Here we are at week two! You can tell I’m enthusiastic by the exclamation point, right?! Right?!! And Casey at Hasay is back! To check on the Hasayers a year after starting their club, pop on over for a visit.
I met with Trainer Lady this week for an assessment. As part of the boot camp/getoffyourfatassalready classes she is hosting (starts next week) she has to assess everyone so we know where our starting place is. I have the unfortunate advantage of having a comparable; the assessment I had in January when I started my fitness plan and then the reassessment I had in March when I was kicking all kinds of ass.
I am now back up to only one pound shy of what I weighed in MARCH. Ugh. My fitness level is about the same or has even improved a little though, so that DID make me feel somewhat better about completly SUCKING this summer. I haven’t totally given up on the exercise. The problem is clearly the food. I like food. Food is good. Everything is always so much better when you get to have some bacon.
I haven’t been going to Trainer Lady much this summer, and after our meeting last week I think she gets that I need a kick in the ass. So she gave me homework. It was to figure out how many calories I will burn if I take the stairs at work instead of the elevator. That’s when I found this - http://www.caloriesperhour.com/index_burn.php
The most hysterical calorie counter EVER. It seriously has a function for every possible activity known to man. If I throw a hammer and then go polka dancing for twenty minutes, I will have burned 205 calories! If I fold me some laundry and then ride a unicycle for 15 minutes, I’m 149 calories down! It’s totally my new favorite website.
I’m going to really try and focus on the food part this week. That definitely seems to be my weakness. I have a ridiculously healthy eating boss, so maybe I’ll just follow her around at lunch and eat grass with her for a week. Sounds good, right?! The exclamation point says so!!
I just burned 43 calories writing this blog. Pass the bacon.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
And then we turned 30....
There are four main peeps in my posse. You have already met Keely, of course, and I believe I have mentioned Valentina and Politica a time or two around these parts. It’s really too bad Keely started blogging first and didn’t feel it necessary to hide behind the veil of a trumped up nick-name because now we all have cool aliases and she is still just Keely. When I put us all together in print like that it sounds like she hangs around a bunch of strippers and superheroes. Anyway….
The four of us went to high school together and have remained pretty close for the last (mumble mumble) years. We’re pretty much the same age, with all of us having birthdays within about 13 months of each other. Valentina is the oldest with Keely bring up the rear 13 months later. This if course means Valentina was the first one to turn 30.
Feeling it necessary to celebrate in a big way we planned a surprise party that included bringing Politica in from BC. She jumped at the chance since it was April and a trip to Saskatchewan would give her the opportunity to turn her nose up at our lack of adequate foliage. Keely was traipsing around New Zealand somewhere at the time, but we weren’t going to let that stop Politica and I from partying with our newly minted cougar.
We shelved the husbands and kids and took off to our neighbouring city about 3 hours away for a weekend of shopping, eating, drinking, laughing, pillow fights in our underwear and tickle parties (that last bit was just for all you male readers). We had a great time and definitely ushered Valentina into her 30’s in style.
Then it was my turn. Again, the girls planned a SURPRISE! party. Now I figured they would do something, but I was actually surprised when Politica arrived since she had just been here 6 months earlier. Keely had finally brought her Ozzy lovin’ ass home and was able to join us for a weekend trip to the spa. Off the four of us went and again, and it was awesome. We ate, we drank, we marinated ourselves in giant dry-cleaning bags stuffed with in seaweed, swam in some salty water and they even treated me to my very first manicure. I’m pretty sure that was strategic ‘cause if anyone needs a manicure it’s me. I have a nervous energy cuticle biting problem. But I digress…..
Then it was Politica’s turn! Clearly we had no choice but to head out to BC to celebrate her arrival into Club-30, right? Well, that was the position I was taking with the Hubby who was starting to raise an eyebrow about it all. I think the quote was,
“Holy shit, you guys are just turning 30. Why do you each need your own fucking Bat Mitzvah?”
Because we just DO, okay? Turning 30 to women is a big deal. Turning 30 to women is akin to a mans first incident of flaccidness. You want to be drunk when it happens.
