Poop, Egg McMuffins, and Tears

So, yeah. The title of this post sums up my entire day.

It all started at the unreasonable hour of 4:47 am, when Penny the Puppy (13 week old jack russell terrier whom I am dog sitting) awoke when she heard the clang clang of Bella's tags rattling on her collar when she got up to reposition. Penny decided that she was up and ready for the day and started thrashing about her crate (ah, the joys of crate training) like she was in the pit at a Nine Inch Nails concert.

While hopped up on speed.

At 4:47 am.

In the morning.

Before I had my coffee.

I walk out to her crate and find what I can only call the freshest of all the hells. I can smell the disaster before I see it. Brown, dried specks of questionable origin (shit) are splattered through the wires of the crate door (shit) and have landed all Jackson Pollack all over my hardwood floor (shit! shit! shit!).

You've heard of a black hole? Well, I found a brown hole. EVERYTHING (and I mean every last inch, centimeter, and heartbeat) was covered in Penny the Puppy's Poop. In all my years of schooling never once was I given this hypothetical. I've had to judge if a train leaves NYC at 8 am and if Bob has 12 apples, but never if the puppy you are dog sitting is covered in poo - what do you do??

*Now let's just pause here. I am absolutely certain that being covered in your own fecal matter at 13 weeks old is a very traumatic experience. She'll probably need therapy when she is a little older. I was extremely soft spoken and kind to this dog. My freak out was solely in my head. And my heart beat because it was exploding out of my chest. And my gag reflex.*

Fast Forward to 2 Hours later

Penny has been bathed. Her crate has been sanitized. Her bed is in progress in the washing machine/dryer process. The floor has been mopped. Remopped. And mopped again because THE POOP SMELL JUST WON'T LEAVE. I finally sit down on the couch to breathe. And it happens.




Why me, Lord?





Millie (a 7 yr old dwarf jack russell who I am also dog sitting) jumps off of the couch and instantly freezes, starts convulsing (CONVULSING!!!!), panting, and her legs give out from under her.

Seriously?

And just to give some background: Millie has had back problems in the past, and had to basically be put on doggy bed rest for her spine to heal.

I immediately try to call the owner of the dog. No answer. Since I was never given the name of the hotel they were staying at, I keep hanging up and recalling - much like how a 13 year old would call those boys from One Direction (I'm cool. I'm hip. I know what's in.) After 45 attempts, I call the vet. And to the vet we go. But not before I call my Grandma while trying to get dressed and in the car to have a mini freak out.

*Ding* 

Round One of Tears

Vet says - She's going to live, here are some pain killers, and another round of doggy bed rest. That'll be 60 dollars, please.

So, with Egg McMuffin in tow (because smoothies? Fuck smoothies today. I'm not in the mood.), we return home. When I go to leave Penny the Pooper outside, Bella decides that she wants to go too
(even though she knows that Penny can't have any distractions in order to have successful bladder evacuation). Bella full on makes a break for it. Running through the yard, past the side walk, and stops at the fire hydrant (how cliche).

*Ding*

Round 2 of Tears

I try treats, whistling, shouting, "ok get in the house" (a phrase she knows and normally obeys while on her stretchy leash) to no avail. Panic is now creeping up and visions of Lost posters or seeing her get hit by a car are now dancing in my head. I run into the house, grab my keys and start jaunting towards my car to go after her if need be. What does Bella do? Thinks she is going for a ride and runs towards the car begging to be let in to take her place in Shotgun position.

*Ding*

Round 3 of Tears

And it's not even 11 am yet.

A little later, I catch something out of the corner of my eye at my front door.

Wind + Halloween Decorations = ARGH.

I died.

I am now typing this as a ghost. Boo, mother fuckers.

Boo!




Forever Yours,

The Unemployed Diva.

The Gym.

I have made no qualms about the fact that I am what I like to call voluptuous. I know it. You know it. My sidekick, Bella, knows it. The pizza guy that delivers the pizza sometimes knows it. And for the most part I'm ok with it. With being in a constant voluptuous state there are certain challenges that a girl faces and today I'm going to go over some of the challenges that present themselves at the gym.

