My arms are still flabby

Because you asked, I'll have you know that I just finished my eighth day of Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred.

As predicted, I already failed the part where you work out every day for 30 days. You know, the whole premise of the program?

I unfortunately had to take a sudden three day hiatus last week. Unexpected hiatuses aside, frankly 30 straight days of working out simply cannot be done unless you're a hermit.

What's worse, during those three days, I ate an obscene amount of terrible (see: good and deep fried) food, had more than one bubbly pop and did not work out once.

But I'm back on the wagon now, and with Jillian by my side, I can't fail. Obviously it's still too early to note any substantial results, although I must say that it has been ages since I've been able to do 20 pushups in a row.

On a related note, does anyone know when I can expect this arm flab to dissipate?

Jillian Michaels is a crazy bitch

But when you look like this...

...you can pretty much act however the hell you want.

I never got into The Biggest Loser because reality TV grinds my gears. Besides, if I wanted to see obese people flop around aimlessly for an hour or so I'd just head on down to the local WalMart.

After a thorough two minutes of research, the internets tell me that Jillian was an original trainer on the show, and has since developed her own brand of weight loss and fitness products. Tonight I downloaded purchased her 30 Day Shred, and before you point out how incredibly cheap I am, note that I already know that.

This program consists of three 20-ish minute long workouts, each at a different level. The idea is to do Level 1 for 10 days, Level 2 for 10 days and Level 3 for 10 days.

And then, blam-o! Results?

I fully expect that after 30 days I will look like this:

Right.

Alas - first impressions: though short in length (and I consider this a plus, as longer workouts get in the way of my lying-around time), this felt like a complete workout. It presented strength training, core, aerobics and cardio in an easy-to-follow, and surprisingly non-irritating manner. It was challenging - and while I'm not an absolute beginner - I'm by no means athlete of the year, so I was panting pretty hard by the end.

In the last month or so of my most sincere-to-date attempt of not living my life akin to a festering pile of excrement, I've noticed some subtle results. I've lost about seven pounds and don't feel embarrassed wearing short sleeved t-shirts anymore. I have a long way to go to reach my "goal weight" (which really just means I'd like to look half decent in a bridesmaid dress on June 15), but with convenient tools like free cheap workout videos I can do in my basement while my cat stares at me - I've got a decent shot.

(Note, the above photo isn't actually me. I wish my cat looked that pretty)

I'm not sure in what universe a human being with a full time job and a semi-active social life can realistically commit to 30 days of working out in a row, but I'm going to give it a try. I suppose someone who is driven to succeed will have no problem, but I don't really wear that badge. I have every expectation that I will fail miserably, as is my style. But coupled with continuing my two-to-three day gym routine each week, I may actually come out of this not looking like Rush Limbaugh after destroying a Denny's buffet.

Another get-fit-quick scheme is upon me!

Wish me luck.

The Ides

Today an internet friend alluded to the significance today's date.

We all know the tale. On this day in 44 BC, Julius Caesar was stabbed to death by a group of conspirators - one of whom was his closest friend.



Then the question that hit home: Have you ever been betrayed by someone you trusted?

Preamble: this blog isn't my personal diary. It's merely an embarrassing attempt to use my own cynical brand of narcissistic self-deprecating humour to enlighten the masses about the fact that being a woman sucks sometimes.

But full disclosure: sadly, the whole impetus behind this blog exercise was a former friend of mine. A best friend, as he were. We grew very close in a very short period of time, and it ended just as abruptly, and quite horrifically. His exhaustive laundry list of lies and deceit eventually caught up with him, and just like that, it was over.

The worst of his literal mountain of lies (turns out he has a severe mental illness and lied chronically in order to manipulate) was a fake diagnosis of advanced-level cancer. You can imagine how devastating this news was. For months, we were all played like fiddles. Cancer was his ray gun. It deflected everything. He was untouchable.

I've been struggling with his betrayal for months. I keep it together 90% of the time, but in reality, it's permeated my entire life. Short of erasing every trace of his existence from my memory, I'm not sure how to get over it. This is my first real betrayal. I suppose in a way I'm lucky just as I suppose it probably won't be my last one, either. It still stings.