So off we went to the bountiful blooming British Columbia so the three of us could be standing by with a warm dry towel when Politica was shoved out of the fountain of youth. You know the drill....we shopped, we ate we drank, blah, blah, blah… It was wonderful.
Then it was Keely's birthday. Holy shit, again? Alrighty....... Politica schlepped her ass back to Saskatchewan so we could have another weekend of indulgences. We rented a limo and went bar hopping. If you haven’t ever done that before, I highly recommend it because we had a blast. Keely refers to it fondly as the weekend we tried to kill her, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had more than three drinks in a row since. Her liver still sends me a Christmas card each year.
So, all in all it was a full year of partying our assess off. Looking back now I have no idea how we managed to afford to do all that, but we made it work somehow. I probably just fed my family KD for two straight months or something. KIDDING! Mr. Noodle is way cheaper.
So, we are now a stone’s throw from forty. But, like a really small stone you can throw really far. While the year of quarterly drunken madness was certainly fun, I think I might advocate just one group trip somewhere for the big 4-0. I think the four of us in Vegas would be pretty awesome. I better start sweet talking Keely's liver now.
The four of us went to high school together and have remained pretty close for the last (mumble mumble) years. We’re pretty much the same age, with all of us having birthdays within about 13 months of each other. Valentina is the oldest with Keely bring up the rear 13 months later. This if course means Valentina was the first one to turn 30.
Feeling it necessary to celebrate in a big way we planned a surprise party that included bringing Politica in from BC. She jumped at the chance since it was April and a trip to Saskatchewan would give her the opportunity to turn her nose up at our lack of adequate foliage. Keely was traipsing around New Zealand somewhere at the time, but we weren’t going to let that stop Politica and I from partying with our newly minted cougar.
We shelved the husbands and kids and took off to our neighbouring city about 3 hours away for a weekend of shopping, eating, drinking, laughing, pillow fights in our underwear and tickle parties (that last bit was just for all you male readers). We had a great time and definitely ushered Valentina into her 30’s in style.
Then it was my turn. Again, the girls planned a SURPRISE! party. Now I figured they would do something, but I was actually surprised when Politica arrived since she had just been here 6 months earlier. Keely had finally brought her Ozzy lovin’ ass home and was able to join us for a weekend trip to the spa. Off the four of us went and again, and it was awesome. We ate, we drank, we marinated ourselves in giant dry-cleaning bags stuffed with in seaweed, swam in some salty water and they even treated me to my very first manicure. I’m pretty sure that was strategic ‘cause if anyone needs a manicure it’s me. I have a nervous energy cuticle biting problem. But I digress…..
Then it was Politica’s turn! Clearly we had no choice but to head out to BC to celebrate her arrival into Club-30, right? Well, that was the position I was taking with the Hubby who was starting to raise an eyebrow about it all. I think the quote was,
“Holy shit, you guys are just turning 30. Why do you each need your own fucking Bat Mitzvah?”
Because we just DO, okay? Turning 30 to women is a big deal. Turning 30 to women is akin to a mans first incident of flaccidness. You want to be drunk when it happens.
So off we went to the bountiful blooming British Columbia so the three of us could be standing by with a warm dry towel when Politica was shoved out of the fountain of youth. You know the drill....we shopped, we ate we drank, blah, blah, blah… It was wonderful.
Then it was Keely's birthday. Holy shit, again? Alrighty....... Politica schlepped her ass back to Saskatchewan so we could have another weekend of indulgences. We rented a limo and went bar hopping. If you haven’t ever done that before, I highly recommend it because we had a blast. Keely refers to it fondly as the weekend we tried to kill her, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had more than three drinks in a row since. Her liver still sends me a Christmas card each year.
So, all in all it was a full year of partying our assess off. Looking back now I have no idea how we managed to afford to do all that, but we made it work somehow. I probably just fed my family KD for two straight months or something. KIDDING! Mr. Noodle is way cheaper.
