It’s impossible to ignore the crackling tinder fire that ignites whenever he is around. I’ve done everything I could think of to scrub him from every facet of my daily thoughts, but deep down…. I’m annoyed by all this frustration. Dating other people isn’t working. The temperature continues to climb and I couldn’t force myself to avoid him with a billion dollar bribe.

I can ignore how warm his hands are. Lots of people have warm hands and I realize that this is an irrational reaction to something completely normal. When you’re craving a specific set of digits, any temperature they greet you with will be just right.

I hold my breath when I’m close to him. I can’t be haunted by how good he smells. I’m already haunted by enough of his details. I still catch myself leaning in close to him instinctively because he smells fucking amazing.

For the record… it’s soap. Motherfucking soap. This is what happens when you have a physical need for a man. You get hot and bothered by a basic bar of Dial.

I avoid his chest like my life depends on it, because it does. We all have our breaking points and that’s mine. There’s something so purely masculine about him that I just die a little as I talk myself down from climbing right into his lap.

J- Don’t smell it. Don’t touch it. Don’t even look at it. Think of that man like he’s a trillion calories wrapped in a billion more. You can’t afford him. Yes, it would satisfy a lot, but it’d create an ocean of cravings and you just barely avoided drowning the last time.

Yep… that’s what it’s come to. Pep talks with myself because I’m short on willpower and chock full of desire. Completely platonic things, set me on fire. He grins at me and it’s like a kick in the damn ovaries.

Forgive my french, but I’m absolutely fucked.

Whilst being completely celibate…. of all the injustice.

Send help. 🙂


Finally! Truth in advertising.

This stupid broken heart of mine is going to land me in a wheelchair.

I’ve been running from frustration for as many miles as I can fit in, morning and night. It’s been my saving grace and all that has silenced the outrageous sex dreams I keep having about the man at the center of my sadness.

But it’s just not working anymore, and I needed to start focusing on my terrified & hidden abs. I have a tummy tuck planned this fall and I’d like to be in the best shape of my life when I go back under my plastic surgeon’s knife.

To be blunt: I’m tearing down the factory to build a playground.


Beachbody on Demand is going to help me fine tune my playground, but dear GOD is it a treacherous path.

I finished the dishes and changed into my yoga pants and half dozen sports bras. If it’s one thing that having huge boobs changes, it’s exercise.

I’ve been following Paulina, an amazing woman on Instagram; as she has transformed with these same workouts. I covet her swimsuit model bod, enough that I’ve been working on mine for the past few months by running again. It’s been in the back of my mind for a while that it was time to take it to this scary level.

Then my beloved Miss Crunchy started doing them too, and her workouts started greeting me every morning as I sat writing and having my third cup of jet-fuel-strength coffee. This same lady is loving her ex through being diagnosed with multiple myeloma cancer and facing a very different future than she imagined. She’s doing it by kicking ass and taking names, while shining like a diamond and singing like a bird. It’s one sort of miracle to handle life when it’s most difficult, but a whole other kind of spectacular example when you make it look good, too.

So why not? I pulled my hair up and tied my shoelaces a little tighter. Browsing through my options for the Beachbody on Demand I’d just gotten access to.

My closest friends know that I always prefer black to white. In my opinion, when it comes to men, clothes and chocolate, the darker the better. Unfortunately, I live in the land of white boys, so imagine my delight when a fine black man popped up on the screen full of options.


I sure will listen to anything he says. Click. How bad could “Insanity” be? I kind of thrive on it. Shaun T is LOVELY to look at. I’m pleased with my purchase. This fine man is going to lead me to the promised land.

20-30 devastating minutes at a time. Dear. Fucking. GOD.

Five minutes in, I realized that I’d jumped in the deep end of the pool when I probably should have waded in gently. Pretty sure I can feel my liver crying and I’m realizing that alcohol is out if this is the sort of body slamming torture I’ve just embarked on.

12 minutes in, I am literally melting. I know all of my body is sweating, but it actually feels like my face may slide off. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m sort of hoping it does so that I can take a break to find it.

You don’t really know yourself until you’ve endured some plank jumping jacks. Jesus Almighty, what have I gotten myself into??

But…at a certain point…the suffering dulls and the burn kicks in. I realize that it’s going to be fucking intense and will only work if I’m as determined to change the shape of my body, as I am to be more careful about where I put my heart. I can’t help missing him but I sure as hell can use those awful feelings to my advantage with Shaun.

Two soul-stomping workouts a day for 60 days ought to change the landscape and how I feel. ♥