Goals for 2009

A good friend of mine, The Bad Witch, suggested on her blog that we write out our goals for 2009. I find this to be a most excellent idea. Let’s just skip the soon-to-be broken resolutions. (BTW, I never ever make resolutions about food. After 22 years, I finally figured out that those resolutions were pretty much worthless.)
So, here is my list:
1. Use my Crock pot at least once a week.
2. Shave my legs at least once a week. (This does not have to be the same day that I use my Crock pot)
3. Have an orgasm at least once a week. (Preferably on the day that I shave my legs)
4. Learn to parallel park. (Finally!)
5. Learn Morse code.
6. Learn to take accurate measurements.
7. Use my canvas grocery bags on each trip to the market.
8. Don’t let my gas gauge go under ¼ tank.
9. Say “no” more often, and don’t feel guilty about it.
10. Yell less at my kids. (My husband says he wants in on that deal too.)
11. Don’t wear a duck on my head. (oh, what? I haven’t told you this story??)
12. Be on time.
13. End all list on lucky #13.

Okay, please add your list of goals in the comments section, or I will put a voodoo curse on your bathroom scale.

Things You Did Not Really Need To Know #65

Ms. Talkative Therapists says, "Wow.....did you eat something with seeds today?" during my treatment.
"Um....nope. Just my tea and lemonade. Just like everyone else."



Uh oh. Busted.

I Finally Look Like Britney

So, do you know what happens to you if drink alcohol while on a strict low calorie, no dairy, low fat diet?

You puff up like a puffer fish.

(Or like Britney.)

This is what I looked like for the rest of the day. At first, I thought that The Hulk had squeezed me until I swelled, but then I realized that it was the screwdrivers that I had for breakfast. (well, let's not call them screwdrivers. Doing a shot of "mouthwash" and taking a bite of an orange shouldn't count as a screwdriver, right??)

So I show up to my colonic appointment, and the therapists says, "OMG!"

I acted surprised and startled. (I do this a lot in life. I'm pretty good at it by now.)

"Whaaat? What?!"

"Your face! "1

"What? Do I have food on my face??" (as if huh?)

"No, you seem to be having a reaction to something. You don't look so good."2

"Really?"

"I think that we need to do a super flush today. Whatever is attacking your system needs to be flushed out immediately. We'll do a java flush for an hour today."

Perfect.

So, now I have coffee up my arse.

I can't drink a cup of coffee, but I can ram one up my arse.

1 Damn. what a rotten thing to say to someone, huh?

2 See number one above.

The Hulk

Well, day two is starting off nicely. So nicely, that we need a nap to sleep off the "breakfast". So, we went to the pool area and grabbed a few lounge chairs. We took turns giggling at all the sober people. A few hours later, it was time for our massage treatments.

My therapist today looked just like The Hulk, but without the ripped jeans and being green. He was massive and strong. He kneaded me in every which way possible. He would grab a handful of my skin on my shoulder, and would knead it until it was soft and buttery.

And painful.

Very painful.

I would cringe and flinch each time he would start on a new area. It didn't seem to deter him at all. I start to whimper. He seems to knead harder. I get tears in my eyes, and he kneads harder. By now, I'm concentrating on a few things: keeping covered under the sheets. Not peeing. Not crying.

Finally, the 45 minutes are over. The Hulk leaves the room, and I slowly get dressed. (It takes me a very long time, since my arms don't want to work.)

I head outside, and lay down next to Ethel.

"So, how was it??"

"Very harsh. I think that guy hates me. I think he hates me because I'm beautiful........Oh, no! Do you think that he could smell the vodka??" I start to panic.

Ethel giggles.

Oh, no. "What did you do!?!" I ask her.

"Nothing!" She giggles some more.
"Okay, maybe I mentioned it to Hans that you liked it really really rough. The rougher the better." She snorts. "Next time, don't eat the last orange."

She giggles so much that she falls off the lounge chair.
I don't help her up.

Hollar!

This is a shout out to the girls in Kansas.

I appreciate the nice notes.

Now, get back to work.

Sunrise Hike

Early the next morning, we are waken by a knock at our door. It's dark, and it feels like we just fell asleep. I have completely forgotten that we signed up for the Sunrise Hike.
*Yippee*
We dress in the dark, fumbling around looking for our shoes, until we remember that they are being held hostage at the doorway. *sigh*
Out of the 30 guest at the hotel, there are only 5 of us on the hike. (Just the dumb ones, I guess.) The hosts hands us flashlights, but ask us to please only use them if necessary because it disturbs the environment. (Which, BTW, I immediately turn on and leave on. I know what kind of critters live in the desert, and I know that they like to roam around in the dark. Once again, I am the smartest one in a group of idiots.) The hike was actually enjoyable. It wasn't too strenuous, but strenuous enough to know that you were getting a workout. It had breathtaking views too.
But, hands down, the best part of the hike was when we walked by some orange trees. I quickly turned off my light, and shoved two oranges down my shirt. (Ethel managed to get three in her shirt!)
We had oranges for breakfast that day.
(and screwdrivers too. Using the last of my "mouthwash".)
HA!
Take that, Fat Farm! You don't know who you are messing with!

Nighty-night

That night was tough. The front desk came by around 8 pm, and brought us our diet "cocktail". It seemed to be some sort of broth (vegetarian, I'm sure) peppered with cayenne. It looked kindof gross. But, I was so freakin hungry, that I was not going to let any bit of it go to waste. I sipped it slowly. (I was afraid that if I drank it fast, I would get heartburn. I haven't had anything to eat, other than the lemonade all day. Recipe for heart burn, right?) Ethel hates cayenne, but she gulps hers down. Three minutes later, we are hungry again. (and our eyes are watery and our sinuses are cleared.)
We decide to take a walk around the compound. (To do so, we have to get our shoes from the front door to our dormitory. Within three minutes, someone was knocking at our door, asking us why our shoes were gone. For those slower readers..........this was their way of keeping tabs on us.) We put on our shoes, and walk around the lobby.
There is nothing going on in the lobby.
We try the labyrinth.
It's too dark, and it's still just a labyrinth.
We walk by the pool.
Nothing is going on. (which totally surprises me. You would think that there would be a few nudists, with this bunch.)
We go back to the front desk, to talk to the only other people we have seen all night. We try to strike up a conversation. We get ignored. (it doesn't help that the desk clerk was eating a Three Musketeers bar, and Ethel came thisclose to swiping it. The clerk was not amused.)

We head back to our room, leaving our shoes at the door. We flipped flopped around our room for a while. Pacing helped curb the hunger.
Pacing.
Laughing.
Crying.
That's what we did until the wee hours of the morning.
Around 4 am, we heard a knock at our door. We opened it, not fearing robbers nor rapist, but hoping for room service.
It was the front desk. They had contacted the local physician on call. They asked him to prescribed a sleeping aid to us.


Yeah.





We have bugged them sooo much, that they requested us to be medicated.






It'd be pissed if I wasn't so sleepy.

Here We Go Again.

(Blah, blah, blah.....warning..... blah, blah, blah...disgusting.....blah, blah, blah,....don't eat lunch and read....)

I'm nekkid. (check)
In a flimsy robe. (check)
On the exam table. (check)
Feet flat on the table, knees up. (check)
Hose in my brown eye. (check)

*sigh*

You would think that I would learn by now, right? How do I keep finding myself in this situation?? I honestly do not have an answer for this question.

The holistic internist (Who will now be known as The Anal Prober) does not believe in pain killers. (of course she doesn't, right?) So, I'm doing this sober. (and hungry, I might add) She has me lie on my side, as she penetrates me. (....take that all in for a moment......) I am to lay on my back with my knees bent for the next 45 mins. The clear hose is connected to a machine on the wall. It's right next to my head, so I don't miss a thing. (Hey, when did I last eat corn??) She turns a few knobs, and warm water fills my cavity. (I know that it is not possible, but I swear I thought that water was coming up my throat.) As soon as she feels resistance, she stops the flow. She complains that I "don't hold much". I feel compelled to explain that small colons must run in my family.
"Hold it....hold it......" she instructs.
"Um..how?"
I guess that she was telling me to fight the urge to bear down. No problem, the last thing I wanted to do was shit myself in a robe.
A few seconds later she would push a few buttons, and the vacuum would start. Everything would be sucked into the machine, via the clear hose. As it entered the machine, it ran through a clear little holding cell, before it was vacuumed away. As it entered the holding cell, The Anal Prober would comment on the substances.
"Oh, see that? That's been in there for a while."
"Oh, see that? That purple tint? Those are toxins."
"Oh, see that? You cheated on your diet and ate beans."
"Oh, see that? That greenish tint? That can build up and kill you."
She was seriously making conversation with me, like we were two old bats at lunch. I never answered her. (I couldn't even speak. I was concentrating on not shitting myself.) But, luckily for all of us, it didn't seem like she expected any answers.
This painful and humiliating treatment finally came to an end. She pulled out her weapons of torture, handed me a towel and handed me a tip envelope. (I'm not sure what part of that sentence was the more humiliating.)
I got dressed, and wasted time looking for my shoes before I remembered that they were confiscated. I flip flopped out of there. As I walked out the door, she says, "see you tomorrow."

Muther f'er!

Initial Reactions

So, Ethel and I take a walk around the resort. (from here on in, it will now be known as a compound) It's not fancy-fancy, but it's still nice. Very rustic and natural. The compound has several Villas (from here on out, they will be known as dormitories) and a nice outdoor area. The hillside is right outside the back door, so the views are spectacular. We walk around, and instantly realize that we are the fattest people there.

