April 21st, 2009 by Kateastrophe

Long ago, in a land far, far away,* a little girl tried a sip of her Grandma’s special drink. Almost instantly, a love of Diet Coke was instilled in the little girl and she’s been a faithful worshipper ever since.**

Throughout her life, Diet Coke was there.

In high school, Diet Coke was there for her. It helped her manage (barely) to stay awake during after lunch Trigonometry and gave her the boost she needed for band camp.*** Late night play practice was always improved by a frosty fountain Diet Coke from Will’s Pit Stop or Maxi Mart. Relationships were forged over a love of the beverage of the gods. Diet Coke made an awesome high school experience even better.

In college, things got rough. Diet Coke and the little girl (now big) were fighting because all of the vocal coaches, theatre teachers and dance instructors told her their relationship was on a bad path and that Diet Coke wasn’t doing the little girl right. She struggled with her decision and finally decided it was time for she and Diet Coke to take a little break. It lasted about four days. Diet Coke was hers and she was it’s. There were no two ways about that. Teachers, you lose.

Diet Coke was, again, there for the girl throughout the ups and downs of college. It helped her through the freshman 15**** and through many, many (like a LOT) of bad break-ups,***** her senior performance project and, most importantly (duh duh duh) Richard.******

College graduation came and went and the little girl was all growed up. The girl wanted to keep her svelte figure after college so she went on a bit of a health kick and she and Diet Coke took another break. She avoided her love, Diet Coke, like the plague and was able to finally fit into a pair of size tiny pants. She met a cute boy, she dated him. He moved away. She and Richard decided to go another round. She and Richard ended that round and ALL THAT WOULD CONSOLE HER WAS A DIET COKE. Just like that, she was back on the juice.

Diet Coke was there for break-ups four, five and finally six with Richard and then the happiness set in and the girl found the love of her life in a boy named Matt. He soon joined her in her love of Diet Coke and the threesome enjoyed each other for many years. They shared their courtship, their engagement and even their marriage. Diet Coke was even there for wedding pictures. Diet Coke was a part of their lives, but the girl kept feeling like there was something a little off. Like her dependency on Diet Coke wasn’t right. Yet, together they stayed.

Then, two weeks ago, the girl found herself battling an evil sickness. She was given medication and didn’t feel much like a Diet Coke. She took this opportunity to give Diet Coke the quick boot. She was done and dramatically flung it off like dirty underwear.******* Five days passed and the girl hadn’t even said hello to Diet Coke and she was blissful when she discovered that she had no caffeine headaches or cravings. She was OVER IT . . . until she stopped taking her medications. Turns out those stupid things act just like caffeine. The second the medication was gone, Diet Coke got the girl back with a vengeance. It’s poison came in the form of the WORST HEADACHE KNOWN TO MAN which STILL HASN’T STOPPED.

The girl is miserable. And wants a fix. But is convinced she has the willpower to persevere. But she wants this headache to go away NOW.******** And she really, really REALLY wants a Diet Coke.

And now she knows how addicts feel. And she humbly joins their ranks.

Hi, my name is Kate and I’m a Diet Coke-aholic and I’ve been clean for 15 days, three hours and four minutes.*********

—————————————–

*Southern California

**The infamous Diet Dr. Pepper phase of 2000 was the only time she ever cheated on Diet Coke. Really.

***She wishes she were joking. It was only that one time, Freshman year and she wasn’t IN the band. She was flag twirler. Way better. Or maybe not.

**** Ok the Europe 25 is more like it. The girl also might be addicted to baguettes and European chocolate. That might be another post entirely.

***** Or NCMOs (Non-Committal Make-Outs)

******Well, at least break-ups one and two. See Soap Opera Sunday for more details. She should probably finish that story up someday. She knows this. Don’t get mad.

