My insides are exploding, they hate me and want to be elsewhere, or at least that's how it feels, Or like someone is trying to scrape them out with a really jagged spoon inserted through my lady bits.
I had to check that there wasn’t a real illness called Doyle Syndrome prior to writing this post, and there isn’t, so we’re good. Although if there was, I’d just call it Mrs. Doyle syndrome — which may give you some idea as to where this is going. My memory was jolted by an article published on The Establishment, “This Is Why Consent Doesn’t Exist For Disabled Folks,” which goes in to the numerous ways in which disabled people are required to give more of themselves in order to get the same treatment as able-bodied people. An important issue it raises is the stripping of agency from disabled individuals by the able-bodied.
“I’d like a bottle of Sympathy please. Actually two because my mother’s coming next week and she still hasn’t gotten over the death of her cat. And do you have a vial of Patience?”
I have brought you here today to bring attention to the fact that we have had a human right taken from us. We once had right, to do as we please, but that all changed once the sourpusses got hold of what we were doing. They whine and dine with their cheese, saying that “it is not good for us,” and “can harm our health.” Well, I am here today to snuff out their illegitimate complaints. These pessimists do not understand the beauty of human addiction, the kind of relationship that we gain as we go on. But thanks to them, we have had this constitutional right taken from us; our torches of freedom are extinguished. We cannot publicly smoke cigarettes anymore.
I wish we had a better relationship. I have been trying since I was a teenager to feel better about you but our negative relationship still haunts me every single day. I have tried everything to hide you. Extreme corsets, tummy-slimming undies, control top pantyhose, baggy shirts, those horribly uncomfortable tummy-tucking Lycra shorts thingies that just end up rolling down and creating a weird lump under my clothing... you name it, I've tried it. And still, there you are like a creepy stalker following me everywhere I go.
Howdy y’all! Welcome to this week’s edition of Darby Burl’s No Bullshit Reviews. I’m Darby Burl! Last time we talked about Wonder Woman’s lack of muscles. For today’s review, I will step out of my lady lumberjack comfort zone and into granola-chompin’, patchouli-stankin’ hippie-land to try a new deodorant.
I’m a worrier. Wish I weren’t. Stiff back might be a slipped disc. Headache a brain tumor, bump certainly cancer. The question becomes are these things worth the worry?
If you were to ask me as a teenager what I would be doing at the fine age of 34, I am pretty sure my current situation wouldn't be it. Not that I don't love my life now, because I do, I really do, but I most likely pictured myself living in a dope ass New York City loft, wearing Gucci head to toe, and designing clothes and saying things like, "right on top of that Rose". If you don't know what movie I am referring to then you are probably too young to even be reading this article. Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead people, come on! However, like I said I never saw myself living in central Jersey burbs, chasing around two kids who I love and despise more than anything in the world, still rocking colored hair (purple currently) and a wardrobe mostly full of "active wear". Side note, "active wear" is now the cool word for yoga pants and tank tops with motivational sayings like, Gym Hair Don't Care. Ugh! Aside from the aesthetic version of the now me, I also didn't think I would still be this big of a child. Dancing in my living room like I am god damn Brittney Spears, curing hangovers with 3 Advil and Coca Cola, and begging my kids to build tents with me. I know all adults must give into their inner child now and again, but I think something may be wrong me. It's like my body, common sense, and patience grew up but deep down I am still 17-years-old with 8-year-old tantrums. Here are 30 things I am still doing in my thirties. I am hoping most of you can check a few off yourselves.
Whenever I imagine an older person trying to be cool I envision someone saying "yo yo yo" while they flail and cross their arms like a rapper from the 80's. Except instead of looking like a cool ass hip hop artist they look more like someone having a fit and sounding like a total dweeb. OK, maybe that's just me since that is exactly what my father did while I was growing up. My friends would come over, mostly dressed in XXL t-shirts and Phat Farm jeans on, and there would be my dad Yo Yo Yo'n and arm seizuring all up in their face. And never, not once, did any one of those friends say, "Damn your dad is cool".
Yoga is so much more than just a workout - it’s a lifestyle. It changes you as a person—it contributes to your self-development and it improves your overall health. Through yoga you can meet your future friends, soulmates (and I don’t mean just your yoga mat) and even start a new career you never knew existed. Once you’re in it, you’re a yogi for life. And the results are phenomenal.
The eyes might be the windows to your soul, but your mouth is the centerpiece of your face. Out of your mouth come words of wisdom, laughter and other assorted noises. Some like to decorate their mouths with various lip colors or glosses, some have an attachment to Chapstick or other lip balms. Whatever the case may be, your mouth is very important for so many reasons. Without teeth, how would we chew gum? Without a voice, how would we express our opinions? Without our lips, how would we experience the magic of a first kiss? And we won't even go into the many interesting uses for our tongues...Though, did you know that when you do kiss someone for about 10 seconds, over 80 million bacteria are transferred? If you are kissing the same person, over time, your bodies become used to each other's bacteria..which might be the healthiest reason to practice monogamy!