Caffeine Fueled.

Fresh from a workout, chest/bis/back. I love my Saints hat. ---"Who dat??"

I haven't posted on here since May. There hasn't been much to report really. I'm not sure what to say.

I'm going back to school in a few weeks, finally working on being a lawyer, thank God. I have been feeling so incredibly useless. My class schedule is really good (i.e., engaging AND easy), and I get to stay at my amazing job as an optometric assistant for the coolest eye doctor in town. Of course, everyone there keeps confusing me, telling me what an amazing eye doctor I would be (!!) True or not, I am going to be a lawyer, dammit! And make tons of cash!

All the puppies are gone to loving homes, and I kept the eldest for myself, his name is Spot. 

He looks just like his daddy. He is six months old on the 21st! :)

Tomorrow is the bodybuilder's first contest and he is super tan, like a pecan or something. A walnut maybe?? I am going to post lots of pictures of it next post, if I can ever find my fucking camera cord. He's also doing a shoot with my friend/coworker Evan Brennan (he's based out of Greensboro and AMAZING, look him up) and hopefully I can sneak into a shot...
I have decided to pursue my own contest next summer, in the bikini (or figure) division, which will be interesting. I don't think anyone thinks I can do it, and I myself am a little skeptical. My bodybuilder thinks that I'm not strong enough to do it (as far as my willpower goes) but if I can starve myself, then I can do what he does, dammit. The sky is the limit--that's what I have to believe, or I'll never reach it.

I drank a Lo-Carb Monster preworkout at 10:30 and I have been going off its fuel ever since! That's why I never drink those things, I can just go and go and go!

Guess what I'm going to be doing this weekend?

Every time I post I try to leave with a lesson. 

I've learned several things lately.

First, Body Shop makes the best lip stain. You can use it on your lips OR your cheeks, and it gives you that "I just worked out and/or had sex" flush that lasts forever and looks so natural. I have a lot of sixteen hour days between working out, meetings, and my full time (all consuming yet rewarding) job, so I need all the help I can get without being weighed down because I HATE having a lot of shit on my face. So this stain is my little miracle. Plus I always enjoy looking like I just had sex. 

Second, NO ONE is going to really look out for you, but you. Except maybe your mom, if you have a good one, which I actually do. But since I'm an adult, I had to leave the nest and everything, and I figured out recently, I have to watch my own damn back because no one else is going to. I have to be selfish, mean, even nasty at times, to put what I want for myself in motion, be it my workout, my job, or going back to school. All  that shit is on my shoulders, and that's exactly where that shit belongs, because if it's my responsibility, then, sink or swim, I can't blame anyone but me for the outcome.

Oh, the Humanity.

I am deeply and frankly aware of every flaw I have. I am even aware, that like most people, intrinsically, I am not the best person in the world. I think a lot of people are like that; to their core, they are strange, perverted, and twisted. What is probably the worst thing, is that I don’t want to change. I like how I am, all my quirks and twists and turns, all the wrinkles in my personality that I’m sure I share with other people but that no one will discuss…

 I am not evil, of course. I have dabbled in shop lifting once or twice, indulging in some random petty crime, but nothing with malice or intended cruelty. I am extremely compassionate towards animals, children, and pretty much anyone less fortunate than myself. I wish to become incredibly rich so that I may become a humanitarian and philanthropist, above all else. However, I am restless, impulsive, and impatient. I am obsessed with sex, and think about it above everything else, and it is always hovering somewhere in the back of my mind, I am thinking about it in the bathtub, on the toilet, at work, in class, during conversation, just sex sex sex sex on an endless reel in my mind. You are probably reading this right now, whilst I am deliberating on how pleasant penetration would feel right now. I am cold towards most people, and I hide it beneath a veneer of sweetness and bubbly so that maybe you may think I’m stupid, and that means I’ve fooled you… Because really, I don’t care about you at all. You’re entranced by my smile, but really I am laughing AT you.

