I realize that yesterday, I did not post a blog.  THIS will make up for it…times TEN!  As usual, this morning I headed into work at the butt-crack of not-even-dawn-yet to meet Heather for our pre-yoga workout.  All seemed good and normal for a spring Thursday morning.  Then…..

Enter the shower room.

 A razor cut of epic proportions happens.  I know this, because I hear Heather’s blood curdling scream! (That’s not true…she actually just casually mentions that she nicked her ankle in the shower, but I had you going for a moment, right?)  At this point in time, I have to rush off to yoga, because I’m late as usual.

Then, hours later, I receive an email from Heather that had me cracking up at my desk.  With her permission, I am sharing that email with you now, and I hope it makes you pee your pants a little.  (Please…if it does, you MUST tell me!)  Luckily, since Heather not only shares my sense of humor, but also my views on many aspects, this fits RIGHT into my blog!  I told her she’s now free to “Guest Post” at any time, and I hope she does!  I also hope you enjoy this as much as I did!! (1-2-3, READ!):

From: Heather Magnificent (Last name has been changed.)

Sent: Thursday, May 09, 2013 10:23 AM

To: Leah Arp

Subject: Ballin’ harder than a ballplayer.

 

So after you leave me to deal with my crazy shaving cut that has tracked blood all over the locker room, I spend about 10 minutes wiping up the floor (so now the contents of the trashcan make it look like someone cleaned up after a murder scene) and through all of this, it won’t stop bleeding profusely so I’m eventually following myself around with my (of course, white) towel I usually use to dry off, because the paper towels run out.

I try to start getting ready, and give up on putting clothes on because it continues to bleed. I start to wonder what it is like to die from blood loss. (Am I light headed? Just imagining it?) So far, not so bad. After about 45 minutes, it slows down, and I decide I can safely get dressed.

Then I realize: I don’t have a bra. I’m pretty sure that is the one and only thing I cannot pull off at work, so I free-ball it under my striped shirt and get ready to head home. (Ballin’ harder than a ball player! Ha!) Probably for the better, as I need to take the towel home that I used to clean up the murder scene. (I don’t even want to imagine how that would go over if a bloody towel was discovered in the locker room. My guess? Not well.) I fold up the towel, hug it to my chest to hide the bra situation, and head out.

It’s 7am. I won’t run into anyone, right? Nope. Hoards of Lockton people apparently randomly decided that they actually need to get to work on time, on a Thursday. So I step off the freight elevator to see about four people stare at me awkwardly as they process the fact that I am hugging a bloody towel to my chest, like a serial killer trophy. I’m not sure if they’re more dumbfounded by the fact that I go bra-less at work, or the towel. Or both at once, which probably implies I’m beyond sick.

Get home, put on a bra, throw the towel in the wash, and realize I didn’t take my trash out. Serendipitous! I go to yank the waterlogged bag out of the outdoor trashcan… and it EXPLODES.

 ALL OVER ME.

And my awesome neighbor, Scary Larry, sees this entire thing from his window. I stand there in shock, horror, and disgust, and Scary Larry decides to step outside to tell me the bag just exploded all over me. (Thanks Larry! I didn’t know!) And then tries to talk to me about music, while I’m standing there covered in trash juice at 7:30 am, trying not to have a psychotic break.

Pretty sure the only thing that could’ve been worse than this morning would involve a combo of honey, fire-ants, and bears, in a locked room with me. I tried to recover the morning by taking out my favorite black glitter coozie, putting my sugar-free-redbull-gift-from-you into it, and adding a hot pink straw. Glitter, redbull, and hot pink soothe my soul. (<- Interjection from Leah: It soothes EVERYONE’S soul!)

I am also suffering from guilt that I ate food from a drive-thru for the first time in almost a year yesterday. With dessert. (As if rehydrated meat isn’t damaging enough to my body.) Sometimes, I just like to show my body who is boss. Also considering skipping cardio class today, as I wouldn’t want to undo the scolding of fastfood.

So anyways, I re-shower, text my boss to tell him I’m late, head into work, and decide I’m dropping out of grad school in the last week and pursuing my dream of becoming the highest paid linebacker in the NFL.

And that’s about where I am at. I am going to start bulking with the birthday food in the kitchen. (I love bulking! Cutting season: OVER IT.)