We have to sign up for our spa treatments (from here on out, they will be known as torture treatments.) I signed up for two spa treatments daily, and one group activity. (I ignored the facials, mani/pedis since I figured that I could get those services anywhere.) I signed up for a daily hydro colonic, a daily lymphatic drainage massage, and a sunrise hike. Ethel copied me but added an aqua aerobics class to her schedule. (I told her that I couldn't go into a swimming pool unless I had a margarita in my hand. You know, the ol' religious beliefs excuse.)

We hang around the pool area and sauna while we wait for our first treatments. (Drinking the de-li-cious diet lemonade, natch) It was hard to stop obsessing about food while sitting there. I picked up a magazine (Gourmet magazine. Who the f*ck brings Gourmet magazine to a fat farm?? Muther f'ers!) but it just made my mouth water. I looked around to the other guests, and everyone had that same dull look in there eyes. I started visualizing that we were all going to turn into zombies and start eating each other, but then I shuddered those thoughts away and reminded myself to have a positive attitude. (Might as well start now, right?) I found that sitting in the sauna helped curb my appetite. (mostly because it made me so parched that I considered licking the redwood walls.)

Ethel was having fun in her aqua aerobics class. She was bouncing around, swinging her hands, and laughing like a loon. (I think she got into my mouthwash. That b*tch.) She seemed to be having a good time, and everyone in her class loves her. (did I mention that she was the youngest one in the class? Yeah, it was a total geriatrics class. I saw old man balls and everything.) She splashes away the calories, while I hope to hibernate and hold off my hunger. (sucker.)

My first session is the lymphatic massage. It's a medicinal massage that uses manual touch to force out toxins from your lymph nodes. To be completely honest with you, I didn't notice a difference from a regular massage. Other than the fact that the therapist used hot wet towels first, and I was required to sit in the sauna for 20 minutes prior to my appointment. So, all in all, it was a pleasant experience. (It even made me forget about my hunger.) Ethel on the other hand had her first colonic.

It was amazing to see the physical change in her before and after. (Whoa, don't be thinking that she looked slimmer or anything!!) I'm talking about her demeanor. One minute she's bouncing around the pool, splashing complete strangers, and the next minute she walks out of the torture chamber madder than a bee. She also announces that she wants to go home. I remind her that we cannot because:

1. They have our car keys.
2. They stole our shoes.
3. And we already paid in full.

So, basically, I told her to suck it up. (She didn't say much after that, but a few weeks later she told me that knowing that I was having a colonic next made her feel better. It also kept her from putting a rock in my lemonade.)

The Fat Farm

So the next day, I talk to Tyrese about my little vacation. I gave him all the information on the resort, and showed him the website. (I had to tell him, because I would be missing my Friday and Monday workout.) After my workout, he said those magic words that almost made my pants moist. (almost.....)

"While at the resort, you can eat whatever you want."

Seriously, I almost knocked him down because I was so excited. So excited, that I didn't notice him grinning from ear to ear.

So, Ethel and I load up the car, and point it towards Palm Desert Ca. Two hours later, we are completely lost. (This was all before Mapquest and GPS, remember?) After driving around in circles, we pull into a gas station and get directions. We were lost mainly because the resort is in the outskirts of town, turning off the paved streets and driving down an isolated gravel driveway for miles. (We kept missing the darn turnoff.) Once we got down the long driveway, if you looked back, you couldn't even see the city. It was almost as if you were in the middle of nowhere.
The resort itself was rustic, but beautiful. We checked in, and they immediately took away our car keys. We were read the rules while they searched our bags. (it's rehab, remember?) All food and liquor were removed from our bags. (except for the tiny bottle of "mouthwash" that I filled with Grey Goose. Suckers.) Lights out was at 10 pm. We had to remove our shoes the entire time we were at the resort. (They provided us with slippers and flip flops to wear while we were there. Outside of our room, there was a plastic tray where we were to keep our shoes unless we were doing some hiking or walking the labyrinth........yes, I said labyrinth.) There were some areas that were strictly for women, and then there were co-ed areas. Even though some of the areas were for women only, we were to keep all of our clothes on at all times. (Really? They actually have to make this a rule?) Other than that, we had full use of the swimming pool, whirlpool, sauna, labyrinth, exercise classes, outdoor hikes, and two daily spa treatment. We were really excited about being there, until we both noticed something......there was no kitchen.
"where do we go to eat?"
Oh, remember when you walked into the lobby? That beverage bar? There is herbal tea there and you can have as much as you want.



WHAT! Is that all??!!

No, don't be silly. Outside on the patio, there is some diet "lemonade" (not really lemonade.....water with lemons floating around. That's pretty much it.) that you are welcome to have. It's in the cooler. And, at night, we bring you a cayenne detox drink to your room. You will be fasting the entire time you are here, in order to make sure the holistic treatments give you the best results.

Ethel and I looked at each other. Neither of us wanted to say anything. We just stared at each other, and blinked a lot. (Probably in order for us not to start crying, I'm sure.)

Somewhere, back home, Tyrese was laughing his arse off.

Super Cleansing

So, I take home my little box of cleansing pills. The directions seem easy enough. Take one fiber pill and one herbal pill each morning and each night. Each day, increase the dosage by one (of each pill) each morning and each night. Stop increasing when you have three successful BM's each day.

Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

The pills are pretty nondescript. They don't make me nervous nor shaky-shaky. They have a slight smell, and they give me a weird taste in my mouth. (I'll taste it all day long, since they also make me burp a lot)

All in all, I don't' see much of a difference.

*sigh*

I work my way up to 6 pills (each) in the morning, and 6 pills (each) in the evening. (this is the maximum recommended dosage.) The sheer number of pills make me gag. This is sooo not worth it.

I still do not see enough change to continue the program. I get better results from Taco Bell. (Plus, I already powered through the whole box anyways.) I'm not looking forward to the discussion that I'll have with Tyrese.

"Um, hi.....um...I failed Poop 101"

I sadly mention my defeat to Ethel. After her giggling fit, she wipes the tears from her eyes, and tells me that she has a plan.

A plan.

A brilliant plan.

Seems that she was watching VH1's "Rock Bodies". In one segment, they talked about how certain celebrities will check themselves into a diet rehab. (Genius.) While in rehab, they fast and do spa treatments. (Genius. Pure genius.) They also talked about that some of the treatments involved hydrocolonics, lymphatic drainage and herbal detoxing.
*(shudder)*
A lot of actresses swear by this treatment. In fact, it was inferred (allegedly...don't sue me.) that many actresses would check into the diet rehab center before a big award ceremony in order to fit into those tiny dresses. (While they didn't mention names, during this segment, they flashed pictures of Gwen Stephani and Janet Jackson on the screen.)
We watched the taped segment over and over again. (this was before Tivo. My one fear was that we would ruin and possibly snap the VCR tape from all the rewinding that we did.) We scoured the VH1 website. We needed the name of the spa, but it seemed to be a carefully guarded secret.
It was....until VH1 made one fatal mistake.
They flashed a picture of the spa on the screen for about 1.5 secs. That was enough time for us to freeze the frame and get half of the spa's address. One hour later, and a lot of Googling, we had the spa name and address. (It was in the California desert, about two hours from us.)(Buwahaha.....)
Ethel called the spa, and made us a reservation. We decided to stay for four days and three nights. ($1570 each and we had to share a room and bathroom. "Meals" included, but not including transportation or tips.<--- As always, those quotation marks are not a mistake.) I told Mr. Hummingbird that we were going to visit her mother.

Absence. Heart. Fonder.

Sorry for the unexplained absence. I injured myself, and have been out of sorts lately. Not to mention that I've been hopped up on painkillers. Enough to stun a small baby elephant, I'm sure.
IRL, I sound exactly like Anna Nicole when I talk. (I'm pretty sure I'm drooling too.)

Well, the fog is lifting, so I'll start posting again.

Stanks, ya'll. (<---that's me, sounding like Anna Nicole)

Flashback to Failed Diets-Top Ramen Diet

This little gem of a diet came to me during one of those drunken nights when you fondly reminisce about your college years.

"Remember how we used to eat Top Ramen everyday, and we were soooo skinny??!!"

Really people, that's all it took. Top Ramen (any flavor will do) for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (I bought 6 for $1 at our local grocery store.) Well, since I'm older now,(but, unfortunately, not much wiser) I decided on a few slight changes, to make up for my declining health.

1. Add twice the amount of water that is recommended
2. Add half a small bagful of frozen veggies.
3. Use only half the flavor packet. (to cut the sodium)

Days on the diet: 3 days
Lbs. lost: 2.5 lbs
Number of days lbs. kept off: about 4 days

Flashback to Failed Diets-Baby Food Diet

Okay, this diet came some from very good friends who used to "model". (In quotes, because anyone you meet in Ca will say that they have "modeled" at some point or another.) This very simple diet consisted of one inexpensive item...jars of Gerber baby food.
That's it.
You eat a jar or two for breakfast, lunch and dinner. (Hell, thrown one down for a snack too!) The portion is controlled, and you get none of those pesky byproducts and preservatives. After a few days on this diet, not only are you suppose to lose tons of weight, but your skin is suppose to look freakin' awesome too. (The story goes that the first few days, your skin will be irritated and gross. It's just all those impurities and free radicals being pushed to the surface of the skin. By what? I'm guessing all the damn baby food you will be eating. *shrug*) Jarred baby food is suppose to be some of the purest food on the shelf. (I couldn't find any statements to back this up, BTW. Damn you Google!)

Days on the diet: 1/2 day
Lbs lost on diet: zero
Number of jars still left in my pantry: 15



P.S. Dutch Apple is awesome. I could eat it as a snack if I was hungry enough.
Only if.