*******Too much? Dirty socks would have been better? Noted.

********Either that or miraculously lose fifteen pounds. She’d take a headache for loose fitting jeans any day.

*********YES, I’m counting the minutes. No judging.

March 3rd, 2009 by Kateastrophe

In an attempt to jump-start a weight loss challenge my roomie and I have going, I headed out to Bikram Yoga yesterday.

It had been a very long time since my body had taken part in any yoga class, let alone the Bikram variety, but I have always remember my days of body contortion fondly.  I loved the deep breathing and the whole spiritual oneness of it all, plus the flexibility and weight loss that comes along with it are never bad.

I apparently forgot that back in those days I was dancing at least two hours a day and working out like a professional trainer.  I was buff and flexible to start, and that it was like TEN years ago and I have aged TEN years.  And gained about thirty pounds.  Oui.

I started my day confidently and ready to go.  I was going to kick Bikram Yoga’s ass.  I finished up my work right on time and packed up my computer and went to change my clothes in the company bathroom.  It was there I discovered that I had forgotten my flip-flops.  This meant that I had the pleasure of strutting out of my place of work wearing very short yoga shorts, a red tank top and OLIVE GREEN POINTY TOED STILLETOS.  I kid you not.  I’m sure the IT guys have it on camera if you want proof.  I then had the pleasure of parking my car in a very busy strip mall area and walking across the parking lot and in front of all the stores in the same get-up.  Let me tell you, I was h-a-w-t.

I made my way into the studio, paid for my class and left my shiny green shoes in the lobby.  I grabbed my towel and my yoga mat and strutted into the yoga room where I was met with a blast of steamy, blistering hot air.  105 degrees and 40% humidity to be exact.  OHHOLYCRAP I had forgotten how hot that felt and how quickly one begins to sweat like a hog in that environment.

I looked around and everyone seemed to be enjoying the heat and most were lying on their backs in what appeared to be a meditative state.  I figured I’d try it, so I joined them.  Pretty soon a giant bead of sweat was making it’s way down the side of my face and it became impossible to stay still because MAN did it itch.  So I gave up on the whole “meditation” thing and sat up and waited for class to start whilst wiping sweat from most of my already drenched body.

Class finally started and let me just tell you what — 90 minutes feels like an eternity when you’re attempting to pull your body into inhumane positions AND sweating as though you’re locked in Hell’s closet.  Have you ever tried to grab on to your sweaty big toe with your sweaty hand and hang on while touching your sweaty nose to your sweaty knee?  First of all, it’s hard to hold on and you drop your sweaty foot a lot.  Then you try to wipe off your sweaty hands on your shorts, only to find that they are ALSO completely soaked in sweat and then you have to try to come up with something else which involves either the nasty carpet or your soaked towel, neither of which seem like a good idea.  I’m not going to lie, I looked like a COMPLETE IDIOT the whole time.  I dropped both legs at least twice and I actually slipped out of one pose and almost landed right on my face.  I severely kinked my neck looking over one shoulder AND, thanks to the mass quantities of water my body was losing, I got light-headed no less than five times and was forced to sit down before I passed the hell out.

FINALLY, the 90 minutes were up and I hobbled out of class, soaked from head to toe and extremely humbled and light headed but determined to make it out the door, past the waiting next class before crying in shame in my car.  Of course, any last shred of dignity was thrown right out the window when, naturally,  I completely tipped over right in the middle of the crowded lobby while trying to put on my damn green heels.

I’m going back tomorrow.  Who needs dignity anyway?

January 29th, 2009 by Kateastrophe

I honestly don’t know how people do it.

See, I don’t have a whole lot of responsibility in my life. Sure, I work full time and I have to be all “responsible” there, and yes it’s challenging most days, and yes it’s hard work, but overall it’s not like a huge burden or weight. When I get home, I don’t have a husband demanding I have a hot dinner ready to go. He’s easy. If I want to cook, it’s OK. If I want to be lazy, it’s OK. If I want cereal, he eats a sandwich. SO easy-going, that man. Love him. He’s also really easy-going about the cleaning thing. I don’t remember the last time I mopped the floor (don’t judge me!) and as long as things are RELATIVELY picked up, he’s good. Oh and he’s incredibly neat. Everything around him is organized, folded and in it’s place. Granted, he’s not a deep cleaner (Mop? What’s a mop?) but I am (when I clean) so it’s ALL good.

