Botox, baby

I have never claimed to be a fashionista, or an advertising maven, or costuming expert. I have my basic uniform of t-shirt and jeans that I wear most days, swapping out for a tank in the hottest days and a button down shirt or plain sweater in the winter. It's pretty basic (but not BASIC, uhm-kayyyy??).

So even though we have now thoroughly established I'm no clothing expert, I am appalled every time the Botox for migraines ads come on TV. The lead gal they cast is *basically* (pun intended) beautiful, and does a reasonable job pretending to walk around migraine-free.

"I need a venti soy half-caff extra hot PSL stat!"

But. Her. Outfit. It is the most unflattering, ugly, horrendously dated frumpy thing I've ever seen. Boxy, blousy, too-big, droopy button down shirt tucked in to frumpy, pleated, too-big, cankle-length khaki pants.

Maybe if I put my hands on my waist you'll know I have one...

They have taken a reasonably attractive woman who likely has a "perfect" body under that mess and made her look like a lumpy dumpy homely frump-meiser. That costumer should be fired! S/he obviously has a grudge against this poor lady who is just trying to make a dollar for herself by doing a really stupid Botox ad.

*just think about the paycheck. smile for the paycheck. moneymoneymoneymoney*

I mean, look at this woman! She more than likely has a body most women would kill for and you can't even see it under all those pleats and poufy clothes. She might not have migraines anymore but she has a headache from looking at herself in the mirror.

Dumb-a Zumba

For about the past year, I have been doing P90X3 with Tony Horton hears a Who and I have been getting a bit tired of the same-old Tony.

So about two months ago, I joined a gym to mix things up. I have been trying out some of the classes, and last week I tried Zumba for the first time. I am not a dancer, but it's not like I have two left feet either. I can carry a tune in a bucket and I have a left and a right foot. But... I looked a bit like a daddy long legs trying to be Ginger Rogers.

Not cute. There was a woman right in front of me that was, ahem, larger than most of the other women in class, but let me tell you... she was Zumba Queen!! She was sexy, sassy, and Zumba'd her ass off! I was so jealous of her hips that didn't lie. To quote Shakira:

And when you walk up on the dance floor
Nobody cannot ignore the way you move your body, girl
And everything so unexpected - the way you right and left it
So you can keep on shaking it

I coulda watched her shake it all night! She had this darling skirt over her capri leggings, a tank with a bright sports bra underneath... If I take it again I will wear a cute outfit and put my hips through a lie detector test and then maybe just maybe I won't look like such a spaz.

the masochist's diet plan

For those of you who are looking to lose a few pounds and don't mind a little torture, have I got the diet plan for you! I lost four pounds in 24 hours! All you have to do is eat some spoiled, pooped on, e-coli, salmonella food!!

*berf*

The only thing I can pinpoint that might have caused my unexpected weight loss was a bagel and cream cheese. It tasted fine. Maybe a fly pooped on it. Maybe the lady didn't wash her hands. Maybe I touched a door handle with bad germs. Whatever it was, a few hours later I was shopping for my boss in Target and all of a sudden that awful feeling came over me...

Uh oh...

So I'm in the seasonal area, and I can barely stand up without seeing stars. I have to sit down. Oh dear. I sit and wait, concentrating on breathing, for an employee to come by and ask where the bathroom was. "oh it is just on the complete other side of the store about as far away from here as possible - might as well be on the moon!" Greeaaaat.

I stumble about one aisle at a time, pausing only to keep myself from passing out. I finally make it to the bathroom... and it is being cleaned. Seriously.

Anyway, the bad news, I couldn't leave that Target for about an hour and had to stop twice on the way home. The good news is after about 24 hours I was good as new, and about four pounds lighter.

So next time you need to fit into those skinny jeans or wear a swimsuit tomorrow, just eat some tainted turkey, curdled cream cheese, spoiled salami, or gross gouda!

Who needs Weight Watchers!?

Disappointment, served cold.

So now that I'm one of those annoying people that counts calories, I look at things like serving size, grams of protein, and sodium percentages.  So why do so many of them make no sense?

First, the ones that make sense. One glass of wine, one serving. Yes, I still drink some wine, just not every night by the bottle. Wow that makes me sound like an alcoholic. I swear I'm not. Protesting doesn't make it sound any better, does it...

And a serving size that somewhat makes sense, Lindor truffles. Serving size, three truffles.

I could eat just three truffles. In fact, with some restraint, I could even just eat one or two. I am so saintly.

But then we get to pickle spears.  Serving size... 3/4 of a spear. Who on earth eats 3/4th of a pickle spear?

And don't even get me started on Girl Scout cookies.  You mean to tell me that a serving isn't one full sleeve of Thin Mints?? Preposterous.

