i'm weak

I am so, incredibly weak when it comes to self-control. Well, rephrase: I am so, incredibly, embarrassingly weak when it comes to self-control WITH food. And television series. And beardy men. And Marshall Mathers. But back to food: More than a billion times I tell myself that I am going to ‘begin a-new’ and begin to eat healthy. I brainstorm all the steps that are going to help me become ‘healthy’ including: refusing the bread basket, no more Nutella…well at least less of it, water instead of Diet Pepsi, and eat less bacon. And I begin! I go for two, three, four hours of giving the hand(or finger) to all bread baskets that come my way, NOT cracking open at D.Pepsi at 7 in the A.M., and bettering my bread:Nutella ratio. But it’s at those very moments, that I am TRYING to be healthy, that my mother will make something ridiculous. Like Butterfinger cookies, homemade donuts, or bacon-wrapped Butterfinger flavored homemade donuts. Served by a beardy man. It’s as if the world doesn’t WANT me to eat healthy. Today, I told myself that I was turning a new leaf and leaving behind my plate-licking ways. As I reached for a yogurt(sick!) in the fridge, I saw that there was a huge, welcoming bowl of cookie dough with just enough chocolate chips. Needless to say: cookie dough for breakfast. And some Hershey kisses. And a banana dipped in Nutella. And a Diet Pepsi.

icy hot in the face.

Unfortunately and fortunately, the camping trip’s sleeping arrangement was not quite as uncomfortable as I thought it was going to be. In fact, I slept like a rock. Retainer and all. There was a bit of discomfort, though, when I was told by the sig-O’s cousin that I smelt funny. Then she bit me and told me I tasted worst. All the while she was sitting on my lap. I shoved my knee in her hind end to get a bit of redemption…and then imagined myself smothering her face in Icy Hot. That got my through the week. After that I was off to Utah. Otherwise known as Pootah. I met a lot of great, new people and a lot of awkward, new people. All of which I had to hug goodbye at the end of the week. Hugging is weird. At least for me. Why do people feel the need to say something whilst hugging? Mid-hug a guy told me that I was ‘Proactive in conversation. And really good.’ What? Why? No! I pulled away and DIDN’T shove my knee in his hind end, but did imagine myself smothering his face with Icy Hot. Ain't no thing. Finally, I went to ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ last night(which wasn’t even 1/7 of as good as the book, why do they always do that dagummit?!) and played the role of the annoying, annonymous cackling person(?) in the back. Apologies all 9:40 ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ movie goers. My B.

air monkeys and frat boys

FIRSTBLOG!FIRSTBLOG!FIRSTBLOG! Hello blogging world! You look…exactly like my computer? This is very anti-climatic. Last night I went to the gym. I always forget that I hate the gym. I’d like to be one of those people who love the gym, refuse the bread basket, and religiously watch Dateline. But sadly, I am not. I think I hate the gym because of how gassy it makes me (along with bananas, veggie platters, milk, stress, and movies with Nicholas Cage). Undoubtedly every time I set my Nike’d size 8.5 feet on the Godforsaken elliptical, things begin to go awry. The gym I go to is set up where the treadmills are at the front of the building, followed by the ellipticals, then, at the back of the room, the weights for the weak. Everyone who goes there is about 173 years young, so I usually feel pretty shameless. However, on one rare occasion there was a good looking-ish guy lifting weights. He was using the shoulder-strengthening-lifter-thing directly behind me and at first I thought this was to my advantage. He looked like a hybrid of Ashton Kutcher and Phoebe Buffay-Hannigan. He was also sporting a cutoff shirt and a hat(at the gym?), clearly an ex-frat goer, so I obviously thought he would be checking out my ever-growing whoopee cakes. So, wanting to impress this stand-up guy, I began to elliptical my hardest. Sweat, blood, tears, and toots began to fly. None of which was unexpected. I worried not because, like everyone else in the gym, I figured he would have headphones on(jamming to Eminem or Joan Jett, obviously) and would not hear my air monkeys, only smell. However when I turned around to see how he was enjoying the sight of my whoopee cakes dancing at high speeds, I was thoroughly disappointed/embarrassed/proud? to see that the only thing he was enjoying was his fingers pinching his nose. He was not jamming to Eminem, nor Joan Jett. But he was laughing at me. I then decided that five minutes on the elliptical was enough exercise for another…10-12 days and drove home, jamming to Eminem and Joan Jett. That’s what you get for wearing a hat at the gym, fratboy! Happy trails till we meet again!