Some people have very time consuming church responsibilities, but my church calling? Super easy. I have a meeting once a month and help plan parties. It’s awesome.

Other than that? I get to do what I want. Yet I always feel behind and like I’m getting NOTHING done!

I want to work out every day, but it never seems to happen. I am a creature that needs lots of sleep. Like 8-9 hours a night. Needless to say, getting up early to work out really isn’t an option. So, I figure I’ll do it when I get home, right? Wrong. When I get home, I’m starving (stupid hypoglycemia), thereby, no matter which way you spin it, I have at least an hour or two used up to either cook or find a meal. THEN I need at least an hour to digest so I don’t die at the gym. By that time it’s like 8:00 or 8:30, at which point I start considering it will be about an hour workout and THEN I have to come home and shower. Which takes another hour. (Stupid long hair.) SO by then it’s 11:00 and I’ve accomplished NOTHING except eating and working out. Imagine doing that every day. Yeah. I try to work out three times a week but STILL.

I have a few TV shows I enjoy watching, and I’ve tried to multi-task and do other things while I’m watching, but I’m realizing my brain doesn’t work like that anymore. I end up rewinding things like five times trying to catch what Derek just said to Meredith or whatever. SO, there are several hours a week dedicated to TV. It’s sort of brainless ME time, but again, I get NOTHING done.

This leads me to the weekends.

I typically need to use Saturday to clean, organize and to wade through the laundry pile because HOLY CRAP does my husband get a lot of clothes dirty. I swear I wash five of his things for every one of mine. Then there are always annoying errands like GROCERY SHOPPING to do, and before I know it, my Saturday is gone.

Now, for Sunday. Oui, Sunday. Being a member of the LDS Church, we are asked to keep the Sabbath day holy which means that we try our best not to do any hard work, shopping, eating out, etc. on Sunday. And we spend three hours in church. Oh and my church is 30 miles away so add an extra hour there. I’m not complaining (ok I sort of am but not loud annoying complaining) because I usually enjoy church and have friends there, and being forced to take it easy isn’t a bad thing, but it’s hard sometimes because I feel like most people have two days at the end of their week to do some playing and some chores and stuff, and I feel a little slighted and like I only have one. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my religion and wouldn’t trade it for anything but I am sort of making a plea for shortened church for those of us with A.D.D. or who are just easily distracted . . . it’s not going to happen, but a girl can dream, right?

Now, add in my work travel and I have pretty much just summed up my entire life for you. Do you see time for vacuuming? Decorating? Working on projects? Joining a book club? WRITING ON MY BLOG? Nope. Not there.

I’m a slightly overweight version of myself trying to figure out how to do it all. Which brings me back to the beginning sentence. I honestly don’t know how people do it. How do you add kids and still work out and keep house and help them with their homework and play with them and all that stuff? How do you decorate your homes so beautifully and still find time to make curtains and do crafts? HOW DO YOU DO IT?

I realize I’m asking the same question women have been asking forever. I realize there’s no absolute answer. I just have all these things I long to do. I look in the mirror and I am sad because my outsides don’t match my insides. I want to fit back into the clothes I’ve saved because I know I can be that skinny again. I want to find time to work out enough that I begin to really enjoy it. I want to cook a great meal every day. I want my home to be beautiful and representative of Matt and I. I want so many things and I’m just not sure how to get them without giving up other things that are important to me.

So seriously, I know you SuperGirls are out there. I read about your lives and I’m mostly inspired, but today I beg you to share your secret with me. I promise not to tell anyone else J.

