Because I'm Terrible at Scrapbooks

The Un-30.

I have what P and I now like to call Oompa Loompa feet.

Yes, it is true.

I am a ruddy shade of orange, thanks to asking my sister to, “Spray my feet again please” because “It doesn’t seem like you really got them.”

She got them.

Oh did she get them.

What an immature and un-30 thing to do.

The crazy thing about paleness is that I’m not even overly concerned about my Oompa Loompa-ness.

And could care less about Will’s hurtful Willy Wonka jokes.

Because I’m tan darn it, which is better than paper white.

Oh- and I suppose now is a good time to throw in the fact that I realize today’s outer beauty(or lack thereof!?) post does not seem very congruent with yesterday’s inner beauty post-

but please indulge me.

I have orange fairies for Pete’s sake!

There’s not much beautiful about that.

Unless you like Oompa Loompa feet, in which case- I apologize-

And stand beside you in solidarity for the next 7-10 days while I wait for this crazy orange fest to fade.

But enough about that.

There’s only so many times I can say the “f” word (feet) without getting grossed out, and I have totally gone over my quota.

Let’s talk about something else.

Like how I am going to totally abandon my diet next weekend and instead devote it to trashing up s’mores to the best of my ability.


The dirtiest things are about to happen to s ‘mores and my mind is racing like a teenage boy.

I’m thinking cookies instead of graham crackers, whether we could cut brownies in half to serve as the base, and P even thought about how to make peanut butter M&Ms work in them too.

It’s going to happen.

And I will most certainly pay for it the following Monday-

If not in the form of a trip to have my stomach pumped,

(dear God I pray not)

Most definitely in the form of a gigantic face explosion of zits.

Because nothing says I ate like utter crap-ola like a face full of swollenness and pain.


Definitely looking forward to the s’mores part.

The aftereffects? I could do without.

Hmm- which leads me to wonder how you guys would cope with such major indulgences.


You’re saying you don’t exist on s’mores for three days straight, and that no one but me would do such a stupid thing!?

Sheesh- you could have said it a little nicer.

I get it.

No one eat three “square” meals of s’mores.

Because that would be utterly ridiculous.

And incredibly unhealthy.

Especially for a self-proclaimed health nut.

And totally immature and un-30.




It’s like you’re trying to talk me out of it.

Or I’m trying to talk me out of it.

No, that can’t be it.

It’s just a few zits.

They’ll go away.

Who am I kidding!? That’s awful!


I need to collect myself.

Plus I have totally gone over my “z” word (zit) quota for the day and am getting grossed out again.

But now all I can think about is the junk food fest and how it doesn’t seem as fun when I think about the consequences.


I’m so old!!

I’m like that annoying friend of yours that you keep trying to get to have “just one more glass” of wine-

Because you know she’s WAY more fun to be around after “just one more glass.”

Only she never has “just one more glass” because “it will give her heartburn” or “she has a headache” or “she has to volunteer to help the elderly and be absolutely amazing the following day.”


That responsible friend of yours. Just have the drink already!

Only we know she’s right.

She’s going to have that one drink and be fun for like a whopping 5 minutes, but will then spend the next hour lamenting about how much she has to do and how she totally shouldn’t have had that one drink and then will go on

And on

And on

Until you wish you could freaking craft some sort of Back to Future time reverse machine so you could redo the last hour of your life.

Or simply just want to take an Ambien and call it a night.

That would work too.


P is totally going to rue the day (yes, I did just say rue the day) we decided to get food drunk on s’mores.

I’m going to be a barrel a laughs the first few meals,

but then I start to feel sick.

And then my heart starts racing from the sugar (um, because that’s what happens to people that never eat it… It’s like a freaking panic attack of chaos. And you’re left wondering, “Did someone just slip me a drug!?").

And my stomach starts producing what I not so affectionately call “food babies.”

And then the complaining sets in.

And then I got from a barrel of laughs to nothing more than a barrel of annoyingness.

Assuming barrels of annoyingness were a real thing.

Eh let’s fly by the seat of our pants, kick up our Oompa Loompa fairies, and call it a day.

Bring on the s’mores and lets watch this party unravel.

I love living on the wild side.

The un-30 side.

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brittny I'm B-Love. Lover of God, my husband Will, my doggies, OU football, weight training, plyometrics healthy eating (mostly!), peanut butter, and all things health related. Buckle up and get ready for my constant embarrassing moments, health and fitness tips,and my effort to rely on Christ while living life in the real world. Follow me on Feedly! Sign up for monthly emails at!

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