Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

Imagine, if you will, alarm clock number one blares loudly from across the room at 4:30a.m. (yes, 4:30a.m. – we’ll discuss my inability to adhere to the self-imposed discipline of time management in another post) – anyways –

Alarm clock number one blared loudly from across the room at 4:30a.m.. It’s about six feet from the space where I continually dent my mattress (I bought one of those nosupposedtodent mattresses about six months before I had my weight loss surgery – dented it in three – and voided the warranty at the same time because I exceeded the weight allotment). I flipped the comforter off and heard something hit the floor. It sounded like a small bag of fish tank rocks plopped on a counter.

But before my brain could register something hit the floor, I promptly stepped in that:

trailmixAt least it wasn’t ice cream.

Everyday Sneakers. The front of the sneaker bends more than the gym sneaker, but the arch is solid as you can see.

adidasredHey, look. Another write-up on abs!

Not really.

Take a peek at any magazine rack anywhere and you’ll see “Rock Hard Abs” in bold print near a set of…uh…rock hard abs. I get a little depressed when I see those racks (the magazines…and the abs).

I’m fairly certain I have abs…somewhere…under the crinkly skin nobody sees unless I parade around in the dark under a spotlight in a sports bra (guess that would mean I wouldn’t be in the dark, huh?). I’m certain they’re supposed to be located in the “gap”. No, not the Gap – but that space between my tube boobs and belly button (which could be mistaken for an Apple branding snafu: iButton??).

I think I found them.

On a good day I can suck in enough air to look like I got a Tupac two-pack there.

legoabs

It was in the high 50’s when I went to do my workout this morning – nice and brisk! I grabbed my hoodie, stuffed my Jaybirds in my ears and off to my gym park I went. The ground was pretty damp from the rain last night – but I didn’t have anything planned which would require me getting on the ground.

Or so I thought.

Right in the middle of step-ups, my left foot slid right out from underneath me on a rail road tie. One 10lb dumbbell flew a good five feet into the play area, the other right behind my head as I landed on the ground. No. Correction. As I landed in a nice soppy, slippery pile of leaves and mud. I hedged around the emotion of do I or don’t I allow myself to become completely embarrassed (given I just splattered myself in perfect view of the condos which have big windows that face the park). Then I saw someone who had been peering through their blinds hike them up to watch what I can only assume what my next display of falling on my ass might look like. Then I realized, THEY’RE in their house, I need a banner to hang over the fence:

It’s great to watch, it’s funner to do it!

Here’s the link to the WOD: http://spfitdet.wordpress.com/2013/08/13/workout-of-the-day-tuesday-tip/

Only Your Best. No Excuses. Never Quit.

Only Your Best. No Excuses. Never Quit.

I went with Bestie last night with L-Act and D-Tek to the castle of the Pastry King. They needed to check on a garden, Pastry King was visiting another realm, I needed to pick Bestie’s brain.

Any amount of time spent in the vicinity of teenagers who get along like brother and sister and not like dueling squires, definitely bound to be interesting. As the chariot rattled down the road of death (seriously…I bet an entire family was swallowed alive in their chariot by the craters chiseled in that road!), L-Act ended a sentence with: “…I can act gay.”

I promptly informed him he was in error. He replied, “I can too act gay.” Bestie and I both said, “You SO cannot act gay.”

The next few comments left us a in massive fit of laughter and Bestie overshot the entrance to the castle by a good 200 feet.

IMG_1077After we got wet and dirty dug holes and planted stuff, L-Act and D-Tek took care of a few chores in the castle. I was overwhelmed by MOC syndrome (Mud on Car)…”OMG Muddy” appeared out of nowhere on the rear door. I admitted to the deed…sort of…

Best part of the night was after we left the castle of the Pastry King. Bestie asked D-Tek about a place in town and if they had deserts. The next five minutes were filled with D-Tek’s tale of sugary sweetness, she had the same glee in her voice when the Pastry King speaks such wonders. She is her fathers daughter.

After a chai frappuccino, a mocha frappuccino with no coffee, a lemon pop, triple venti carmel frappuccino and a decaf (really???), L-Act popped out the playlist. We spent the next 30 minutes singing badly and laughing loudly (with tears). Bestie overshot the turn to take D-Tek to her palace because we were laughing so hard. Closer we got to D-Tek’s palace, the harder we laughed. Then the snorting. Then the laughter turned to squeals (that was me)….then Bestie shut us down for fear of what D-Tek’s mom would think (you know, that we were all nuts).

This has nothing to do with exercise (unless you want to count the 40lb bags of potting soil I helped drag around and four holes I dug). I’m disgustingly happy, and having so much fun just being alive.

shoeLast June I decided I was going to try out the StairMaster at the candy store gym.

