5.20.2011

"Got plans this weekend?" "Oh, you know. Rapture, etc."

I have had the longest friggin' week at work, so I'm excited for this weekend.  I've got a work function tonight that involves an open bar, tomorrow is Pole Day, tomorrow evening a bunch of Christian extremists will be sucked up into Jesus's big vacuum cleaner in the sky, and on Sunday I'll finally have time to plant my new gerberas.

The scene from Six Feet Under where pornographic blow-up dolls get loose and float up into the sky keeps popping into my head.  A woman sees them from her car and thinks it's The Rapture, so she jumps out and happily runs toward them and into traffic.

So D. and I have been talking about exercising.  Neither of us are necessarily overweight (actually, I weighed more when I was in college), but we both used to be in better shape.  He was a certified PT master instructor when he was in the military, so maybe I should think about what I'm getting myself into.  When we worked on the lawn last weekend, I was sore for three or four days.  True, I was out there for about ten hours, but still.  And I could barely walk when I started softball season this year.  I need something to do every day that isn't running. 

I'm just trying to find a balance.  The only way I've changed my eating habits is that I have more money than when I was in college, so I'm eating higher quality food.  But when I stopped waitressing and got a desk job, I didn't rework my caloric intake.  I lost a bunch of weight a couple years ago to impress my exwhodidn'tnoticeanyway, but I basically did that by not eating.  I don't want to do that again... but man, my clothes sure did fit nicely. 

Really, my bottom line is, I want to be in shape and keep my curves.  Oh!  Curves!  /looking into it

Too expensive.  Damn, they're all too expensive.  I wish I had room in my house for a fitness area.  I could probably have it in the garage, but I'd also like to have a television in there with cable.  That was one thing I'd really wanted in a house, was a fitness room.  Maybe D. wouldn't mind if I moved his bedroom to the basement...?

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