Was That an Eight Year Old Dominatrix?

Um……apparently my scale didn’t get the message that it’s a holiday and therefore calories don’t count, because it’s not budging. It’s not my fault I had to test the candy PRIOR to giving it to trick or treaters…I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the death of dozens of neighborhood children. I DO NOT WANT THAT BLOOD ON MY HANDS! So after ensuring that the Butterfingers, and Baby Ruths, and Almond Joys were safe for consumption, I will sleep soundly tonight knowing that kids of all ages are alive and well and enjoying a poison-free sugar high.

The fact that it’s Halloween has had multiple effects today. A) Teenagers have been moody because I made them work on a “holiday.” B) I must be getting old, because I cannot stop talking about how the costumes these days are too revealing for children! I could have sworn an 8 year old dominatrix just knocked on my door under the guise of a “punk.” C) I am once again reminded that my midsection isn’t quite where I want it to be to fit into a skanky costume.

I’m 20 pounds lighter than last Halloween, but that doesn’t mean that my cellulite needs to be on display for the world to see. But oddly enough, I wasn’t eyeing the risqué costumes with the same zeal and envy as last year. Have I grown past my desire to dress like a complete whore? Hmmmmm, something to contemplate, because I am sitting here in my non slutty sweat pants, writing this blog, and running up and down the stairs handing out candy to youngsters, and I’m perfectly OK with that. (Well technically we just turned out the lights because now all the teenagers are out and those nasty Whoppers are the only candy we have left).

But if slutty costumes aren’t my motivation, I can tell you what is. I’ll give you a hint: it’s green, has dead presidents’ faces on it, and I usually use way too much of it at a certain coffee establishment that starts with an S and ends with a tarbucks. That’s right…SHOW ME THE MONEY! Boot camp just got real, ya’all! Each member is putting in money every week from now through the holiday season – after New Years, whoever has lost the most percentage of weight gets the whole shebang! That’s quite a little kick in the ass if I ever heard of one! So ya know, if dressing like a streetwalker and/or having a healthy heart doesn’t give me the jumpstart like it should, there’s always cash! So bring it on folks, because I’m poor and in need of my fix! (My Powell’s Bookstore fix that is!)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

I am a Tower of Power!

So for the love of all that is holy, and for my sanity as well as yours, I decided to put this whole Eeyore sad sack thing on the back burner for now and be HAPPY! And what isn’t there to be happy about? Persimmons have finally made their way back to Costco! (I can only buy one dozen at a time because I can go to town on a bowl of those bitches). I showed a movie last week in class, and therefore there was considerably less whining. I went to a concert put on by Tower of Power and got my underwear signed by some aging funk stars! It was brand new underwear in case you were wondering…I didn’t want the funk stars to smell my funk if you catch my drift…AND, to top it all off, I went out Friday night and drank like a college frat boy, and IT. WAS. AWESOME. I haven’t done that in ages and it was the remedy I needed.

But beyond that, I also stuck to my workout goal. Granted, it wasn’t a super high reaching goal to get three workouts in, but it tripled the amount of workouts I’ve had in the last few weeks. I zumba’d (is that a verb?) with the teachers, burned massive amounts of calories at boot camp, and worked out at LA Fitness (more on that to come).

Boot camp had an edge this week because I was the only one there. Just me and Amber. No distractions, nowhere to hide, no mercy. Amber’s working out along side of me, and I have no legit excuses because I didn’t just push a human out of my vagina 4 weeks ago. I had to suck it up and go the distance. Among other things, I did 140 triceps dips that day. My shoulders were on fire. If I could have smacked Amber I would have, but she would have needed to lift my arms up to help me do it. But that one on one workout was the kick in the ass I’ve been missing and needing. I left there with my lungs week and my body a throbbing mess – and it’s the best I’ve felt in a LONG time.

