Full disclosure: my self esteem is similar to that of any realtor’s will to live on any given episode of Tiny House Hunters.
Yeah, it ain’t great.
A lot of things factor in to this such as my constant weight fluctuation, my very tiny stature, oh and the fact that I’m CONSTANTLY ITCHY. Continue reading
Holy hell, I’m the worst. In the past few months, I’ve moved countries, changed careers, and possibly bought a house all while procrastinating getting healthy and upping my highlighter game.
I’m such a millenial.
2017 Has been absolutely nuts. Mister and I have moved bases, now back in the USA… or what’s left of it. I’m glad to be back in a place where I can understand the street signs, but things are still in flux. I’m finding myself diving headfirst into creative endeavors. It is overwhelming having chronic illness, and I am finding solace not just in yoga but in my make up and beauty, my fashion and decor. A large amount of headspace has been taken over by wanting to share my idea of pretty with the world. So, when my office job wanted to transfer me to Philly, I put in my notice. I should have known I was losing my mind when I used my insurance money to buy a convertible.
I blame the current political climate, but I digress.
Currently, I am wondering if it is possible to have a quarter life crisis. Should I go forth and pursue something that I love if I could very well fail? Do I stay in a career that I might not like, but am good at? Do I tell my dog he’s adopted?
I’m kidding. I would never put that on Seamus. He gets his anxiety from me. #likemotherlikeson
So, this has been an unnecessary life update. I am trying my best to funnel in what I want this site to be; what I feel it means to be a bombshell. I guess it has to do with not having your shit together, but still liking pretty and fun things. After all, we all have a little bombshell in all of us.
Hey, that’s catchy.
I’m becoming fairly certain that I won’t survive a week in the zombie apocalypse. Continue reading
My name is Ellee Long, and there is a 63% chance that I’m allergic to you. Continue reading
As you may know, I’ve been valiantly attempting to get “in shape.” I haven’t decided on which shape that will be, yet. I kinda have been yoyo-ing with my commitment to a healthy lifestyle. And no, giving up chocolate and wine is note an option (god, I’m like a character from a Nora Roberts novel. How stereotypically female of me).
I went back to yoga class today after a hiatus, and obviously it kicked my ass. In a good way… I think. Anywho, something said at the end of the class really stuck with me. I was flopped into my version of meditation (imagine a faceplanting starfish. That’s this gal), while my badass teacher was talking to the class. She talked about rewarding yourself for coming to class and such, then she said.
“You did something amazing today. If you go through your day thinking that instead of how you should have done more or did better, your whole outlook will change.”
Woah. This human starfish was not expecting that.
As an overachiever with anxiety/depression/a partridge in a pear tree, The mantra “You should have done more.” Runs through my head roughly 6,943 times a day. The weird thing, though, is that you never realize that you think it until the idea is firmly planted in your head.
So, as I’m nomming on some leftover shrimp and pasta, I made the choice to try and make my mindset one similar to how I felt during class. We’ll see how it goes.
Have any of you guys felt this way? Do you have any mantras to get you through? Did it help your mindset?
As you lovelies may know, I’m trying to get healthy. Yes, a lot of this is me being vain. I know we all read about those women who say “I just want to be healthy. It’s not about looks.” Yeah, that’s bullshit. I’m secure in myself to know that I’m in this to get to Bettie Page levels of awesome. I already got amazing hair and makeup skills. This is obviously the next step. If I become a healthier person, that’s a perk too.
So, after singing a requiem for my chocolate ice cream, I jumped back (literally. I started swimming) into the swing of things.
I forgot how HARD this was.
On recommendation from my fantastic friend, Justine, I signed up for Piyo. Of course, when I first heard the word, I thought it was some magical weight loss frozen yogurt. I was wrong. Good God, was I wrong.
The Piyo lady seems so nice. I don’t know why she takes such pleasure in my pain.
I’m only on week two, so here’s hoping that the endorphins start kicking in soon. I know I’ll stick with it though. Charming already completed P90X and started P90x2 while signing up to be a Beachbody coach. Show off.
Currently, I’m laying on my couch, sweaty and in pain, trying to convince my dog to get me dinner. Seamus Finnigan needs to start earning his keep, after all. No luck yet.
I wonder how much it would take to get my cat to carry me to the shower…
~Little Bombshell
Wow, that title makes me sound way smarter than I actually am.
Do you ever have a day where you feel like your life is a human version of a participation trophy?
Of all the things I have problems understand, talking shit about people after graduating from tenth grade is really high up there. Like, number three after people obeying speed limits and geography.
Still, I come to this new community and have to deal with this. I get that some people are immature, but women in their forties talking about me to my coworkers that are in their twenties? It’s so Desperate Houswives. No murders yet, though.
What was being said, you may ask? That I’m an egotistical bitch that thinks I’m the best at everything. Clearly she has never seen me attempt sports. Also, why is believing you are good at something a negative thing? I stated I knew I was very good at math (fun fact of the day) which is what started this whole thing. There isn’t enough eye rolling I can do.
I am so self obsessed.
However, every cloud has a silver lining. When I deal with people like that, I remember how awesome my true friends are. Last night I hung out with Keeley where we drank a lot of wine and talked life. We talked about our friends from back home and how amazing they are. I think that’s why I’m so sensitive here; it will take A LOT to be up to par with my friends back home.
Friends that surprise you by serenading you during your first dance.
Yeah. That fucking awesome. So, if you’re reading this, take the time tonight to tell your friends how you feel about them. Now that I’m not near mine, I think how I didn’t appreciate them enough back home. I could focus on stupidheads whose favorite extra curricular activity is gossiping, but instead I’m thinking about the people who love me. It may not be many, but I’m really into quality over quantity 🙂
Now this is fucking LOVE
My friends and family are incredible although they’re hundreds of miles away. I have a Charming that writes me notes like this ^ and I have one or two people over here that make Germany not complete hell. Life could be far worse.
Spoiler alert: I no longer have a facebook.
Like every other person who graduated high school in the aughts, I got myself a facebook right when I got my college email address. Kids, these were the days when facebook was for college students and college students only, but I digress.
I loved being on facebook during college. It made connecting to classmates for projects and “projects” so much easier. When I graduated, I thought I would use it to keep in touch with those who no longer live near me. Ah, the sentiment.
Did I use it for such a reason? Fuck no, and neither do you.
Much like Moses’s quest for the promised land, I find myself on an epic quest to find the perfect bra. This has been happening for years, and I can only hope I don’t end up in the desert with a golden calf.
I have learned many things during this. First and most importantly, Victoria’s secret straight up lies to you. They want you to buy one of their bras, but they only have limited sizes. When I went to see if they had anything for me, they tried to say I’m a 34C. I’m 30F. Shade thrown. But let’s be real, no one buys Victoria’s Secret bras to wear them for any length of time. That’s the only logical explanation I can come up with for bedazzling lingerie.
It’s hard to measure yourself, so get a friend to help. Think of it as a bonding exercise. I asked Charming to measure me, however it just turned into him bewildered at what goes into women’s clothing. Oh honey, you don’t even know. Continue reading
Little Bombshell 