It's Tuesday, And You Know What That Means....

Not since Vicky has America so scorned a BL character as they do Joelle – our Gray Team mistress of all things bullshit, excuses, and nonsensical talking.

Hey, she may very well be a lovely person in everyday life, but we’ll never know -what with all the yapping about having “no fear,” or “having a light” or “opportunity something or another” or frankly whatever else she said as she yabbered away up there at the scale.

Week after week, Joelle has raised Bob’s blood pressure and punched the hearts of America, unifying us in our collective finger-crossings for either her epiphany or her voting off.

And after last week, it seemed that the frustration towards Joelle had reached a head, pushing her to height of public distain, nary to be challenged by another.

Until this week.

So without further ado-

Congratulations, David. You did it, man.

You pulled it off.

Few thought it possible, but you have globbered your way into Joelle’s coveted position.

You managed to swing the pendulum of scorn right in the direction of your oversized, fried chicken eatin’, Marlboro Man smokin’, can’t-be-bothered-to-lose-a-pound-despite-the-fact-that-your-partner-stands-to-pull-down-the-biggest-loss-in-BL-history head.

You sat at home, comfortable in your life of artery-clogging over-eating inactivity (or at the very least – not enough activity). You continued to smoke ‘em if you got ‘em (and apparently, you had ‘em).

Meanwhile, Danny boy was sweating with the heavies over on campus, subjecting himself to Jillian’s neck-vein-bulging torment, and learning how to substitute glazed donuts with Extra sugar free gum and Brita water.

Danny hiked himself up over those hills, while you hiked up your belt notches after a man-date with Burger King.

Listen, I’m not minimizing how hard it is to lose pounds when you’re not in the la-la world of the Malibu campus. Just ask my ass – it’ll tell you.

But man, it doesn’t even look like your trying.

No one is expecting you to pull the number Danny pulled at campus. But any thoughts to maybe not smoking when the cameras were present? Eating a carrot stick instead of a plate full of fried foods?

I don’t know about you, but just having those cameras in my face would force some sort of accountability, no?

Guess not.

So hats off to a job not-so-well-done.

I hope for your health and your future and your life, you will turn it around. I hope the bottom will rise up and hit you, and you will get it.

I hope you find those demons, you chase them down, and you kick their asses. For good.

'Cause what are your other options?

(picture courtesy of my sister Devin and her husband - apparently Tuesdays are celebrated by both Biggest Loser AND laundry)

Doody - And Not Of the Civic Variety

As reported by Nugget's mom, who took her excited son to Target to get his new learn-to-potty:

"Guess who decided to potty train himself? He will not get off of it. He ate his lunch, drank his milk and watched a video while sitting on it with no diaper. OBSESSED!"


Are my eyes decieving me, or is that a roll of toilet paper off to the side?

Genuis.

Only thing missing is his dad's subscription to ESPN magazine.

Man, if only Cheese looked this cute when taking a dump.

A BL Post

It’s funny because when I first turned on the BL tonight, I thought to myself:

I so hope Damien wins this whole thing.

And sure as shit, when the cards fell, so did Damien.

I think what frustrates me is actually something beyond Joelle (and I’ll deal with her ass in a second). No, rather it’s that there are people on there that are still so focused on playing the game.

Yeah, yeah – I get it – at the end of the day, it’s still a game. There's money involved, and that usually makes people go bat-shit crazy.

But this show has always been different. The best part of it comes NOT from the "winning" aspect, but from the "oh-my-gosh-how-did-they-do-that-it's-so-amazing-I'm-going-to-the-gym-right-NOW!" aspect.

But when you have two people – one who appears to be a source of motivation for every person on that campus, and another who can’t seem to muster up a “yes” when asked if she wants to be there – you reach a point when you say, “Fuck the game – let’s pick life.”

Because BL or not, I believe that there are people who just simply – no matter what – will never change. I know that’s not very psychologist-y of me to say, but it’s true. They just won’t. No amount of therapy, yelling, forcing, whatever. Nothing will make them change.

Why?

Simple.

Because what they know and have been doing is too easy. It’s too comfortable. It’s simply too hard to make a life change to the extent that these contestants need to.

And because people change only when what they have been doing no longer works - when what they have been doing hurts, or leaves them with nothing.

And for most of those contestants, that’s exactly the place they got to when they decided to try out for this show.

Well, most except for out little friend, Joelle.

