I've decided that I'm gonna lose weight. Big deal right? Yeah, I know.
Whoop-dee-do.
Annnnyways.....
I've joined a class at the gym around the corner (not the actual gym just a class held there) called Zumba
*don't you feel thinner already?!?*
and its led by a peppy little chick named Christal. And yes, it is spelled like that. She's about yaaaay big *hold fingers up just a leeetle bit apart*, and she wears her hair up in a ponytail about this high *pointing to the very top of my head* and smiles like her face is going to break. Ugh.
But I digress.
It's like an aerobics/dance/shoot me because these women keep !wooing! like they're having chocolate sundaes while riding a rollercoaster class. Two weeks ago it was my first class, and it was a freebie. Designed to suck you in with those gyrating hips, the shaking bosoms, the perky clapping, and then the next class they hit you with the fees. Smart marketing people, smart marketing.
And tonight I bought the card entitling me to 9 more blissful sessions!
Seriously, I think I may actually hate this class. I considered just buying the 5 pack of lessons, but thought, "what the he11 else am I going to do to shed the pounds?" and bought 10. Now I'm thinking if I hit the 4 available classes every week I'll be done those mutha's in 2 1/2 weeks! Yah baby yah!
There is also a bag of fruit sitting on my dining room table. And if I have to eat it, so does The Family. Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!) may get an exemption, but ONLY because I'm the one who picks up after her outside and I'm not messing with that pile of poo. Literally.
One of my biggest sorrows with starting this whole 'watch what you eat, move your ass a bit more, drop some of that extra blahhh' are my screwdrivers. And no, I don't mean the rubber handled doo-hickeys that the Man asks for by name "Hon, could you hand me the red robby?"
Me --> "The who in the where now?!?"
No, I mean my beloved vodka and orange juice heaven. I read online today that one screwdriver is approximately 200 calories. :0 And that was for one serving, and I'm just taking a wild guess here, but my one serving never equals the one serving marked on the back of the package. 8 potato chips? 1 cup of cereal? 2 cookies? Pshawww. That's the kiddie version....right? Right?!?!
I ain't givin' them up. Nope. Won't do it. I'll cut back, sure. Well, sorta. I dunno. I'm not making any promises, okay?! A woman can only cut out so much white bread, chocolate and potato chips before she gnaws off her left arm in dieter's hell.
And I like my left arm.
So if anyone feels like joining me, feel free. Except YOU... Thing #5. *Pointing* You know exactly who you are. Unless you've put on the "freshman 15", if I so much as hear about you losing a pound I may have to pound y.... give you a hug and say you're perfect the way you are. Leave the pound dropping to us phat chicks. ;)
And here, now you can watch Christal in action.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYekJsCatxo
Ciao! *that's pronounced 'chow' in case yer too embarrassed to ask.*
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Today is a sad day, my friends.
A sad day indeed.
Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DAMN DOG) has annihilated Woody. The Boy's cherished Woody doll. He was a 6 inch tall doll of unknown history (yay Value Village shopping mommy!), but he provided many hours of fun and laughter. And Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!) decided that she'd had enough of his chipper "Howdy Partner!" and lively "There's a snake in my boot!" and tore Woody to pieces. Ugh. Now I'm charged with the job of hiding his mutilated body before The Boy wakes up, and damnit I'm gonna find a replacement too. Someday, somewhere, I'll piss Whiskey off (the DOG people, THE DOG!) and once again open our home to the perky voice of Woody hollering "Yer my FAVOURITE deputy!"
So there, DOG! I will win. I will. Mwahahahahahaha!
Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DAMN DOG) has annihilated Woody. The Boy's cherished Woody doll. He was a 6 inch tall doll of unknown history (yay Value Village shopping mommy!), but he provided many hours of fun and laughter. And Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!) decided that she'd had enough of his chipper "Howdy Partner!" and lively "There's a snake in my boot!" and tore Woody to pieces. Ugh. Now I'm charged with the job of hiding his mutilated body before The Boy wakes up, and damnit I'm gonna find a replacement too. Someday, somewhere, I'll piss Whiskey off (the DOG people, THE DOG!) and once again open our home to the perky voice of Woody hollering "Yer my FAVOURITE deputy!"