January 13th, 2009 by Kateastrophe

I’ve always wished I was one of those people who forgot to eat when they’re stressed. It’s such a quick, easy, painless way to a little bit of weight loss. My sister is gifted at it. The second a teeny tiny bit of stress hits her life, BAM she loses ten pounds. She’d have boy trouble and BAM, twenty pounds. She was like a size -10 with big boobs most of her life. She’ll say she hates me because of my green eyes. I pretty much win because her largest ever dress size was a 4. Green eyes and fat or brown eyes and deliciously skinny? Hmmmm, hard choice. SKINNY, Meg-o, SKINNY!

When I’m stressed, I want to do nothing but eat. Sugar and cheese, specifically. Not together, of course, because that’s, well, EW. I get the cooking bug and decide to “throw together” a delicious, parmesan cheese themed meal with parmesan crusted salmon, parmesan risotto and parmesan broccoli. No lie people, that’s what we had for dinner last night. It was deliciously unhealthy. Let’s just say that things in my life are reeking of a bit of stress. This new promotion at work is a great opportunity but it’s causing unusually high stress levels in the land of Kate. Cheese anyone?

I punished myself for the meal last night with my second trip to the gym in a week. I’m attempting to get back on the six-days-a-week work out wagon. I was doing really well last year until about June. I’d lost about ten pounds and was sitting comfortably on the bottom edge of one dress size smaller than I’d started the year out. Que summer vacations, work trade shows, trips to China and those bastard Holiday cookies. I stepped on the scary scale of death to (joyfully) discover that I’m back up TWELVE pounds. TWELVE. Ugh. Shoot me now.

I’ve never been a tiny, petite person. At my very skinniest I tipped the scales at a number that would cause suicides in most women, but the number isn’t really what bothers me. I was a size six and pretty damn proud of myself at the time. I’m big boned, have a large amount of muscle mass and strong, sturdy legs. I put muscle on quickly and, if I do say so myself, quite beautifully, so I weigh more than your average gal. I’m OK with that. What I’m not OK with is the actual size of my clothes. I’m verging on a size that most companies don’t carry, that my favorite denim companies won’t even consider making cute jeans in. I know I don’t look FAT, per say, but I sure don’t look skinny either. The lumps are taking over and they have GOT.TO.GO.

So, I’m jumping on the dreaded January Gym Bandwagon. I usually avoid the gym at all costs in January because I can’t handle the crowds of people with New Year’s Resolutions taking up space on my favorite treadmill, but this year, I figure I’ll just find it in my heart to use ANY treadmill. I’m not making a New Year’s Resolution, because that’s not really what this is. I’ve done it before. I’ve been the girl that every gym employee knows by name because I’m there every day. I’ve faithfully laid out my gym clothes and ingredients for a healthy dinner so that I could maximize my workout. Come February, when everyone gives up their resolve to return to the couch, I hope to be that girl again, but this time, permanently.

Oh, but just in case? I’m starting a liposuction fund.

October 7th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Um, I leave for China in ELEVEN DAYS.  I’m not sure how this trip snuck up on me like this, but HOLY CRAP ELEVEN DAYS! And I need help.  With shoes.

You heard me. Shoes.

SO, a while ago, the beautiful Angela at Tomorrow is Another Day went on the “Great Shoe Quest” for her honeymoon trip to Italy.  I thought I would just use and abuse all her hard work and buy the same shoes she did for my trip.  Enter FALL in CHINA.   It’s going to be weird weather.  It’s slated to be in the 70’s but you know there’s going to be freezing cold days mixed in there too.  SO, I need a COMFY, CUTE (emphasis on CUTE) pair of shoes that I can wear WITH and WITHOUT socks that will allow me to frolic happily through the Chinese countryside in comfort AND not cringe at every picture where my feet make an appearance.  Oh, and that don’t cost as much as a pair of Manolos.  Because if there’s a choice?  I’ll hike the Great Wall of China in Manolos.

Basically, I’m searching for the impossible.

