Last night I went to Menards for some cat food.

I came home with:

• 2 bags of cat food
• 1 heavy duty paper shredder
• 1 bird feeder
• 1 hummingbird feeder
• 1 bag of birdseed
• 1 box of nectar mix
• 1 can of pledge
• 1 spray bottle of Fantastik
• 2 spray cans of Fabreze air freshener

And I almost picked up a large whiteboard but figured I was spending enough for one night.

I should just… like… not leave the house.  Anymore.

Yeah, so, today was Shake ‘N’ Bake’s (and my) first experience with Gymboree and while the Shake had an absolute BLAST, I spent the time trying not to look like I was a’feared for my very life.

I’m socially inept, people. I’m paranoid when in a group of yuppie females who are all around my age. I don’t like clowns. And the Barnyesque music was the cherry on top of the sundae that was my own personal Hell for today.

After we’re done with the last two weeks that I paid for, I believe I shall find her somewhere else to play. A park, maybe. One without clowns. Those are free.

***

And now for the meme! Tag, I’m it:

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I may have screwed up my ankle.  But I won’t be able to find out for sure until we get the insurance fiasco ironed out.

So I’m also thinking that I probably won’t have dropped any weight at this week’s weigh in.

On top of that I’m thinking that I may go and run tomorrow anyway.  Because, you know, there may be a chance that there’s nothing wrong at all, right?  RIGHT?  Right.

How screwed up is that line of thinking?  It’s no wonder I’ve got a 35% disability rating.  Give me enough time and I suppose I’ll bump that up to 50% or higher.

I didn’t learn how until I hit my mid twenties, but I am now an expert at gaining weight.

Fortunately I’m also good at maintaining it, so once I hit my target weight it doesn’t take too much effort on my part to stay put. Unfortunately, and this is embarrassing but I may as well admit it — if I spill it publicly then perhaps I’ll be more motivated to work — I’ve been drifting back and forth between 133 and 140 since I had the kiddo. Now, before I get romped on I’d like to state that I realize that I’m within a healthy weight zone for a 29 year old, 5′4″ woman. The embarrassment comes from knowing how out of shape I am. I have flashbacks in the form of some Drill Instructor’s voice telling me I’m a lazy turd. I’m also a victim of the times and like most women, the phrase I could stand to lose 15 or so pounds is permanently etched into the inside surface of my skull. It’s abrasive on my brains and no matter what anyone tells me, I’m not going to be content until I’m back down to 125.

And I do mean a healthy 125. I got back from Parris Island weighing 117 and I remember being horrified at how scrawny I was. Hell, I couldn’t even fill out an A cup bra and I remember going in with a B cup fitting me just fine. ((On a side note, that commercial for the diet supplement where the cartoon woman and her husband go on diets, the husband gets skinny and all that happens for her is her boobs shrink to nothing cracks me up every single time for that reason)) …

Great, typing the side note derailed my thought choo-choo. *scrunches up face and concentrates* I think I can, I think I can, I think I can remember what my point was…

Oh yeah! I’m working out again. Took me long enough, but I’m making the time to get away to bust my butt. Only problem is, our little workout hut here at the apartment complex only consists of a treadmill, a stationary bike, and an elliptical machine. I spend anywhere from 40 to 60 minutes in there at a time and I’m starting to get bored. It doesn’t help that I absolutely hate Hate HATE running. Seriously (and this is also kind of embarrassing and I’m not sure why) the only thing that can get me out of a bored funk while I’m running is listening to the Captain Jack remix from Dance Dance Revolution on my Discman. I’ve even downloaded several other cadences just for gits n shiggles.

Damn it, I’ve gone off track again. Think think think… Yes! Back to what I was going to say: I found some good workouts on about.com and I thought I would share them with anyone who wanted to “join me” in a bit of a weight loss challenge. Hell, I’ll even let you pick your own workouts from the list there. I’ll also (try to) post weekly updates (if I don’t weenie out). The goal is to lose about 15 pounds. Are you with me? (C’mon, I need some motivation here…)

Want….

I wonder how many hours days months I would have to spend on the treadmill to burn that one off.

Every time I go out with Husband and happen to meet up with some of the guys he knows from Guard, SOMEONE — not surprisingly they’re always the recruiters — tries to talk me into joining the Army.

DON’T FUCKING TEMPT ME!!

I can’t tell you how painful this is every time I mull it over. I can’t do that. I just can’t. And yet there’s still that evil little devil on my shoulder that whispers into my ear, you could do it, you know you could.  Admit it, you miss it. *headdesk*

as if I’ve had a brick grafted to the front of my skull and stuffed my ears full of cotton.

This congestion is making my beer taste like water.

Freaking colds…  I’m off to watch The Leprechaun marathon on SciFi.

I really Really REALLY need to be doing my homework.

Please excuse me. I’m off to bludgeon my brains out with a medical dictionary.

P.S. This really does work:

Time on deck is 0143.

Seriously regretting that vanilla latte I drank several hours ago.

The purple squirrel in the corner is looking at me again.

I do believe that this time he means to go through with his diabolical plan.

Need more d-CON, staples, and baby wipes.

(Disclaimer: This was but a fun exercise in typing whatever popped into my brain. The time isn’t really 0143, it’s 0206. Yes, I really did drink the latte. No, the squirrel does not exist….outside of my head. We don’t need d-CON or staples, but baby wipes are always in high demand. Had I been hopped up on Jujubes and Stupid Juice, I would have shared as it’s only polite. *MWAH!* GOODNIGHT EVERYBODY!)

I just finished dinner, and once again I made/ate way too much. On tonight’s menu was chicken alfredo with steamed baby carrots and garlic bread. Quite tasty if I do say so myself, but I’ve also got a psychology test to study for and the chicken has made me sleepish. I don’t know how much of it is going to sink in and stick if I’m concentrating all my energy on keeping my nose from wedging itself into the binding of my book.

I’ll have to ask Shake’n'Bake’s permission to study tomorrow.

And you can chide me all you want for waiting until now to do my homework, but it won’t do you any good. I always hold off on the studying until the last moment lest the bits of knowledge leak out my ears and are absorbed into my pillows at night. I swear it happens. That’s how I lost about 99% of the French language I bothered to learn a few years back.