Look, I'm not going to lie - I hate the gym. Maybe in a previous life I was a hamster and that's the reason why I have treadmill/elliptical agent orange flashbacks. NO!!!!!! NOT THE TREADMILL!!! But to me, it seems ridiculous to get on to a machine and walk for 20 minutes to nowhere. Actually, I take that back. You do walk somewhere - to sweaty man in front/side/behind you land where everyone jaunts at a much quicker pace and fling flongs their sweat droplets EVERYWHERE.

I'm serious guys. 

There is no amount of disinfectant that can get the flinging sweat droplets which means that EVERYTHING at the gym is covered in someone else's DNA. BARF. I try not to think of that while I'm there, but go ahead - the next time you frequent a gym - try not to. See how that goes.

Enjoy your nightmares.

Do you have this suit in slimming black?

The other thing that really drives me B-A-N-A-N-A-S (go bananas! B A N A N A S) is when I am working out and there is a Grunter. Capital G. Capital Runt. Capital Er. You can tell this person by their affinity to vocalize every move that they make.

Going to stretch before using the treadmill? GRRRRRRRUUUUUNNNNTTTTTTTT
fart (it always happens)

Lifting a weight that an infant could carry?
OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH

Doing an ab work out?
HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HO

Doing lunges?
SHESH SHESH SHESH SHESH SHESH
  

I pity the partners of these people, because if this is what their gym activities sound like, I don't even want to imagine what they sound like in the sack where actual work takes place. I imagine a lot of gorilla-esque sounds. You hear that? I could have sworn we just transported to the amazon. Sexy.

The other thing that drives me a little crazy are the GOOD FOR YOU people. There is always one that comes up while I am plotting the deaths of the sweat fling flongers and grunters that says, "Good for you!" At first, I thought, "Oh isn't that sweet! Grandma is cheering me on!!! I can rule the world!!", but then I thought about it a little more. Grandma and the like weren't going up to everyone at the gym. Just me. Like good for me that I got my lazy, voluptuous self away from the oreos and McDonald's drive thru long enough to take an interest in my own health.

This is an old lady who has not wronged me in anyway. Her picture was just on the internet. I looked for pictures of over-done cartoon grandmas pointing and wearing jogging suits, but can you imagine? The internet was all out. :(

This GOOD FOR YOUs reminds me a lot of those Christian zealots. Like - PRAISE JE-SUS. And GLORY BE TO HIIIIIM. HALLEJUAH! They mean well, but they come off as holier than thou nut jobs that are one symposium away from joining a cult. Seriously. It takes all that I have not to GOOD FOR YOU back to them about wearing bold colored sweat pants or for making the choice to dye their hair fire engine red or dousing themselves in enough perfume to gag an ox. Sweet baby Je-sus and bless their heart.

The last group that I'm going to talk about are the How You Doin's. I am in the middle of my workout. Grumpy cat face firmly planted on my mug. Definitely giving off, "go eff yourself" vibes. And up walks Mr. How You Doin'. Completely age inappropriate - like lead paint was still a thing and he had to walk up hill both ways to the one room school house when he was in his prime.He is the age of my father and grandfather - COMBINED. And he starts telling me how beautiful and wonderful I am. Now normally if an age appropriate man walks up, I'll be polite and at least make small talk. It ain't easy out there for a pimp (p-i-m-p such a good song!). And who knows - he could be the man of my dreams, but not to Mr. How You Doin'. They suck and are creepy as hell. If I wanted a sugar daddy, I would wear a shit ton more make up and, instead of wearing my old college
tshirt and yoga pants, I would look like Workout Barbie. I ain't no gold digger. What what.



And this is why I hate going to the gym.






Yeah, that's it. It's not at all because of the hard work and/or the lifting of heavy objects multiple times or the fact that I am clumsy and am always tripping on mats or that my feet fall asleep on the treadmill/elliptical. Or that I'm covered in sweat or my itunes library hasn't been updated since the Clinton administration. Or there is a Real Housewives of Somewhere marathon on or it's raining outside or my workout shoes make my ankles look fat. Or I left my water bottle in the car and now it has a weird smell and is growing fine baby hair. Nope. Not at all.

Forever Yours,

The Unemployed Diva

P.S. Originally this post was going to be more about a chubby person's experience at the gym, but then morphed. Frankly, the sweat flingers/grunters/old creepy men happen to everyone. Perhaps next time I will blog about about chubby people at the gym. Who knows. 

Going Kold Turkey

Let me just start this blog off by saying that I don't hate anyone. I find that, as a society, we tend to overuse that word when really what we mean is that we find someone or something displeasing to us and/or our life. With that being said, I find the Kardashians terribly displeasing.