As evidenced by this silly blog, when I don't know what else to do, I write. Shortly after I was informed of his "diagnosis", I wrote a blog and dedicated to him, posting it here. Once the truth came out, it was removed.

Here it is, again.

Happy Ides, everybody. I wish you all a betrayal-free day.

And if you're reading this - I am on my way to being in the best shape I've ever been.

How about you?

Today I spent $189 on running shoes...

...and all I got was this lousy sense of smug satisfaction.

$189 isn't even that ridiculous. Sure, it's pricey. Maybe a little over budget. One might even say a tad irresponsible.

But I've been focused and healthy for the last few weeks, and I deserve it.

I grew up poor. If I needed a pair of shoes, they came from someone else or from The Salvation Army. I always had food and I always had a roof over my head. But after we were done paying for those, there was room for little else.

Okay, maybe there was room for a super-sweet lion bathing suit:

Incredible bathing gear aside -- despite my incessant complaining -- I truly appreciate what I now have.

I'll always be that shy, awkward little girl from the rougher end of town, in a lion-clad bathing suit cooling off in a plastic wading pool.

Now, I just have nicer shoes.

Look ma, no velcro.

Jesus take my fork

Currently there are three tubes of Pringles and four bags of Crispers sitting in my pantry because they were on sale and I am a weak and pathetic human being.

Shockingly, there are no post-Valentine's Day chocolates... only because I ate them all already.

Nothing seems to be working, so I wrote a song.

Okay, so I had a little help from Carrie Underwood, bless her little Christian heart. And although I'm a devout atheist, maybe I, like the hero of this ballad, should be turning to prayer in these very dark times.

I hope you guys like it.


Jesus Take My Fork
She was nibbling last Friday on a chocolate cake
On a snow white Christmas Eve
Never noticing all the bites that she would take
Or the icing on her sleeve

Twenty pounds too high, but she was running low
On breath and blood sugar
It'd been a ravenous year

She had cake on her mind and her mind on her cake
She was eating way too fast
Before she knew it she was staring
In the mirror at a great big bulging ass

She saw both her chins start to quiver
Oh the snow outside it made her shiver
She was so scared
She threw her fork up in the air

Jesus, take my fork
Take it from my hands
Cause I can't do this on my own

I'm letting go
Like the buttons on my shirt
Please save me from this road I'm on
Jesus, take my fork

Well her fork you know, it landed on the floor 
She grumbled and she cussed
Her scale, it cried and it pleaded "no more"
Under its layer of filth and dust

And for the first time in a long time
She bowed her head to pray
She said I'm sorry for the way
I've been eating my life

I know I've got to change
So from now on tonight

Jesus, take my fork
Take it from my hands
Cause I can't do this on my own
I'm letting go

Like the buttons on my shirt

Please save me from this road I'm on
Jesus, take my fork

Oh Jesus, take my fork
Oh, I'm letting go

So give me one more chance
Save me from this road I'm on
From this road I'm on
(This delicious road)
Jesus, take my fork
Oh, take it, take it from me
Oh, why, ooh

On second thought, the Flying Spaghetti Monster sounds like a much more delicious saviour.

Sorry, Jesus.

Do you hate my life?

Because I hate my life.

I got what I deserved

Because today is my gym off-day, I gleefully consented to a post-work nap.

What I'd like to believe this looked like:

What I'm sure it really looked like:

By the time I slithered out of bed, it was too late to cook a decent meal, so I made a crucial error: I resorted to McDonald's drive thru - the ultimate in abject slobbery.

That was my first mistake. Actually, my first mistake was submitting to McDonald's. And yes, for those of you who are wondering, Ronald McDonald himself literally shoved his repugnant food down my throat.

I don't know why I expected any less, but upon returning to the homestead, I discovered that the incompetent morons at this fine establishment get my order completely wrong. Regardless, in my final act of contemptible self hatred, I consumed the entire defective meal, which likely had the nutritional equivalent of a cardboard box soaked in radioactive nuclear waste.

This night isn't salvageable. I know this now.  But tomorrow is a new day, a day where I will refrain from a siesta, sweat tonight's grade F meat out of my system, and eat a real, honest-to-fucking-god meal. For I must look forward, not backward; upward, not forward; and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom.