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.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, September 22, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, September 12, 2008
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??
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.
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.
Monday, September 8, 2008
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!
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!
Friday, September 5, 2008
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.
Add 20 points to your score if you are in a crowded office when this happens.
Cooking with Me
Well, after a few more sessions, Tyrese added to my wonderful menu of items. He allows me to have 100% organic honey. (Yipee!) I know that it does not seem like a lot, but it is. This is the first sweet food I have been allowed. Can you imagine? I start to get uber creative with my food. Some are hits, (honey on grilled chicken, with butter buds) some are misses (red snapper with honey.....not so much). I add honey to my sweet potato before my workouts. (stab it like a gangster, nuke it, drizzle with honey, and sprinkle cinnamon. Taste almost like a dessert. Almost.) I add honey to my apples. (same recipe as above) I stop myself from adding honey to my asparagus. (there are some lines that I just do not cross)
I'm buying most of my food at Trader Joe's. It's a tiny bit more expensive, but convenient. They have the most wonderful frozen asparagus. I just grab a handful, and cook them on my Foreman grill. (Warning: make sure that the smoke from the cooking chicken will not set off the fire alarms off at your office. Who puts a smoke detector right in the break room, anyways??) And I cook my chicken breast at the same time, squirting both of them with lemon juice right before I try to unstick them from the grill. (the lemon juice helps to unstick them. You know what else helps? Garlic flavored Pam) Once in a while, I'll add green or red peppers to my grill. It's amazing how you crave veggies when you are not allowed to have them.
Huh, it really sounds like I actually like this food.
Don't be fooled. I'd stab you for a hamburger from In n Out.
I'm buying most of my food at Trader Joe's. It's a tiny bit more expensive, but convenient. They have the most wonderful frozen asparagus. I just grab a handful, and cook them on my Foreman grill. (Warning: make sure that the smoke from the cooking chicken will not set off the fire alarms off at your office. Who puts a smoke detector right in the break room, anyways??) And I cook my chicken breast at the same time, squirting both of them with lemon juice right before I try to unstick them from the grill. (the lemon juice helps to unstick them. You know what else helps? Garlic flavored Pam) Once in a while, I'll add green or red peppers to my grill. It's amazing how you crave veggies when you are not allowed to have them.
Huh, it really sounds like I actually like this food.
Don't be fooled. I'd stab you for a hamburger from In n Out.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Et tu, milk crate?
So, I'm working out like a crazy person. I'm at the gym, most of the day. While all this physical activity is draining, my biggest enemy is boredom.
Boredom keeps me off the treadmill. Boredom makes me want to cancel my sessions. (boredom still hasn't reached me on the elliptical machine. Boredom is probably too busy laughing and pointing at me to try to get me while on that particular machine.) Boredom keeps me from doing my exercises fully and correctly. Boredom sucks.
So, Tyrese is always one step ahead of me. (Whether I like it or not.) He's always trying creative ways to get me to do my stuff. Some things work, some things don't work.
One day, he lugs over what looks like an over sized plastic milk crate. He sets it up in front of the gigantic mirrors, and waves me over. He tells me that I'm to put my right foot on the crate. Then my left. (so I'm standing on this precarious crate now. It moans slightly.) Drop my left foot back down to the ground, followed by my right.
"That makes one."
I giggle at this. This is so absurd! I feel like a complete idiot climbing on this plastic crate in a gym full of thousands of dollars of state of the art equipment. I stare at him, waiting for him to say, "aww, just kidding!" He doesn't. The rest of the guys in the weight room, stare and look at me. (Great.) This has to be some weird kind of gym hazing, right?? Right?!
Tyrese says, "okay, do 74 more. Be sure to start with your right foot, and end with your right foot."
Sheesh. He talks to me like I'm an idiot. Really? Is this what I'm doing today?
12,13,14.....
What a waste.
20, 21...22...
Woah! These are hard.
32................33..............
Holy cow. These crate is high.
44..........................................................
I can't breath!
................51............
Why are my legs shaking? Are we having an earthquake?!?
..........#$%&*!!?##$...........62......................
Must. Not. Stop.
.....74!!!
I collapse on the floor. Tyese comes over to me, nudges me in the ribs with his toe.
"you alive??"
I gasp for air. I need to pee. My nose is running. I want to cry. I have sweat rings under my boobs, armpits, and crotch. (niiiiice). I croak out a sound similar to "yes".
"Good, now do 75 starting with your left leg."
Bastard.
Boredom keeps me off the treadmill. Boredom makes me want to cancel my sessions. (boredom still hasn't reached me on the elliptical machine. Boredom is probably too busy laughing and pointing at me to try to get me while on that particular machine.) Boredom keeps me from doing my exercises fully and correctly. Boredom sucks.
So, Tyrese is always one step ahead of me. (Whether I like it or not.) He's always trying creative ways to get me to do my stuff. Some things work, some things don't work.
One day, he lugs over what looks like an over sized plastic milk crate. He sets it up in front of the gigantic mirrors, and waves me over. He tells me that I'm to put my right foot on the crate. Then my left. (so I'm standing on this precarious crate now. It moans slightly.) Drop my left foot back down to the ground, followed by my right.
"That makes one."
I giggle at this. This is so absurd! I feel like a complete idiot climbing on this plastic crate in a gym full of thousands of dollars of state of the art equipment. I stare at him, waiting for him to say, "aww, just kidding!" He doesn't. The rest of the guys in the weight room, stare and look at me. (Great.) This has to be some weird kind of gym hazing, right?? Right?!
Tyrese says, "okay, do 74 more. Be sure to start with your right foot, and end with your right foot."
Sheesh. He talks to me like I'm an idiot. Really? Is this what I'm doing today?
12,13,14.....
What a waste.
20, 21...22...
Woah! These are hard.
32................33..............
Holy cow. These crate is high.
44..........................................................
I can't breath!
................51............
Why are my legs shaking? Are we having an earthquake?!?
..........#$%&*!!?##$...........62......................
Must. Not. Stop.
.....74!!!
I collapse on the floor. Tyese comes over to me, nudges me in the ribs with his toe.
"you alive??"
I gasp for air. I need to pee. My nose is running. I want to cry. I have sweat rings under my boobs, armpits, and crotch. (niiiiice). I croak out a sound similar to "yes".
"Good, now do 75 starting with your left leg."
Bastard.
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