So there, DOG! I will win. I will. Mwahahahahahaha!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
What to say, what to say... hmmm.
Today I waxed my kitchen floor.
Aren't you excited? I'll take this time to remind you that YOU wanted me to blog.
Where was I?
I tried to do it yesterday but then The Man called and needed me to file some papers for him at work because some head office guy was coming down and the office was messy. Cool!
So when The Girl got home from school I told her she had a babysitting job and SHE WOULD BE PAID !woot woot! So we went over how to cook the macaroni for supper, and that the computer was off-limits because she had The Boy and Whiskey to watch (the DOG people, THE DOG!). Then I told The Boy that I was going to work. And he gave me the most confused look ever. I wish I had a video of it, it was that comical. Then he gave me a hug, which I never get unless I ask, and he made me go like "Awwwww".
Then I left.
And I blasted the radio on an awesome station on my way to the jobsite (after I turned off the ♪ I clap my hands like this *clap*clap*clap* I clap my hands like that *clap*clap* ♪ song) and went to 'work' with some real adults. Man, has it been a long time. In all it took us 3 hours of filing and some work to take home and we were done. Blessed employment, too bad I'm a volunteer.
So then I waxed the floor today. And the stuff smelled pretty, like fruity almost. Weird, very weird, and I felt bad for Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!) that she had to stay home in her crate while the floor all around her dried, and then I thought hey, maybe that sweet fruity smell is actually the coverup for some serious mindbending drug-like hallucinations that are about to begin and damn that dog why can't I be in the crate!
Maybe the hallucinations had already started. Somedays it's hard to tell.
I came home later to check out the beauty of my waxed floor. Opened the door and was confronted with a triangle that EVADED WAX! Unacceptable and unbelievable! I made plans to fix that spot once The Boy had gone down for his nap, and then tragedy struck. The Boy dumped his entire glass of OJ on the floor during his lunch. The whole glass! Which he usually guards with his life like it's some sort of liquid ecstasy! Un-frigging-believable. At least the floor was freshly waxed and it was easy to clean up.
And the house still smells a little fruity, but the crate smells a little like Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!)
And she keeps growling at me.
Maybe she's still hallucinating.
Or maybe she wants me to get out of her crate.
Today I waxed my kitchen floor.
Aren't you excited? I'll take this time to remind you that YOU wanted me to blog.
Where was I?
I tried to do it yesterday but then The Man called and needed me to file some papers for him at work because some head office guy was coming down and the office was messy. Cool!
So when The Girl got home from school I told her she had a babysitting job and SHE WOULD BE PAID !woot woot! So we went over how to cook the macaroni for supper, and that the computer was off-limits because she had The Boy and Whiskey to watch (the DOG people, THE DOG!). Then I told The Boy that I was going to work. And he gave me the most confused look ever. I wish I had a video of it, it was that comical. Then he gave me a hug, which I never get unless I ask, and he made me go like "Awwwww".
Then I left.
And I blasted the radio on an awesome station on my way to the jobsite (after I turned off the ♪ I clap my hands like this *clap*clap*clap* I clap my hands like that *clap*clap* ♪ song) and went to 'work' with some real adults. Man, has it been a long time. In all it took us 3 hours of filing and some work to take home and we were done. Blessed employment, too bad I'm a volunteer.
So then I waxed the floor today. And the stuff smelled pretty, like fruity almost. Weird, very weird, and I felt bad for Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!) that she had to stay home in her crate while the floor all around her dried, and then I thought hey, maybe that sweet fruity smell is actually the coverup for some serious mindbending drug-like hallucinations that are about to begin and damn that dog why can't I be in the crate!