I respect that they have clothing, make-up, perfume, credit card, jewelry and the like lines all over the place. I'm sure all of those things take an incredible amount of work and are in highly competitive markets. For the most part, the Kardashians aren't hot Amanda Bynes messes and, as far as I know, they haven't hurt anyone. Bonus points.

I guess my problem stems from the fact that even though they have built this giant empire of merchandise and are selling opulent lifestyle choices, they truly are famous for being famous. As I was looking at my twitter feed today, there were multiple updates about Kim Kardashian's new engagement to Kanye West and I finally hit my Kardashian limit.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice shame on me. Didn't she learn with Kris Humphries the pitfalls of making her personal life so public??? It just really irritated me today that there are serious world problems out there right now and the biggest news today was Kim Kardashian's engagement to Kanye West.

So - I am going Kold Turkey. I am silently boycotting everything and anything Kardashian. I refuse to watch them on tv, click on stories on the internet about them, and buy any of their various products. Do I think this is going to put the world on its ear? No. Kardashian fever has spread like wildfire and the populous is incredibly infested. Hopefully, we can slowly release ourselves from their hold and regain the life we had pre kardashian. You know, the one that didn't include oogling bulging derrieres and idolizing people who are about as deep as a puddle.

If their shows spent as much time promoting altruism and helping others in need as much as it does promoting needless cosmetic procedures and materialism - the world would be a much better place, but it doesn't. Ask any one of them about Syria, clean drinking water, unemployment, the government shut down, etc and they would probably look at you with their perfectly injected glossed lips and bat their fake lashes at you and say, "huh??". And giggle. Don't forget the giggling.

The world deserves better. We deserve a media that is invested in REAL news and not the latest Fall Fashion Trends. Those types of stories are lazy and distracting. There are some scary problems that need to be solved and, if we keep paying attention to whether or not wedges are in and ignore the real issues, we are going to be screwed. We can figure out if our purses match our skirts ourselves and the media outlets should focus their attention on the real problems at hand. I figure if the Kardashian stories don't have the following anymore then media outlets will let them slowly fade away and find something with more substance to cover. As consumers, we have the power to dictate was flies and what doesn't. I think we have forgotten that we have the power.

I'm not going to say that it is going to be easy, but if we all stick together, we might have a chance. WE CAN DO THIS!!!

Dracula Cookies and Mwahaha

When I quit my job almost 2 and a half months ago I thought I would be aching for things to do. I thought I would miss the hum drum of office interactions (like pot luck Tuesdays!!!) and was terrified that the number of pens, staples, and post its in my possession would lose all of their meaning. The truth is, I still love my office supplies and frankly, screw pot luck Tuesday. I can buy my own damn Tostido's and queso and am happy not to have to worry about who double dipped (Cause you know there's always one fool in the bunch). Over the last few weeks I have found an insane amount of purpose and joy in hosting gatherings at my home for various functions and giving unto others - meaning charitable organizations and causes that are near and dear to my heart. For the first time in a long time I feel alive and "good tired".

*Sigh*

*Good Sigh*

Long story short - if you need a little pick me up try doing something for someone else. I'm telling you, it's a life changer.

With that being said, this week I made Dracula Cookies to raise money for a park. Mary Pat Pitcher lost 2 out of her 4 sons in a tragic drowning accident a few years ago and has been working tirelessly to build a skate park in their honor. I think it's important for skateboarders, roller bladers, and BMXers to have a safe place to be active and practice. In this world filled with video game addicted prepubescents and childhood obesity running rampant - it seems like a no brainer to endorse a space solely dedicated to children exercising and breathing in fresh air.

These cookies are about a 5 on the labor scale, but they are SO WORTH IT.

Dracula Cookies

You will need:

45 Chocolate Chip Cookies (I made mine from scratch, but don't kill yourself to make them if you don't have time. The premade tube cookies or even premade bakery cookies are perfect too!)