It's a Gas, Gas, Gas.

I shit tar.



(I probably should have put a warning on this post, eh?)

And I'm really gassy. Really, really gassy. Plus, it smells like someone ran over a skunk with a garbage truck.
On a hot day in July.
With the garbage on fire.

If there was a contest, I totally would have won "foulest odor to be voluntarily emitted from a live body" trophy. (thank goodness that there is no such contest.....yet)


I can't help it. It's all because of the protein shakes. The shakes pack a whopping 50 grams of protein in each shake! And, I drink several a day. This results in me burning a hole through my chair. (And actually levitating in my chair.)

*sigh*


I've adapted as well as expected. On the fouler days, I take a walk around my building. If I do get stuck indoors, I cropdust the office. I synch my steps with each squeak. If someone asks, I tell them that I'm breaking in a new pair of shoes. (LOL! Suckers!) Another of my little tricks is to carry around a small tube of Trader Joe's Citrus Room Deodorizer. I leave a little stream of orange zest when I vacate a room. (I think this smell is more confusing to the innocent bystanders, though) So far, I think I'm getting away with it. (I think, but I'm probably not....)
As for the constipation, I discovered a little remedy.

I go to Taco Bell.

Really. No, I don't cheat on my diet, well, kind of. I use the little packets of hot sauce. I drown my chicken breast in it, and 20 minutes later, I'm making a run for the border. (well, the restroom) I'm in this vicious cycle for weeks. Finally, I decide to mention it to my trainer.
He chuckles when I tell him that I got the toots. He says that he was wondering how that part was going for me, since it was a known side effect of drinking so many protein shakes. (Which, BTW, kindof pissed me off. Why did he not mention anything to me beforehand? Think of all the time and embarrassment that would have saved me??) So, he walks me to the part of the gym where they try to sell you stuff. He picks up a package and tells me that I should think about trying this. I read the package:

Colon Cleanse

No, thank you very much. I'll stick with my Taco Bell solution. He shakes his head, and tells me that my Taco Bell solution is only a temporary solution. In the long run, it'll mess up my digestion.
*sigh*
Great. I end up buying the package. ($45) This is one new product that I'm not anxious to try.




Coming up next: Ethel and I escape from the Fat Farm!

Skull Crusher Can Kill You

Okay, so me and Tyrese have been becoming really good friends. And, because of the nature of working out, I've gotten adjusted to him invading my personal space. Sometimes, he has to to get close in order to make sure that I'm not going to hurt myself. Other times, he has to get close and touch my body (parts of it anyways) to see how my muscles are holding up. And normally, it doesn't really bother me.

Normally.

Until the day I have to do Skull Crushers. (yeah, they are just as scary as they sound.) The gist of it is, you lay on your back, and raise the weights up so dangerously close to your skull. (There is a real possibility that I could accidentally brain myself.) As you can see from the picture, you really need to do this exercise with someone spotting you. (gym-speak for someone who watches over you to make sure that you don't brain yourself.)

So, here I am, laying on the bench, holding the ever-heavy weights in my hand. And, as you can imagine, Tyrese needs to stand at the end of the bench, right by my noggin. (on braining patrol, if you wish) So, basically, I am laying with my head between his legs.

Yeah....take a minute to take that all in.

So, I'm laying on a bench, with my head between this legs. And of course, not only is Tyrese looking fine this day, but he is also going commando.

Yeah, not wearing underwear under his sweatpants.

How do I know? Because all 12 inches of him are flapping around, down his leg. (I get a close up, thanks to the skull crushers. )
Every time he leans in to help me with the weight, (which is dangerously above my face, BTW) I can see his Johnson attempt to tap me on the head. (I'm dangerously closed to being woodpeckered) It makes me cringe. It makes me cringe while holding a heavy-ass weight over my face. The situation is not looking good.

I continue with my lifting. He continues counting. And his Johnson continues to try to tap me on the forehead. I'm desperately looking for a way out. But more importantly, I'm trying to find somewhere else to look!

My arms are shaking, and I want to give up. But, at the same time, I want to be done as soon as I can! My goal in life is: don't get teabagged.

After what felt like a lifetime, I finally got done. I rolled off the bench, and did an army crawl back to the locker room.

I never said anything to Tyrese.
I just couldn't do it.

Questions, questions, questions.

I've been getting a lot of questions on my blog. Here are a few that I seem to get all the time:
1. Did you lose the weight?
Yes, and no, and yes, and no again. Make sense? It will.
2. Does Mr. Hummingbird read your blog?
Mr. Hummingbird is like those cute expensive little yappy dogs that you carry around in your purse and will sometimes hump the coffee table. Very pretty to look at, but not very smart. (That's how I like my men.) I seriously doubt that he has any idea what a "blog" is, nor do I really think he cares. (unless it has many pictures of bikini clad women holding up the sports scores. Or videos of guys getting kicked in the nuts. <---- Bikini clad women would be optional on the latter one.)
3. Do wacky things always happen to you?
Yes, pretty much all the time. I've asked Mr. Hummingbird to please be sure to write "She lead a wacky life" on my tombstone, if I succumb first.
4. When are you going to post pics?
I have no plans to post anymore pics. I learned the hard way that it's easy to have your pictures used against you. There are a lot of strange people on the Internet who are just waiting for a chance to photoshop a dick in my mouth and send it to my mother in law. Maybe I'll change my mind, so don't hold me to that.
5.When does all this take place? Right now? Or in the past?
The "flashbacks to bad diets" happened throughout the years. The period that I am currently describing happens between 1997-2001. Don't worry, I have plenty of things to talk about.
6. What happened to Ethel?
I'm still friends with her. We go on many many more adventures. (Most involving pooh.)
7. Why don't you post every day?
Balance. I value my Internet time, but also my family time. Plus, I try to only post "interesting" (relative term) stuff. Most of the stuff is written in the middle of the night. (I have insomnia)
I think I covered it all. Post more questions if you got 'em.

Clothing Issues

I had to buy a new pair of shoes ($90). My old ones where all worn down. (Which, actually, is pretty funny since they have never been worn outdoors.) I bought a few new workout outfits too. I decided to try on a pair of Capri pants......but they just looked ridiculous on me. (Like I washed them in the wrong temperature and my pants shrank but I wore them anyways. ) I haven't really purchased any regular clothes yet, I just wear what is in my closet. I have clothes that range between 8 sizes. It's like a mini mall in my closet.

The worst problem that I'm having is finding a bra that fits. In one of life's greatest displays of irony, I have lost all my bewbies. (I really, really, wish that I was exaggerating here.) I wasn't overly endowed to begin with, but now, after losing a bunch of weight, I have become a punchline.
My official bra size is 42A.

Take a moment to take that all in.


Now, imagine how difficult it is to find a decent looking bra. Forget trying to find an inexpensive bra that's the right size. I finally had to give up and buy a 42C and keep adjusting it all the time.
*sigh*
So now, I'm at the point of no return. I either gain the weight back in order to get my bewbies back again, or keep losing weight in order to make the rest of my body shrink and catch up with my bewbies. This is the motivation that keeps me on the treadmill.
What's yours?

Ruby

Has anyone seen it? Ruby on Style Network. I caught the first episode, and I thought it was well done. It wasn't the circus that I feared that it would be. You'll find yourself rooting for her.
Check it out.

ETA: more info for those that do not have cable:
http://www.mystyle.com/mystyle/index.jsp

Two Worlds Collide

So, what is it about someone else’s misery, that make you feel so much better about yourself? One of life’s true mysteries.
Well, Mr. Hummingbird has been getting up early three times a week. Needless to say, he’s exhausted. I’m still going after work, three times a week. I’m exhausted. (We’re both in bed by 8:30 pm each night.) I’m calling this period in our lives the “Bypass Stage”. (By that, I mean I only see him when I by pass him in the hallway.)
Tyrese is really working him. Every afternoon, I get the play by play of what they do every morning. Sometimes I’m proud of Mr. Hummingbird, but most times I giggle at his and everyone else’s misfortunes. I secretly love seeing Mr. Hummingbird get so into exercising. I love hearing about how Tyrese is pushing him, and how he never complains. It's weird seeing him be so competitive against the other guys in the gym. (If one guy lifts 100 lbs, then they all have to lift 100 lbs. )

I do feel a little bit jealous, having to share this with Mr. Hummingbird. For so long, it was just my little world. Now, he knows all the players, and knows all the backgrounds. It's as if my two worlds have collided.

I quickly find that Tyrese is a big ol’ gossip. (It just makes me love him even more.) Pretty soon we have nicknames for everyone at the gym. (just so we can talk freely) We talk about: Big Head Girl, Douchebag, ‘Roid boy, Leopard Panties, 420 cc’s, Stinky and more. This makes the workouts almost bearable. We laugh the afternoon away. Most of the times, I'm not sure if my abs are hurting from the exercises or the giggling.

One particular day, Tyrese told me some hot gossip about 420 cc's. Seems that she was hooking up with 'Roid boy. This was truly scandalous. We micro examined each aspect of the story. We hypothesized about the possible outcome. We giggled at the detailed description of their possible off springs. I couldn't wait to get home to tell Mr. Hummingbird.

I bounced in the door, and dropped my gym bag by the door.

"Hey, I have a great story to tell you!"

"Already heard it."

Damn, I knew having him go to the same gym would cause problems.

"So, what do you think??"

"I don't care."

"Wait, what? Don't you think it's absolutely scandalous?"

"Whatever..."

"What is she thinking?? What could she possibly be thinking?"

"Well, I guess she always does dumb stuff. It's all I hear about at the gym. Doesn't surprise me at all." (Ha! I finally reeled him into my conversation.)

"Yeah, I guess so."

"She is one wacky situation after another. Her poor husband....."

"wait, what?" (420 cc's isn't married. Well, not anymore anyways.)

"Yeah, all the guys talk about her in the gym. They have a bet going for the next time she does something outrageous."

"What?"

"Yeah, I think it all started when she dropped her panties on the treadmill."

Uh, oh. Wrong girl.

"Yeah, they call her CrazyAss."

Uh, oh. Very wrong girl.

"I heard she pulled a muscle in her ass too. What a weirdo."

Uh, huh. Weirdo.

"Tyrese talks about her all the time. She really must be a pain in his arse."

Yup, she is. She is.

Deux et Une Moitié (2 1/2)

So, Mr. Hummingbird goes in for his consult. He is given a diet plan and had his measurements taken. (at 6' tall he is 155 lbs. and his waist size is 33". These are the exact same measurements he had when he was 18 yrs old.) He hope to gain at least 20 lbs of muscle. He will work out with Tyrese three times a week ($40 each session. Mr. Hummingbird has no idea of what we are paying for this, BTW.) Unlike me, he chooses to do his workout first thing in the morning, (6am) return home, and get ready for work. I think that he is slightly insane, but who am I to judge?

His diet is basically the same foods as mine. He just has to eat a ton more of them. Plus, he gets to drink FIVE protein shakes a day.($45. He can't just drink my "chocolate" drink. He opts for "vanilla". Whatever. Again, those quote marks are not a typo.)
The first day, he gets up before God got up. He drove to the gym, wearing some spanking new work out clothes. He chugs his first protein shake. He actually seems happy about it. Loser.
An hour and a half later, I'm walking to my car when I see his car pull up in the drive way. I see him put his car in park. I see him put the parking brake on. I see his head do a weird kinda nod. Then, I see him throw up all over his dashboard.

I suppress the urge to giggle. (Hey, I'm not heartless!) I get into my car and drive to work. It's going to be a good day.

An hour later, he calls me and tells me that he is "sick". He's not going to go to work today. I tell him to stop being a sissy-la-la and get his arse to work. I also tell him that if he is looking for his balls, they are in my grey purse by the front door.
That makes me giggle uncontrollably. (I actually snort.)
He ignores me and tells me that he is going into the office after all.


Don't mess with me.

The Husband Challenge Part Deux

So, I immediately call Tyrese.
"Mr. Hummingbird is going to the gym tomorrow, instead of me."
Silence.
"Are you two sharing your sports bras too?"
"No, seriously. He was mocking me. He thinks this is all so damn easy. I want him to see what I really do."
"Well....You and Hummingbird have different problems. You need to lose the weight. He needs to gain some weight. Neither of these are easy. He knows that."
"Well, he thinks that it's easy to lose weight. He's implying that I'm not trying hard enough."
Pause.
"Alright. I'll train him. But I don't do anything half-arsed. If he's coming in, he has to do the whole thing. Measurements, diet, training. The whole thing. I'm not wasting my time just for you to be able to say AHA! to him."
"I don't need your help in order to say AHA! to him."
I heard him smile.
"He'll be there tomorrow for measurements and the diet consult," I added.
"uh-huh."





"Oh, before I forget, he also told me that you were a sucky trainer." I hang up the phone.

I tell Mr. Hummingbird that he will be training for the next few weeks. He rolls his eyes at me again.
Keep rolling them buddy. Keep rolling them.



To be continued......

The Husband Challenge

So, Mr. Hummingbird has always been some what supportive. (Actually, as long as it didn't interfere with his sports on the t.v. he was fine with whatever I wanted to do.) Which is surprising, since you know, if I'm on a diet, he's on a diet.
Poor guy.
I never actually told him that he couldn't eat anything yummy in the same room as me. I guess that was just something he was able to figure out on his own. That being said, I did find a secret trash bag full of Zebracake wrappers in the trunk of his car. (shhh...don't tell him that I know. I'm saving that one for when I'm in a jam.)
Well, one day, after an extra hard workout, I flopped on my bed and started moaning. (There was no particular reason for the moaning. It just felt good.) Mr. Hummingbird walks by, and rolls his eyes.
Rolls. His. Eyes.
(Yeah, I couldn't actually see him do this, but I felt it. I leaped out of the bed and confronted him.)
"Ya' got a problem?"
"No.....no problem"
"You sure? You walked by here with a problem."
"No.....it's nothing."
WTH?
"Just say it. Tell me what is bothering you. " (So I can hurt you and make you pay for it. Over and over and over.)
"Oh....you know"

*Staring at him, and tapping my foot*

"Okay, stop looking at me. Well, it's just like you act like you just moved a mountain or something. You just walk on the treadmill, right? I can hardly see any sweat on you. But, each day, you come in here and act like you just achieved the impossible. And, you expect me to baby you all night because you're too tired to do anything for yourself. I'm tired too. No one babys me."
I stare at him.
And stare at him.
And then count to ten silently.
I take a deep breath and begin.
"I don't just walk on the treadmill. I do walk on the treadmill, but do a whole lot more. I start my day by motivating myself to not go to McDonald's for breakfast. I then talk myself out of a luxurious and creamy latte. Instead, I go to the office and have ONE cup of coffee. All the while, everyone around me is eating jumbo sized muffins with blueberries the size of small birds.
Then, I avoid the breakfast burritos, spilling out with bacon and sausages in the break room. I convince myself that my plain oatmeal is just fine, and then I go into my office and cry. I keep my door closed in order to keep out the microwave popcorn smell that seems to try to gripe me with it's buttery fingers. Never mind the cookie sales, birthday cakes, or chocolates. By the time I leave my office, I'm mentally exhausted from fighting all the cravings.
Then, I get into the car and fight traffic for 20 mins. I drive 15 miles out-of-my-way to get to the gym. I undress in front of the most perfect bodies in the city. (again, I might cry alittle) I get on the stupid treadmill, and wait for the dreaded time when my trainer comes and gets me. The whole time, my stomach is turning, worried that I will soon be suspended from the ceiling with ropes or on a pogo stick. When he arrives, he makes me work. Work my arse off. He tries to make me cry, but I will never cry in front of him. (again....anyways.) My body is near physical exhaustion now. Then, I get into the car, and fight traffic for another 40 mins. By the time I get home to you, I feel like I have been gone a week, let alone just a few hours."

Silence.

I continue, "This is a lifestyle change. Which means.....my whole life has changed. And guess what? You have to change too. I know that you have already given up a lot of greasy, yummy dinners, but you got to give till it hurt too. I didn't get here by myself, and I don't expect to get out of this hole by myself either. Right?? I didn't eat all those Ben and Jerry sundaes by myself, you know."

He thinks for a moment, then says, "Fine. It's just that you're so dramatic about the whole thing. Scott's (Mr. Hummingbird's BFF) wife never does stuff like this."

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

I lose it. Seriously, lose it. (I've had a lot of pent up emotions.)

"Are you f'ng kidding me?! You think that I'm being dramatic? You think that this is all an elaborate ploy for attention? Some super secret woman plan to attack your sympathies?" I'm shaking my head at this point.

I take a moment. Then, it hits me.

"Fine, you're going to the gym tomorrow, instead of me."
"Fine." he replied.

I smile.

TO BE CONTINUED.......

Mystery Man

I met someone recently. He's funny, smart and nice. He makes me laugh more than I ever thought was possible.
And he's about 200 lbs overweight.

He doesn't know my history.

I sit with him, and laugh until my sides hurt.
He won't eat in front of me.
He waits until I leave, hoping that I won't notice. I pretend not to notice that he's not eating.

I notice.

I smile at him, but notice the look in his eyes.
I remember that look. That dull and sad look.
I remember that look in my eyes.

I hope he's not ashamed.
Like I was.
I hope he's not uncomfortable.
Like I was.
I hope he thinks everything is fine.
Like I prayed it was.

But I know better.

I wish I could tell him that that it'll get better. I wish I can tell him that someone believes in him. I wish I can tell him that he has not failed. I wish I could tell him that he is wonderful just the way he is.

But I'm not sure how.

I try to tell him this.........in my smile.





But, it's really not enough, is it?
I feel cheap and cheated. I feel like I let him down.


This f'ng sucks.

Flashback to Failed Diet-Jaw Wiring

Raise your hand if you had your jaw wired shut.

**raises hand**








What? I'm the only one? I'm the only one stupid enough to do this? And, BTW, I totally blame this one on Tami from The Real World (Season one) for giving me the idea.
Bitch.
Mr. Hummingbird was leaving on a business trip for two weeks, so naturally I made an appointment for when he was gone.

After several dozen phone calls, (this was before the Internet was useful) I found a dental clinic that would do it. Cost of the procedure? $275


Okay, let's start by discussing the fact that when you get your jaw wired shut for dietary reasons, they actually do not use wire. They are more like BIG GIANT STAPLES. The "dentist" (yeah, those quotes are not accidents) anchors one end of the staple to a space between your teeth on the top teeth, and the other point to the bottom teeth. Now, I know that usually I survive this type of trauma by being ignorant (ignorance is bliss) about the whole thing, until the moment where my stomach does a flip and my conscience finally says to me, "Hey, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all?" But this time around, I did do a little research.

Was I fearful for my health?

Was I concern for my mental attitude?

No, I didn't want to mess up my pretty teeth. (Yup, I'm that vain. Plus, you can buy a small compact car for the money that my parents spent on my teeth.)

So, I was assured that the procedure was quick, painless, and easy.

F'ng liars.

I drove down to a not-so-nice-area of Los Angeles. I was told to bring cash only. (Yeah, I know. That should have been my first clue.) The plan is that I will have my jaw stapled shut for 14 days. I hope to lose at least 25 lbs. while on a total liquid diet. The actual procedure only takes 20 mins. and I can control any slight soreness with Ibuprofen. (crushed up and sipped through a straw, naturally)

The stapling was pretty quick. I had a slight headache, and my jaw felt sore. Since I have pretty teeth, I had to move my jaw in an unnatural position, in order to have a space for my drinking straw to fit into. Sounds great, huh?

Well, the first problem I had was that now my jaw was wired kindof crookedly. So, because I had some Xylocaine, I was now drooling. (okay, I drool often, but this time it was actually going out of my mouth and down my chin. Very attractive.) Second problem? Well, this is the part that noone told me about. But since you cannot open your mouth to eat, well, you also cannot open your mouth to get a toothbrush in there! By the third day, I swear I felt like I had a dead animal in my mouth. No amount of mouthwash or water piking helped. It was nasty! And, my pearly whites were now covered in a weird scum. Third problem? I kept forgetting that I couldn't open my mouth. Each time I tried to speak, the staples would pull on my gums. Eventually they started to bleed. I was really, really worried about getting an infection because of the whole dirty scummy mouth of mine.

My eating plan was to sip protein drinks. This plan died quickly because of the milk protein in the shakes. (Imagine a sippy cup full of milk...after a few hours under the couch. Remember that smell?? That was what my mouth smelled like.) I stuck to broths and even managed to squeeze a few small noodles in between my askewed teeth. After a while, the roof of my mouth was hurting from all the straw sucking. Yeah, I was really miserable.

I sucked down ibuprofen after ibuprofen. (which, BTW, is just plain nasty once you crush them) I couldn't sleep at night, because my face was so sore. When I did fall asleep, I started moving my jaw so I would wake up with a mouthful of bleeding gums.

Nice.

I lasted only 8 days. I couldn't take it anymore. Not so much the "not eating" part, but the "being miserable and smelly" part.

Days on the diet: 8 days
Lbs lost: 10 lbs!
# of days the lbs stayed off: about 14 days
Cost of diet: $275 and my dignity

Cough Drop Diet

Cough Drops.
Yeah, that's pretty desperate. The science behind this wonderful diet is that if you suck on a cough drop whenever you have the craving to, you know, eat anything. The disturbing menthol taste is suppose to cure you from eating. The rest of this "diet" is sensible breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I bought a bag of the most medicinal looking cough drops. Each time I had a craving, I sucked on the cough drop.
It worked.
Pretty soon, I was sucking on another.
Pretty soon, I was chewing on them.
One after the other.
I ran out of them, before lunchtime.
My throat was numb.
My teeth hurt.
And I had a sugar rush.
I figure I ate about 30 cough drops. (each one was 15 calories) All in all, I ate an extra 450 calories that day. (450 calories is a pretty large lunch, for those of you that don't know)

Days on the diet: 1/2 day
Lbs lost: zero (possibly gained 1/4 lb)
Cost of diet: about $6 for the cough drops.

It sounded like a good idea. At least I didn't get diarrhea, right?

Guess who?

Guess who got a new computer??



Yup.


Now, let me find a comfortable chair, because I have a lot to say. :)

Oh uh.

I dropped my computer!!

Actually, it cannonballed right out of my computer bag and out of a moving SUV. (I'm telling the IT guys the first story.) It's in at least four separate pieces. It's taken me one hour to type this much out, and download the pic. See the elaborate set up of pillows? It's not going to last much longer. It'll post later, once I find the duct tape.


Sorry.

The Cramp

So, I'm at the gym, and Tyrese says that he has a new exercises for me. (great!) There is a pole, no...more of a column....in the gym. (It's obviously structural, because it's uglier than ugly.) So, if you're thinking "stripper pole" think more along the lines of a subway pole. Anyways, after a fairly tough leg workout, he leads me to The Pole. I'm suppose to kneel, straddle the pole, open my knees apart as wide as they can go, and hold the pole with my hands over my head. (I hope this makes sense. There is no way that Google is going to have a picture of this.) So, now I'm at the bottom of the pole, with my hands over my head. He tells me to stand up, toes up, with all my weight on my heels. (THIS. IS. HARD) I could totally feel the muscles in the back of my legs.

"do 25 of those, then you will switch."

Around number 16, I could no long lift up my toes. My legs were shaking and quivering. He smiles, and pulls out two small blocks of wood. He places these under my toes, to keep the weight on my heels. I growl at him. I finish my first set of 25.

"Now, put the blocks under your heels, and do another 25"

THIS.IS.HARDER.

I'm grabbing on this pole for dear life. I'm sweating, so my hands keep slipping. I'm afraid that someone is going to think that I'm purposely rubbing my lady bits on the pole. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose my balance and fall over. I'm afraid that I'm going to fart.

I finish the sets, and stop. I stand up, walking around, stretching out my arms and legs.

"you're not done."

Dammit.

I straddle the pole again. This time, around number 23, I feel some pain.
Some sharp shooting pain.
On my ass.

"Cramp! Cramp! Cramp!"

I crumble to the ground. I'm rolling around like one of the Three Stooges.

"Where is it?!? Where is it?!?" he shouts at me.

I can't (and won't) answer him. I'm trying to decide if this pain will go away on it's own. (it won't)
He grabs my arm, and starts massaging.
"NO!"

He grabs my other arm, and starts massaging.
"NO!"

He grabs my leg and starts massaging my thigh.
"NO!"

He grabs my other leg, and starts massaging my other thigh.
"NO!"

He looks stumped.

"MY ASS! MY ASS! I HAVE A CRAMP IN MY ASS!!!!" I whisper in a tone only the stone deaf couldn't hear.

Now, this is the only time that I have ever seen the blood rush out of some one's face. He looked completely lost and confused. (um...who could blame him??) I could see by the the look on his face, that he was trying to decide what to do. Is this a joke? Is she really hurt? Why me?

He stands up, and scoops me up in his arms. (his manly, strong arms) I'll floundering around, so it's more like we are wrestling than him carrying me. He rushes me to his office, and throws me on the couch. (face first, I might add.) He shuts the door.

"Where?! WHERE?!"

I point my my left ass cheek.

He starts massaging my ass cheek!

My body tenses up, fighting it. He presses harder. (yup, that's going to leave a mark.) He starts kneading my ass cheek with all his might. (BTW, I don't have to fart anymore.) His thumb is closing in on the forbidden zone.
I lay there, clenching my teeth, waiting for the pain to go away.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, my ass stopped hurting.
"Okay, it's gone now," I whispered.
Tyrese sit down next to me, just as exhausted as I am.
Neither of us say anything.
We just sit there awkwardly.

Finally, he gets up and tells me, "you're not drinking enough water. You're on a high protein diet, so you need more water otherwise you're always going to cramp."

That's it??!

"you know, in some countries, we'd be married because of that."

He cringes.

My eye!

I bought this energy mix called Zipfizz from Target. I understand its has "Fizz" right in the name. But when I dumped the mix in my water bottle, it fizzed up over the bottle!
All over my desk!
And for some reason it jumped up into my eye!!

It hurt so much.

I feel like I took it in the eye. (And not in the usual fun way that involves dressing up like Little Boo Peep.)

Doppleganger

So, I'm walking by the newish receptionist in my office today. As I walk by, she says to me, "Oh! I dropped off my son at the YMCA, and the teacher reminded me soooo much of you!"

"Oh....was she jaded?"

"No."

"Was she bitter?"

"NO!"

"Was she drunk??"

"OMG, I hope not! She was watching my son. Just something about her mannerisms reminded me of you. That's all. Just making conversation....."

Whatever.


Watch out ladies....there are two of us now.

Miss Britney

So....did you see the new video??








I recognize her workout.






Shhhh......don't tell anyone.

Another strange workout

You know, I really thought that with all the beautiful modern machines available at the gym, that somehow they were responsible for the magic of a stronger, hotter body. Tyrese is showing me, that you do not need machines and gimmicks to get sexy. If you want it badly enough, you will find a way.

After a grueling workout, I headed over the the treadmill, for my endless and mindless walk of death. He stops me, and tells me that he wants to try out something new.

Great. (And, "not fair! I wasn't even whining today!")

He leads me to an old decrepit machine. This thing has seen better days. It's sorely out of place in a gym full of shining clean machines. It's a Versaclimber. (Trust me, they were BIG in the 80's)

The machine seriously looks out of place. It looks like something he "won" in a late night poker game. (while all his poker pals held back all the snickering) Or something that he took as payment for services rendered. (you can use your imagination....) Either way, I snubbed it. Why the hell was I going to waste my time with something so old and useless???

And of course, if it was something that I didn't want to do......you can bet Tyrese was going to make me do it.

Twice.

So, he smooth talks me into it. (using his most velvety chocolate smooth voice.) He tells me, that instead of a half hour on the treadmill, I can do five minutes on this machine, and be done for the day.

SOLD!

I climb on the rickety rusty machine. (I swear...... I hear it creak and moan in pain) I move my right hand up, and my right foot follows. The left side soon follows. It's a little hard at first, because it seems like it hasn't been used in a long time. As I continue, it glides a little easier. I fear that the rusty bolts will give away at any moment.

After a minute, I'm sweating.

After two minutes, I'm dying.

After three minutes, I want to die.

After four minutes, I wanna kill someone.

After five minutes, I'm just so happy that I didn't pee on myself.

The whole time, the machine creaks and moans. (It really needs a good oiling.) But, it was harder than I thought, and I'm exhausted. That machine is tougher than it looks. It doesn't matter that it's old. Or out of shape. Or makes a lot of noise. It's still tough. It's still an ass kicker.

