Those assholes make me see red every. fucking. time.

I saw a gaggle of middle schoolers doing this in the wilds of suburban Albuquerque today. Like, REALLY? This is a thing? In my day, we had slap bracelets. We didn’t even have cup stacking, just pieces of fabric-covered flexible metal that we slapped on each others’ wrists for entertainment, AND WE LIKED IT.

I read the first book and loved it, moved onto the second book and fell in love with her. The series on SyFi is OK, but the books are AMAZING. I’m anxious for the next one to drop in December.

Ever read the sci-fi series The Expanse? In the second book is a Martian marine who’s described as being a big woman who builds muscle every time she walks through a weight room. I am ALL ABOUT HER.

I have a soft spot for goofy gym bros.

Oh, I know what she means and I know why she says it, and it’s bullshit fear mongering. Unless a woman goes in and really fucks up her endocrine system with a fun cocktail of PEDs, she can lift heavy -- not 10 pounds, but hundreds of pounds -- and not wake up with a “masculine” or “bulky” build.

Initially, I joined the gym nearest my house with the most squat racks, invested in a great pair of headphones, and signed up for a few sessions with the trainer who was a power lifter. When she quit, she tipped me to the power gym where she trains. I like the new place it because it’s a community of people who are…

Yeah, I’m there with you. I’m hoping to get my dead back up to three plates by the end of the year.

Excellent for sick gains, yo.

I’m not Bey, but I’ll give shout outs to Starting Strength by Mark Rippetoe and Optimal Nutrition Double Chocolate 100% Whey protein powder tossed in with milk, ice, and a tablespoon of peanut butter.

And my one question is what the fuck are we supposed to do as mothers? Not pick up the baby? Bitch, please. I’ve got to be able to pick up and lug a 42 pound preschooler one handed. That’s not going to happen when I’m not even “allowed” to pick up a gallon of milk.

Oh, god. There was a trainer at my gym who was constantly spouting that “delicate women aren’t meant to lift more than three pounds” shit. He decided the best time to try that with me was when I had a 45 pound plate in my hand. I looked at him. I looked at the plate. I looked at him. “You want me to drop this on your…

I lift heavy so I can continue to give Kid Electron her requested “high up hugs” -- and shame the dudes who can’t match my working weight. Awwww, yiss.

Seriously, this is what the cop told me in the ER twenty years ago. Basically, it was my fault for being female after 7 p.m.

She could call Bernalillo County prosecutor Kari Brandenburg to commiserate.

IS THAT YOU, CHUCK TINGLE?

Can confirm. The first time it happened, I thought I was dying. It’s called a niacin flush.

My dad and I were kvetching over beers this weekend. It was supposed to be the Clinton v. Bush grudge match. It was supposed to be super boring. It wasn’t supposed to be a rollercoaster ride of terror.

Starred because I laughed so hard I scared the four-year-old.

I give it fifteen years. Twenty on the outside. And that’s if we’re talking about up to LEO or beyond. Suborbital within five.