Totally Reasonable Explanation of Why I Did Not Go to The Gym Today

Operation Emaciation is in effect and I could not be taking this diet more seriously. Only five or so posts ago I said I would never diet, calling diets FEMALE TORTURE and shaming anyone who would even think to crack a hard copy of "South Beach Diet" or "Skinny Bitch" in front of me.

And then the wedding invitation came. The one, in which if I attend, I will see Bad Old Boyfriend. Since, currently, I have the waistline of A MAILBOX and I certainly can't have Bad Old Boyfriend see me like this or how will he want to DEEP TONGUE KISS MW "HELLO" behind an ice sculpture? (Of course, if he even tries to touch me, I will throw hot soup in his face... if soup is available... do they even serve soup at weddings?)

Anyway, this morning I woke up starving. Good. It's good to feel hungry when you wake up. That means your metabolism is fired up. NOW IT'S TIME TO GO TO THE GYM. Except I can't go to the gym unless I eat something. Hmmmm... it seems once I'm at the gym, I'll probably be running (walking) for hours (minutes) so I should have something substantial. Plus, I should have something that's a treat. Something that says, "Congratulations! You're going to the gym! You go girl!"

Mmmmmm... a homemade bagel from the corner bakery, the one with cheddar cheese (calcium, very good) and jalapeno (a vegetable) would be so great right now.

So I got one... and I ate it. Well, now I have to digest the bagel, that should take like what? An hour? Cool, that'll work.

Three hours later, I wake up with a "Vanity Fair" (Okay, "US") magazine stuck to my face. Apparently, eating a salad bowl's worth of bread and cheese makes one NAPPISH and I had just frittered away my GYM-TASTIC MORNING.

I'll just have to go now. Except now it's practically lunch. If I go at Lunch time, the gym will be very crowded and I will NOT GET THE MOST EFFCIENT WORKOUT I CAN GET. I must get the most efficient workout I can get or really, I'm just wasting my time. I better go at 2:00pm. I'll just watch TV for a bit.

Wow. There was just a preview on for Oprah. She's having Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of "Eat Pray, Love" on. And even though I haven't read the book, I have been incredibly touched by what I've heard from others who have read the book. It just seems like, SURE, I COULD GO TO THE GYM at 3:00pm or I could hear all these incredible women talk about how this amazing book changed their lives and set them on a SPIRITUAL JOURNEY. Life changing experience or ab crunches & leg presses?

I REALLY HAVE NO CHOICE. I must stay home and watch Oprah.

Now it's 4:00pm. I'm spiritually nourished but nutritionally famished. Better eat something. Mmmm, good. Ooops, now I'm too full to go to the gym. Damn you, Lean Cuisine!

Okay, I'll go in one hour.

One hour later. It just seems like now EVERYONE IS GETTING OUT OF WORK and the gym is going to be so crowded and DON'T I DESERVE MORE THAN A CROWDED GYM? If I go to a crowded gym and the experience is bad then I will forever associate going to the gym as a bad experience.

DO I REALLY WANT TO PUT A ROAD BLOCK LIKE THAT IN MY WAY? No, I most certainly do not. It's really best if I just stay put. I mean, there's always tomorrow.

Totally Reasonable Explanation of Why I Did Not Go to The Gym Today

Things I Hate About Myself

1) That if I say something scares me I have to immediately make a joke of it so I will not make people uncomfortable

2) Making people uncomfortable

3) Constantly apologizing for making people uncomfortable

4) That I don't want to go home for Christmas. That I don't want to see my Mom. That I'm scared that if we are all home for Christmas in that same house that she will have another nervous breakdown and there will be hospital trips and consulting with doctors and night time pacing and tears and Dad saying he feels lost and rescheduled flights and lies to friends because who could EVER BELIEVE this was really happening and I kind of like the lies because they are an escape from the reality, and me feeling like I want someone to PLEASE BE A GROWN-UP and take charge and having to pretend in front of people everything is okay while we have Mom hidden in the other room because if someone, anyone saw her, they would know things are FAR FROM OKAY. Yeah, I don't want to do last Christmas again.

I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?