Proof of their addictive qualities

FOUR COOKIES? That's it??? What? Who in their right mind can stop after only FOUR???? (sigh) the things I do to fit into my jeans...

Diet is "Die" with a "T"

I had a rude awakening at the beginning of the year. My good friend Claire had begun a new business venture, and I thought I would help her by joining her fitness challenge.  She makes money for each person that participates. Plus I love a good challenge! Well, first thing we had to do was measure ourselves and step on the scale and... *gasp* how in the Sam-Hell did I put on 15+ pounds???? My pants are a little muffin toppy, and yeah my boobs are bigger, but wtf?!?!?

FATTY!!!!

Anyway, I immediately thanked my lucky stars for the wakeup call and the impending diet/workout plan.  The good news -- it is five weeks later and I'm nearly 12 pounds lighter.  The bad news, dammit I'm hungry.

I have never had such bad cravings; wanting to eat everything in sight! Maybe that's because I just ... ate everything in sight. That is, I just ate whatever I wanted.

And then I didn't exercise for months on end.

So I guess I shouldn't have been SO surprised that I had put on a few ell-bees.

It is just so strange, this calorie-counting, this withholding of foods, this ... diet. Or as Garfield would say:

Maybe this is just what happens when you reach "a certain age." Maybe finally finally finally my metabolism has caught up with me. ...or maybe I just drank too many empty calories. Drunky.

Either way, I'm powering through. Gonna drop at least 5 more pounds. Another 10 and I'm back to my high school weight.  hmmm.  nothing tastes as good as thin feels, eh? We'll see about that...

nothing tastes as good as thin feels. except maybe chocolate. and cheese. and ice cream. and pizza...

Fat and happy.
Just an expression, right? well guess what? I'm miserable and (getting) thin! yeah!  Let's hear it for the breakup diet!

(or, what really happened) I realized I've put on a substantial amount of weight in the past year and a half, so I decided to do a 30 day challenge with Beach Body. What this means is instead of my beloved cereal for breakfast, I have a protein and superfood shake. And instead of sitting on my lardass on the sofa, I work out. To Tony Horton. *shudders*

Actually, everyone hates you. 

Seriously, I think he is the MOST annoying person on the planet!  I don't even think the other people in his videos like him. They just like the idea of being on a P90X video, and getting paid for it. You'll see them on the break or after the workout hugging each other, giving each other high-5's, and then Tony comes around and they all act like "oh yeah, Tony, right. yeah, man, here's your hug-5. please hire us again for more of your videos." Even though I'm still not really familiar with all the routines, I have to put the video on mute. I just cannot hear his lame ass jokes, his narcissism, and his trying to be cool.  Dude, you were never cool growing up, and you're not cool now.  You just have something everyone wants. If you didn't have that, no one would talk to you.

On the plus side, (or minus?) I've lost over 8 pounds in two weeks!

Today I ran (ok, ok, jogged/walked) a 5K. I fucking hate running. But I also have learned about myself that I don't like to follow rules. But how can I commit to the results if I don't commit to the rules?

So, off I went. I didn't want to have to drive a path first to mark out 3.1 miles, so I downloaded this app called Map My Run.  I don't like running on busy streets, so I found a quiet little neighborhood and, well, see if you can see my route...

What!?!? So I was running in circles. Ain't no shame.  It's not like it is my life! Oh wait...

All the single ladies put your hands up

Fuck you, Beyonce, you shouldn't even be putting your own hand up to your own song because *newsflash* you're NOT SINGLE.
Sigh...
Single AGAIN. And yes, I was dumped. 
And I'm in fucking bakersfield teaching.
And the idiots at the school office have their heads up their asses and don't do their work so I had a very stressful day.
And I'm hungry because I'm doing a fitness challenge (more on this later).
And there's a line at chipotle out the door, and they have stopped taking our orders because they have online orders to fill and the dumb lady behind me keeps thwapping me with her kid's blanket and/or her hair and she won't shut up talking to the little butterball Anthony.

Anthony! Look at Mommy! Anthony! The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout, down came the rain and WASHED the spider out! Out came the sun and dried up all the rai---

And then I turned around and punched her in the face.

OK, OK, so I didn't punch her in the face. But I really wanted to. Especially when she chastised her kid for not paying attention to her. Um, lady, he is maybe 12 months old. He has the attention span of a gnat. And you are clearly an idiot.

Don't fuck with me when I'm hungry.

I finally fed the beast (ahem) and became the beauty again.  (see what I did there? I loaded that with a compliment to myself.) And Anthony's dumb mama escaped a beat-down. At least for today...

hoopty ride

Remember that one time last year (I love saying "last year" even though it was less than two months ago) I quit my job? Well, I was so excited to be outta there that when I raced out to my car, I hopped in and didn't notice the note on my windshield until I had already started to drive away. I saw it with a sinking feeling.  I hopped out, grabbed the note, and sure enough,

I hit your car pulling into the space next to you, I'm very sorry.  Please call (555) 555-5555 for my info (insurance) sorry again. Have a good day. 