So now for the gym. Quick backtrack – Barrett and I quit the membership to the old folks country club because it was too pricy and we were finding more resourceful ways to work out. But then like a beacon of awesomeness, I came home one day to find a 30 day free pass to LA Fitness taped to my door. Thirty days of a free gym membership? Don’t mind if I do! So yesterday I stroll into the gym ready to drop it like it’s hot, but I forgot that anytime you go into a new gym, they do that whole consultation thing about your fitness goals and your workout history and your blood type and childhood aspirations and yada yada yada. So I’m about to meet with my new gym correspondent, whose muscles are too big and whose teeth are too white, and I start feeling just the teensiest bit intimidated. But then he starts talking, and he’s a doll and not intimidating at all, and is even more fabulous because he’s gay. This guy is going to be my new gay best friend and we’re going to be workout buddies and shopping partners. BUT THEN….he mentions his wife and daughter. BACK THE TRUCK UP. How are you not gay? You just used the phrase, “Let’s get real girl, mmmmkay?” Why are the good ones always straight!?!?!? Such a shame.

So my allegedly straight new gym buddy gives me the tour, and it’s pretty fancy schmancy - a lot different than I’m used to, but the equipment is plentiful and clean, so sign me up! I hop on a treadmill, and because I forgot my I Pod, I’m doing a lot of people watching to make the time go by faster. Holy hot pants, Batman! What’s with all the matching gym wear? When did it become uncool to throw on yesterday’s smelly t-shirt and call it good? AND WHERE ARE ALL THE OTHER CHUBBY PEOPLE!?!?!? Why is everyone in shape and wearing color coordinated outfits? I can barely get my work clothes to match, let alone my gym shoes and gym shirt! I miss the old farts! What is this place!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?

I didn’t realize it at first, but it hit me when I was working out at this place that it’s been a LONG time since I’ve been to a legitimate fitness club. Not that the gym at the country club wasn’t great, but it helps your self esteem when you’re the youngest one there by about 60 years. So now I’ve got a lot of catching up to do and I think I need to go shopping for studly gym attire. But to step it up a notch, I’m insisting to myself that I get four workouts in this week, and at least two of them will be at the big, scary new gym. And I’m excited about it, because hot diggity damn, it felt soooooooo good to work out again – it was just the stress relief and “me time” that I needed. So here’s to “me time” and happiness and restored optimism that will hopefully last longer than a week – cheers and ‘til next time!

CRY BABY

So, I know, second blog in a month that has been skipped. I’m not making a habit of it, I swear! Last week I had a case of the flu/cold/whatever requires a Nyquil at 7 pm. Trust me though, you wouldn’t have wanted to hear from me…not only would you probably have caught my germs through the blog, but it would have been another endless pity party featuring yours truly.

You know how in movies, there’s usually that video montage of moments that plays to some sappy song that captures an ongoing theme? Well picture this. Janis Joplin’s “Cry Baby” is wailing in the background and the scene starts with Emily weeping in the morning over her tea because she has to go to work, and then it pans to Emily blubbering on her lunch break, and then laying on the couch watching Desperate Housewives and whining (all the while stuffing her face with whatever processed food is within reach) and finally, stepping on the scale with a big over dramatic sob. And there you have it, folks! While this is a minor embellishment for theatrical purposes (I know…the fact that I would exaggerate is shocking), I’ve been a giant succubus of joy. Seriously – I’m like those guys in Harry Potter that can suck any happiness right out of ya!

To put it nicely, work has been sucking my will to live. Not only am I drowning in a sea of paperwork and grades, but I’m teaching the classes that kids don’t want to be in. Or so they tell me on a regular basis. Nobody wants to be in the “I need extra help with reading” class, and try as I might, I can’t seem to make learning about text book features any fun for them. So I meet resistance every day. And my optimism is waning and my self esteem is going down the crapper. And have I let this affect my life and healthy lifestyle? You bet your ass I have!

