I know…. I’ve been M to the freakin I to the freakin mother of an A…. MIA… just in case you don’t understand the chaos I call writing. Anywho,  yes, I haven’t posted in ages and it’s not because I have lack of great stories from you gorgeous ladies or that I don’t embarrass myself daily…… because I certainly do. I just decided to do an Usher and disappear for dramatic effect then come back BETTER THAN EVER!! WOOOHOOOO!! This is my come back, baby!!! DIG?? That’s a big load of crap….. but, let’s just go with that. Because, I, indeed, am back.

Today, I was reminded of my lengthy absence with a jolt or more like a jolt then a rip. I’m in the airport… right now.  Wait, let me back-up about 10 minutes….. EVEN BETTER….. indulge me, please, in a third person play-by-play:

Lauren is worrying about making her flight

Lauren gets through security

Lauren starts running to the gate. She almost runs over a small child. She swerves.

Lauren then does a Lady Gaga in the airport hallway, but not from lack of shoe control, rather from falling over a stranger’s computer bag.

Lauren free falls to the ground.

Her purse spills all over the floor, lip gloss spiraling through the air and into random seating areas.

Her computer bag knocks her in the side of the face. Her face numbs.

Lauren then gets up after hearing gasps and various “Are you okay?”

She collects her bag’s contents from the floor……. She hears a rip. The arm of her jacket is ripped. No time.

She runs with a numb face, sore knee, bruised pride and a ripped jacket. She feels like a complete ass of a jack.

She gets to the gate to find her flight cancelled. Humilation rushes…rushes… oh yeah… it RUSHES in!

A man approaches her to tell her about the rip in the back arm of her jacket. No shit, buddy. Lauren ignores him from fear of losing emotional control.

Lauren then tries to find a plane to strap herself to and jump from.  No dice.

Lauren reverts to emotional eating. She goes to the airport Popeyes and buys enough fried chicken to feed the entire cast of “The Biggest Loser” before they lose a 1,000 lbs. Add a side of mashed potatoes swimming in cajun gravy, please.

GYNA Gals… I believe in signs, as I type this with the left side of my face throbbing, I realize, it throbs for a post.  Never again will I leave you. Never.  And never again will I dodge small children when running through the airport. They can take it…. they’re resilient.

Girl, you’re not alone if you’re so freakin tired that admitting yourself into a hospital sounds like a nice retreat. They encourage you to sleep, they give you good prescription drugs and if you pee your bed… someone will clean it for you. Sign me up.

My days have been running together because I overbook with a mix of professional, personal and goal-oriented duties. Every second of my day is taken. Really. I wait to use the bathroom until I’m in so much pain that I dash down the hallway with a limp/jump combo just so I won’t wet myself. It’s crazy, but the bathroom is down the hallway and the thought of taking five minutes to walk down the hall, use the facility and walk back to the office makes me think of  a thousand things that could better use that time. I’m starting to fear that I might soon break down and buy Depends then fall in love with them.  Scary but tempting. I have three “To Do” lists. One for my day job, personal errands and for my blog/future. I am overly ambitious early in the morning after I pipe in a 24oz cup of coffee.  I truly believe I will get through all my tasks on each list if I just work fast and diligent. I never take in account the other things/people that creep in unexpectedly.  By day’s end, with lack of checks by each task, I’m exhausted and I want to burn those lists like into giganitc flames!!

But, we’re all tired these days.. working single women, working moms, stay at home moms, students, teacher, doctors, waitresses, multi-taskers, binge drinkers, exotic dancers, business owners, assistants, dolphin trainers, writers, lawyers, brow-shapers, wives who cook, women who are committed to organic meals, fast foodies, meal skippers…… ALL OF US!!! In lieu of begging my doctor for Ambion, I went to Sephora yesterday to purchase new concealer. Weird trade off, I know, but if you can’t live the part… look it. A sales woman approached me and asked, ”What are you looking for in a concealer?” I respond “A miracle.  Or perhaps one that forms 18 year-old skin under my eyes so it doesn’t look like I went to war with a black marker.” As she took me through different options, I noticed a group forming around us. Our final destination was the Makeup Forever display and there were four of us, standing there, spitting out series of questions simultaniously about a product that could cover lack of sleep and an abundance of stress. It was almost a therapy session. Instead of a pill prescription, she sent us away with little pots of hope…. that our outsides could be camouflaged and not reflect our insides.. pooped and in desperate need of R&R. The other three concealer purchasers needed what I needed… peaceful, sound rest, but instead, settled for a substance that we crossed our fingers would just give the illusion of such. It was so nice not to be alone. I felt a silent bond with these women as we slowly made our way to the cashier happy to hand over money if only this crap would work.

Yep, we have our different reasons…. but we’re all justifiably tired. We just keep going, rub a quick fix on our faces then push ourselves off towards a caffeine day of fast and furious tasks.

I wish you all a winning lottery ticket.. or for you realists,  a day of 8 hours of sleep and Zach Efron dreams. If only just once this weekend!

And if you ever feel alone in your delirious haze… just go somewhere that sells concealer…. you’ll meet fast friends …who might also be passed out on the Cover Girl display.

Keep on, keepin’ on!!!