2 Containers of Betty Crocker Whipped Cream Frosting

Red Food Coloring

1 Bag of Mini Marshmallows

1 Bag of Almond Slivers

1 Gallon Sized Ziploc Freezer Bag

1 Sharp Knife
1 Frosting Spatula or Butter Knife

1. Lay cookies out on parchment paper.

2. Cut cookies in half and flip over so facing upside down

3. Mix red food coloring and frosting together to create pink/red color.

4. Place frosting in ziploc bag cut off tip of bottom corner. (Make sure it is no more than a half of an inch deep or the frosting will come out too fast)

5. Squirt frosting on each half of cookie and spread using spatula or butter knife to create thin layer of frosting. DO NOT OVER FROST OR YOUR DRACULA TEETH WILL HAVE GINGIVITIS AND NO BODY GOT TIME FOR DAT. Or that. Either way - don't do it.

6. Place marshmallows around edge of round side - using an even number of marshmallows. Generally, I used 6 marshmallow per cookie, but for the large cookies I used 8. Then I put 2 marshmallows along the straight edge to support the rest of the top layer.

7. Place top half on top of marshmallows and gently press to firmly secure the two pieces together.

8. Place almond slivers on either side of the 2 middle teeth and VOILA! MWAHAHAHA DRACULA COOKIES ARE DONE!!!

I vant to suck your blood. Mwahahaha. *Cue eerie background music and fog machine*

To learn more about Pitcher Park, CLICK CLICK CLICK 

Enjoy!

Forever Yours,

The Unemployed Diva.

Prosciutto Bread Sticks and I'm 30. Yay?

So today I said good bye to my 20's and hello to my 30's. I don't feel terribly different or look like a brand new older version of myself, but today felt like the end of an era. I don't think you can get away with things in your 30's the same way you can in your 20's. Perfect examples of this: drinking to excess (BOO no more parties a 'da club'), making stupid (or if they're really bad, stooooopid) life decisions, and horrible dating faux pas. I mean, let's face it, as much as we all want to be Carrie Bradshaw with an incredible wardrobe and VERY active bedroom scene (although in truth I wanted to be Charlotte - better apartment and always the hopeless romantic), if we actually did all of that crap at her age - our friends would kill us. And drunk 30 year olds look like alcoholics, not woot woot - "I'm having so much fun" party girls. Sorry, but they do.

As a rule I hate celebrating my birthday. I just don't get it. I made it another year so that entitles me to 12 birthday dinners with free dessert... I'm voluptuous already. The last thing I need are 12 free desserts. If it were up to me (and it never is) I would celebrate my birthday with a glass bottle of wine, sitting in my jammie jams, catching up on stuff that has been collecting dust in my DVR. I know. Super exciting. Riveting even.

The thing that I've realized in this very important 30 year moment is that your birthday is never really about YOU, per say. It's about the people that love you that are trying to find a way, DAMMIT, to show you how much they care. The restaurants they've chosen, the gifts they purchased (even though you begged for nothing at all), and all of the other stuff that comes your way on that VERY SPECIAL DAY - is your tribe trying to communicate that you mean something to them. And truth be told, you got to let them get it all out. Every streamer, balloon, candle blowing, off key happy birthday tune, box in a box in a box in a box birthday present, toast in your honor means something - all because for another 365 days, you managed not to kick it. I am majorly clumsy, so maybe it is a little more to celebrate now that I think about it... Because let's get real here, it is much better to have people wanting to do something for you, than no one at all. Right? Right! I'll try to remember that in my 30's. So here's to another year. Hopefully I'll manage not to take a long walk off a short pier. Here's hoping.

In other news, for the past 30 years I have pretty much shared my birthday with my Grandmother. We were born 55 years and 1 day apart, but she is and always has been my rock. She has seen more than most (great depression, mother died at 6 weeks old, step mother was right out of cinderella, death of a son at 20 due to carbon monoxide poisoning, death of a husband 6 months later due to a broken heart and a massive heart attack, death of a grandson due to his own hands, multiple open heart surgeries, knee surgeries, spine surgeries, broken pelvis, loss of feeling in her feet and hands, and that's just what I can think of off the top of my head), but she is one of the most open hearted and kind women that I have ever met. She has never said a single bad word about anyone and is incredibly classy. What an amazing broad she is. I am proud to be her grand daughter and even prouder to know her not only as a grand daughter, but also as a friend. They just don't make people like her anymore.

Last night I made her dinner to celebrate her 85 years on this planet and I made prosciutto bread sticks for her. And they are AMAZING. So easy and they always create a WOW response. Those are the best kind of recipes! People will think you spent hours toiling and really, you poofed it together like magic. BAM.