I went to some walking shoe store last night where I was subjected to foot scans (apparently I’ve been wearing a half size too large my whole life) and seven million dollar orthodics in fairly comfortable but extraordinarily expensive grandma shoes.  (Sorry, Grandma.)    He told me I’m at high risk for metatarcil-blahdee-itis (official term.  HA!) and that I shouldn’t wear heels.  I looked him right in the eye and told him they’d take my 5 1/2 inch heels away from me over my dead — and footless — body.  He proceeded to say words like “burning,” “sore,” “numb” and “no longer functioning” which I promptly ignored and left his ugly, overpriced store to go look at pointy toed boots.

So now I’m searching for the impossible, I’m picky, indignant and easily distracted by stilettos.  Excellent.

So now, dear internets, I ask for your assistance.   Please oh please help me find a pair (or two) of shoes for China.

To sweeten the deal and entice you more, I’ll turn it into a contest.  Whoever recommends the pair of shoes I actually buy will get a $10 iTunes gift card.  Whoever recommends the MOST shoes (aka works the hardest) will also get a $10 iTunes gift card.  If you do BOTH, I’ll give you BOTH.  Sound fair??

Ready, Go!

May 2nd, 2008 by Kateastrophe

As an integral part of my quest to lose 15 more pounds, I just ate a Wendy’s maple buttermilk biscuit sandwich and mini hash browns.

Oh, wait.  What’s that you say?  That’s not part of losing weight? Crap.

March 28th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Wow holy crap was I in a bad mood yesterday. I didn’t even realize I was until all of a sudden I just . . . was.

I’ve done a lot of analysis of my “Crazy” (trust me there’s a lot to analyze) but I’ve rarely done analysis of my “Beotch.” And woah, maybe I should.

Let’s see . . I’m not PMSing, I didn’t have a bad day at work, it was beautiful and 85 degrees on the drive home. Maybe it was Costco? I had to go after work because we were completely out of food. What might have started it was watching this old lady hover around the beef and bean burrito sample table. As soon as the sample lady would set three or four out, she’d swoop in and take all three or four, run off around the corner, eat them, and then head back for more. EVEN THOUGH OTHER PEOPLE WERE WAITING. Other people that included a little boy! I totally wanted to punch her in the throat. Well, not really anything that violent, but you get my point. I hate the sample tables at Costco. They cause more traffic jams and annoyance on my part than almost anything else. I absolutely refuse to take part in the samples. It’s a rule I’ve set up. If I’m going to be annoyed by the sample hoverers, I’m not ever going to be one of them. Ok woah holy tangent. What I was getting at is that I think my bad mood started at Costco. Memo to me, don’t go right after work.

I got home and was unpacking the groceries and I was just pissy! Matt was being great and helping me but all of a sudden I was annoyed. He wanted to rearrange the freezer to make room for the frozen stuff. I just wanted to put the crap away and be done with it. Then my “B” got even more fun. We had a quick dinner and Matt settled in to watch the NCAA Tournament. I got annoyed. I got up, did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and got more and more annoyed that he wasn’t helping me. I should mention that he helps ALL THE TIME. He almost always does the dishes and cleans up and all that stuff, so why on EARTH I think I have ANY right to be annoyed when he takes a break for one night is beYOND me. I didn’t even make dinner. I brought home one of those cooked chickens! It’s not like I had done any hard work and was exhausted from all the cooking!

After I cleaned I messed around on the computer for a while and then got ready to head to the gym. Matt was still laying on the couch. I was more annoyed. And I wanted PUDDING (which I had forgotten to get at Costco. Dammit). Gym first. I worked my can off at the gym and then headed to Old Navy (near where I was going to get PUDDING) to see if I could find any workout clothes. They used to have these great baggy-ish yoga pants and I wanted more. Naturally, they didn’t have them. Just super tight ugly ones. Now I was pissed at Old Navy, so I headed to TJ Maxx. It was the end of the day for them and the place was a DISASTER and so I got pissed at them and left with just a bra. No pants. Now for PUDDING.