First off – Melissa and Karin – WAY TO GO!! You girls are my motivation and you’re staying with it. I’m so happy for you!! KEEP GOING!

See. SHAPE and I are still BFF's. I get a 2nd chance!

Second – Erica and I are not posting our weight simply because last week was official Dietcation Week and we want to respect President Obama… because he was the one who declared that everyone dieting stop for a week. It was on the news. Richard Simmons was there… and so was Jillian Michaels. They were both eating cupcakes and doing keg stands.  Denise Austin was holding their feet during the keg stand. Valerie Latona, Editor In Chief of SHAPE, was eating a box of Twinkies and drinking a gallon of chocolate milk while watching “Sex in the City”  DVD’s. I swear…. it was an ”Oprah” special and everything. OKAY, OKAY, O FREAKIN’ KAY!!! I’M LYING!!! But, I had a dream about it and I’m sort-of physic so it could happen.

I fell off the wagon, but I had a rope tied to my ankle so I’m still being dragged behind it. I’ll get back on this week.

Can I use the excuse that my place was being renovated and it was easier to grab fast food for lunch? NO!

Can I use the excuse that I was stressed and discombobulated so going to the gym was too much of a hassle? NO!

Can I use the excuse that Kirstie Alley sat on me and violently forced milk shakes down my trachea? …. Well, it was by force.. so.. YES!! DAMN YOU, KIRSTIE ALLEY! I will not go down with you!!!

Next Sunday, if I don’t report that I am 145 lbs, I’m checking myself into the Green Mountain Camp in Vermont. Do or DIE!!! (Que dramatic music)

This is the best picture I could get discretely. He’s coming back from one of his bathroom trips. He loves the Milkshake song.

Yesterday, I was in Peoria, IL for work. In between appointments, I went to Starbucks to get some work done.  There was this tall, big guy, about 6’4″ / 250lbs sitting adjacent to me at another table. He kept getting up to go to the bathroom. He would start talking to himself, say “oh no,” under his breath, then rush to the bathroom. While he was gone the first time, his phone rang. HIS RING TONE WAS THE MILKSHAKE SONG! First off, that song haunts me (http://girlyourenotalone.com/2009/06/05/my-milkshake-brings-my-feet-to-my-mouth/). Second, I didn’t not see that ring tone coming from a huge, gym-short wearing guy that pretty much proclaimed he’s about to light-up the public bathroom before hitting a dead sprint.  His phone rang like 5 times. Each time, interrupting my steady work-flow. The Barista at Starbucks finally said, “Your milkshake is blowing-up over there, huh?” Priceless.

This story is from a fellow blogger, Charmaine, http://randalswife.blogspot.com/

If you’re a mom, you will totally relate and laugh.  If you’re childless like me, you will still snort wine out your nose with laughter…. then wonder if you could handle kids…

Picture, if you will… I am at Wal-Mart with my two boys, 4 year old Israel and nearly 1 year old Elijah. Elijah is buckled in the cart because I really don’t need a head trauma right now and Israel is running up and down the aisles because this is Wal-Mart and I’m running low on shame. About halfway through shopping Israel tells me he has to go “poo-poo on the potty.” So I take him to the back of the store and he tells me he doesn’t have to go anymore. After checking and asking a couple of times, I determine he really doesn’t have to go anymore and I finish shopping. As I’m standing in line, Israel starts again, “Mama, I have to go poo-poo on the potty.”

To which I reply, “Ok, we’re checking out right now and then I’m going to pay for our groceries and then we’ll go to the bathroom. Can you hold it for a little while?”

Israel, “Ok.”

Well, this happens a couple of more times and I finally point out the bathroom and tell him that it’s right there and we are almost done. After I pay for the groceries we are going to run over there together and go potty. He walks up the the front and says, “That bathroom right there?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” I answer as I hear the cashier gasp. I turn around and discover Elijah Houdini has escaped the buckle and is standing up now. So while I’m bucking him back in, the cashier points out that Israel is running to the bathrooms. I turn around just in time to see him run into the men’s room.

Great. What am I supposed to do? Please don’t judge me. I just stayed with Elijah and the cart and kept my eye on the bathrooms and hoped that the cashier would be fast enough that I could get over before the inevitable happened. She wasn’t. As I’m wrestling with Elijah, I hear a sweet mom voice saying, “Where’s your mommy?”

Please, don’t let it be me. I turn around to see my 4 year-old son standing outside the bathrooms with his pants around his ankles asking for someone to wipe his bottom. Pants around ankles. Luckily the little guy is pretty well-endowed, but I really don’t want to encourage exhibitionism.

Words cannot describe how I felt though.

So I turn around to the cashier who was a very sweet older lady and seemed to understand the situation. Luckily there was no one in line behind me so I just left the cart, my purse, and my baby to run and get Israel. I took him into the women’s room and wiped him and told him to wash his hands and come back out – I had to go get everything else.

It was a walk of shame going back out of the bathroom, past the mom with 3 young girls who was asking who Israel’s mommy was, past the young couple sitting outside the bathrooms and past all the other random people at Super Wal-Mart on a Saturday and back to the cashier and my other son and waiting groceries.

I made it out with both sons and all my groceries, but all my pride was left behind.