Just. Like. Me.

It's my favorite machine now. And I swear, I lose weight at twice the speed now that I have been losing it. (And I promise you, I'm the only one in this crazy Hollywood gym that is using it.) I work my way up to 15 minutes, and that makes me happy.

So, if you see something that is old, decrepit, and frail.......don't underestimate it or it might just kick your ass.

Just. Like. Me.

Coffee Does Not Fix All Ails

So, I get to have ONE cup of black coffee (no creamer, no sugar, no artificial sweeteners). You better believe that it's the best cup of coffee I've ever had.
So, one morning, I'm putting off eating my plain oatmeal. I'm getting to the point, that just the sight of oatmeal is making me gag. I glance over to the coffee pot, and think to myself, "Hey! I think I have a great idea!! I love coffee, and hate oatmeal. Why not pour in coffee in my plain oatmeal and make it taste better!!??"
I'm f'ng brilliant, right?


60 seconds later, the microwave dings. I grab my bowl, and hurry to my office. I cannot wait to try this culinary revolution.



It tastes like ass!


And worst yet, now I wasted my one cup of coffee!!
Arrrrggghhhh!

So, remember.....coffee and oatmeal do not make a good mix.

Blech!

Excuses, Excuses.

I like the Internet. Mostly because I can have the perfect life online. What do I mean? Well, if you read my posts, you get the sense that I never cheated on my diet, or that I worked out each day that I was supposed to work out.
BIG. FAT. LIE.
So, in order to make my online life as real as my IRL, here is the list of actual excuses that I've used to get out of working out.

5. I forgot:
a. my shoes
b. my socks
c. my pants (Yes. I actually said this.)

4. I have to work late tonight.

3. There is too much traffic.

2. I have no energy because I didn't eat enough.

1. I'm on my period and/or I have cramps.

The last time I used the period excuse, he told me, "Knock it off, you had your period on the 14th. Come in now."
I was stunned. How the hell did he know that??
Later, after my workout, I was in his office talking. I glanced over, and saw ON HIS WALL CALENDAR.

Client #43 (My name here) OTR

Yes, ladies...I'm such a pain in the ass that some man other than my husband and doctor is now documenting my cycles.

It's a gift.

Me vs. a Girdle

So, Tyrese suggests that I wear a waist trimmer when I'm on the elliptical machine. (yes, I'm still pumping away on it. And "no" it hasn't gotten any easier.) Alot of the people in this gym wear neoprene shorts, waist trimmers, and full space-man-aluminum suits that encourage sweating.
And lots of it.
The waist trimmer he suggest is suppose to encourage some target sweating on my most giggly area. (such a lovely thought, huh?) I turn down his request for me to wear the neoprene shorts, but agree to the waist trimmer. I pick it up at the sports store ($22) and toss it in my gym bag.

When I dress for the gym that day, I take out the trimmer. (It looked just like this one, but without the zippers. Zippers were more expensive, so I settled for a tube of neoprene.) I'm already dressed, so I'm not sure how to get this thing on. I finally figure out that I have to take off my shoes, and step into the tube. I fight with it for a while, and get it up past my hips. I struggle some more, and get it in place, under my clothes. It's slightly holding me in, so it gives me a nice shape. Not too bad, huh? I walk out of the gym, a little bit taller.

I'm on the machine, and start pumping. A few minutes later, I'm sweating.
Like some type of barn animal.
Especially around my midsection. I start to pump more. I'm really sweating now. Now, the neoprene is resistant to liquid, right? (think of a wetsuit) So, now that I'm all liquid-y, the neoprene is no longer holding me in. Instead, its swishing around my body, floating on a sea of sweat. (eeewww.) The trimmer is going every which way now. I continue with my workout. Soon, the top of the girdle starts to slowly roll down. (Like pantyhose do. That does happen to everyone else, right? It's not just me with the pantyhose, huh?) The girdle is slipping.........and now the bottom is rolling up. So, it's slowly rolling up into a weird rubber tube around my waist. Rubbing against my irritated skin, and sloshing on a layer of sweat. I try tugging at it, but it still resist me and continues to roll up.
The force is strong in this one.
It's now taking my t-shirt with it. My shirt is caught in the roll, and I'm somewhat exposing my bare white stomach to the world. (I'm sooo sorry.) I simply cannot take it anymore so I jump off the machine and head to the locker room.
I start wrestling with this animal. Trying to pry it off me. It's hot, wet, and slippery (eewww.) I don't want it to touch my face, so I pull it downwards.
It takes my pants with it.
I'm now standing in the locker room in my underwear.
I step out of the trap, and it grabs for my shoe.
Great, now it's stuck on my shoe.
I sit down, and peel it off of me. I drop it on the ground, and start stomping on it. (in case it starts to chase me, you know?) I get dressed and leave the girdle on the floor for some lucky treasure hunter.
Of course Tyrese doesn't believe me when I tell him that I was wearing it. (He thinks I made the whole thing up. As if.) He tries to convince me to give the neoprene shorts a try.
Are you out of your mind?!?
Next, he's going to ask me to wrap myself up in cellophane and hot sauce!!




Yeah, you're right. I'd probably try it.
Once.

Random Fat Embarrasing Moment #713

Here in Calif, we have the best of the best in fast foods. Yes, I'm talking about In-n-Out Burgers. The menu is simple but delicious. They specialize in fresh, fresh, fresh. (they never use freezers or microwaves.) The locations are small little shacklike kitchens, hence the "in and out". You don't even have to get out of your cars to enjoy the decadent meals! They pack your meals depending on whether you will be eating it in the car (you get a sturdy box to hold your meal) or take it home to eat (the meal gets bagged).
Years ago, while at my highest weight, I volunteered to pick up lunch for my coworkers. As I sat in my car, waiting for my turn. I placed my order to the giggling teen on the speaker box.
"One double-double with grilled onions, fries, and med coke. Two cheeseburgers, no onions. Two extra large orders of fries."
Giggle, giggle.
"and a strawberry shake."
Giggle, giggle, "um...you're not, like, totally going to eat that all in the car, right?" Giggle, giggle.

I managed to squeak out a small "no".

Giggle, giggle......."OK, pull on up!"

Did she just insult me? I'm not really sure. It's not like she can see me, right? But, that was weird, right?
As I pull up to the pick up window, I hear more giggling.

"I'm going to give her Diet coke instead!!"

Again, I want to believe that I'm not hearing this right. Why would someone be so cruel?? Of course I don't say anything to the two young blonde barbie dolls working inside. I see them giving each other the eye, and stifling more giggles. I say nothing as they hand me my food.
I drive away, feeling nauseous. I could still hear them laughing.
I ended up not eating my lunch. I had lost my appetite.

I just slowly sipped my diet coke, trying to push down the huge lump I had in my throat. (yeah, those bitches gave me a diet coke)

The Quest for Coffee

So, I'm still doing my thing. Eating bland foods, and working out every day. I'm not loving it, but at least I'm still not hating it. I'm still a whiny bitch, but at least I'm a funny whiny bitch. Which in turn make me and Tyrese "friends". (At this point in my life, I see him more often than I see Mr. Hummingbird) I still try to get away with as much as I can, and he still tries to kill me. It's a beautiful relationship.
One day, after my warm up, I walk over to the weight room to meet him. He says, "we're going outside today." Gggrrrrr.........He's getting creative again. I'm not sure if I'm going to like this. Plus, it's crazy hot outside.
Outside, he hands me a jump rope. And I laugh out loud.
He's totally kidding, right?!? What the hell am I paying him for if he's just going to make me jump rope??! I'm not 7 yrs old! (Yeah...... I don't say this out loud. I've learned my lesson on that, thankyouverymuch.)
"Seriously?" is all I say.
"Yup. See if you can jump for 30 secs straight."
I don't move. I really can't believe that he wants me to do this. It's hot. I'm outside, in front of the gym where everyone can see me. And he wants me to jump rope? He notices my hesitation. And he goes in for the kill.
"If you can jump rope for 60 secs straight, I'll add coffee to your diet."
OH. HELL. YES.
I haven't had coffee in over a year. I dream about coffee. I smell coffee everywhere I go. I salivate every time I drive by a coffee shop.
"you're on, sucker."

"1, 2, 3, Damn."

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5, DAMMIT."

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5..............23, 24, 25, DAMMIT!!"

"1,2,...............45, ,46 ,47...........WHAT THE HELL?!?"


45 minutes later.


"1, 2, 3........57, 58, 59, 60!!!"
I crumple to the ground. I'm covered in sweat. I'm dirty. My face is on the concrete. (eeww!) I lost a shoe at some point. I'm panting, wheezing, and coughing all at the same time. I'm drooling again and I have snot all over my face.
I open one eye, and notice that at some point, a crowd had gathered around me. (great!) I open the other eye, and look around for Tyrese. I see him inside the gym, sitting in a chair and enjoying the air conditioning, looking at me through the plate glass windows. He's smiling.
I smile, and slowly raise my right arm. And I flip him the bird.
His smile gets bigger, and then he mouths the words, "300 bicycles" at me.

Dammit.







Don't kid yourself. It was worth it.