Then I did the dumbest thing I’ve done in a long time. I went to Wal-Mart. When I was in a bad mood. Dude, Even at nine-thirty at night that place is a frickin’ zoo! I hate it! But remember the PUDDING? Yeah I needed sugar free pudding. Don’t even worry I bought like eight cases of it. Did you know they have chocolate mint?? Holy crap did THAT get me all excited. But it was still Wal-mart. And there were still little kids running around in diapers screaming and people leaving their carts in the middle of the aisles while they wandered up and down, making it virtually impossible for anyone to get anywhere. I waited patiently in the freezer section trying to get at some peas and this lady just STOOD THERE. Looking up and down the aisle, her cart right in front of the peas. I waited for like five minutes and finally decided PEAS AREN’T WORTH THE AGITATION and I left to go find PUDDING.

I finally got out of Wal-mart alive and headed home to eat PUDDING. I walked in the door and Matt came downstairs to help me put away the second set of groceries for the day. (Side note – has anyone else noticed it’s virtually impossible to go to Target or Walmart without spending at least $40? Seriously!!) He looked at all the PUDDING then looked at me and said “Woah there pudding monster. Is this stuff good for you? Can you have it on your diet?”

Que the “B” turning into “The Crazy” and attacking my husband’s jugular. I. WAS. PISSED. For reals this time.

I started yelling and crying about how he’s not allowed to tell me what I can or can’t eat and how I’m working my a** off on this diet and he eats like crap and it’s sugar free low calorie pudding and it IS on the diet and I deserve it because I was at the gym sweating my guts and out and where was he oh yeah sitting on the couch and, and, and . . . yeah it was bad. Really bad. I finished my yell fest, blew my runny nose and wiped my eyes, slammed his FAT FILLED RANCH DRESSING down in front of him, told him to put it away, grabbed my PUDDING and a spoon and huffed over to the couch where I proceeded to watch HGTV for the next hour. Then I went to bed. Matt hid upstairs until I was pretty much out. Smart man.

Today, the “B” is gone. I’m in a much better mood AND my skinny jeans, though still sort of tight, are fitting better than they have for a long time, so I decided to wear them. Despite the “B” being gone . . . I have this eerie feeling she might be back sooner than I think. Now I just have to think of a plan to beat her up before she turns into “The Crazy.”

March 20th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Men, look away.  This post is not for you.  GO.  Save yourselves.

Girls, we need to talk.  My boobs are growing at an alarming rate.  I’ve gone up THREE cup sizes in less than a year.  Every time I go to buy a bra because the other one is oh my gosh driving me so crazy I want to light it on fire the nice lady at the bra store tells me “well of course it’s uncomfortable, hon!  You’re wearing a full size to small.”  This has happened THREE TIMES.  NO, I’m not pregnant.  I swear.  I have irrefutable proof.

I have the birth control that rhymes with “spaz” to thank/blame for this.  I love the stuff but this side effect, while nice at the beginning, is getting a little out of hand.  One more growth spurt and I’m going to have to shop at the “big lady” stores.  Either that or find out where the strippers shop.  Meow.

My husband isn’t complaining but my clothes are.  Oh yes they are.  Everything is SO tight! And see I’m losing weight everywhere else but having to buy bigger shirts . . . that are then baggy around my waist.  It is so stupid!  Also, today I tried on my temple/wedding dress to make sure it still fit and I RIPPED IT.   People, my huge knockers RIPPED MY WEDDING DRESS.  Before anyone goes into extreme panic, never fear, I have two wedding dresses.  One I wore inside the temple for the actual wedding and the other for the fun reception stuff.  The other, gorgeous dress is safely preserved in a window box so I can gaze at it adoringly.  The one I wore in the temple isn’t as fancy but is very special to me.  Also, I was SUPPOSED to be able to wear it whenever I go to the temple . . . so I could like, wear my wedding dress many times.  Get it?  WELL I get it no more because it’s RIPPED.  In two places, where my ta-tas are.  It fits everywhere else, just not THERE.  And I have to go to the temple on Saturday and I doubt the temple is going to dig me showing up with peek holes in my dress.  Start.panicking.now.

