defeated
Vodka Count: 6
Level of disappointment:

Quest for my “schtick”

A shtick (Yiddish: שטיק) (or schtick) is a comic theme or gimmick. In common usage, the word shtick has also come to mean any talent, style, habit, or other eccentricity for which a person is particularly well-known.

I recently came to the realization that I’m approaching 30, reaching my scary weight and have no “schtick”. Am I the girl who thrives on morning spin classes? Nope. Am I the girl who enjoys ingesting organic products such as magnesium induced whole grain foods? Definitely not. Or am I the girl who likes to follow a simple eighteen step recipe with forty-nine ingredients that is somehow available on the Food Network Channels “Quick FIx Meals”? No again.

So who am I?

I am the girl who routinely finds herself falling in and out of new & exciting temporary schticks, such as the time that I thought I would become jewish because I enjoyed watching Jill Zarin from the New York Housewives & felt that we were related  (I also very much enjoyed the movie Prime and thought for a moment that the lead actor would somehow find himself at the foot of my bed asking for some extra lox because his Bubbe’s bagel was in need of a yiddish pick me up); or there was the time that I decided to go on a strict diet of sugar free soda accompanied by the supplement Alli and I crapped my pants in a meeting with potential clients in North Dallas (we didn’t land the account)…….. and who could forget the time that I decided to become a pot head in college…. needless to say, I couldn’t keep up with the growing cost of fast food and cotton, my ass could barely fit into my double dorm room bed, much less the Cherokee full back undies that my mom sent me off to undergraduate school to flaunt in front of the future Pi Phi-Get-Me-Highs that happened to be rooming near by.

So here I am, married and on the eve of 30 with the realization that I’ve never really committed to any idea, concept or hobby…. I did recently get married and Gawd willing, his ability to maintain multiple schticks will help keep me at my current post known as “wife”.

I got off track, ok, so here I am, schtick-less, but yearning for something that I can call my own, something that represents the depths of my black soul and I find myself on a Monday morning, feeling semi-hungover, creepin around on Facebook learning about all the interesting and cool things that my not-so-real friends did over the last weekend, and BANG, I need a schtick, and what better way to begin my journey than to start a blog. I may have no talent to introduce to the world-wide web of Sanduski’s but I am willing to set out on a journey to find my schtick, in front of an audience of 3 no less (my best friend, my mom and the girl in the office that somehow knows every moment of my life including my bowel schedule that normally occurs twice a day in the two stall bathroom on the third floor, I find myself having a standoff between the stalls even after I’ve flushed three times in an effort to wash down each new pebble that seems to come up even after I have convinced myself that I have crapped out all internal organs).

So here it goes, I am off on my journey to find my schtick. Will it be veganism? Will it be watercolors on canvas? Or maybe bedwetting…. I don’t know what it’s gonna be, but I’m excited.

Here’s to finding my schtick.