My name is Gabby.  

I lost half my body weight through exercise and eating right.

 I'm here to motivate you, inspire you, and make you laugh on your journey to a healthier and happier lifestyle.

The Shittiest Monday Morning Ever

The Shittiest Monday Morning Ever

Warning: Adult language

Please do not read any further if you are offended by adult language. F-Bombs within.


I'm presenting to you today a story that has absolutely nothing to do with health and fitness. If you already follow me, you know that on my blog I have a category called Laughter Burns Calories. You also know that when funny, crazy stuff happens to me, I share it with the world. I truly believe that we all need lots of laughter in our lives. Health isn't all about eating right and exercising, it's also about loving yourself and loving life. Having fun and laughing is a must in a happy and healthy life. Well, folks, I'm about to not only make you burn up some calories laughing... After you hear this story, you're going to realize that your Monday morning was a fucking prize and that your life is good. Here we go...

So I'm gathering up a last minute garbage bag this morning and I hear the garbage truck coming up the road. I start scurrying around looking for my slip-ons, shoved the last bit of garbage I scrounged up in the bag, and went flying out the door and to the street. I'm tying the bag as the garbage man pulls up. He says hi. I say hi back. I point to the sky and tell him he better hurry his ass up this morning because it looks like it's going to shit. He looks at me weird so I assume it's because he thought it strange that I described an impending rain by saying it was 'going to shit.' Whatever, I'm pretty used to people looking at me strange, especially after I speak. I have one of those mouths that start talking before the brain is engaged. I'm also missing a filter most of the time. Don't get me wrong, I do know how to act and how I can or cannot talk given my present company. But as far as Monday mornings go, this one had been pretty crappy so my Give-A-Shit meter had already flat-lined. Little did I know that my shitty Monday morning was about to get a whole lot shittier.

As the garbage guy was finishing up, he never stopping giving me weird looks. I was confused but before I could open my mouth and make a comment I'd be sure to regret, my neighbor waved to me and headed over. This distracted me from the creepo garbage man as he got in his truck and drove away. After talking to my neighbor for about two nanoseconds... I get a weird look. Okay, WTF? I have a ton of shit to do today and I'm instantly annoyed and totally over socially ill-equipped men this morning. So I cut my neighbor off at the knees and head back into the house without giving either two weirdos another thought.

As soon as I got back into my house I went straight into the bathroom to put a new garbage bag in the waste basket. On my way into the bathroom, I passed the full length mirror.

Jesus, Joseph, and Mary...


I look like a deranged crackhead prostitute. 

First off, before I describe what I see in the mirror, let me preface it by explaining that this morning was one of those crazy Monday mornings. My youngest missed the bus and we were rushing to get her to school on time. As soon as I got home, I realized I never put dinner in the crockpot so I went straight into the kitchen to get that done. Then I remembered I never finished getting the garbage collected in my office and the bathrooms so I was trying to beat the garbage truck. My mind was going in a bunch of directions and I was running around like a headless chicken.

Okay, so back to the mirror. Dear God. Where do I start? Well, I guess I'll start at the top...

My head:

I had my hair up in one of those big puffy scrunchies. I must've missed some of my hair while I was going around my ponytail three times because there was a big loop of frizzy hair sticking out of the top of my head. It looked like I hooked my finger at the top of my head and pulled a huge piece of hair out and just let it dangle and flop around on my head.

Wait. Before you form a well-rounded opinion, you need to see the side view.

What is that shit? It's ridiculousness, that's what that is.

I have no idea how someone doesn't know they have a nest of floppy hair on top of their damn head but I didn't get much sleep and like I said, it was a hectic morning. I'm hoping those two facts help you all understand how this insanity happened.

My face:

I had mascara running down from both eyes. I'm not even joking when I say I looked like friggin Alice Cooper. I honestly can't ever remember my mascara ever looking like this before. Wait, that's a lie... okay, I'm not counting college days. Anyway, I always wash my face and moisturize before bed every night, but last night I was utterly exhausted. I never washed my face. Hell, I didn't even brush my teeth. I don't even remember walking to bed. I also don't remember being transformed into the Godfather of Shock Rock either, but that sure as shit happened.

Good God, ladies, whatever you do, wash your makeup off before you go to bed. You just never know who you'll be standing outside of your house talking to the next morning.

My shirt:

Sweet Baby Jesus, say it ain't so. To my horror, I see that I don't have a bra on. OH MY GOD NO! Oh it gets so much worse... Okay, side story. So I have these sleep shirts. They are, uh, how do I say this?... THEY'RE FUCKING SEE-THROUGH! Omg help me! Okay let me explain. So so so much to explain.

