I'm in a weird place right now with the whole making-my-ass-smaller thing. [Please excuse my French.] Here's why.
1. My scale is a $8 analog scale from WalMart. Which means that it really doesn't give me my exact weight, it just ballparks it for me. Most of the time. Other times it just teases me. [It's a little bit of a lying whore a little unreliable shall we say.]
At least it seems to be trending downward.
2. My clothes don't really fit right. My jeans are all too big and kinda baggy. BUT the next size down is too tight. As in, I can suck it in and button them but I cannot zip them up. Repeat, I cannot.
3. Temptation is everywhere. A really good friend of mine just got back after being away for a few years and, well, I've been a bad, bad girl. See:
-1 lemon drop shooter
-1 double cheeseburger
-1 small fry
I'll be pondering the mystery that is deep fried oreos tonight at the spinning class at my gym. No, I didn't have any. But I better stay the hell away from the Onion [where they serve the deep fried heaven oreos.]
I work in a grocery store, a big, old, grocery store. And every winter some cute little birdies sneak in seeking refuge. They fly around for a while ripping into our backstock bags of birdseed or venturing out to the produce department to help themselves to the smorgasbord of fruits and veggies. Until this year I'd been a sympathizer. Lets face it, there are two ways to get rid of these guys. Option one involves catching them in a box/net/trap of some sort [good luck with that] OR there's option two--pulling an Elmer Fudd and shooting the poor little bastards. Poor Tweetie.
Until this year I'd been horrified by the idea that during the wee hours of the morning our night crew was doing a little "pest control" with an airsoft gun.
And then one day I was minding my own business, doing my job, when I felt something hit the outside part of my hand. That's right, folks. It was bird poo. That was when I decided we couldn't be friends any more and crossed over to the dark side. It was on.
Fast-forward to today when I found bird crap on some of my merchandise along with a slew of nesting type debris and, well...I hope they get every last one of 'em. Freakin' birds. It made me think of this:
People react differently to the singles of the world. Me, being 24, fabulous, and therefore "of a marriageable age" and in my "childbearing years" [did I miss the memo? When did this happen?] I suddenly find myself being pitied, envied, and/or suspected of foul-play because of my single status. Valentines day tends to magnify this effect. And while most of the time I'm perfectly happy being single [or not, it's all good] I find myself feeling defensive on V-day.
No. I don't have a date for valentines day. People often take a second to gauge your reaction when you tell them this. Some of them are even brazen enough to ask "Really? Why don't you have a boyfriend?" Seriously? I'm too young to be a spinster, this isn't the 18th century. We'll reassess the situation in about another 16-20 years, k?
So, seeings as I am free today and it's the lovey, dovey, hallmark holiday of couples, I figured my options were these:
1. Party Like a Rock Star
2. Sit Around Pining for a Boyfriend With A Pint of Ben & Jerry's
3. Pretend It's Just Another Day
Now. There are some problems with these possibilities.
1. A) I'm not drinking much these days--it's expensive and a lot of empty calories and I'm trying to lose weight.
B) All the other good stuff is "illegal"
C) I have to work in the morning
2. A) I'm really not the pining type
B) I'm especially not the pining type when it comes to men, my pride gets in my way
C) I'm lactose intolerant anyways
So that leaves me with option C. Awesome. I'm going to go see a chick flick with a friend of mine who has forsaken the men in her life to have some girl time and pretend that today is not a hallmark invented holiday to rub my singleness in my face.
At work we just finished a 90 day Biggest Loser contest (I only lost 6 lbs. The holidays are not my friend) and my lovely friend Denise won. We also decided to do another contest since some of us (myself included) still plan on losing more. I'm feeling more prepared this time around.
So here I sit with my coffee, letting my iPod charge a little, before I vibrate off the the gym to kick my butt a little. I think I'm going to take it easy so that I can go to the spinning class tomorrow without being in more agony than usual.
*This brings me to the contraband yoga. My friend Denise got me a guest pass to her gym back in December to check out the yoga class (for beginners) and it was great. Unfortunately I have a gym membership elsewhere and her gym is quite a drive for me--so joining was out. BUT. The yoga instructor moved the class to a sort of annexed building meaning that you can just walk right on in and he has no idea if you're actually a member or not. So I'm planning to do a juvenile sneak-in session or two. Bwahaha.