Seems to me that Joelle (if you listened carefully during last week’s episode), has never felt discomfort to the point of necessary change. As she said, she is a grown-ass woman living with her mother and making $12,000 a year.

Now, I don’t know what she does for a living, and perhaps it’s something uber-noble like run a soup kitchen or teach illiterate adults to read on her own dime. And perhaps she lives with her mother only because she’s dying of cancer and she’s helping out.

But something tells me that’s not true – well, especially because Joelle almost high-tailed it off the BL campus with $25,000 in her back pocket and a belief that now she “can get out of my momma’s home!”

And when you put the pieces of her life together, methinks that Joelle isn’t hurting enough to change. She has gotten to this place in her life by devouring never ending plates of ranch-dressing-covered excuses with a big fat buttery side of delusion, topped nicely with a dollop of full-fat-creamy enabling. Frankly, no amount of yelling will force her to give up those excuses, that basement bedroom, that scrappy paycheck.

Because the alternative of a better healthier life is too hard. The running, dieting, sweating, changing – it’s all too hard.

I mean - how many of us would so much rather lay around in our recliners watching movies and and binging on junk instead of dragging ourselves in the cold and snow to the gym, and eating grilled chicken and spinach, with a side of string cheese for a snack?

*arm raised*

And to distract and avoid "the hard" – she uses all this yakety-yaking crap. Like, what the hell was up with the “No Fear” comment when she got on the scale? No fear? Really? That doesn’t even make any sense. No fear of the scale? The retaliation? Carla?

Or my personal favorite of the night – when Carla asked her what she’s going to do, and she talked some gooble-gobble about “revealing a goal” or some shit so stupid I can’t even hardly remember.

So yeah - the bottom line is that Game Play got Damien kicked off, and, as proving to be the case this season more then any other – Game Play can really suck when you are talking about people’s lives.

Man, I can’t wait to see Bob’s face when he walks in next week to see which member of his team is home.

Good moobaly.

Happy Birthday!!

It's Devin's birthday!!! While she may be the size of a 12-year-old, she actually turns 29 today. Man, I have two sisters that are either or almost 30. Hell, I am one old bitch.

No birthday party is complete without the Nugget, AKA The Mayor. Apparently, he was getting pink eye yesterday and had a chronic snot drip from his nose. Fantastic.

Well hello, little sisters and Mamma Q! Ellen told me she would break my fingers if I posted any pictures of from Devin's party because she's preggo and feeling bad. But she's not that strong, so I am not that scared. Is it me, or are my two sister looking more and more alike with each post? My gosh.

I decided to teach Nugget how to take pictures. Here's his first try.

His second...

Getting better....

With Auntie Men-yen.

And yes, my favorite picture of the night (expand if you can't see so well, because this is priceless). Nugget found the vacum extension, put it in his mouth, got on the floor and pretended to be the vacum. He ran it over the floor and hummed, "vrmmmmmm, vrrrrrrmmmm." I wonder how much he charges for a living room...

And what party is complete without a Weigh-In? At the end of the night, when none of us believe that my lilliputian birthday sister weighed what she said, we broke out the scale and weighed each other. Yeah, it's a sickness. Sure enough, she was right, and shut us up. After Ellen went, she freaked about because she gained another few pounds, as if forgetting she is pregnant. And after I went, I opened the leftover container of cupcake frosting, found a spoon, and finished the job. Yeah, I have no business complaining about being fat when I do shit like that. It was just sooo good when it hits the lips.

And right before we left, Ellen gave us the send off. I bet she's glad the first trimester is almost over....

Twenty bucks if you can guess who didn't shower yesterday. Hint: Her name rhymes with Shmegan.

This one was actually from Kansas over Christmas - yup, that would be what I looked like before my four (read: drunk) beers and 3am IHOP visit. Sadly, no pictures of the After.

Whoa and Races

I woke up this morning to a temperature of -10.

As, like here is zero *holds hand level with face* and here we are, ten degrees below that *holds hand around waist.*

The wind chill is -30.

We live in an old apartment building (old ones which are pretty much all there is here in E-town) and we have radiator heat, which usually doubles as our own pesonal sauna.

But not this morning.

The depth of the cold is permeating the windows and walls.

I am sitting here in wrapped in a fleece blanket and contemplating what sort of sweet, sweet love I will have to talk to my car to get her to start this morning.

And for as bitter it is outside, I always get this really weird morbid curiosity/pleasure when we set these cold record lows.