You see, a long time ago when I was half-way through my weight loss journey, I was at Kohl's and I was trying on clothes. Seriously, this is an important part of this story. Just bear with me! It was the first time in over 10 years that I was able to fit in normal-sized clothes. I was so beyond excited! I tried on a t-shirt in an XL and it fit! The shirt happened to be on sale and I decided to buy not only the one I tried on, but every single color it came in. When I say I was excited, I'm not exaggerating. I stood in the fitting room and sobbed loudly. I stayed in there for 15 minutes crying tears of joy. After an entire year of working so hard to lose weight, I finally reached an amazing milestone. I was able to shop in any store! When I started my journey, I was wearing 4X shirts and size 24 pants so wearing an XL felt like I had just won the lottery.

This fitting room sob session happened seven years ago. I cannot and WILL NOT get rid of these t-shirts. I sleep in them every single night. I can't bear to part with them. To me, they symbolize so much. Soooo, since I've been wearing these suckers every single night and constantly laundering them for all these years, they have all become see-through. Jay pokes fun of me wearing them all the time. But of course he always ends his jokes with telling me that I'm never allowed to stop wearing them, lol. He gets a free titty show every day. My girls have to remind me when they have friends over to not wear them. I just don't think about it anymore. These shirts have become part of me and I long ago stopped thinking about them being see-through. So needless to say, my hubs and girls are quite used to me wearing these everyday. They know why these shirts are so important to me and besides, I've never been one to cover up like a nun in my house anyway. At any given time I'm braless and 80% of the time I'm not wearing pants.

Obviously I couldn't snap a pic of me in this shirt. I've already filled my Show-People-My-Titties quota for today. 

Hey, no judging. You go braless and pant-less too. And if you don't, I'm telling you, you're missing out. Take your Habit off and get comfortable in your own home. Your titties want to be unleashed. Your titties want to live their lives unchained. But let me tell you what your titties don't want. Your titties don't want to be freed outside on public streets while talking to random men. Your titties don't want to be gawked at and judged at 9:00am on a fucked up Monday morning. 

Don't worry, folks... it gets worse.

You would think that looking like a female crackhead version of Alice Cooper wearing a see-through battered and tattered t-shirt at the end of my driveway while conversing with the opposite sex about the sky getting ready to shit would be enough embarrassment for one day, right? Wrong, bitch.

As I'm staring into the mirror horrified beyond belief, I notice that my nipples are the size of pop cans. Honest to God, WHAT!? Is it February? Why are my nipples so hard? It's a balmy, humid September morning. We are straight up in the middle of Indian Summer. Why are my nips betraying me like this?

Omg I'm going to have to cancel my garbage service. Jay is going to have to load up his car with all of our garbage every week and go dumpster hunting. I can never face the garbage guy again. Sometimes the garbage truck comes up the street when we are heading to the bus stop. I can't ever take the risk. I'm sorry, hunny, but your garbage night duties just got more complicated. You're going to need to find ways to get rid of our trash. Sunday nights just got suckier for you. I'm sorry but there's no other way to deal with this. Omg he saw my Coke can nipples. 

Can I just mention here that he was not the only man who witnessed me in a see-through t-shirt? Can I just mention that unlike the stranger garbage guy, I see my neighbor everyday? Can I just say that this is actually not the first time this same neighbor has seen my jugs? Believe me, I have no time to get into it now but at some point it'll probably end up a blog post. The incident happened over a decade ago and still to this day my friends ask me to tell it and I'm constantly asked when I'm going to put the story on my blog. Someday, maybe. But let's get back to this particular Titties-Out-In-The-Open-Streets story. Yes, I realize that it's severely messed up that I have more than one of these stories.

{ UPDATE 4/19/18: Since I wrote this article, I once again unwittingly bared my titties to yet another neighbor. Honest to God, I really should be supervised at all times. You can read about that story here. }

I think it's safe to say that my neighbor has always thought I was a little bit crazy, but now I'd bet my house that he thinks I eat drugs for breakfast. I usually don't care what people think of me, but for God's sake I don't want anyone thinking I do drugs! And let me tell you, as I stood in front of the mirror and took in the sad sight before me, I cannot blame anyone for thinking those thoughts after seeing me. I looked like a drugged-out homeless psycho... with sippy cups for nipples.

Don't worry, folks... it gets worse. I know, it's hard to believe. But it just does.

My pants:

Once Jossy missed the bus this morning, I knew I'd have to drive her to school. I just threw on the first pair of pants that I saw. They were hanging on the quilt rack in my bedroom. I knew I wouldn't have to see anyone. I drop Jossy off curbside at a side entrance where teachers stand at the doors and let the kids in. This is also the reason that I didn't even notice what shirt I had on. I knew no one would see me. It's a simple procedure: Drop her off, drive away, go back home. I've done it a million times before (missing the bus is not a rare occurrence at our house).