Things I Hate About Myself

The Mental Boogie of My Over Active Brain

I am very stressed out and my BRAIN is flying a thousand miles an hour. I think it's the coffee and the leftover Prozac I had for breakfast. I found an extra pill when I was cleaning out my medicine cabinet (DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME). Now, a GIRL ON A DIET who needs to look her most absolutely FABULOUS & as close to Kate MOSS 1997 emaciated as possible in four months or less MUST NOT BE STRESSED.

I once heard if you list stresses, they become LESS POWERFUL. At least that's what I think it said in the Self-Help book I got from the library that has collected dust somewhere by my bed and is now easily three years over due.

STRESSES:

1) That my library books are so overdue that the police will come to my house and take me away. They will see that my place is a disorganized disaster, call a camera crew and I will featured "The Montel Williams Show" (Dr. Phil passed). When Old Bad Boyfriend sees me at wedding, it will not matter how thin and beautiful I look. All he will see is a girl who lives among thousands of old "IN STYLE MAGAZINES" and piles of shoes I can't give away BECAUSE WHITE BOOTS WITH FRINGE ON THE BACK might make a come back.

2) That I will not get this JOB that I really want

3) That I will get this JOB that I really want and not have eight hours a day to be on the elliptical. (Eight hours is minimum of what it's going to take to REVERSE what two years of INACTIVITY, donuts for lunch and wine for dinner has done to my body.) Is there a treadmill you can be strapped to in your sleep? That moves your legs while you're in a PASSED OUT STATE OF SLUMBER?

4) Must invent TREADMILL THAT YOU CAN BE STRAPPED TO IN SLEEP.

5) That I will not invent Treadmill that you can be strapped to while you sleep and when Old Bad Boyfriend sees me, not only will I most resemble what looks like a Morbidly Obese Manatee with a Chub Rub flipper but I will not be a successful inventor of said Treadmill.

6) That actually naming all my STRESSES has in fact made me EIGHT THOUSAND MORE TIMES STRESSED and 10:30am seems completely an inappropriate time for a GLASS OF CALM-DOWN WINE.

Oh, wait, there's mimosas. They have vitamin C and make you feel better.

The Mental Boogie of My Over Active Brain

The Letter Part 2

It was not so much a letter as a fancy envelope with calligraphy on
the front. Nothing good can ever come from calligraphy on the front.
(At least, not when your unemployed. Calligraphy equals someone
wanting expensive gifts from Crate & Barrel.)

I opened it.

It was a wedding invitation. My heart started racing as I scanned it... I didn't even have to see all the names and places and wheres and whens - I JUST KNEW. Old Boyfriend would be there. If you continue to read here, you will learn there is Good Old Boyfriend and Bad Old Boyfriend. With Bad Old Boyfriend things ended badly, but with no one else juicy-delicious to think about, I can't stop thinking
that now that I AM OVER Bad Old Boyfriend (I swear) why can't I toy with the possibility with meet-up-at-the-wedding MAKE-OUT (or more) in four months? How else can I CRUSH HIM WITH REGRET?

Good Old Boyfriend is another story for another time. (Why are WE ONLY TEMPTED BY THE BAD ONES?)

Of course my mind immediately races to the important things: HOW MUCH WEIGHT CAN I LOOSE IN FOUR MONTHS and WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR? But the second thing doesn't matter as much as the first thing because without the accomplishment of the first thing, there can be no second thing. A SEQUINED MUMU FROM LANE BRYANT does not say let's grab that half bottle of champagne and meet in the bushes. Well... not the
bushes... not if I'm thin and wearing something expensive from Bloomingdale's WITH THE TAGS TUCKED IN THE BACK so I can return it the following day.

So much to think about. With so much to think about, I don't even have time to think about, how do I really feel? Which is good. I don't really want to think about that right now.

All I want to think about is... Is forty pounds even in the REALM of possibilty of losing if I only eat hard boiled eggs and carrots for four months?

The Letter Part 2

You Will NOT BELIEVE The Letter I Got Today

I think my mail man likes to torture me.

