On Fitness (ha...haha...ha)

So I got this:

And it totally kicked my ass tonight.

Mostly I'm a work-out-so-I-can-eat kind of girl. Sometimes I'm a work-out-so-I-can-brag kind of girl. On rare occasion I'm a work-out-so-I-won't-hit-someone kind of girl.

At the moment, I'm a ohmygawdsummerbathingsuitkillme kind of girl.

After day 1 of the shred, I'm feeling it. I must be in bad shape, because it was brutal.

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to lose 20 el bees like Jillian said I could, in part because I made these last night and they are delicious:

Banana-blueberry muffins.

One box of Duncan Hines + My two over-ripe bananas = heaven.

But I digress.

Hellooo, I like to eat (while watching tv) way more than I like to work out. People who feel otherwise are a little shady, if you ask me. Still, even though that 20 minute workout kicked my ass (and that's a little embarrassing to say, it's a freakin' dvd) I feel a teensy bit better. Plus-- Jillian sounds exactly like my high school coach, which makes me laugh a little. (Just a little, I'm totally out of breath while I'm in the middle of the work out.)

No pain no gain, baybee.

I think I'll have another muffin. I totally earned it.

Pilgrims!

Having lived in a valley for the last 7 years or so, I have come to hate rain. It never just showers for a couple of hours when you live in a valley. Nope, too easy. In a valley, the sky turns gray for a few hours, then it starts to sprinkle. The sprinkle turns into a full fledged downpour. The downpour turns into a miserable mist/intermittent drizzle that lasts for days. Days. Simply? It sucks. Makes you cherish the sunny days.

It's been sunny for two straight weeks. Not so much as a decent rain since early April. Maybe even late March. I can't remember the last time I smelled warm wet asphalt, so it must have been cold the last time it rained.

Today when I heard the rumble of thunder off in the distance I grinned. Rain. Finally.

I'm not a farmer (I can't even keep silk flowers alive), so it's not like I'm worried about my crops. But, running the risk of sounding like a touchy-feely-new-ager, water is life. It refreshes. Cleanses.

The next time I feel like complaining about rain, I'm going to try to keep these things in mind:

1. Rain gets rid of the pollen that makes me miserable.

2. I don't have to wash my car when it rains.

3. Thunderstorm are awesome sleep-sound machines.

4. Tomatoes.

5. Tempers 80 degree weather. And Humidity. 80 degree weather in April is a little overwhelming. In addition, Humidity in the south is a real, major, issue. And it always demands a capital "H."

So maybe I'll suffer through the hair frizzies today. And be okay getting soaked walking from my car to the door. I missed the rain...gasp!

P.S. The title is the punchline to this joke that I love:

If April showers bring May flowers,

What do May flowers bring?

Hahaha.

Well, Well, Well...Look who we have here.

I had this resolution that I was going to slow down in my daily life. Take stock in each moment and pay attention as time goes by. I fully intended to take time out and write more frequently.

Now it's almost May--beats me how the hell that happened. And the last time I posted was 16 days ago.

This is unacceptable.

I'm having a little 'nothing interesting to report' writers block. That probably stems from the fact that 1) I'm not a writer, and 2) I have nothing interesting to report. My day-to-day is about the same, with a little more math thrown in for good measure. My weekends are spent in transit, gradually getting more worried about my car as my dad asks "how's your car holding up?" every couple of days. I have a few more real friends here in town. Actually, a friend from my growing-up days just moved to the area and looked me up. I'm putting effort into it and it's working, shocker! Nice people are everywhere you just have to seek them out!

There are some exciting things in the days to come, maybe I can write about them.

I'm going to the Predators playoff game tomorrow night and I'm PSYCHED. My seats are AWESOME and we get $10 food vouchers. Gotta love $200 worth of playoff hockey for free. If you're not a hockey person (don't worry I live in the south, most of these people only watch football and the Atlanta Braves) you probably don't understand the difference between the season and playoff hockey. This is 'season 2.' And so far, the Preds are hanging in there, much to everyone's surprise. We're up one game on Chicago going into tomorrow night. This is AMAZING. I'm personally looking forward to raining down the hateful chants on the Blackhawks' Goalie, Huet. It might not be nice, but it's hockey. People lose teeth.