What’s wrong with me!?!?!? How am I letting 14 year olds have this much impact? And why is it that the positive comments and interactions throughout the day never quite stick with you the way the crappy ones do? But holy hell, I can’t even listen to myself mope anymore. Every I time I start to whine, I just want to bitch slap myself! And the thing of it is, I’m sacrificing the things that make me feel better and stronger. I’ve been mustering up just one workout a week and eating like I’m carrying triplets. Miraculously, the stress has managed to keep me from ballooning up the Good Year Blimp, but the scale still isn’t pretty – I’m down to a just a 21 pound loss. If you want to put a positive spin on it – I’ve lost about 40 pounds this year. Unfortunately…I’ve gained 19 of them back…

So what to do, what to do… I can’t keep whining and coming up with excuses. It’s dumb. And lame. And stupid. So I can either let these ass hats eat me alive, or I can go all Michelle Pheifer Minds on their asses, get a leather jacket and be a badass who doesn’t take crap from no one! ORRRRRR, I could accept the nature of the beast and stop letting it control my life outside of school because hater's gonna hate. ORRRRRR…I could get a badass leather jacket AND stop letting them get to me. Because I’ve got stuff to do and tiny thighs to get, and a half marathon in 6 weeks! So let’s break this down in a non-whiny way.

MY SOLEMN COMMITMENS THIS WEEK

1.I will NOT complain about my job this week to ANYONE. If I’m sick of hearing about it…chances are other people are as well.

2.I will do something positive for myself everyday that doesn’t involve the boob tube. (this is very self helpy, but I don’t care)

3.I will get 3 workouts in this week – starting with Zumba tomorrow in the staff lounge. (This has been organized by the staff…I don’t just randomly bust out in Latin exercises throughout the school building.)

4.I will count EVERY LAST DAMN WEIGHT WATCHER POINT THAT GOES INTO MY MOUTH

5.When I am stressed I will Google pictures of baby hippopotamuses because they make me happy.

Following a brief hiatus

Oh, the shame! For the first time all year I didn’t get my blog out on time. Well, maybe you’ll forgive me if I tell you I was in the hospital. Visiting cancer patients. In the children’s ward. Ooooooorrrrrrrr….. I was super tired and lazy and wanted to go to bed at 8:30. Take your pick, I’ll let you choose. I know, I know, super lame – I could also tell you that I couldn’t face the shame of telling you that a few of those pounds had found their way back to my middle. And butt. And face – I started looking like one of those chipmunks or people who are leaving the dentist after a mouth full of Novocain.

I have no good excuses. It’s not like the pounds were sneaky little bastards either; I knew they were coming. When you stop paying attention to what you’re eating and exercise is only happening once a week – it’s not exactly a shocker when you’re up three pounds. And even though three pounds might not be the end of the world, it feels like 300. When I leave my house, I can almost feel people noticing. I can see them thinking, “she gained three pounds…she gained three pounds…” And when my weight is up, that’s when it seems that all the skinny bitches come out of the woodwork.

Now let’s clarify something. When I refer to skinny bitches, this does not encompass all girls who are skinny. Nope, this is specifically for those chicks who give you the once over and their eyes might as well be saying, “Get some self control and step away from the cookies.” Yeah skinny bitches, you know who you are, and I recommend you eat a sandwich and then blow it out your ass. Or don’t, because that actually sounds like a diarrhea reference. Whoops! Like there was this one working at Papa Murphy’s the other day when I went in to pick up a pizza. And you know how they always ask the same question, “Have you ever baked our pizzas before?” Well I swear the chick had a smirk on her face as she asked and eyed me up and down. Yes. Clearly I have had your pizzas before, so BACK UP OFF IT! Or it could totally be my imagination. Maybe the skinny bitches have always been there and when I’m feelin’ goooooooood I just don’t notice…or care….maybe it’s my problem…

But skinny bitches judging or not, I’ve got to get back to business. I’ve added another boot camp to the weekly regime which has been awesome! Although last week’s impromptu boot camp in the park ended with a shouting match against some obnoxious thirteen year olds…not my finest hour. But at least my vocal chords got a work out as well. So I’ve been trying to get some balance back in my life and stay up until at least 9:00 every night. Next week I’ll have a less whiny and more positive spin, and I promise not to bitch about the bitches; I also promise to stop using the word bitch so much.

OK, that’s all folks! Happy Fall!