As I'm staring in the mirror, I realize that I have my painting pants on. My painting pants are an old pair of faded black yoga pants. And since I have 467 pairs of black yoga pants, I didn't even look at them as I jumped into them this morning when we were running late. So I'm looking at these pants in the mirror with white and coral paint splotches all over them. I had forgotten that I got my paint pants out because I have some prop painting to do for our upcoming Halloween parties.

Had it just been paint pants that I had on, it wouldn't have been a big deal. Lots of people paint. The problem is that I'm pretty sure that no one, not even one fucking soul that walks the earth, would be painting while wearing a see-through shirt with no bra on and sporting Alice Cooper makeup. Nope, out of 7.4 billion people... not one.

I have no chance of ever redeeming myself with my neighbor. He's already seen too much. And by too much I mean my tits, twice. He's either going to stay the hell away from me from now on because he thinks I'm a crazy maniacal loose cannon who smokes crack with her morning coffee... or he's going to park a lawn chair on the sidewalk waiting for more boob action. Honestly tho, I know most men would probably be all for unexpected titty shots on an mundane morning, but it's not like I came from the salon, in a sexy outfit, and then decided to frolic around my neighborhood with my titties bouncing in the fresh air. I looked like Oscar the Grouch's crack whore girlfriend. I can't imagine even boobs making up for that shit. I'm pretty sure he was shaking his head when he walked away from me. I'm pretty sure he fears for my daughters and husband. I'm pretty sure he may buy me a brush and some soap for Christmas.

Now with the garbage guy, I might have a chance. It's quite possible that all cleaned up, I may not even be recognizable to him. Maybe he thinks that I'm a homeless psychotic bridge-dweller that doesn't really live in this house of mine, but instead was garbage picking hoping to find a half-eaten donut and a bra in the trash. I mean, honestly, it's plausible. Yup, it's a done deal then. I'll try to fix this. I'll just make sure I get up next Monday morning around 3:00am. I'll shower, dry my hair, curl my hair in those big Victoria Secret curls, take great care in putting my makeup on, wear a ball gown and Cinderella heels, and paint my nails. Then I'll go hang out at the end of my driveway all morning and wait for him to come and then very nonchalantly bring up an interesting story:

"You'll never believe what happened last week after you came by here. Omg there was this crazy crackhead hanging out on my porch. I had to call the police. She wouldn't leave and kept asking me to give her a piece of bread and a bra. Omg, isn't that the weirdest thing ever?"

Yup, I think it'll work. I'll let you guys know how it goes.

So here's the last piece of the crazy pie...

My feet:

No, it's not over yet. Almost. One weird fact about me: Even though I walk around in no pants, no bra, and see-through shirts... I always must have fuzzy fleece-y socks on. Yes, even in the summer. Actually, even more so in the summer because the central AC makes my feet frigid. Remember when I said earlier that I was scurrying around looking for my slip-ons? Yes, well, in addition to having my bright teal Nike slip-ons on, I also had my big fuzzy fleece socks on... aaaaand a different one on each foot. One sock was pink with orange, yellow, and brown stripes and the other sock was black with purple polka dots.

Can you even take this shit? I swear this is almost as bad as naked boobs. Good grief, look at that! I'm surprised no one called the police on me. And btw, I swear my feet are normal in size. These socks make it look like I'm suffering from a horrible case of gout. Look how swollen they look!

I mean really? Why should even one part on my entire body look normal? Not even my damn feet could resemble someone that didn't need committed. Honestly, I'm the definition of train wreck today. You know that saying 'Go big or go home'? I nail that shit every time I do anything. Especially when I fuck something up. And what did I fuck up today, you ask? LIFE. Life is what I fucked up today. Go me.

So there you have it. One of the most embarrassing Monday mornings in human history. And guess what? It didn't happen to you. So no matter how bad you think your Monday morning was today, just remember that at least no one mistook you for a drugged out Alice Cooper with pop can nipples. 

Now that I've shared one of my shittiest mornings to date with you all. I need to ask one of you for a favor? 

Can one of you tell my husband what happened for me? While you're doing that, I'm gonna get myself cleaned up and go buy some big juicy steaks and 50 yard line Steeler tickets for this poor bastard that married me. Maybe some golf passes too.



{Want to read more funny stories? Scroll down.}


*The information on this site is not intended or implied to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. All content in this article is for general information purposes only. I am not a doctor, nor am I a dietitian. Talk to your physician before making any changes in your diet or exercise regimen. The information found in this article is from various sources which include, but are not limited to, the sites listed above. I encourage you to do your own research and talk with your physician before making any changes in diet or exercise. What has worked for me may not work for you. This information in this article or on this website should never replace or serve as medical advice.



VEGGIE BEEF STEW: A Healthy Crockpot Comfort Food

VEGGIE BEEF STEW: A Healthy Crockpot Comfort Food