So, we are now a stone’s throw from forty. But, like a really small stone you can throw really far. While the year of quarterly drunken madness was certainly fun, I think I might advocate just one group trip somewhere for the big 4-0. I think the four of us in Vegas would be pretty awesome. I better start sweet talking Keely's liver now.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Random Tuesday - It's okay - I'm crazy too
Hey there, Tuesday bloggers! I haven’t played in a while so I thought I would stop back in for a RTT. However, it appears that our hostess has slept in. Uh...Keely? I'm standing here all alone with that fugly button! Bueller? BUELLER?
Last week I went for lunch with some of my old co-workers. It was great. There is a comfortable familiarity that comes with working with the same people day in and day out for five years, and I still miss it. As we quickly fell back into comfortable rhythms I found myself thinking, “Wow, I really miss these guys. Why did I ever leave my job again?’ After we were done the conciliatory ‘how are the spouse/kids’ type conversations, it naturally turned to work and I started getting caught up on what I’ve been missing. By the end of the lunch I walked away with a firm, “Oh yeah. THAT’S why I left my job. It TOTALLY BLOWS there.” A nice little side reminder with my buffet.
Does anyone else watch A&E? What is with all the new shows based around crazy people? And I don’t say that lightly; I have had a toe over the mental illness line most of my adult life, so that buys me the right to use the word crazy. Very much how I get to use the word fat - I’ve earned my right into that club too. Anyway…
Where was I?
Oh yeah, A&E crazy people programming. I think they built their new broadcast schedule around trying to make the rest of us feel better. And it’s working! I watch Hoarders and suddenly my housekeeping skills improve dramatically. Intervention? Pfft. I don’t mind if I do have that third glass of wine, now that you mention it! Hey, it’s not like I’m huffing on the cool whip can or anything. After watching Obsessed it’s suddenly perfectly fine that my son hasn’t had a bath in four days. Germs aren’t bad for you! Get a grip already!
Thanks, A&E. You have done a wonderful job putting my shortcomings in perspective. I’m fucking perfect.
My daughter's ipod was broken. After 2 days of trying everything she could think of to make it work again she got so frustrated she started to cry, and magically - it started working again. No kidding, just like that. I immediately sent her out to the driveway to cry on her father’s truck that has been sitting there broken for two months. I’ll let you know if that works. If it does, look for ‘J’s Magical Revival Tent’ coming to a city near you.
Keely and Xander came over for dinner this weekend. Upon hearing the news that the dreamy Xander was on his way over (they are affianced, by the way), my three year-old insisted on primping. No kidding. She looked at her dirty little toes that had been running outside with no shoes on all day and announced that she needed a bath immediately because, “Xander just can’t see me like this.” I’m not sure if that’s super funny or the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard. I guess he is pretty cute.
That’s it for me. I can’t find any more mental post-its or scribbles written on the back of envelopes hanging around anywhere. Go see Keely - she has much more faithful RTTers that won’t let you down. If she ever shows up, that is. Slacker.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Fat Chick vs. Food - Week One
Technically it should be week thirty-something. Actually, technically it should be week hundred and something since this has been an issue for so long now, but fuck it. Just like Jon and Kate I’m starting over.
Summer kicked my ass. I have been indulging in bad food a LOT and my exercising efforts have been weak at best. And I’ve kind of turned into a bit of a wino. I just love me a malbec. I’ve only recently discovered this particular wine, and it is YUMMY.
I went to the gym last week and weighed myself on their super-doper scale, and according to that I’ve gained 7 pounds since May (the last month I actually lost anything). I suck.
That’s okay, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. At least I’m climbing back on the Fat Chick bandwagon before I backslide the whole way. I will do better.
I’ve signed up for a twice weekly boot camp thing Trainer Lady is starting up just for fat people. It’s a small class of six, and each class comes with an hour of exercise and a stern talking to thinly veiled as ‘nutrition counseling and support’. I’m hoping that a group of actual fat people to relate to will help me. I don’t really know any other fat people in real life. I’m pretty much it. I’m surrounded by nothing but ‘the last five pounds’ people.
