I left twitter is because it was starting to get really mean over there. I would get so agitated and stressed out because my entire timeline was just filled with folks going in on someone. I don’t mind the celebrity stuff  because it’s distant and 9/10 they don’t know or care who you are. They can just go back to doing back flips into their pile of money. However, the pile on that used to take place on just random ass people who maybe couldn’t spell very well or said something stupid due to youth or lack of education or global experience became too much for me. I was feeling a bit hypocritical because I like to laugh and if someone is just downright offensive and ignorant to the point of vulgarity, then mocking them is warranted. It at least puts them in their place. But this new trend of seeking out people who are just enjoying their time online just to make fun of them and point and laugh and ridicule, was just too much for me. I just didn’t see the humor in it after awhile. Laughing with your friends and joking is one thing, doing it so so many people were on it was just… especially, if that person wasn’t attacking you or anyone you care about. They were just being randomly obtuse and dense. 

I understood when someone would @ you all crazy and you went off . Shit, I’ve done that on several occasions. But to seek folks out? SMH. It was making me feel dirty and sad. And took the fun all the way out of Twitter for me. 

I’m a bleeding heart spoilsport like that.

Of course, I left for a myriad of other reasons. I was wasting too much time on there. It was a trigger. It was making me feel like I was accomplishing things every day when I wasn’t really doing anything but wasting time and hiding from the world. I wanted to focus on figuring out what I’m going to do for the next few years of my life. I want a life. Etc. etc. etc. 

Yeah. Nobody asked but I thought I’d tell you anyway. 

Gonna rock your body (please stay.) Word to Justin Timberlake and the most slept on album of whatever year that album came out. I actually preferred Justified to  OddFutureSexySounds or whatever that last album was called. Also, I’m not sure why he got engaged to Jessica Biel when he should be engaged to a damn music studio. I’ve had enough of this acting foolishness. WHERE IS MY DAMN ALBUM, JUSTIN!?

But that’s not the point of this tumbl. The point is, Groupon had a sale on Rockin’ Body by Shaun T. Despite the corny ass name, I noticed that it was down from $60 to $20. I’ve half tried Insanity and P90X but I’m sorry, I’m not  a robot built in the Soviet Union trained to kill Rocky Balboa or whatever Rocky IV was about. I hate working out. I always have. Even when I was in the throes of hypomania back before I was diagnosed with anything, I took 4 hours of dance classes at Broadway Dance. FOUR HOURS A DAY! But if you put me on a treadmill, I’m looking at you like, ‘The fuck is this shit?” I hate working out. So anyway, I amazoned (yes.) Rockin’ Body and it got great reviews. I thought it was after Insanity and all that but apparently it is pre-Insanity and post-Hip Hop Abs. (Aside: Shaun “What’s” T? How yew doin?) I was really impressed with the videos that I saw but my problem is my lack of sticktoitiveness (yes.) but my big jeans (28) are starting to feel like my sexy, stiletto watch my booty wurk jeans. Not T. Not Sexy. FOR ME. I’m not talking about you. I don’t know you. BUT FOR ME. My bone structure and size and belly and how I feel comfortable, I’m about a size or two bigger than I’m comfortable. I don’t like it. I like the clothes in my closet, I want to wear them. I don’t want to size up. That’s just me. (Me. Mine. Myself. Me.) I want to look in the mirror and think, “that’s a bad chick.” as opposed to looking in the mirror and thinking, “oh. That’s bad, chick.” I miss my body. I can’t do anything about this belly without surgery but the arms and legs and behind are all up to me. I want my body back. I will have my body back. 

Why am I telling you people this? Because my DVDs came today and I’m going to need to shame myself into doing the work. I’m going to unfuck my fitness! 

I decided to organize my denim. I have them all haphazardly folded (stuffed) on the top shelf of my closet. I decided to take them down, fold them properly and then organize them by type, size and shade variant (Par example: Bootcut, 28, indigo). Don’t ask me why I decided to do this. I blame the person who runs Unfuck Your Habitat. 

Anyway, after I youtubed “How To Fold Jeans” (Not joking. I suck at all things domestic. I had to youtube “How to make a bed” a few days ago.). I got all the jeans out of my closet and folded and stacked them on my bed. I found a Seven For ALl Mankind denim mini skirt that I’ve been looking for. I also found a black knee length leather skirt that I had no idea I owned. Seriously, it’s dumb cute but I have no idea who it belongs to or why it’s in my closet. It’s a size 30 and I’m not, nor have I ever been a 30 so I’m not sure why I own it. I’m going to try it on at some point and see if I can get it tailored. I’d have to bring in the waist or make it low rise and take up the hem. I’m too short for calf length. I’ll look like Peter Dinklage. The unfucking also showed me the size that I’m most comfortable. I had more of one size than any other and I remember when I was that size and I liked it so I’m going to unfuck my working out so I can get back into them.

 So yeah, when I was done, I put them all back according to the aforementioned organization technique. When I saw all my jeans laid out, I decided to count them. I have 12 pairs of jeans and the 3 random denim skirts. Based on the fact that I have a designer denim addiction (I’ve convinced myself that those are the only jeans that fit me properly) I realized that I have over $4000 worth of denim in my closet. And those are the jeans I decided to keep. I donated a few jeans not long ago. I have no idea why I thought high waisted flares were a good idea. 

Do you know how many pairs of shoes— I mean, bills… Bills I could pay for that money? In my defense, when I was a “spoken word artist”, jeans were my stage outfit of choice so it made sense to pay money for nice ones. They were work clothes essentially. But still, I’m paying hundreds of dollars for jeans. Will I stop? no. I like my Sevens and Citizens but I will look for sales and slow down a bit. Especially since I now live in leggings because I’ve gained weight* and I feel gross. 

*Disclaimer: I feel gross. Me. I do. Myself. I’m not at the size I’m comfortable. I’m not saying that you, your mom, your cousin or your sister are gross for being overweight. I’m saying that I don’t like how *MY* weight is getting. Me. Mine. Myself. I dont’ know you. I’m not talking about you. 

I hope that covers it. I know this isn’t twitter but I feel the need to have disclaimers anyway.