May I present: 

GRANDMA'S PROSCIUTTO BREAD STICKS

You will need:

1 Package of Puff Pastry Dough from the freezer section - thawed.
1 Small Onion
3 Cloves Garlic
100 grams of Gouda Cheese finely shredded (about a half to 3/4 of a cup or so)
80 grams of Prosciutto (5 slices)
200 grams of Sour Cream - splurge - don't use low fat. You can taste it. (I just used a small container even though it's 227 grams - those extra 27 grams aren't going to ruin anything.)
2 tablespoons of Parsley

Preheat oven to 360 (no that is not a typo - 3. 6. 0.)

1. Dice onions, garlic and prosciutto.
2. Caramelize (fancy word for add butter to a pan, heat it to medium heat and add veggies) onions and garlic until golden brown (about 4 minutes)
3. Add prosciutto to onions and garlic and let it get crispy (about 2 or 3 minutes) Stir frequently so you don't burn onions and garlic. Set aside.
4. Add sour cream, cheese, and parsley to medium sized bowl - mix until well combined.
5. Gently stir in onion mixture to the bowl. Set aside.

Yeah - I numbered wrong. You get my drift. Right? Right.

6. Lay parchment paper down on a counter and unfold both puff pastry rectangles with the creases going top to bottom (not side to side)
7. Spread sour cream mixture on bottom half of both rectangles
8. Fold top to touch bottom
9. Make 9 top to bottom cuts in each rectangle
10. Twist each strip twice and place on greased cookie sheet leaving 1 1/2 inches around each stick.
11. Bake at 360 for 25 minutes.

TA DA!!!!

Enjoy my lovelies and good luck!

Yours Forever,

The Unemployed Diva.

The Perfect Turkey. Gobble Gobble.

Yesterday, October 6, 2013, I cooked my first turkey. WHAT? Exactly. It happened you guys. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I am incredibly proud of this fact and also, the fact that I haven't given myself or Bella (sidekick pup extraordinaire) food poisoning - yet. Let's face it - it's only a matter of time. Dun dun dun.

I was perusing AllRecipes.com and found what claimed to be 'the perfect turkey' recipe and thousands of people agreed. Hardcore. Like 5 stars. There were a lot of exclamation points used in the comments section. People were psyched. To whomever came up with this recipe -apparently you kick ass and I hope you are sitting back in your domestic domain just chilling like a villain because you are a BAWSE.

One thing that I was not prepared for was the fact that when I took this young, fresh, organic, super awesome turkey out of the packaging - it looked like a naked, plucked turkey. That was dead. And cold. And maybe it's because I've been watching a lot of Bones, NCIS, Criminal Minds, Law and Order, etc - I instantly felt bad for the little guy/gal (I'm sure there's a way to tell boy or girl - please don't tell me. I don't want to know. If I have to start thinking about baby turkeys I will die.).

First order of business - take out the insides. May I just ask - what the eff am I going to do with a turkey neck and/or innards????

 Seriously. If you are at all squeamish, don't do it. Have someone you love do it. Have the next door neighbor do it. The creepy guy down the street who always seems to be walking by when you are outside. Call the police to come over to give you assistance (ok don't do that. Bad idea. They will arrest you.). Let's just have a sharing moment here, when I stuck my hand to pull out the neck, I got it about 2 inches worth of out, realized what it was, screamed, and ran out of the room. Holy Shit balls. HOLY. SHIT. BALLS.The other innards weren't so bad to deal with because they came in a little death pouch that was sealed up for my protection. Thank you turkey gods.

This recipe calls for you to brine the turkey for at least 12 hours, so the next step is to create a 'brine solution' and dunk that turkey. Turns out - 'brine solution' just means some kosher salt and water. Ta da! That's not hard. I will tell you though, that I had absolutely zero faith in the brining process. Thought everything was going to come out a huge salty mess and that I was really creating turkey jerky and not a roasted turkey. Trust in thy recipe oh doubtful one! TRUST!!!

Once the turkey is sufficiently brined, rinse it off, place it breast down in your roasting pan, and rub or brush it down with melted butter. Easy enough. Chop up some carrots, celery, and onions in non edible size chunks. These are just for flavoring so you don't have to get all Emeril or Bobby Flay. Shove half of the veggies inside the turkey. Put the other half around the turkey in the roasting pan. Throw a bay leaf and a sprig of thyme inside the turkey, and crumble and sprinkle another sprig of thyme on the outside vegetables. Drizzle a little dry white wine on the outside veggies and BAM! You can go relax.

