Monday, September 28, 2009

I'm so tired and why "fitness" blows.

Hello friends. I'm going to try to keep this short because I'm tired. Sooo tired. Why, you ask? Well really there are a number of contributing factors but for today I shall focus on fitness. Let me explain:

I have had four children (not good for anybody's figure unless you're that chick from Wild On!, you know, Brooke whassername) and I like two things a lot: vodka and carbs. I was going to say chocolate but that really doesn't capture the depth of my addiction to all things bad for me. White bread, white pasta, white rice. Bring it on. All of it. And then, kind sir, bring me a King size Twix bar (or Snickers, Skor, KitKat (the list of possibilities here is endless)) and a big ol' glass of milk. And whilst enjoying this diabetic nightmare of a feast, please put some Chelsea Lately or perhaps a little Intervention on the TV. And bring me a blanket. I'm sure by now you get the idea...

Hence why I went to spin today at lunch. This was not my first time at spin, nor will it be my last. I hate it. There is burning and sweating and swearing and panting. Take away the burning and switch "swearing" for "dirty talk" and we could be talking about a real good time. But alas, we're not. We're talking about a chipper fit friend of mine on a bike at the front of the room telling me to do things like sprint. While standing. Or hey, maybe instead just do push-ups while your pedalling. I know, for fun, let's sprint and increase the tension (a.k.a. make it REALLY hard). Why go, you ask? Well, kids, with my love of TV, carbs and the vodka, if I don't go, pretty soon I'll be puking up my Peanut M&Ms and popcorn (mixed together at the theatre and it's Heaven) on the Biggest Loser while Jillian screams obscenities at me. And as much as I LOVE that show and have, on occasion, downed an entire box of Ferrero Rocher while watching it, I do not necessarily want to be part of it all.

So I go to spin. With two of friends who feel this is such a good time, they go twice a day sometimes! I know, I know. I just shake my head. And then I rest it on the pillow and eat a cookie. That usually makes me feel better.

Monday, September 21, 2009

To My Senior Friends...

I'd like to make a motion to create a bylaw (I have no idea what I'm talking about) to have all of my senior friends stay home during the following hours: 7:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. and again from 4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.. Why, you ask? Here's why: I have a job. Yep, go to it just about every day. Typically I'm running late (if it's in the a.m.) or I'm going home in the pursuit of sweet freedom and to escape talk of petite fit versus regular fit (a conversation heard in the mailroom at work today) and I'd like to be able to get where I'm going as quickly as possible. This becomes less possible if I'm driving behind one of my senior friends in his ten gallon cowboy hat driving 20km on his way to Co-op for coffee. Sir, please, for the love of God, just hold out and tell the rest of your senior friends that you'll be there by 8:30 at the latest. I'm sure they'll understand. And the bonus is a 95% less chance of my having a coronary episode before I turn 35.

I'd like to amend said bylaw to include the following clause; after it's dark out, if you are one of said 'senior friends': stay home. The other night two of my children and I were driving home from Dairy Queen at 9:15 p.m. and got behind one of our 'friends' who was driving 20 km/hour. It was dark. My ice cream was melting. Not okay. What was even more not okay was the fact that I could barely make out if anyone was actually operating the vehicle or not. It was one of our tinier friends. I get that you shrunk and that back in the day you were probably a solid 5'4" but those days are gone... If you insist on going out that late at night you need to at least be able to make it look like you can see, even though we both know you can't. Eventually we passed this person and noticed they seemed to have a healthy case of the shakes as well...and my Blizzard was a little too melt-y for my liking. I should add I did still eat it.

Okay, this got a little off my dear senior friends: feel free to roam the streets in broad daylight and when I'm at work. Other than that, stay at home and crochet or look for something you may or may not have lost. Like your teeth.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

What's the Point?

I was really gung ho about this when I first started as I imagined myself quickly being discovered as the next Jen Lancaster or Chelsea Handler. As I still do not have any followers I am thinking this is not going to happen. Which is unfortunate. If I hear one more reality show contestant or millionaire/celebrity say if you're not doing what you love then life simply isn't worth living I might lose complete control of my senses. This statement is usually said by someone who is either a) 22, single and loaded or b) loaded. Perhaps I should clarify, 'loaded' in this case means rich. Filthy rich. Although perhap there could be a double entendre here. Those who are either intoxicated, or more often, stoned, are prone to wax philosophical on the merits of pursuing one's dreams. Then they get distracted by a Dorito and all is lost....

Point being, I hate my job. I do not have the option to quit unless I'd like to have my vehicle repossessed, lose my house, and move myself, my husband and our four kids into a van down by the river. So for the time being, I'll do this little bit of writing a.k.a. "doing what I love" and it will have to suffice.