2005-03-29
Happy New Year (do you have a light?)
Is it January 1st?
I seem to be doing the resolution thing 4 months late.
Well, you never want to rush into these things, I always say.
Here's what's going on:
TONIGHT I am joining a gym. I can't NOT join it -- hell, $229 for a YEAR?! And they have all the machines and weights one needs to acquire a body type like .... well, like anything but mine. Although I have lost weight, I have more to lose, as pictures from the recent weekend attest. I fucking hate cameras.
But for $229 you just can't beat it.
I am hella all about that. Where do I sign. CYNG turned me on to this place -- it's in my neighborhood -- and while I don't relish the idea of him seeing his boss all drippy and sweaty and stinky with a face as red as a baboon's ass after 10 minutes on the treadmill, I've decided to throw vanity to the wind and Just Shut The Fuck Up About Being Fat and Do SOMETHING.
They have eliptic(al?) trainers, which I've been lusting over for quite some time, but which I know would become yet another "place to hang wet nylons" in the basement. Besides, I'm quite sure that I couldn't find one for $229 so I might as well see if I actually drag my fat ass in there 5 4 3 times a week occasionally and, you know. Actually USE it.
Even I recognize that $229 is a lot of money for a nylon dryer.
Next on the Self Improvement List is to QUIT SMOKING. Yes. You heard me right. In 35 days. May 3rd. The quit date will be preceeded by a weekend with Dr. Tschahn in Chicago, during which we will both smoke ourselves into a stupor so that come Tuesday morning the mere THOUGHT of a cigarette will make us cough up something green and vile.
Ha HA! I crack myself up. Let's be serious -- there will be much teeth nashing and rending of our garments and lapses into turetts syndrome as we struggle to the other side of the nicotine mountain. I've already warned HB to expect a GIGUNDOUS cell phone bill in April as Tschahn and I coach one another through withdrawal. I envision one of us naked, in the fetal position, on the shower floor with cold water running over our quivering bodies, cell phone in hand, weeping uncontrollably to the other person, whimpering, snivveling, and then ending with:
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I WANT TO SMOKE I HATE YOU FOR MAKING ME QUIT YOU FUCKING FUCK FUCKER BUTT LICKING FUCKING FUCKER GRUNT HEAD FUCKER!
No. I'm kidding. I'll leave the "butt licking" part out.
So. Off to the gym I am tonight.
Or am I? (Eddie Izzard)
T the wonder dog got nailed by some angry critter last night and she has a huge piece of skin flapping obscenely under her left eye. It's pretty deep -- I know this because I can actually see weird muscle and fatty tissue all pinky and loosy goosy hanging out through the cut.... in fact, it looks frightengly like a certain part of the female anatomy -- the part we'd rather not see gaping open under a dog's eye. You with me here? Good.
I put Hydrogyn Peroxide on it and cleaned it up as best I could, and briefly considered trying to super glue it shut, but figured I would end up stuck to her all night long, or I'd get it in her eyes, or my eyes, or my hair... or all of the above... and... yeah. One of those ideas that looked good on paper.
I sat with her on the floor for awhile trying to seal the cut, but every time I let go that thing flapped down and out poured all of the icky looking tissue and stuff reminding me once again of a porn magazine called "Over 50".
Taylor is at the vet now waiting for a Doc to have a minute to look at her and see if stitches are in order (Dr. M.A. says: yes), which will entail putting her under, I'm sure (I ALSO thought briefly -- VERY briefly -- about stitching it up myself -- you see, it DOES pay to watch "The Operation" because you really do become impervious to that kinda thing, and, after enough wine, even imagine that you can DO it yourself.)
The point to this seque about Taylor is that if I have to go pick her up at the vet after work, then I won't be able to actually work out tonight at the gym I plan to join, but I read somewhere that the mere act of signing up at a workout facility increases your metabolism by about 40%.
Therefore, I will feel totally justified going home and drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and yakking to Tschahn and/or Tschehn on the phone about how we can't wait to quit smoking while sitting on the front porch in this AWESOMELY spring-like weather.
Besides. It's HB bowling night and he won't be around to shoot me furious looks when I sneak outside to smoke. P.S. there IS no "sneaking outside" in our house because although we do not actually have our expensive ADT alarm system activated, we do have the annoying little "BEEP BEEP BEEP THE DOOR IS OPENING" notification turned on. Because if you're about to get raped/murdered/robbed, it's at least good to be prepared for it.
So, onward and downward -- that is, the scale. And the dress size.
But maybe not tonight. Because Taylor needs me.
Are you gonna finish those fries?
xquzme at sometime today