Posts Tagged ‘Laughter’

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

I gave some serious thought early last week to cancel an invite I received for a weekend girls-get-away 244 miles north of my little space in Detroit. Part of the thought was tied into my current economic situation: I left a job several weeks ago I held for four years under the stupid belief I was part of something great. If great meant another four years as a life-sized mud mat for Napoleon, his pet rat, and the quiet guy with the Star Wars lunch box – then it would have been awesome!

(Insert hoarking hairball sound here)

The other part of the thought was tied into my date of birth. It fell over the weekend, and I mulled around the idea how I could have spent 72 hours in a fetal position on the floor with my Birthday Blanket of Death, mourning the the end of my second year of the fourth decade of my existence.

So up north with the girls I went!

There was an art fair on the beach off of Lake Huron. I took my digital camera with the hope I would find a cool memory to capture forever (and not buy stuff I didn’t need), and stumbled upon a few young people with skateboards.

My digital camera is the only piece of tech I own I know nothing about (my friends can close their mouths now). I am not a photographer. I know nothing about lighting, or lenses, or picture driven software. I do like old stuff, buildings, clean lines (i.e. piers), I did not expect to like the idea of capturing a body in motion.

tyler.rampI became incredibly frustrated with my camera because it is not an SLR device, so although it will snap images while the button is held down, there is a delay between frames of not quite a second. Still, I spent about half an hour in an attempt to get that perfect shot – which is how I met Tyler.  A very determined young man. He skated all over the place, attempted jumps, tricks and a few other things I know not the names of. Tyler was showing off – but he wasn’t competitively cocky like some boys (and most adult males) can be – he genuinely wanted to be great. He would say, “Hold on…I can do this…” an if he wouldn’t hit his mark, he’d give it another shot. Tyler concentrated on every move he made, and had a contagious smile.

Tyler

I had a great weekend, which became greater after I met Tyler and his skateboard.

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Somewhere across the country there’s a secret collective of post-op dairy farmers. They haven’t been clear on their target market, or the cost of their product to consumers when it officially hits store shelves. One thing is clear: confidential sources have revealed they’re milking it for all it is worth.

Ugh.

Piece of advice: if you fell off the post-op salad truck, STOP posting, ‘What do I DO???” all over the internet. If you are a weight loss surgery post op for any length of time (two seconds, two months, two years, two decades), you know what you are supposed to do…unless of course you were hit on the head with fried Twinkies. Then you could be suffering from WLSPOA (weight loss surgery post op amnesia).

To avoid becoming a POW, try the following steps:

1. Talk to someone. You have a primary care doctor, you have a surgeon, you have a nutritionist. If any of these professionals have mysteriously vanished out of your life (alien abduction?)…FIND SOMEONE NEW. If you’re unable to do so then my assumption would be you reside on an island in total solitude, which means you have no access to communications and will not read this anyway.

2. If you know you’re eating habits are bad, and you know you have consumed that which you probably are not supposed to (like a container of crispy oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from Trader Joe’s), get over it. It’s summer. You can grow stuff. Even better, you can pay someone who grew it already.

3. If you have the phrase “I can’t afford to” flashing behind your eyelids in reference to item #2, hold your tongue. Chances are incredulously high you have, oh let’s see: all the cable channels, all the movie channels, a smart phone and a big ol’ plan.

I whine to a select few of my friends, none of whom give me one ounce of slack because they’ve been privy to my weight loss changes. I don’t complain online all that often. Usually I will talk to someone who puts me in my place. I also yell at people. Ask my friend Anne. I chased her bum back across the football field at boot camp a few weeks ago for short-cutting the track, later I made her do half leap frogs. My trainer gives me no slack at all-and it has nothing to do my picture he put on his car advertisement. It’s because he remembers when I was the fattest woman in the gym, how my stomach drug the ground during push ups, or how 40lbs made a world of difference in climbing 17 steps.

God, you have so much to celebrate. Don’t be a POW. Don’t focus on the prison and the chains…neither hold you anymore.

If that doesn’t encourage you, get stuck somewhere. I got wedged in that little space there between the bed and nightstand over the weekend to fix the carpet. I hadn’t laughed that hard at myself in a long, long time.

smallspotigotstuckin

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.