And with that, my heart fell to my knees. My precious baby! My sweet love! I cannot believe somebody hurt you!! I race around the car, searching for the wound.  One lap around and I don't see anything.  What the? ... Second lap around, I notice a teensy small scratch and ding on the rear passenger door.  HUGE sigh of relief...

So finally after the holidays and being sick and trading emails with the poor kid who scratched my car, my sweet baby is in the shop getting repaired this week.  So I am going to rent a car while mine is being worked on.  I head into the rental place and they let me know that due to some mass-rental through Emerson College, my choice was a GMC Yukon or a GMC Yukon.  uhm... okay, I guess I'll take the Yukon?

This thing is HUGE. I mean, you could run over a small child and not notice.

"Did you hear something?"

"No, did you?"

"Guess not."

Seriously, I was driving this tank around and the only thing bigger than me on the road was an 18 wheeler.  Now, on the one hand, it gave me a little more sympathy for the people on the road driving these things.  They are huge and squirelly and can't exactly zip around.  Changing lanes requires a uniformed cop holding back the other cars on the road.  They aren't exactly the easiest things to drive.  But on the other hand, why the hell do you need so much car??? Are you really hauling that much crap around?

Here are some "fun" comparison specs:

Yukon: 5,685 pounds
Mazda 3: 2,866 pounds
(the Yukon is 2.3 times the size of my car)

Yukon: 222.4 inches/18.5 feet in length; 76.8 inches/6.4 feet in height (yes, I practically need a ladder to get into this ride)
Mazda 3: 180.7 inches/15 feet in length; 57.9 inches/4.8 feet in height

The Yukon can haul up to 9600 pounds!!! Someone tell me why anyone in LA needs to haul 9600 pounds.  Your kids aren't that fat.  Wanna know how much my Mazda can tow? Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Which is FINE because most of the time the only thing I'm hauling around is my own butt!

Anyway, I've got this behemoth for a week, so ... anyone need to move some furniture?

you're listening to radio KWTF

I hope I'm not bursting anyone's bubble, but one of my favorite gigs is "live" radio shows.  You know on morning shows when they have listeners call in and air their dirty laundry? Many times that is not real... those are actors improvising a setup thought up by some producer.

*POP*

Today I got to "call in" to a radio show in Southern California and say that my "husband" bought me a treadmill on Amazon for Christmas and I know this because the confirmation email came to me and I am upset because I don't want a treadmill.  Now sometimes you get to chat with the DJs for a while and sometimes it is quick.  I had a whole back-story planned: I mentioned to my sister that I was thinking about starting to workout and my husband must have overheard.  I can appreciate the lengths he went to to find an original gift that I might actually like, but does he secretly think I'm fat? Is he giving me a hint? He must not be attracted to me anymore. Doesn't he know that treadmills are expensive and I would rather have had a vacation??? And does he not know that our place is small??  We don't have room for a treadmill.  If he really wanted to buy me something insulting a gym membership would have been better; at least that is something that I would use. Jeez.

Ooooh snap. (sassy hair whip)

Sadly, I think the bit was about 90 seconds and I barely even got out the explanation of why I knew that he bought me the treadmill.  All that back story for nuthin'.

Well, if any of you are in SoCal tomorrow listening to morning radio and hear a familiar story, you'll know it was because my husband is a complete ass and doesn't realize you never buy a woman an appliance for christmas.

that's a fake smile if I ever saw one/going to withhold sex for two months

well hellooooo ladies...

Got myself a job interview at a women's only gym.  (or as my dad would say, 'weeeeemen's gym,' pronounced like Oscar Mayer's 'wiener')  even though the last time I worked at a gym I gained weight and was completely micro-managed.  I interviewed with the assistant manager lady and seemed to win her over, although the interview was über-short and felt like she was rushing through it.

She ended the interview by letting me know she would be seeing some other applicants, and would let me know by next Monday.  Why do I feel like I shouldn't be holding my breath?

On a side note, I had to wait a bit in the lobby before my meeting, and I got a look at the clientele... let me just tell you it is most certainly NOT the ladies-only gym of men's fantasies.  The women I saw coming and going were mostly average-sized to overweight and with a few exceptions, all over 40.  PLEASE know that I am not hating on these women! Good for them that they are taking care of themselves and making time for their health.  I'm just saying it's ... well, it is what women would expect a women's only gym would be.

Bahahahahaha! Ha! Ahem. 

Yes.  but maybe less makeup and hairspray.  and after a year's membership. 