A good friend of mine once told me that if I ran in place for ten minutes before bed each night the weight would just fall off and I’d never be fat again. See what I’m dealing with here?
I need the REAL fat people as a support group to help me. The people who can’t wear a dress in the summertime unless they baby-powder up their inner-thighs. The people who have drawers full of gigantic lycra underwear. The people who dress in layers even when it’s 30 degrees outside. The burger king people. Trainer Lady PROMISED me nothing but five other fat people who want to cross over to the other side. I would love nothing more than a cocoon of people who plan to emerge from this class as ‘last five pounds’ people. This class starts on Sept 15th. I’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime I’m going to fight Fat Chick as hard as I can. She’s really loud and obnoxious and filling my head with thoughts like, “Well, you don’t start that stupid exercise group for another two weeks, so why not live it up now? You’ll have to get back into it mid-September anyway, so just shut up and eat that piece of cake. Can I pour you a glass of vino?”
She is such a fucking bitch.
Summer kicked my ass. I have been indulging in bad food a LOT and my exercising efforts have been weak at best. And I’ve kind of turned into a bit of a wino. I just love me a malbec. I’ve only recently discovered this particular wine, and it is YUMMY.
I went to the gym last week and weighed myself on their super-doper scale, and according to that I’ve gained 7 pounds since May (the last month I actually lost anything). I suck.
That’s okay, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. At least I’m climbing back on the Fat Chick bandwagon before I backslide the whole way. I will do better.
I’ve signed up for a twice weekly boot camp thing Trainer Lady is starting up just for fat people. It’s a small class of six, and each class comes with an hour of exercise and a stern talking to thinly veiled as ‘nutrition counseling and support’. I’m hoping that a group of actual fat people to relate to will help me. I don’t really know any other fat people in real life. I’m pretty much it. I’m surrounded by nothing but ‘the last five pounds’ people.
A good friend of mine once told me that if I ran in place for ten minutes before bed each night the weight would just fall off and I’d never be fat again. See what I’m dealing with here?
I need the REAL fat people as a support group to help me. The people who can’t wear a dress in the summertime unless they baby-powder up their inner-thighs. The people who have drawers full of gigantic lycra underwear. The people who dress in layers even when it’s 30 degrees outside. The burger king people. Trainer Lady PROMISED me nothing but five other fat people who want to cross over to the other side. I would love nothing more than a cocoon of people who plan to emerge from this class as ‘last five pounds’ people. This class starts on Sept 15th. I’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime I’m going to fight Fat Chick as hard as I can. She’s really loud and obnoxious and filling my head with thoughts like, “Well, you don’t start that stupid exercise group for another two weeks, so why not live it up now? You’ll have to get back into it mid-September anyway, so just shut up and eat that piece of cake. Can I pour you a glass of vino?”
She is such a fucking bitch.
Rock On, Mr. FoN
Hi! Where have I been? I’ve been waiting for summer. I’ve been all dressed up, sitting on my doorstep, clutching my purse and waiting for that stupid fucker to show up and make me hot. He never showed. Some time ago I finally gave up and reached the conclusion that I’ve been stood up. After that sad realization I retreated to my bedroom. Hugging my teddy bear while surrounded by balls of snotty kleenex I’ve been writing I LOVE SUMMER and MRS. FoN SUMMER all over my stuff. What an asshole.
In a few short weeks, I’m going to start bitching about how cold I am again. Fair warning, internet.
Sigh.
What else is new?
The Hubby started his teaching job yesterday. He is a teacher. Mr. FoN. That makes me Mrs. FoN, which is even funnier. He’s been in school for the last six years completing his Bachelor of Education degree. I know it’s a four year degree, but he went part-time for the first four years so that’s why it took him six years to finish. He’s not, you know…just dumb. Anyway, it was his first day as a teacher yesterday, and he is now in charge of a room full of 7 and 8 year-olds all day.