With determination driven by sheer purpose (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can) I strode across the gym. Tucked at the end of the last row of cardio paraphernalia were a handful of StairMaster machines. A lady was on the end unit, the second was empty, a gentleman was on the third one.

Second thought…the use of “gentleman” is premature.

I stuck my water bottle in the water bottle hole. Draped the smelly towel my membership entitled me to use for free over the hand rail (which smelled like it had been buried in a garbage can); got my playlist together (that’s code for I un-knotted my earphones), and finally with a cocky sense of purpose (know-it all-ness) I climbed upon the machine. Seven feet in the air I pushed the settings through to the program I wanted and pressed start (quick tip: what you set the elliptical to does not apply to the StairMaster. You might want to write that down.).

I made a mental note that the heart rate figures I inputted were most likely wrong because the stairs started to move very rapidly, simulating – oh, I don’t know – how one might run up a flight of stairs! I made a go of it and attempted to get my footing while I desperately searched for a warning label that would have given some detail as to why my feet weren’t fitted to the steps. I also made another mental note: write Nautilus a letter which would state a warning label that shared the bottom step disappears would be vital…and lifesaving.

I knew I needed to stop the machine and start over. I grabbed the top of the rail to pull myself up. My foot slipped off a step and as I slid down the length of the machine I uttered loudly, “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

The lady to the right and the gentleman to the left never moved. They continued to stare ahead and climb to their destinations.

I managed to get myself together and got the machine to cooperate. 30 minutes later I had logged 95 floors. I’m not entirely certain how floors are determined, but I don’t care. I did it.

Afterward I hit the elliptical, and got grossed out when the little skinny chick next to me left the machine and didn’t clean it.

Eew.

slotmachineIf you are one of the hundred of thousands of women who jump on and off of a scale multiple times (i.e. all.day.long.), here’s a tip: install a quarter slot on the wall above the scale. Every time you step on the scale, insert a quarter. Bet you’re a millionaire by the end of the day.

Well, maybe not.

In addition to the rapid weight loss experienced by post-ops during the first year to year and a half after weight loss surgery, the need to weigh oneself constantly throughout the day (every day) can (and usually does) become a substantial problem. It’s called scale obsession, and we allow our attitude for the day to be completely dictated by what number ticks by on the little square under our feet. To some degree it’s a little funny. Seriously – who in the world would have thought scale obsession would be the addiction which replaced cartons of ice cream, quarter pounders, chips, M & M’s or (insert your food of choice here)…

Stand on the scale one too many times and you will allow it to define who you are: Darlin’ you are entirely too fat. Look. At. You. A whole pound in six hours – what were you thinking? Anxiety, negativity, feeling like a failure – none of this is conducive to a healthy body image. We already feel insecure with our body changes, why add to the baggage cart? Your weight will fluctuate throughout the day due to water weight/retention, a holiday or birthday indulgence (or chocolate attack at the office), pooping (yes…pooping), muscle mass, etc.

I am not a scale person – it doesn’t portray a clear picture of my weight loss.  The 33.5 inches I’ve lost in the last 24 months do.

Before you step on your scale again take a picture of yourself, then place it next to the picture of your former self. No scale can make you feel that good.

 

Love and Other Drugs

Posted: April 23, 2012 by sneakerporndiaries in Friends, Sneaker Porn Diaries, Spring, Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

I love movies. I think anyone who knows me knows this eensy weensy fact. Period pieces (drool, drool), true stories, movies that go boom, techy-type flicks (drool), a romance or two, a couple of vampires, several zombie killers and a handful of documentaries (relatively recent exploration). I have a few TV shows saved on Netflix and Hulu – cop shows are a constant theme (this actually falls in line with my e-library). That aside, my TV queues closely resemble my movie habits.

Love & Other DrugsHowever, I typically do not do comedies. Just not my thing. Apparently I’m the only person in my world who hasn’t seen The Hangover (I experienced enough in my past) or Bridesmaids. Sometimes the cast will garner my interest (The Devil Wears Prada was great, Bridewars). So after I had been asked several times if I had seen “Love and Other Drugs” I figured I’d give it a shot. The previews were pretty funny. I like Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway. I put it on my Netflix list, and their rating thingamob said I’d give it almost 4 stars out of 5 (pretty typical)

I should have read more about the film. Not only was it a big disappointment, the dialog left much to be desired. The story line would have been great if the director wasn’t so obsessed with the constant gratuitous display of Hathaway’s breasts and Gyllenhaal’s naked backside. It was overindulgent and way more explicit than it needed to be. After the first 30 or so minutes I turned the DVD player off and shoved the disc back into its mailer.

I’d rather watch Mila Jojovich hack up zombies for two hours.

Oh wait…been there, done that.