I don’t believe that I’m beautiful, or pretty, or anything. I see myself as a machine, and things like food and sex and water and exercise are just the things that maintain my gears and keep me going. (Toot toot, eat me out, it’s like an oil change…) However, I am fully aware that most people do think I am beautiful, and I will use it to manipulate anyone. My face, my body, every part of me, is just a tool, to get what I want, because I want a lot of things and I wasn’t so lucky in life that I was given everything I wanted, or at least parents that would do so… Yes, my mother loves me very much, and likes to spoil me, but she (oh my GOD) actually believes that I should work for what I have. Imagine that.

On the other hand, I have issues. I have enough issues to fill up the greatest tell all book in history. It would beat Ashley Judd’s new shit out of the water. But I don’t use the things that happened to me to make money. I’ve made mistakes. When I was raped and molested at four, I told no one, and many other girls suffered the same fate year after year til that particular daycare was closed down…. That kind of thing has happened to me over and over from age four until around age sixteen, when I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the world of sex. It was easy. Sex is a prevalent part of some of my earliest memories, and it will never disappear. It’s an ugly bitch of a truth, but it’s true just the same.

I feel trapped by my life, by some idea that I’ve managed to manipulate myself into thinking I want, when I realize it’s not for me, and which will probably force myself and my bodybuilder into some strange and horrible impasse--one in which, in the relationship, you ask the questions, what are we doing, where are we going from here, why can’t you just agree with ME?!---and who knows how it will go? I will say it now, though; I do not want children. I do not ever want to be married. I want a perpetual lover who will fight me and laugh at AND with me and keep me on my toes and fuck me hard every single day, or as many times as I want, whichever adds up to more times. I cannot abide anymore by simply going along, doing whatever is asked of me, and squashing all my silly dreams beneath someone else’s thumb. That’s not love, and that’s not life.

I cannot abide by being asked to be anything other than what I am--I am simply, only, a human, after all.

My Letter To Food.

Dear Foods,

I will not let you beat me. For years you have ruled me, as I have battled with a toxic, dangerous mix of binge eating disorder, bulimia, and anorexia, though never all three all at once. I blamed it on genes, on the media, on two abusive boyfriends, on many of other boyfriends' infidelities, on how good you taste... but really it's all on me, both the blame and the cure.

You are not a punishment, and you are not a reward. You are something that gives me happiness in my taste buds. You are the fuel to my hard working muscle and my now well conditioned heart. Some of you can prevent cancer and some of you can cause heart disease-both over time. Some of you bolster my immune system, and some of you are an aphrodisiac. Yes, DeMet's chocolate turtles, I admit that if I wait a long time in between eating you, I almost come when I have one. You are the best lover I've ever had. But I will no longer hurt myself with you. I will not deprive myself of you, and I will not use you against me. I will drink all the green tea I want, and I will stuff myself with frozen yogurt (the good expensive kind bursting with probiotics) and ripe strawberries all I fucking want, and I will not feel bad when I want to drink coke or eat a whole fried chicken; I simply won't eat it, except on prescribed cheat days.

To the processed foods... it's not the fat or the sugar (everything has calories and they are not bad. Neither is fat), it's the chemicals. And I will stay away from you for good. I train my body hard up to two hours in the gym six days a week, and I will feed myself accordingly. I will not play with my body's unique processes, and I will never force it into starvation mode again.

Mind over matter, mind over food, and baby if you don't mind then it don't matter... I will eat only what will feed my psyche and the war torn sinew that I tear through every single day and I will post picture upon picture of my strong naked back and my six pack all I want, and that will be award enough for me. I will be in love with myself, and with the life I'm given, instead of with you, Food. You have been a solid companion, giving me comfort and solace when no one else would, and never giving me any shit or trouble really when I forced you back up again when you were just starting to get cozy. You have been a worthy adversary, giving me the evil eye back while I stare at you inside your homey little fridge or cupboard as I push myself another few hours,

one more hour one more hour one more hour!


without eating, but there is always victory for you when our relationship is like that, my friend. Always. Because in the end, need wins out, and I am eating again, gratefully, wondering how in the world I'd ever left you to begin with. Then I  catch a glance at my thighs or my belly or whatever body part I hated at the time, and it'd begin again... Maybe it'd take a comment or maybe I didn't get complimented that day, maybe someone shot me a cross look and I thought, spiraling, worrying, "Why did they look at me like that? What's wrong with me? Do I look BAD?" and it began again, always, an endless cycle, until I fell in love with weight training instead, and I left you, former lover, behind.