Who knows, maybe I'll get the job and look like the lady in the first picture.  Gills and all...

a newfound respect for strippers

For my birthday last month my dear friend bought me a groupon for Goddess Fitness Dance, a place where you can shake your chakras for a workout.  I had been procrastinating going, because to be honest, it isn't really my cup of tea (or so I thought). I don't go to the gym, I don't do dance classes, I hate running; I am a yogi who occasionally does pilates.

With trepidation, I decided to start with something called "Pole-Candy Camp" aka "Pole Conditioning" mostly because it is at a convenient time.  I arrive and sign in with a rather hefty girl working the front desk, and there are a few other ordinary looking ladies of varying sizes waiting in the lobby.  I look around and see a little bit of retail: tutu's, bedazzled tanks, booty shorts, ensconced in drapes of red material that line all the walls.  I can hear a class going on as I sign a waiver the length of my arm, and feel nerves of butterflies skitter through my insides. I was expecting something like this inside the room:

The last class exits and we enter through the red curtains into a large dimly lit room with stripper poles every few feet.  I see others putting down yoga mats, so I do the same and sit and wait for what I can only imagine.  The teacher comes in, and boy is she not what I expected! She is a chubbette if I ever saw one.  She is short, chunky, and wearing what appear to be underwear and a wife beater.  Her arms are sausages and her thighs are heavily dimpled.  This is our pole teacher? Ha! Ok, I got this.  If this little butterball can fling herself around a pole, this is going to be a cake-walk for me.  I am by no means ripped, but I've been very active my whole life and exercise regularly.

you get the idea... 

We start with the "warmups," and by the end of warmups I'm questioning what I'm doing here... I'm already huffing and puffing and sweating profusely. Then we line up in two lines to do pole work.  The teacher, whose voice sounds like a mix between the teacher from Charlie Brown and a hyena, instructs is to do the "peter pan."

flail around pole while bending your legs behind you

Chubs demonstrated, and I thought "easy peasy." Uhmmm, notsomuch.  I look like a bug caught in a bug zapper. Then we added on and did the tinkerbell and captain hook.  Finally, the butterfly: hike yourself up to the top of a pole (like climbing a tree when you were a kid but without bark for handholds and with adult bodyfat) and then twirl around with your hands and feet around the pole, knees out like butterfly wings.

something like this

Our teacher, Chubbs McGee, makes this look easy.  It is not.  First attempt landed me mostly kersplat on the ground.  Take two, no splat! Take three, cranged the top of my foot against the pole... that's going to bruise deeply.  Finally by the end of class, my arms are screaming, my abs are complaining, my legs are even slightly cranky and there are several bruises already forming.

The next morning I am so sore I can barely move.  I feel like I've been run over by a mack truck.  I audibly whimper trying to pull up my pants when I am getting dressed for the day.  I arrive to work and can barely pull open the door to my office.  Ow Ow Ow OWWWWWWW.  Where did these sore muscles come from? I feel certain I didn't even know I had these muscles... and yet here they are, screaming at me.

All I can think is... when can I go again?

lesson learned. mostly.

Note to self: going to yoga after eating a giant bowl (or two bowls) of pasta and cheese not such a great idea.

"Mr. Yuck"

Especially when you're expected to do twisting poses.

hurl

Not sure how I powered through without barfing.  And you'd think I would learn my lesson after yesterday evening, but apparently I decided to eat my weight in homemade potato salad (you've just got to taste it -- it is delicious) juuuust before class tonight.  Seriously, am I a glutton for punishment? Because when you're doing shoulder stand and all you can see is your gut hanging out, it is NOT attractive.

notice her completely flat stomach

Here's how this works for everyone *except* this woman above, who clearly is an alien from another planet called Flatstomachon 5.  You start out by doubling over on yourself with your feet over your head.  This feels "amazing" because your fat rolls are crushing each other trying to compete for space with your lungs.  Then you wedge your elbows and hands under yourself for extra support and hoist your legs up into the air.  At this point, your shirt starts to fall toward your chest threatening to expose your blubber.  You grasp at your shirttails while trying not to fall over.  With fistfulls of shirt, your belly is still somewhat protruding because you've grabbed your "flowy" shirt tight to your body to keep it from pooling up around your armpits.  You don't believe me? Give it a whirl. See how good your belly looks in this position.

As I've said before, I refuse to be a heifer and join the ranks of Lowered Expectations. Or as our former president George W. Bush said, "There’s an old saying in Tennessee – I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee – that says, fool me once, shame on – shame on you.  Fool me – you can’t get fooled again.” – Nashville, Tenn., Sept. 17, 2002 (Watch video clip; listen to audio clip) So from now on, only reasonable amounts of food before yoga.  Unless its really really really delicious.