Random Tuesday Thoughts - I'm a mean white Obama lovin' fool

It’s Tuesday Randomness over at Keely’s place. You know the drill.

I’m feeling a little bad for being so hard on Trainer Dude yesterday. The power of the blog is quite something because based on your comments I could easily form a little army of pissed-off mommy bloggers to go and kick his ass. You guys are awesome, and I’m pretty sure if I was able to unleash you into the world you’d have this whole Iraq/Afghanistan war business dealt with in a couple of hours. I think I’m going to email Barack and tell him what time it is.

As for Trainer Dude, I may have misled you. It’s not like he’s a total muscle head shit-for-brains or anything, he just gives off an ‘I don’t like fat chicks’ vibe. But, let’s be honest – don’t most guys to a certain degree? I don’t mean regular guys like our husbands or the fearless Captain, but I think the beer drinking, macho, pub-crawl loving meathead guys have a genetic predisposition to the anti-Fat Chick point of view. It's not even really his fault, if you think of it that way. There is also a reasonable chance it’s all in my head anyway.

Did you know that Obama just held the first ever White House Passover Seder? I think that is the greatest thing ever. Especially since Christianity reigns supreme in pretty much everything, observing a holiday from another religion is awesome. Inclusion rules.

I need advice on how to change the colour of my legs. They are currently about two shades lighter than snow. They don’t tan naturally, tanning beds totally freak me out and every spray on/rub in tan stuff I’ve tried makes me look like a carrot. I know I should just embrace my whiteness, but it’s so bad people audibly gasp when they see how truly white the gams really are. I just want to stop making children cry. Suggestions are welcome.

I haven’t actually had the pleasure of seeing Master’s Degree since last week’s RTT, so I don’t have any updates on the crazy chick front. It’s too bad, really. I had a lot of fabulous suggestions I was dying to try out on her. I’ll keep you posted.

I’m so hungry. I really miss my friend’s chips and dip some nights. My friend’s carrots and celery are boring. It’s sort of like trading in cocaine for earl grey tea.

I think that’s it. All cleared out now.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Fifteen

I’m still going to boot camp three days a week and it’s very effective. I’m sweaty and gross by the time I leave so I think that is a good measure of any workout session. Unfortunately for me Trainer Lady went and got herself a day job, and therefore is not running the boot camps anymore. She is still offering one-on-one sessions thank god, but running the boot camps three times a week has been passed to another trainer. A DUDE no less.

At first I kind of liked him. He was so hilariously awkward that it was sort of charming. Watching some big muscle-head guy stand at the front of a gym leading a group of mom-types in a fitness class was providing a new level of amusement to my exercise routine. He also plays really loud circa 1995 alternative rock music which I also like. It’s sort of like being 23 again and back in my favorite bar shaking my fabulous ass. My ass was fabulous in 1995.

The last few classes, however, I have been reminded. He’s a guy. A fitness trainer guy. Guys, especially the type of guys who become personal trainers, don’t like fat chicks. I love Trainer Lady not because she is a great trainer (she is), but because she didn’t pass judgment on me when I showed up on her doorstep all fat and out of shape and defeated. She accepted me for where I was and dug in. And, a couple of weeks ago when we did my three month reassessment and had discovered that I had lost twenty pounds and sixteen inches, she was genuinely happy for me. Trainer Lady has played a big part in my success so far. I don't even know her very well, but I somehow still want to do her proud. I love her.

I’m not feeling the love from Trainer Dude. He is trying his best to mask his distaste for me (as resident fat chick in boot camp class), but he’s not very good at it. I’m pretty sure I’m the butt of a few jokes when he goes home to whoever he goes home too. Whoever that person may be, my money is on them not being a fat chick.

You know, I honestly don’t care what he thinks of me. I don’t need to like this guy; I just need him to lead me through some exercise three times a week. The thing that does bother me is that in his subtle way he drives home the fact that I’m the fat chick. He reminds me that more often than not I’m the chick who is standing next to the hot chicks being completely ignored by some random asshole. I don’t need or want attention from assholes, I just don’t want to be the fat chick anymore. Yes, I know I’m the fat chick. That’s why I’m in that fucking exercise class in the first place.

Well, you know what Trainer Dude? You’re ugly* and you have stupid clothes. So there. I’m fat and immature. Deal.

I lost two pounds this week. I have 36.5 to go.


*He's not really ugly - he's just a regular guy. I kind of feel bad writing that, but not quite bad enough to remove it. After a talk with myself I settled on a disclaimer. I totally stand by the stupid clothes comment though.