A Visit to my Doctor

During the time that I broke my last toilet seat, and the time I saw my Celebrity Trainer, I took a trip to see my family doctor. Now, I don't go to the doctor unless I'm really afraid of some limb falling off me or if something is turning a weird color. But, at the urging of my Celebrity Diet Expert, I decided to go in for a full check up. I'd been to the doctor (OB/GYN) because I had been trying to get pregnant. But, my OB could only do so much for me. My General Practitioner was going to run a full array of tests. My serious concern was my thyroid. I needed to make sure that it was right on track.
At the office, I had to get on the scale, which I absolutely hated. The nurse whispered the number to me like a dirty little secret that we were both sharing, (326 lbs) while I knew that had I weighed 150 lbs, she would have shouted it across the room. I was poke and prodded. (but, not the good kind) And stuck with a needle. My doctor did a quick physical exam. (he was worried about my lungs of all things!) He asked me how often I went pooh. How often I peed. Did I sleep on my back? Did I have any pains? After a long list of questions, he sent me home to return in a few days.
Upon my return, I actually felt better. And lighter. I sit in the office, and wait for my results. He tells me the words that I've been dreading...........

"There is nothing wrong with you. The only way you will lose weight is with proper dieting and exercising."

Great. I know I should be happy, but I was hoping to have an excuse.
"So, you're sure that my thyroid is fine? I'm really worried about it. I think it's keeping me from losing the weight."

"Nope, it's borderline, but that shouldn't affect you."

I thank him, and get ready to leave. Then, he says it.

"You know, if you just skip dinner every night, the weight will just melt off."



WHAT! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I leave, disgusted. Obviously, this guy does not understand being overweight.

AT. ALL.

I never go back to that particular doctor. It's been close to 10 years now.

Flashback to Failed Diet- The Corn Diet

Yup. Take a few minutes to take it all in.

The Corn Diet.

(for those of you with a weak disposition, you may want to just skip this post altogether)
The idea is just to eat corn for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Yummy.
You are allowed to eat it roasted, steamed, boiled, and (if you really, really wanted to) raw. The basic idea behind this diet is that corn is not only a high fiber food, but it's also very difficult to digest. (those of you that still change diapers will know what I'm talkin' about) So, like many "diets" the hope is that you get full on food that will pass through your body so quickly that it hardly has time to digest. Sounds absolutely lovely, right?
Actually, it sounded like my ass was a machine gun.
Days on the diet: 2 days
Lbs lost: zero
Cost of diet: $160 for the plumber to come fix my toilet.

5 Thing to Never Do in a Locker Room

1. Sit on the benches naked. (Really?? Do I have to tell you this? Well, I've seen it. Bare ass on the bench. Their towel sitting right next to them, helpless and lonely. I carry around Lysol in my gym bag now because of you Miss-Bare-Ass-USA)
2. Use your camera phone. I will leap over the bench and pummel you. (My naked ass will not end up on the Internet.) Even if you are just checking your text messages, you will just be an innocent bystander in the fisticuffs. You have been warned.
3. Spray any type of toiletry that will leave a noxious cloud of chemicals in the locker room. Not only is it bad for the environment, but if it makes my allergies go crazy, you will hear about it. Several times. (achoo!)
4. Touch or move any of my stuff. I'm normally not territorial, unless it comes to my toiletries. Why would you want to touch my FDS spray anyways?
5. Walk around completely naked, and expect no one to notice nor care. I really, really do not see every little bit of you. Ever. I don't care that you are a size 00, and that they are 520 cc each. Or that you waxed it in the shape of a heart. Respect yourself and respect me. Show some modesty please.
I reserve the right to revise this list with little or no warning. And, I probably will.

Flashback to Failed Diet- Bodywrap

I saw a college friend of mine, who looked fab-u-lous. I was at a party, but spent most of the day staring at her, trying to figure out what was different about her. After a while, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I cornered her. I asked her what she was doing, because she looked great. She smiled and then leaned in really close. She whispered to me, "I'm doing body wraps. Shhh....don't tell anyone. I don't want everyone doing them. (rolls her eyes) I'll give you my girl's number. I've lost 6 inches, and my skin feels brand new."
WOW. I felt like I just joined some secret society.
I was giddy. Finally, FINALLY, finally I was in with the cool crowd. I was so excited, I ate two pieces of cake at the party.
I get the number, and call up the spa. I make an appointment for the first available appointment. I'm going in for a "Cleansing wrap". ($125 plus tip)
At the spa, it's fancy-fancy. I feel like such a country bumpkin, but try to relax. I meet my "wrapper". A big, strong woman from Hungry. She leads me to the private room, and has me undress and put on a bathrobe. She leads me to a bathtub filled with muck.
It stinks.
Like sulfur.
Like farts.
Like "old man farts".
She instructs me to climb into the tub. I hesitate, and for some reason this bothers her. She physically takes my robe off and leads me into the tub of muck.
I am completely grossed out by this. I'm not a germaphobe, but this was nasty. The tub was full of mud from the Dead Sea. It was expensive and alot of it. I imagine that they will not dump it down the drain, after I soak in it, right? So.......who was soaking in it before me? BLECH! It's not like they can add chlorine to it, right? So, I'm soaking in someone else's personal funk. I soaked in it for about 15 mins, but it felt like forever. I imagine all the pee that was in there. (right, like someone had to pee, so they got out of the tub, rinsed off, dried off, and went to the restroom, and then returned to the muck tub? Hell no. They added their own DNA to my muck tub.) I was trying to relax, but my eyes kept scanning the muck, looking for black curlies. How can I relax when I'm on a pubic hair hunt?? I pretty much ignored the fancy candles, mood lighting, and songs of whales mating. Finally, my wrapper let me out.
Now, I'm modest. More modest than most people I know. I was walking around completely naked, but did not care. (all my bits were covered in muck anyways.) She leads me into a small tiled private room. Completely tiled, including the ceiling. I get a feeling of deja vu'. Then, I realize what is about to happen. In my mind, I flash back to all those jailhouse movies where they take the lead character and turn on a fire hose on her. I'm about to get power washed. In a few seconds, my wrapper starts to shoot water at me. I run and try to hide in the corner. I have mud and water......everywhere. She started to power wash me with warm water, and THEN CHANGES IT TO ICY COLD WATER. (for my pores, she yells at me as I roll up into the fetal position on the floor. My only goal is to not get water sprayed up my ass.) She finally stops and starts to come towards me with a scrubber. She scrubs every inch of me (Every. Inch.) with a salt rub. She is wearing scrubber gloves.
She scrubs my elbows to raw.
She rubs my knees to raw.
She rubs my bunghole to raw.
I'm a gasping for air, and trying not to get salt in my eyes. I'm drooling and my nose is running all over the place. It's slippery, and I keep falling down. She rinses me again with the ice water. I don't even fight back at this point. If I was in jail, this is the part where I become someone's bitch.
I'm lead to a massage room. I lay on a water bed. (my ass immediately sinks to the bottom.) She proceeds to wrap me up in sheets. I can smell eucalyptus and roses. (the sheets have been soaked in essential oils to help with the detox.) She wraps me up tight. TIGHT. Like, I have trouble filling my lungs with air. TIGHT. Again, I'm trying to relax. She puts cucumbers on my eyes, and rose petals on my face. As a finale, she places a heavy heating blanket on my chest. (I swear, it weighed like 20 lbs) Now, I really can't breathe. I'm trying to relax, listening to those horny whales mating. I imagine that at some point, I will pass out from the lack of oxygen. The ambulance will be called. They will have to cut me out of the sheets in order to rescue me. I must have dozed off while imagining my rescue, (or.....passed out) because the next thing I know my wrapper is unwrapping me. An hour has passed. I hobble off the bed, my legs and arms are asleep, and head for the locker room. As final instructions, she tells me to eat a light meal tonight, and not drink anything. (yes, you read that right. ANYTHING) My clothes felt looser, and my skin newer. (I imagine it was because most of the top layers have been removed.) Later that night, I honestly felt better. And thinner.

Until I had some water to drink, and my clothes got tighter.

After eating dinner, I had to slip into my sweatpants.

Dammit.

Bicycles and Abs.

So, remember those fabulous exercises known as Bicycle crunches? Yeah, I'm still doing them. Alot.
It actually made me smile recently, just thinking about how horrified I was when my trainer asked me to do 75 of them. Now, I hardly blink when Tyrese tells me to do 300 of them.
You read that right.

300 of them. At one sitting. Without crying.

You owe me a f'ng medal. (send it to me please. Tyrese doesn't believe that anyone is actually reading this blog.)

So, I notice something really odd. Really odd. I'm starting to get these weird lines on my tummy. I'm still overweight, so don't get excited here. But, I have these weird-ish folds on my tummy. I notice them in the mirror, and make a mental note. The real magic happens when I try to blow dry my hair.
I'm blow drying my hair. (it must have been Mr. Hummingbird's lucky night. Wink, wink) I'm carefully balancing my big old round brush, and my ancient hairdryer in the other hand. Both hands, are obviously, above my pinhead. Then.......I see it.
My stomach looks awesome.
Awesome.
Like, Madonna awesome.

I nearly drop the hairbrush. I cannot believe it. My stomach is cut. Well, not cut, but I have these two parenthesis lines. Not the six-pack, just the parenthesis.
It takes my breath away.
Of course, it goes away (mostly) once I lower my arms. I raise my arms above my head, and I instantly lose about 20lbs. I keep my hand above my head for as long as I can. I immediately try to figure out how to have sex with my hands over my head. (if you can figure this out, please let me know. STAT.)
I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to walk around town with my hands in the air. I contemplate yelling, "STICK 'EM UP!" each time I walk into a room.
I daydream about the day that walking around with your hands in the air will become fashionable. Again, if you have any ideas on how to make this happen, please forward them to me.