I will always be fond of you. I will always need you. But our relationship will be healthy now, and I pen this knowing it is true, because I have no negative feelings toward you. I am armed only with the reality of knowing that indeed I do need you, but not to reward myself or punish myself for the short comings I was born with anyway. I wasn't comfortable at first, talking to you, regarding you again. I shut you away somewhere like a dirty secret, inside my subconscious, saved like a cookie for later, but I've lost ten pounds and I don't care. I'm a size two and I don't care. I can lift 65 pounds from behind my head and clear over it with no difficulty, no noise, and I do care about that, because that's all me. I worked for that. And I know now that I can't successfully work away from you for long without dying... I no longer wish to die. I wish to live. My zest for life has set me free, and I guess I should thank you for teaching me what it is to want to die, to be ungrateful, for it is a good lesson to learn what it is to be nothing. But now I am everything, and I am free.

And hungry.

Ever your humble servant and friend,
Brittany

I Wish I Could Be Naked Right Now.

I haven't posted anything since last year on Christmas. Epic fail, man. EPIC. Several things have happened to me since I last posted. I am settled in Winston fully now, and I work at a lovely job while living in my lovely house with my lovely boyfriend. Now that the stress is lessening, my relationship with my bodybuilder has entered into an extremely lovely stage (i.e., we are both adults and everything is working the way it should be.) Needless to say, sometimes he drives me crazy and of course I ask myself all the time, "is this really the guy you want to be with?" which is when every molecule of my being chimes in, screaming, "Yes, YES! Of course he is!" Our arguments make me love him all the more. That's part of what love is. Our fourth anniversary is April 6. Fourth as in, four years.

Nova had her puppies. She had nine. They're all strong, fluffy, and boisterous. They were born on February 21. I've been keeping extremely busy because Nova AND the puppies are my responsibility, and Nova AND the puppies all possess the ability to soil themselves as much as possible (Nova is mad at me and likes to punish me by dirtying her crate. Lucky me.)

Here is Nova and Yuma, aka the proud parents.

Like I said, there are nine. Five girls, four boys. They're all in the picture. Doesn't look like that many but really. Count 'em.

I am now twenty years old. Yay for me. I didn't do much, my mom gave me a Nook for my birthday (for those that aren't familiar, a Nook is an electronic reader that Barnes & Noble came out with on the heels of the IPad and the Kindle.) We had a Dewey's Bakery lemonade flavored cake and everyone that is important to me (bodybuilder, mother, and siblings) were in attendance.

We also found a pretty nice gym. It's like fifteen to twenty minutes drive away from us, but they have smoothies, massage, a sauna, and tanning as well as all the equipment we need. I also found the greatest vintage store in my neighborhood. It's called "Puttin' On the Ritz" and I'm sure no one ever goes there because no one knows where it is, it's in a gorgeous house and every square inch is packed with legitimate vintage clothing, jewelery, SHOES, and accessories. Even hats. It seems to span all the decades between the 30's and the 90's, and I'd buy out everything the owner (a charming man named Hans) had in my size if I had the money. Some of the things are a little pricey, they had fabulous dresses encrusted with sequins running like $40, but like I said, legitimate vintage, so therefore legitimately WORTH it. 

I have a new digital camera. I am going to be posting a lot more especially when I get Internet at my house (I am at my mom's right now, my great aunt died so she and my siblings are away in Oklahoma for the funeral.) I want to write some more self love pieces, nurture my Chictopia site, and share more of my personal life and style with you guys. However, I won't be putting months and months between my posts ever again. 

Until we meet again, cheers!

Oh, and this is completely inconsequential, but title of this posting is completely irrelevant, although entirely TRUE. I love being naked.

I know she's not naked, but she looks like she wants to be ;) Don't you just love vintage French postcards?