I mean, maybe people in North Dakota or you Canadian folk have seen worse, but a temp of -10 is like, really cool to me.

Makes me feel like I am in the scene from Day After Tomorrow, where they are sitting in the freezing library in New York.

On a completely seperate note, I started planning the race season last night. I have to be honest, I have no real goal for this season. I really just want to have fun, stay pretty local (I have to be all fiscally-responsible like, what with this wedding and all) and use races as ways to meet up and see people. I don't want to have to committ to too many things that are really big because I know I just won't really have time or funds.

Right now I am signed up for Steelhead 70.3, and I am eyeing the Pleasent Praire Olympic distance in August and maybe Danskin in WI for a little speed racing. I have three 1/2 marathons in March, April and May. A friend, Mark, mentioned TriShark in Illinois, but the dates might not work (but checking it out).

What are you all doing? Anything in the Indiana/Michigan/Illinois/Wisconsin area? Triathlon or running?

A Concerned Member

Since a good part of my world for the last few days has been centered around poops - the whens, how often, how much - I am going to take a break from all things bowels for a moment and get to the important stuff.

Specifically, like how peoples are effing up my workouts.

To address this issue, I have constructed a friendly letter to my local YMCA.

Dear YMCA-

As a long-time member and someone who pretty much overnights in the corners of the cardio room, I have a little bone to pick.

See, since I frequent your facility for most of my fitness needs - at least twice daily, five days a week - I believe myself to be a committed member of this wild and crazy thing we call Health and Fitness. I go to several Spin classes, run the treadmill, spend time on the elliptical, etc. Needless to say, I spend a great deal of my life within your walls.

Thus, you can imagine my irritability when I show up for my Monday Spin class, only to find it FILLED.


Augh!

BUT - After accepting this situation, I decided to run the treadmill (given the seven inches of snow we got this weekend) and imagine my surprise when, at 930am on a Monday, the entirecardio room – treadmills and ellipticals alike – are filled.

I don’t think it takes a genius to know that this atrocity of a morning is the result of one thing, and one thing only – New Year’s Resolutions.

Now listen – I absolutely applaud fitness, and those striving to achieve it. I applaud people wanting to turn their health around, work up a sweat, knock off some of the pounds. Completely and totally support this.


But does EVERYONE have to do it in the month of January? I mean, really.

I honestly believe that people who show themselves to be a committed member of the cause, who show up – day after day, month after month – should get preferential treatment to the classes and facility. I mean, we have established a routine. We have proven ourselves to the long-term, and not just out of a guilt-ridden four-week binge eating marathon.

Yeah, yeah, we all pay the same dues – whatever. It’s just not fair.

It’s the gym equivalent of the high school slacker who never attended a class all semester, but shows up late for the final exam, makes a crapload of noise finding his seat, and disrupts all the good students who spent the last few weeks pulling all-nighters and giving themselves ulcers from coffee and stress. In the end, the slacker’s just going to fall asleep on his desk and get an F anyways, thus prompting his re-enrollment in the same class, only to inevitably engage in the same exact behavior at the end of the next semester.

Of course, I realize preferential treatment will never happen, as we as a society are not really in the business of rewarding those who actually demonstrate commitment and work-ethic, but rather cater to those who half-ass shit and then expect gimme’s, so I suppose I will have to resign myself to waiting out these people who will ultimately detour from the Road to Health.

So be it.

But know that, no matter what the date, what the month, what the season – I will always show up. And at least to me, that counts for something.

Sincerely,
M

Anyone else with this problemo?

P.S. BL tonight.

Worst Idea EVA

Late last night, my friend Joe (The Fire) was reminiscing about his own colonoscopy, about which he stated, “The sedation they used is like the date rape drug…you’re pretty out of it.”

Well, I can tell ya this much – there was no dinner involved, but I sure as hell got violated.

In fact, the pain was so excruciating, that about 20 minutes in, I was sobbing and screaming for them to stop, clinging onto the guard rails of the gurney for dear life, as if trying to out-run the rod in my hinny.

Now, according to what you all have described, that wasn’t exactly what was supposed to happen.

Finally, after an ear-piercing sob, “STOP!” from me, brought about from the rod threatening to jam through my belly, I heard the doctor tell the resident, “Perhaps we need to stop this and try again with anesthesia.”

So yeah, after the awesome anal rape, I now have to relive it all over again in another few weeks.