I'm making the long drive east again this weekend, but it means going to see Disney's Ocean on opening weekend (yay) see the boy play some music (double yay) and all of that will start with an early day out of work on Friday (triple yay).

Last week couldn't have gone more slowly, but this week is flying by! I like it.

My house is mostly clean, I'm doing my laundry, and the closet has been de-cluttered. Maybe I'm turning over yet another leaf. Maybe I'll find the resolution to maintain MY resolution under this one.

Remember when you were a kid and secretly hoped all the time that your homework would do itself? And even though you knew it never would, you never quite gave up hope that one day, one day you would come home and that whole math worksheet would have filled itself out in your backpack? Well, I kind of feel like that now, only I was kind of wishing that my life would do itself. I mean, I know it will keep going, regardless of my level of participation, but I wish I could at least have a little preview to what I'm working towards, just know how that 'it'll all work out" stage has worked out.

That might help me slow down.

A Bedtime Story

Author's note: This is a story as old as The Hills (you know, the t.v. show?). We've all seen it before. But, Saturday night I was sitting all alone & had no one to enjoy the train wreck with me. So here it is in all its gory glory. With a little artistic license, of course. Pardon the puns, I assure you, I come by my sense of humor honestly.

I'm going to tell a sweet little story about a Princess and a Frog as I observed them.

Once upon a time in a happy, yet surreal, land called Collegeville, a pretty Princess and her Friend sought Saturday night refuge in a noisy, popular bar. That night a fantastic band was entertaining the crowd as they escaped their families on Easter/Passover weekend.

The Princess and the Friend sat watching the band and talking with a boy who was employed by that establishment, and therefore was distracted for much of the time he spent with them. The Princess and the Friend downed several beverages and then got up to dance.

There were many handsome young men who took notice of the Princess swaying back and forth, but the Frog was watching and waiting in the background all along.

All of a sudden the Frog hopped over to the Princess and ribbetted, "My Man-servant over there didn't think I would come talk to you, so I had to prove him wrong!" The Princess hesitated. Everyone who overheard the Frog thought, "Oh Princess, don't fall for that old line!" But the Frog was smart, and the look in his eyes said, "If you'll only kiss me, you'll see I'm a Prince in disguise."

And the Princess fell for it.

Of course, this required the help of the Man-servant, who was quick to win the affections of the Friend. The quartet danced and laughed and switched partners. And this, seemingly innocent, supposedly temporary, partner swap was the beginning of the end for the Frog.

For the Princess realized the Man-servant was the more handsome and suave of the pair. As she danced, she noticed the band through her haze and realized the man playing to entertain the audience was debonair, as well. The spell was broken.

The Frog panicked and kicked wildly (as frogs are apt to do in a tight squeeze). He tried in vain to pull the Princess away from the other gentlemen while she batted her eyelashes and trilled her voice in their direction. The Princess grew bored of this game, and asked the Friend to retire to the powder room with her. She was discovering the truth that the observers already knew, he was not a Prince at all!

All in attendance recognized this as The Kiss the Frog did NOT want. This, unhappily for the Frog, was The Kiss of Death.

Within minutes the Princess was saying her goodbyes to the Frog, while he unashamedly tried to convince her to come home with him. Not wanting to be outrightly rude (she was a princess after all!) she begged off, saying, "I like you, but I'm going to my house," all the while making starry eyed glances at the good looking man on the stage. The Princess pulled away from the Frog as he tried to kiss her--landing ineffectively on an awkward spot somewhere between her cheek and the back of her neck. She parted with a hug, dragging the Friend away from the Man-servant.

Once free from the Frog, the Princess tried one last time to garner the attention of the man on the stage, to no avail. As the Princess and the Friend walked out into the night, arm in drunken arm, the Frog and the Man-servant regrouped and turned their attentions to a table of older, married women.

And the moral? Well, there is more than one to this story, so take heed:

1. Never let a Frog do all the talking.

2. Keep an eye on your Princess--and keep dancing. If you're not fun, you'll lose her attention and affection.

3. Kiss off Princess. That handsome man on the stage is most certainly spoken for.