I saw the little smirk on his face when he dropped this BOMB SHELL of a letter IN MY MAIL BOX. It's just too much to take. Even IT coming with an "US Magazine" with Jessica Simpson on the cover being "tortured by regret" doesn't cushion the blow. I'm taking a Benedryl for my rash and 1/2 a Klonopin for my MAJOR ANXIETY and unless that's a LETHAL COMBINATION, I will blog about this later.

You Will NOT BELIEVE The Letter I Got Today

Itchy Scratchy Red & Rashy Stress Bunny

I'm an itchy scratchy red and rashy stressed out unemployed, under sexed, pre-holiday stress bunny. It started on my legs and has moved north to belly button region. It's red and bumpy and itchy and rashy. VERY SEXY LADIES! I have ruled out STD unless it has laid dormant for six months.

I know my only solution is to get a cortizone shot but that requires me TAKING MY PANTS OFF and I'm just not there yet. Not even of the doctor is hot and buys me dinner. I have read a lot about a dog's healing saliva but every time I bring it up to Coop, he just puts his tail between his legs and cowers under the coffee table.

What's a bunny to be stressed about?

1) Waiting to hear about a job that I REALLLLLLLLLY want (AND NEED in order to pay for luxuries, like groceries and keeping the lights on)

2) My ass. It's big and now that I've weighed myself and even if I took 20 pounds off for underwear & hair gel, they number is TOO DAMN HIGH.

3) My crazy mother. Recent conversations with her about my trip home for the holidays are leading me to believe we'll probably have a repeat of last Christmas which included, BUT NOT IN THIS ORDER - a nervous breakdown, a trip to the Psych hospital, three dozen donuts to lure her there, my father doing Suduko in the waiting room, paper plates which my mother was writing down her conversations with Sarah McLaughlin. Yes, the Singer. I one day plan to write a festive holiday children's book about it. I'm mulling over a couple of titles, so far the top contender is, "Keep Drinking 'Til It's Funny, A Holiday Tale."

4) Being hit on by a male prostitute the other night has sent my self-esteem into a tail spin. I thought he was flirting with me as in, he was attracted to me and not as in, he was wondering how much he could charge me by the hour. DO I LOOK SO DESPERATE THAT I WOULD PAY FOR SEX? Don't answer that.

I must take to my bed. (Who am I kidding, I'm already lying here.)

Itchy Scratchy Red & Rashy Stress Bunny

Dirty, Dirty Naughty Girl Liar - Part 2

In Catholic school, we learned about the sin of omission. Sins of omission go something like this: The scene, me age 10, my family's kitchen, my Mom holding a cake plate - the contents which look like they have been demolished BY RABID HYPO-GYLCEMIC SQUIRRELS.

Mom: "Did you eat the last of this cake?"
Me: "No."
Me: (Inner Dialogue) "I just licked all the frosting, gnawed the sides off and then put it back on the cake plate."

That my friends, is "sin of omission" defined, and apparently, you go to HELL FOR IT. Or maybe not. What I remember vaguely of Catholic school is, you go to hell for everything and one time I was so afraid to ask to go to the bathroom, I peed in my pants.

Back to why I'm a Dirty, Dirty Naughty Liar. In my post about my EX, "$1 Dollar Drink Specials + Empty Stomach...," I mentioned how I was trying to call my ex because, ripped on four glasses of one dollar chardonnay, it seemed like the sensible thing to do. I reported that I didn't end up calling him and was quite proud of myself for that. THE OMISSION: I EMAILED HIM LADIES!!!!! YEAH, I DID.

Here's the deal. I came home and promptly typed this little diddy:

"Can you call me tonight?" SEND!

And then, BECAUSE I WANTED HIM IN NO WAY TO GET OUT OF IT, I typed again, "Surely, you haven't forgotten my number?" AND THEN I TYPED MY NUMBER. "Surely, you haven't forgotten?????" All of a sudden I'm a silver screen starlet from the 1950's.

As I fought passing out into a CHARDONNAY STATE OF SLUMBER, I looked into the heavy guilt-giving eyelids of my pooch Coop. Coop can lay the guilt on LIKE SISTER MARIE from fourth grade!!! He's like having Jesus and Mary Mother of God, right in the same room.