I really have to give a shout out to all the teachers in the world, because short of having to scrape road kill off the highway all day or letting fat, sweaty businessmen stuff money down my pants, teaching would be pretty much last on my list of career choices.
Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. Well, I like most kids. Okay, I really only like my own kids and my friend’s kids. I like the odd stranger kid, but some of them really kind of suck. If I was a teacher and had a shitty kid in my class I would not be able to hide the fact that I thought he was shitty. Getting picked on by the teacher is probably not that cool. I’d feel bad being openly bitchy to some kid, even if they were shitty. Plus, I have a lot of residual scarring from my elementary school days when I was tortured mercilessly by Rob Morrese. I can’t actually remember how to spell his name right now, but just so you know it’s pronounced More-eese. I’m going to write a whole post someday about Rob Morrese, and in preparation I’m going to find my elementary school class picture to figure out how to spell his name correctly so when that narcissistic fucker googles himself he can read all about what an asshole he is. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, teaching.
Whenever I walk into an elementary school I feel like I have been immediately thrust into the Lord of the Flies. All that yelling and bell ringing and bad artwork hanging everywhere is offensive to my senses. And what is with the smell? Why do elementary schools need to smell like that? Some type of Franken mixture of stale bologna, glue, cleaning supplies and urine. How could anyone want to work in that environment all day everyday? And enjoy it? And not even get paid that well to do it? No thanks.
One day last year in a weak moment I volunteered to be the parent helper in my son’s class for some project they were doing. I was there for two hours, and when it was over I couldn’t leave fast enough. I raced back to work and immediately started making out with my desk. Full tongue and everything. It was awesome.
So, here is a big shout out to all you teachers in the world. Thank you for taking the bullet for the rest of us. I won’t even begrudge you the 2 months off you get in the summer. And the 2 weeks at Christmas. And the other 10 days around Easter.
Hmmmmmm.
In a few short weeks, I’m going to start bitching about how cold I am again. Fair warning, internet.
Sigh.
What else is new?
The Hubby started his teaching job yesterday. He is a teacher. Mr. FoN. That makes me Mrs. FoN, which is even funnier. He’s been in school for the last six years completing his Bachelor of Education degree. I know it’s a four year degree, but he went part-time for the first four years so that’s why it took him six years to finish. He’s not, you know…just dumb. Anyway, it was his first day as a teacher yesterday, and he is now in charge of a room full of 7 and 8 year-olds all day.
I really have to give a shout out to all the teachers in the world, because short of having to scrape road kill off the highway all day or letting fat, sweaty businessmen stuff money down my pants, teaching would be pretty much last on my list of career choices.
Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. Well, I like most kids. Okay, I really only like my own kids and my friend’s kids. I like the odd stranger kid, but some of them really kind of suck. If I was a teacher and had a shitty kid in my class I would not be able to hide the fact that I thought he was shitty. Getting picked on by the teacher is probably not that cool. I’d feel bad being openly bitchy to some kid, even if they were shitty. Plus, I have a lot of residual scarring from my elementary school days when I was tortured mercilessly by Rob Morrese. I can’t actually remember how to spell his name right now, but just so you know it’s pronounced More-eese. I’m going to write a whole post someday about Rob Morrese, and in preparation I’m going to find my elementary school class picture to figure out how to spell his name correctly so when that narcissistic fucker googles himself he can read all about what an asshole he is. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, teaching.
Whenever I walk into an elementary school I feel like I have been immediately thrust into the Lord of the Flies. All that yelling and bell ringing and bad artwork hanging everywhere is offensive to my senses. And what is with the smell? Why do elementary schools need to smell like that? Some type of Franken mixture of stale bologna, glue, cleaning supplies and urine. How could anyone want to work in that environment all day everyday? And enjoy it? And not even get paid that well to do it? No thanks.
One day last year in a weak moment I volunteered to be the parent helper in my son’s class for some project they were doing. I was there for two hours, and when it was over I couldn’t leave fast enough. I raced back to work and immediately started making out with my desk. Full tongue and everything. It was awesome.
