The Snake that Broke the Mellon's Back

My self esteem has taken quite a few hits this week folks. It all started with the random gluteal pain which it turns out was not random at all but was actually brought on by excessive intense poses and warrior 3s. Yes Yoga. Yoga made my ass hurt. Which on its own isn't such a big blow to my gym confidence, but then my hip flexors had to go and get all tight and sore which makes throwing a round house kick quite painful. Whimpering every time I put my leg in the air doesn't really gel well with my whole pretending to be a ninja, ya know?

So I thought, "Ok it's a bad gym week. No biggie. They happen. Let's focus on being a domestic goddess instead." I am quite resilient after all. But well, that plan kind of backfired when I scorched my omelet so bad the entire house smelled like burnt egg for 2 days. And yes, this little snafu most likely could have been prevented if I were patient enough to stand guard by the pan instead of wandering off to water the plants while it was cooking, but still. Who burns eggs?

But once again, I shook it off. If at first you don't succeed and all of that nonsense. So I made what I thought was the most delicious pasta salad for dinner Thursday night. I mean noodles, salami, mozzarella, spinach, tomato, olive oil---what's not to like?

Everything apparently. At least according to all three members of my family. Every last one of the turncoats made faces and pushed the food around the bowl trying to make it seem like they'd actually eaten something. Total fail and nothing even burnt to blame it on. That's fine though--that means I have enough left over to eat for lunch for the next 5-7 days or until the tomatoes start rotting--whichever comes first.  It's all good.

Now on the whole, I have a very healthy self esteem. I have a pretty firm grasp on just who I am and who I am not. So these little set backs while a bit disheartening weren't enough to bring me to my knees. Nope. That came yesterday with the discovery of this:

 

Yes, the escaped and recently recaptured Bronx Zoo Cobra has nearly 1,000 times more twitter followers than I do. I mean Charlie Sheen and his winning, tiger blood, rock star Martian, gnarly gnarliness was one thing, but a snake? Come on! He has no fingers--how does he type? With his fangs? And his brain--so small. How could he possibly be more interesting than me? The world is not fair people.

So at this point there's only one option left for salvaging any happiness: indulge my narcissistic tendencies by playing with Photo Booth. 

Steve Jobs is my hero yo. I bet he has more followers than me too, but dude's earned it, so I'm ok with that. Plus he's human. That helps.