The Belt

One day, I have a big important meeting at my office. One of those meetings where everyone crams into one big room, sitting around a table, eating all day. (great!) Everyone just stares at each other for eight hours. (you are not allowed to scratch, burp, sneeze, cough or heaven forbid you have to fart.) And, if you aren't eating along with everyone else, all the eaters try to guilt you into joining them by whining, "but, it's just one donut!"
The hell with all of you! I don't drag my old bones to the gym, skip eating anything palatable, and walk the Bataan death march on the treadmill just so you feel good about yourself because you are allowed to eat a donut. Quit your whining, because it's just not going to work.
So, I'm sitting through a few hours of droning, when I need to get up and move. My legs are starting to twitch. (remember, not only do I get shin splints now, but I swear that I have RLS) So, I discreetly get up and head for the restroom. As I'm walking, I notice the band of my trousers are really loose. (for those of you that have never experienced it, when you are overweight, and sitting for long periods of time, all of your bulk will stretch out your waistbands on your pants. Mostly, when wearing jeans. The minute you stand up, your pants will go south. Don't believe me? Take a look at all of those "pants are falling" videos on America's Funniest Videos.) I'm wearing my "power suit". Black suit pants, and black jacket. Topped with a tasteful purple silk shirt. (size 16 BTW)

My pants start to slide. I grab them before any of my goodies start to show.

I make it to the restroom, but I'm torn at what to do. How do I fix this?? I still have a few hours left of imprisonment. After some failed attempts, I MacGyver an elaborate string of paperclips and rubber bands that allow me to walk without holding up my pants. (stapling did not work.) At lunchtime, my plan is to run to the nearest Target, and purchase a much needed belt.
At lunchtime, I run out of these as fast as I can. (which, is not fast at all considering I can possibly stab myself in the hooha with a paperclip.) I arrive at Target, and check out the belts. Now, it's been a loooong time since I bought a belt. (possibly in 1986, and it was big and white, and hung on my hips like Madonna's did) So, after a frantic search, I find one that might fit. It's $30. Now, I'm frantic, but I'm also a cheapskate. I cannot bring myself to pay $30 for a belt. I just cannot. I head over to the clearance section, and I see it. An elastic belt, without a buckle but some rings instead. (like you would put on a kindergartner) It's priced at $1.98. Perfect, right??
Not so much. The elastic part is striped. Purple stripes, pink stripes, and.........lime green stripes. Did I mention the rhinestones?? WTH? Who would wear this hideous thing?!?! Some cheap ass who's pants where falling down, that's who.
So, I put the belt on, and figure that no one will be the wiser since my shirt will cover it. It's not like I'm wearing a mid-driff.
Back in the conference room, I arrive just in time. I make my way back to my spot, and prepare to be bored to tears. About three hours later, I have to move again. I'm not worried about my pants falling, so I leap out of my chair and head for the door. Upon my return, I knock something off the desk. (of course I do, right?!?)

I bend down to pick up the scattered papers.

The room is silent.

I go back to my seat, and the meeting resumes. Thirty seconds later, I get a text message from my co-worker.

"Did you mug a clown while you were at lunch?"

I stifle the laughs, and ignore my coworkers texts for the rest of the day.

I wear the Clown Belt on occasion. I like that it's elastic-y. Especially when I don't want to buy new clothes "just yet". But, I think it's cursed because every time I wear it, it manages to be seen by the unsuspecting public.
If you've seen it..........I'm sorry.

Weird Boobie Rash

So, I'm using the elliptical machine all the time now. I'm really working it. And, I'm sweating buckets. So, of course that has it's own consequences. I've started to develop a weird rash underneath my boobies. I'm think it's a combination of my sports bra, and the fact that my boobies no longer rest on my belly. (yay!) But, a rash is icky, so I start all kinds of self medicating since I'd rather lose a tit than go see my doctor.
I start by exfoliating with a soft scrubber. It's still there. The next night, I exfoliate with a pumice stone. (I know! WTH was I thinking??!!) It's still there, but now it's all red and angry. I wait a few days, to let it breathe. I spread neosporin on it. It helps, just a little. The next night, I spread hydrocortison on it. It helps, just a little. The next night, I spread lotrimin on it. (icky)
It helps, more than anything else. I continue this for a few days, and try and go bra less as much as I can.
So, the rash is better, but I don't want that thing coming back YKWIM? So, I start using talc underneath there. It helps, but just until it wears off. I try chapstick. (I know, I know...) It didn't seem to do much. I try vaseline. (I'm all lubed and ready to go.) It helps, but I got one pimple so that was the end of that. I'm sitting, staring at our medicine cabinet. Bag balm? No. Tiger balm? No. Baby oil? No. I start looking through Mr. Hummingbirds stuff. I see a small container, which at first I thought was a travel size deodorant. It's Body Glide. (perfect!) I read the back and see that it's a sport lubricant. (Exactly what I need!!) I try it and to be honest with you, it's just like a cross between chapstick (Ha! and you laughed at me!) and deodorant. It works great. I start to use it every day. I'm crazy happy about it too. I even start using it on my heels, to prevent blisters.
Fast forward a few weeks. Mr. Hummingbird is in the shower, getting ready to take a trip to Baja. He starts packing his toiletries. He opens the Body Glide, and is shocked to see that most of it is gone. (oops!) He starts to panic, because he needs it for his trip. We discuss, and I volunteer to go down to the "running store" to pick some more up before he has to leave. (I'm an f'ng sweetheart, huh?) Upon my return, I ask him the question.
"Hey, what do you use this stuff for?"
"Oh, I use it when I go surfing."
Weird. Yet intriguing.
"Tell me more"
"Well, sometimes the wetsuit rubs my skin. And when sand gets under the wetsuit, it rubs my neck raw."
Oh. No problem.
"But, it's mostly for my nutsack. The wetsuit rubs on my nutsack, and it kills."
Ummmm....what?

It's lube for his nutsack.


I'm back to using talc.

Flashback to Failed Diet- Smoking

Smoking.

Yup, I went there. I blame Shannon Doherty.
Shannon Doherty once confessed to smoking in order to maintain her weight, and to lower the pitch of her voice. (don't believe me? Read it here. Lowering her voice?? That should have been the first clue to the insanity of this advice.)

lbs lost while on "diet": Zero
Days on "diet": about three weeks
Physical effects from "diet": Stinky hair, horrendous morning breath, aggravated allergies, unknown physical damage to body/lungs.

WTF was I thinking??

Flashback to Failed Diet-Popcorn and Diet Coke Diet

So a while ago, I read an article about Christine Alt. (model Carol Alt's sister) She had just begun her modeling career and was sharing some modeling secrets. One of her secrets? Her diet, of course! Her "diet" consisted of eating microwave popcorn and drinking Diet Coke.
That's it.
(I'm totally not making this up. ) So of course I had to try it for myself.
I lasted three days. I had to stop because my head hurt so much.

Actual lbs lost: 3
Total number of days that the weight stayed off: One (I gained it back as soon as I ate actual food.)
Physical effects of diet: I think I have some possible brain damage.

Miscellaneous info: Christine Alt went on to become a plus size model after developing several eating disorders. She has stated that while on this diet, she suffered from memory blackouts. (Niiiiice)

So bottom line: Kids-Don't try this at home.

Embarrassing Gym moment #17

As usual, I'm running late. I throw some laundry in the machine while I get ready for work. Due to an unforeseen mascara incident, I'm really running really late now. I scramble to the door, stopping at the dryer just long enough to shove my gym clothes into my gym bag.
After a long hectic day, I'm on my way to the gym. I'm a little bit hungry and low on energy. (In my rush this morning, I forgot my sweet potatoes. And, its' not like I can just stop anywhere and pick one up.) I change into my clothes, trying to be as modest as possible. (and avoiding eye contact with anyone else in the locker room). Since I'm late, my plan is to go on the treadmill, covering up my time on the machine with my towel, and pretend that I've been there the whole time. Sneaky, eh?
I jump on the first machine I see, and hop along like I've been doing this for a while now. As I'm walking along, I feel something weird at the back of my neck. At first, I think that my hair is stuck partially in my shirt, but it's not. I casually bat at my back, but don't feel anything. I continue to walk along, still feeling something weird on me. I try to reach behind me, but I do it half-assed since I'm afraid of losing my balance and falling off the machine. Nothing. I glance behind me, and try to read the people faces in the row behind mine. Nothing out of the ordinary, so I continue walking. I imagine that my shirt must be tucked into my sports bra, but its not. I pull down my shirt, thinking that my shirt might be tucked into my pants. (That would give everyone a clear view of my ba-dunk-a-dunk.) No, it's not tucked in.
Finally, Tyrese starts to head over to me. I'm nervous about getting caught skimming my time. Just as he gets to me, I whip my head around, AND FEEL SOMETHING CRAWLING DOWN MY BACK! I jump off the machine, and look back, expecting to see the biggest hairiest spider ever. We both look over to the machine, just in time to see a pair of my panties roll off the treadmill and come to a complete stop right in front of Tyrese.

Really.

I looked him straight in the eye, stepping over the rolled up thong, and said, "ready to go??" while invoking the biggest smile I could muster. And blinking. Blinking alot.
He looked at me. Looked at the panties. Shook his head, and walked with me to the weight room.
Neither of us ever mentioned this again.

What's the lesson of the day?? Always check your clothes for static cling stow-aways.







P.S. I never found out what happened to those panties. Oh, and remember, they were clean, at least!

Fight to the Death

You know how to tell that you need a new bra? When your current one is so loose around you that when you raise your arms above your head, the bra turns against you and attempts to strangle you. You start batting at it like some kind of rabid wild animal, only succeeding in making it climb to the top of your head. You then try to wrestle it back into position, huffing and puffing like a champion fighter. You finally win.

Add 20 points to your score if you are in a crowded office when this happens.