So, here is a big shout out to all you teachers in the world. Thank you for taking the bullet for the rest of us. I won’t even begrudge you the 2 months off you get in the summer. And the 2 weeks at Christmas. And the other 10 days around Easter.
Hmmmmmm.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sweatshops are totally underrated.
So, I gotta say that so far this summer has been da bomb. Exploiting my family and turning them into sweatshop workers paid off big time and the two weeks spent at the cabin were fabulous. Mother Nature was being a total fucking bitch and didn’t see fit to provide us with the best weather of all time, but we had enough warm and sunny days to get in some swimming, boating and general laziness, which was pretty much my entire agenda.
Yes, that's me. In a bathingsuit on the internet. That's as close as I'm getting and the imagine gets super grainy when you try and zoom in so don't even bother. But...doesn’t that look like a good time? It was. Doing sweet fuck all for two weeks was all I thought it would be and more. Here are a few shots of the cabin –
Nice, huh? See why I was willing to whore out my husband and children? Lakefront people!! Lakefront!!!
And, when the weather wasn’t the greatest we played board games. Just so you know, internet, you are reading the literary works of the all time World Champion of Scattergories. Notorious people starting with a K? The Klu Klux Klan! THREE points right there. Crimes starting with a W? Whaling! Can you think of a crime that starts with a W in under 60 seconds?? It’s not easy. Clearly being the current Scattergories Champion of the World proves I’m a superior thinker. I’ve already put it on my resume.
So now, today….I went back to work. Back to my cold and sterile office building with my desk in the middle of the hallway. Back to the mind-numbing buzz of the florescent lights. Back to words and phrases like ‘template’ and ‘Governance Committee’ and ‘Meeting of the Board of Directors’. Back to highlighters and staplers and paperclips and that little chime that goes off constantly alerting you to the fact that there is yet another new email. Sigh. The party’s over.
Yes, that's me. In a bathingsuit on the internet. That's as close as I'm getting and the imagine gets super grainy when you try and zoom in so don't even bother. But...doesn’t that look like a good time? It was. Doing sweet fuck all for two weeks was all I thought it would be and more. Here are a few shots of the cabin –
Nice, huh? See why I was willing to whore out my husband and children? Lakefront people!! Lakefront!!!
And, when the weather wasn’t the greatest we played board games. Just so you know, internet, you are reading the literary works of the all time World Champion of Scattergories. Notorious people starting with a K? The Klu Klux Klan! THREE points right there. Crimes starting with a W? Whaling! Can you think of a crime that starts with a W in under 60 seconds?? It’s not easy. Clearly being the current Scattergories Champion of the World proves I’m a superior thinker. I’ve already put it on my resume.
So now, today….I went back to work. Back to my cold and sterile office building with my desk in the middle of the hallway. Back to the mind-numbing buzz of the florescent lights. Back to words and phrases like ‘template’ and ‘Governance Committee’ and ‘Meeting of the Board of Directors’. Back to highlighters and staplers and paperclips and that little chime that goes off constantly alerting you to the fact that there is yet another new email. Sigh. The party’s over.
Monday, July 27, 2009
FoN OUT
Sup yall! Today is the day we're heading off to enjoy the fabulous lakefront cabin I acquired in exchange for turning my family sweatshop workers. The Hubby and the older kids were out there all last week doing yard work and now that all that heavy lifting is done I'm taking off for 14 wonderful day of sunning myself and drinking daiquiris. I like daiquiris.
I'm taking the laptop with me, but I have no idea what kind of connectivity they are rocking out there. I might be (shudder) completely without access. Either way I will be recording all of our adventures and taking loads of pictures so I will have plenty of material to annoy the shit out of you with when I return. Have a good couple of weeks bloggy land!
I'm taking the laptop with me, but I have no idea what kind of connectivity they are rocking out there. I might be (shudder) completely without access. Either way I will be recording all of our adventures and taking loads of pictures so I will have plenty of material to annoy the shit out of you with when I return. Have a good couple of weeks bloggy land!
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