After just one week I feel so much stronger! And I’m wearing a pair of jeans that haven’t graced my ass for quite some time. Granted, they’re damn bootylicious, but what’s a little cushion for the pushin’? (Not that I’d know, because I’m rocking Club Celibacy HELLA hard, yo. It just sounded like the right thing to say.)

The one thing that baffles me is the mountain biker uniform. Is there some sort of law requiring them to have shaved heads and big-ass goatees? Yesterday, we saw like eleventy-hundred of them. I’m not even exaggerating! We were surrounded by baldies with ginormous facial hair, running us off the trail. Not that I’m surprised a state that drives like utter and complete assholes (how Christian of them!) have bad manners on bikes; but how hard is it to say, “On your left?” instead of running over two girls with kid in tow? Seriously though, can anyone make sense of their uniform? Because I’m baffled.

• Customers. I LOVE hearing “ladies” threaten their husbands if they are rushed through their next shopping stop: Walmarts.

• No air conditioning in the dressing rooms.

• Chastity sweats. They may not look so chaste on my big ol’ butt, but now I don’t have to covet Mrs. AK and Sarah’s “True Love Waits” sweats at BFF night. I hope Rlo doesn’t feel left out.

My almost-two-year-old niece’s favorite topic of the week is my juggs. (Yes, I called my boobs juggs.) She says my name, hold her hands above her head and yells, “Boobies bid!” Which translates to I have huge boobies. My sister said she’s been talking about them when they’re at home and I’m not around. Lucky me!

I’m a little sad that I didn’t buy chastity sweats. Damn, they’re cute! I would feel awkward when my dad, inevitably, would ask about the writing on my butt. Nothing says I’m saving it like silk screened junk in da trunk, right? By saving it, I mean dishing it out to the next guy who’s decent enough to help me break the rules and regulations of Club Celibacy. Here’s to hoping the next guy I date doesn’t appear as a member of a teen pron chat group in a Google search. I’m not gonna close up shop till marriage or anything, because that could be a VERY LONG TIME. And let’s face it; even with a drawer full of battery charged goodness I don’t have that kind of patience.

How was your weekend?

My gay boyfriend wanted to hang out tonight, but I had to pass because my big ol’ butt desperately needs to hit the gym. My mother booby traps the house with delicious treats. There are currently homemade cupcakes on the kitchen counter. Yesterday I ate three cupcakes. THREE! My sister suggested I try a new approach: take a bite of a cupcake so I can have a taste and then throw the rest of it away (careful not to offend our folks), while leaving whatever treat is around for my parents to enjoy. I’m not sure how that’s going to work yet…until then, it’s gym, GYM, GYM!

Do you live with people who set culinary booby traps? What do you do to avoid them? Anyone who spouts off bullshit like nothing tastes as good as thin feels will be cyber-kicked in the baby maker.