UGH! I know, I know. I worked so hard to get over this relationship. "Disasterous relationship," Coop corrected me with a unwavering stare. DAMMIT. I got back on the computer. I typed, "Nevermind. I was just having a moment." SEND. "Satisfied?" I said to Coop. "Oui, mon cherie", I imagined he said which is weird because he's a Chihuahua so technically he's Mexican and not French.

The next morning, this email came FROM HIM: (Not Coop, my Ex) - "I didn't check my email until this morning. I can call you today if you'd like." No. I was good. So I typed, "No, I'm good. Thank you." And that was it.

Dirty, Dirty Naughty Girl Liar - Part 2

Dirty, Dirty, Naughty Girl Liar

Ack!!!! I'll post about this tomorrow. Having champagne with the girls and I want to get my share! :)

Dirty, Dirty, Naughty Girl Liar

My JoyFriend is Better Than Your Boyfriend

Okay, so if you've read this blog, you know I like to rock a different vocabulary and make up new words. My favorite new word is JoyFriend. This weekend - I hung out with a couple of JoyFriends and I can say, my weekend was better than your weekend (unless you had good sex and then maybe it's a tie.)

A JoyFriend is a person that is totally positive and upbeat - they're... well, Joyful. JoyFriends are the friend you can call last minute and they will go anywhere and do anything. Their answer to life is not, "Maybe, let me check"/"I don't know, I've never gone there before"/"Is that going to mess up my hair"? No, they say YES to everything, especially LIFE. More importantly, THEY ENCOURAGE YOU TO DO THE SAME.

Lately, my life has been anything but joyful. My Saturday nights consisted of alphabetizing my magazines in piles to be donated while drinking chardonnay out of an old 7-11 Big Gulp cup. Sometimes I toasted some pita chips, like I was having a party, put them on a fancy plate AND SHARED THEM WITH MY DOG. See, no joy. But lately, I have made a concerted effort to only hang out with the most POSITIVE, RAYS OF LIGHT, SUPER SHINY DISCO BALL types of friends. These types of women will drag you out on a Saturday night in your pajamas. THEY THROW CAUTION AND PITA CHIPS TO THE WIND. They do not take any of my bullshit excuses "But I have to work"/"I have nothing to wear and I smell like a Hobo"/"I have to get up early and... donate... my kidney."

AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE.

How do you spot a JoyFriend? Well, they are upbeat, RAH-RAH, "You Can Do It" just short of you wanting to smack them. They have a zest for life - They always want to try new things. AND THEY KICK YOUR ASS. They are not going to let you dwell on some lame guy that wouldn't even pay for valet parking on a date, made you walk five blocks in heels only to make you split potato skins at the bar. THEY KNOW YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN THAT. And they will root you on until you know it too.

The weird thing about hanging out with self-confident, emotionally healthy, super strong, vivacious ladies is pretty soon, you start to feel that way. 'Cause JoyFriends do not hang out with losers. So I raise my glass to my awesome JoyFriends. Yes, it's chardonnay but it's in a real fancy glassy glass and not a sad 7-11 plastic cup. See, I'm learning.

My JoyFriend is Better Than Your Boyfriend

Yay! I'm Off to The Gym :)

This is very exciting, like Christmas morning if I was four. (God, I wish I was four. Everything is so perfect when you're four.) I'm kinda nervous to go back to the gym. The gym I joined three months ago and then have NEVER SET FOOT IN AGAIN. What if they have a weight limit and won't let me in? What if I can only last thirty-five seconds on the elliptical before I get red faced and huffy and puffy? Should I have my insurance card and information about the closet hospital stuffed in a plastic case and dangling around my neck? What if I put my iPod on and run on the treadmill and then can't hear the wheezing and struggling of that poor machine shaking and quivering underneath my GIA-NORMOUS GIRTH and people are laughing and pointing and the manager is called over and I'm asked to get off and he swears, this is so much more embarassing for him than me, but would I please leave?

Or what if it's just really fantastic and amazing and great?

Yay! I'm Off to The Gym :)