Do you think they’ll pop if I take a pin to them?  No?  Damn.  It was worth a shot.

March 13th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Uhhh so when did someone decide Easter would be in March? And that daylight savings would be too? (Not that I care about daylight savings because we here in Arizona are rebels and REFUSE to change our clocks.) If I remember correctly, in most states, spring hasn’t really . . . sprung until April-ish. And from what I’ve heard about this particular horrific winter, the snow isn’t going anywhere and those of you who ski will continue to do so into, well, how about JULY?

I realize I have nothing to complain about. Easter here will be just like every other day has been lately. Balmy and 75. (Wipe the jealousy off your faces. Trust you me, you won’t be jealous anymore when I’m literally on fire in July.) It just seems unfair to make all the little kiddies search for eggs in their stay-puff marshmallow man outfits. Also, I’m going to guess that picking up an egg with gloves on is going to cause many a broken eggshell. I guess hiding the eggs won’t be too hard. Just forget dying them and throw them out in the snow. Nobody will see them EVER! On the bright side, the chocolate won’t melt. You’ll just have to thaw it out.

I think I’m bitter that Easter is coming because of my new, nazi-esque diet. I can’t have my beloved Cadburry Mini Eggs. I can’t eat box after box of Peeps. I’m dreaming of Startburst Jelly Beans and I can’t have them. It’s the best candy season of the year and the only dessert I’m getting is cheesecake made with fat free cottage cheese. It’s better than no dessert, yet so NOT better than a green Starburst jelly bean. Or an entire bag of them.

Now excuse me while I go force myself to eat yet another nutrition bar. Peanut Butter Fudge my butt. Tastes like chalk.

March 11th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Anyone who hates coming back to real life after a four day weekend raise your hands.

That’s all of you then, yes? Yeah, go ahead and count me in.

I have ZERO desire to be at work this week. I’m still exhausted from my weekend. It was not exactly relaxing and entailed a LOT of driving. I actually really like road trips by myself because I can listen to whatever I want and sing at the top of my lungs. I just hate sitting on my butt for that long, then coming back to work and sitting on my butt again. How can sitting on one’s butt make one so dang tired?

Getting back on the diet/exercise wagon sort of sucked too. Have I mentioned I’m on a serious diet/exercise plan? I can’t remember if I did, but I am. It sucks but I am DETERMINED TO LOSE THIS EXTRA BAGGAGE. (And Grandpa had nothing to do with it. For the record.) I did some cardio over the weekend but the diet didn’t do so well. I may or may not have had a lot of pizza. And macaroni and cheese. And these delicious s’more dessert things. And some cookies. Ahem. Needless to say, going back to chicken breast, brown rice and vegetables wasn’t exactly easy. BUT I DID IT! And I went to the gym last night. And ow, my legs hurt. I gained a pound over the weekend which is actually surprising, but in a good way. I really thought it would be more. I’m trying not to worry about weight exactly . . . more like looseness of my favorite, now too small jeans. But I have to look at my weight too, just to be sure. Trust me, it cannot come off fast enough. Yet I still hate it. HATE IT. But I’m doing it dangit.

On top of those things that I don’t want to do, there is also this play I’m in . . . it’s the musical Hello Dolly! and my church is doing it and I volunteered to be in it. And now I loathe it. I hate my character, I hate the play, I hate the music, I hate the time I’m wasting at rehearsals . . . and it’s all my fault for volunteering. And now, tonight, I have another rehearsal. And two more this week. And three more every week until the END OF MAY. And I have a dress rehearsal on my anniversary. And over Memorial Day Weekend so we can’t GO anywhere. Thhhbbbppp.

Anyone “know a guy” who can maybe run into me with his car and break a leg or two so I don’t have to work, exercise OR be in the play? That sound nice. Oh so nice.