When Cheese was finally able to come and get me, I was on my gurney, all dressed, and just crying from the pain.

He later said he was taken aback by this sight.

As was I taken aback by how hellacious this while experience was.

As an added surprise, I threw up in his car on the way home.

Thank goodness for the spare Target bag in the back seat.

Upon entering the apartment, I simply took my shoes off, crawled into bed, and slept for several hours. I woke up, still nauseous, with a blinding headache, raging flatulence, and liquid still pouring out of my backside.

Fuck.

I should’ve just gone to work.

Update - Dinner got thrown up. Seriously? I know this isn't right. And I talked to Joe again - he convinced me that I got nowhere near enough meds to numb me up. I am seriously considering not showing up for my next appointment, anesthesia or not.

Turds

So the Biggest Loser started last night.

Mama pajama! Them is some big folk!

Cheese is convinced that BL is trying to get a person to have their first 200 pound weight loss. After last night, they’ll get it for sure this season. I mean, that one kid weighed in at like 450 pounds.

I gotta say though – after this first episode, I am sort of rooting for all of them to win.

Well, all of them except for Laura.

She’s a cry baby.

And I know I say it every time – but what the FUCK are these people crying about?

And I love how they say shit like, “When we pulled into the ranch, it was the first time I realized I needed help.” Or, “When that really old man almost died on the gym floor, it was the first time I realized we were all really sick.”

The first time, people?

Really?

‘Cause the years of multiple doctor’s warning, rampant diabetes and high blood pressure, inability to breath regularly when walking even a couple feet, and the size 48 pants weren’t clue enough?

The fact that your organs are so filled with fat they are actually growing so big and pushing your lungs up and closing them off – still no idea, huh?

Best line of the night?

“We’re a bunch of fat kids in a really fat gym class.”

Of course, I celebrated the new season with a dinner of Weight Watchers Smart Ones…and two ice cream sammys.

Yeah...yeah I did.

*lowers head in fake, insincere shame*

But hear me out – I allowed myself this slight binge because I will be forced to have nothing for two days.

Well, nothing but a GALLON of liquid laxative, followed by what I believe to be a large rod shove up my poop hole.

Yes folks – that’s right.

I am having a colonoscopy.

And endoscopy (but I don’t know what that is, I just do as I’m told at this point)

It’s a long story, but the Reader’s Digest version is that I was sent to the GI docs as a result of my most recent kidney check up. The GI doc took one look at my history and my family’s history, and was like, “Yeah, we need to take care of this.” So he sends me through a battery of tests, mostly “just in case” and to rule things out.

So I like to look at the next few days as my own personal version of Gwyneth Paltrow’s colon cleanse.

At least it’ll kick any remnants of my Christmas cookie indiscretions out of the system, yeah?

Smoke

Today?

Today was the kind of day that had me two steps away from smoking.

Yup – buying up a pack of my ol’ favorites, finding a non-iced out spot under a tree, and just smoking away.

Straight up crazy-people-who-live-in-the-nut-house-assisted-living-down-the-street-and-sit-in-the-park-smoking-and-talking-to-the-Easter-Bunny style.

It was that bad.

But since my little chest cold is making is difficult to breathe at the moment, and my snot/mucus is already a strange color, AND I have been working sooooo hard at my hill repeats lately, I figured relapsing on the smoking ultimately wasn’t worth pissing all over my hard effort.

Oh yeah, and the whole cancer/death thing is sort of off-putting, so there's that.

But lemme tell ya – I was PISSED.

So what did I do instead?

I headed over to the Y for a spin class.

As when the 5 o’clock class was over, I still had too much rage in me to get off the bike.

So I blew a hunk of snot out of my nose, filled my water bottle, and stuck around for Round Two – the 6 o’clock class.

To be fair, the second one wasn’t all that tough – it’s instructed by an older gentleman (he has 16-year-old grandkids type old) so it was more like an hour cool-down to the beating I took the hour before.

But when that was finished, I was no closer to normal then I was before today happened.

But I came home, showered, ate dinner, and am now working for the rest of night.

And if I am in the house, then I am not out smoking.

So I guess for today, I FUCKING WIN.

(well, really, compulsive exercise won, but at least it wasn't Joe Camel)

Perverts

The results of the previous post are in and it sounds like most of you picked sex over unlimited-no-consequence-food binging.

And ‘cause I promised my response – I also chose sex over the food binge.