Throw that turkey in the oven at 325 (I know the recipe says 350, but slow and steady wins the race apparently) uncovered and set the timer. NOW THIS IS WHERE YOU HAVE TO PAY ATTENTION - depending on how large your turkey is, figure out how long in total it is going to take to cook. For my 14 lb turkey, it took about 4 hours - now 2/3rds of the way through you are going to take the turkey out and flip it so the breast side is now up. How do you do that with a giant, scalding hot roasting bird?? Put pot holders on your hands and cover them with freezer ziploc bags. Much easier than trying to fork it or twirl it or jedi mind trick that giant bastard to flip over. Once it's flipped rub that side down with butter. When you put the turkey back in, turn up the temperature in the oven to 350. You still do not have to cover or baste this bird. TRUST ME. 

Now go back to watching The Real Housewives or Bones or some sporting event.

Take the bird out when the internal temp gets to 170, tent it with foil and let the most beautiful roasted turkey rest for 30 minutes. Make sure that the internal temp gets to 180 as it is resting so you don't give your people food poisoning. After all, it's all fun and games until someone you love is having massive diarrhea and vomiting. Exactly. Disgusting. Check the temperature!!

Also, it is pretty well thought of these days that because the turkey cavity in big birds doesn't cook at the same temperature as the breast and leg meat, that stuffing a bird with stuffing is kinda frowned upon since it doesn't get to 180 degrees without overcooking and drying out the meat. I mean do what you do, but just saying - if I have to pick between an unstuffed bird with perfectly cooked meat or a stuffed bird with dried out meat - I'm going unstuffed all of the way.

This recipe does not lie. It really is the most perfect turkey recipe in the world. I hate to say it, but my mom, dad, and other family members who have been hosting Thanksgiving for YEARS have nothing on this turkey. No need to juice it up with gravy. No need to baste every so often or deal with covering or uncovering the turkey during the cooking process. It is incredible. It is flavorful. It is beautiful. It is perfect.

Now if you're a person who needs exact measurements of all ingredients, here is the link to the original recipe. The Perfect Turkey!!!! and Enjoy!

Happy Monday!

Forever Yours,

The Unemployed Diva

So.. The Government has Shut Down and Yoga!

The United States Government has officially shut down. Sure, what everyone deems essential personnel are still active and going to work; however, 800,000 government employees will not be reporting to work and getting paid. What's a little interesting is that the government leaders who are the ones that are actually responsible for this are sitting like fat cats getting paid and not really experiencing any skin of their back. Sucks for the every day man, woman, and child.

My goal here, today, is not to talk about the crisis or politics going on in my country. It's becoming increasingly evident that both sides are acting like petulant children that are so polarized in their beliefs that they are completely unable to see the other side's point of view. The fundamental problem is that while both sides are going to the mattresses to duke it out, the American public is suffering. We are already in so much debt and each day that the government is shut down it is costing us 300 million dollars. Million. So not cool. Pretty sure for 300 million dollars a DAY we can sort this crap out. Grr.

ANYWAY

So today I thought that I would do some yoga in effort to be healthier. That, and after the walk/hike I took Bella for on Sunday, I felt like I was going to die. My neck. My back. My neck and my back. Nothing is worse than your black lab giving you that judging face as you're gasping for air and popping a lung on the trail.

Maybe you shouldn't have drank the entire glass bottle of wine last night, Fatty.

Seriously guys. Popping a freaking lung. And sweating. Buckets. Holy good lord the sweat was uncomfortable. You know how some people bask in their own sweat? Like they see it as a sign of accomplishment of a work out well done? Releasing toxins and all that shit?

Um. Yeah. I'm not built like that. I see every sweat droplet as the enemy and I hate feeling them intrude on very personal areas of my body. Gag. Double gag. But daaaaaamn! The Rock sure is looking fiiiine. Haha! Hopefully getting some yoga in will help with the trail next weekend. I won't oooze wine out of every pore. Bella won't judge me. And all will be right with the universe.

Check out my You Tube Channel later to see a video of me tackling this yoga challenge..

-->Katlyn The Unemployed Diva<--

ooooh fun! And don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe! :)

Forever Yours,

The Unemployed Diva.