Maybe the hallucinations had already started. Somedays it's hard to tell.
I came home later to check out the beauty of my waxed floor. Opened the door and was confronted with a triangle that EVADED WAX! Unacceptable and unbelievable! I made plans to fix that spot once The Boy had gone down for his nap, and then tragedy struck. The Boy dumped his entire glass of OJ on the floor during his lunch. The whole glass! Which he usually guards with his life like it's some sort of liquid ecstasy! Un-frigging-believable. At least the floor was freshly waxed and it was easy to clean up.
And the house still smells a little fruity, but the crate smells a little like Whiskey (the DOG people, THE DOG!)
And she keeps growling at me.
Maybe she's still hallucinating.
Or maybe she wants me to get out of her crate.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Losin' my blogging cherry
So last night, or early this morning depending on how you want to look at it... I had the most awesomest idea for my very first blog post EVAR!
Then I thought to myself, Self you should go write this down! 'Cause you know, Self, the odds on remembering this moment when the sun decides to show up are slim to none! And then I said to Self, (and I probably DID say it rather than think it, because did I mention it was 4:15am and I hadn't slept at all because The Boy had been complaining, moaning and whimpering all freaking night resisting all of my techniques for comforting him rathering instead to continue complaining, moaning and whimpering while tossing and turning and wanting to be held no put me down I don't want to be held with a smattering of loud wailing and complete silence fooling me into thinking that he had finally settled and fallen asleep only to begin said complaining, moaning and whimpering until finally at 4am he dropped a duece in his Huggies and immediately succumbed to the sleep that had been screaming his name since 8pm and then I had to wake him up and change that nastiness at 4:05am to finally tuck him snugly in his bed at 4:10am and return to my own bed to find a wet spot AND NOT THE GOOD KIND where The Boy had kindly slobbered and drooled and cried whilst I tried the beforementioned comforting techniques so I had to grab a towel and make do with some colourful cursing thrown in for good measure until I finally pulled the sheets up and tried to tune out the *ahem* gentle <--snicker snicker<-- throat rattle of The Man and shoot eye daggers at the clock that was announcing that it was OhEmGee 4:15am and !!POUF!! a mindblowingly brilliant first blog post entered that shady area called my brain and I knew it was FATE... and I said to Self, "Nah, I'll remember it! No worries! It is that.totally.awesome."
I didn't. And you got this. Suckers.
Then I thought to myself, Self you should go write this down! 'Cause you know, Self, the odds on remembering this moment when the sun decides to show up are slim to none! And then I said to Self, (and I probably DID say it rather than think it, because did I mention it was 4:15am and I hadn't slept at all because The Boy had been complaining, moaning and whimpering all freaking night resisting all of my techniques for comforting him rathering instead to continue complaining, moaning and whimpering while tossing and turning and wanting to be held no put me down I don't want to be held with a smattering of loud wailing and complete silence fooling me into thinking that he had finally settled and fallen asleep only to begin said complaining, moaning and whimpering until finally at 4am he dropped a duece in his Huggies and immediately succumbed to the sleep that had been screaming his name since 8pm and then I had to wake him up and change that nastiness at 4:05am to finally tuck him snugly in his bed at 4:10am and return to my own bed to find a wet spot AND NOT THE GOOD KIND where The Boy had kindly slobbered and drooled and cried whilst I tried the beforementioned comforting techniques so I had to grab a towel and make do with some colourful cursing thrown in for good measure until I finally pulled the sheets up and tried to tune out the *ahem* gentle <--snicker snicker<-- throat rattle of The Man and shoot eye daggers at the clock that was announcing that it was OhEmGee 4:15am and !!POUF!! a mindblowingly brilliant first blog post entered that shady area called my brain and I knew it was FATE... and I said to Self, "Nah, I'll remember it! No worries! It is that.totally.awesome."
I didn't. And you got this. Suckers.
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