My fiancé? He chose food.

Oh yeah. He believes that it is more worthwhile to be able to binge endlessly on any and all food without consequence, then to have sex.

As the partner in this relationship (who doesn’t cook, EVER), I find it a bit hard not to be offended by this.

‘Cause I got skillz, yo.

Mad skillz.

Or so I thought, but apparently my sex is not so competitive with the likes of In and Out, Whattaburger, and Chik Filet.

And listen - I LOVE food – mostly of the candy/cake/pie variety.

But I don’t love it THAT much to give up sex.

Or as Eric put it – “There’s not food that cause me to make my ‘Oh!’ face.”

Oh, and there was the question of whether or not giving up sex included giving up *ahem* self-sex.

The answer of which is no – Thus, you could still have the self-sex and the food binge – I was just referring to the giving up of the sex-with-another-person-type sex.

But honestly, is self-sex enough? For like, the rest of your life? In exhange for unlimited Sonic burgers, some apple pies, and bottemless milkshakes?

One hand, forever more?

Thanks, but no thanks.

At some point, even that gets old.

I’m just sayin’...

The Christmas Tree is Still Up

Here are two to suck on for the weekend...

1. Cheese presented me with the following question: Would you rather be able to eat anything and everything you ever wanted without any negative side effects (i.e. feeling full, getting fat) and have to give up sex, or continue eating like a regular person (i.e. feel full, have to manage weight) and get to keep having sex?

So basically, would you give up sex for the ability to food binge without consequence for the rest of your life?

How would you answer?

Leave it in the "Comments," and I'll let you know how we both answered on Monday. You might be surprised...



2. I witnessed two icky thing this holiday season. Well, probably more then two, but these two really stuck out, particularly because kids were involved (and don't worry - no yucky stories from the battle front of child welfare).

First, while Cheese and I were standing in front of the Christmas trees at Wal-Mart a couple weeks back, a woman and her 7-year-old daughter walked up and asked us how to buy one. Why she thought we worked there, I have no idea.

Anyway, we told her that you have to pay inside, and then take your tree.

She said, "Well, is there anyone out here to watch which tree you take?"

We said no.

And then she says, in front of her daughter, "What if you take the tree without paying for it?"

Cheese said, "Well, then, that's on you."

Yes, she was asking if she could steal her Christmas tree, right in front of her daughter.

What would Santa say, I wonder?

The second incident occurred in Midway Airport on my way to Houston on Tuesday night.

I fly Southwest almost exclusively, and if anyone else does, you know that when they board, you are assigned a number and line up IN NUMERICAL ORDER. I have to believe that they did this to eliminate the bum-rush and throw-downs that usually occurrs when trying to board.

This way, you get your boarding number based on when you check in.

Well, this particular flight, I checked in late and got C-43. That's REALLY high. I mean, I was almost last to get on.

ALMOST.

Because behind me, there was a woman and her three children, all holding C-55 through C-58 numbers. Meaning, they board after me.

And another lady, C-59.

Yet, all these bitches were standing IN FRONT of me.

Now, either they don't know how to count, or they were jumping line.

As if their time and overhead bin space was way more important then anyone elses.

Another properly-ordered woman said something about being in numerical order (because apparently the sissy Southwest person was too worn out by the holidays to give a shit), and the cheater lady with the kids almost gave her a real-life beat down, right there in the ramp.

I am so not kidding.

So not only did this woman cheat in front of her kids (one of whom actually tried to point out to her cheating/lying mother that they were not in order), but then she had the fucking nerve to hairy-eyeball the woman who called her out.

If I had any nerve (which I don't because I blog about it now instead of act on it then), I would have said something. But for fear of getting choked out in front of small children, I bit by tongue.

Now, I realize that in the grand scheme of life, people jumping line isn't really that big or bad.

But here's my beef:

You are teaching your children that it's okay to cheat. That it's okay to lie. You are teaching them that's it's okay to step on other people to get your way.

In the grand scheme of things, line-jumping in the Southwest terminal is (like Cheese so eloquently put it) an unraveling of the moral fiber, the basic human values, the common curtosy and rules of life that I believe most of us live by.

Stealing Christmas trees and cheating your way onto an airplane? Really, are either of them REALLY worth it?

Is the $20 buck for the tree, or the extra 30-second wait to get on the plane more important then the real-life lesson you are teaching your children, who are watching your every move in those moments?

Really?