| | Crunches and Cookies Today was the first day of a new promotion that the station is launching. In a nutshell, I get paid to work out with a personal trainer three times a week with a free membership to a gym for a year. My plan is to get really buff and toned, yet not lose my spanish ass. As much as I complain, its part of my heritage and who am I to turn my back (har, har) on my own culture? Plus, I want to look like JLo and be real strong. I told Ben that even though I don't normally condone violence, I will be able to kick his ass in a couple months.
Not to shabby, eh? Well unless you know me.
For example, last week I was baking cookies for the boys' Christmas Party when David called.
Me: David, you will not believe what I'm doing. Something I never do and I'm really bad at.
David: You're exercising?! [ahem, case and point]
Me: No, ok. The next thing I never do and I'm not good at.
David: Ooooooh! You're COOKING!!!!...?
Anyways, I should probably describe the couple hours leading up to my first round of one-on-one time with my trainer, Jeff. We had our company Christmas carry-in, which means....in the 2 hours before my training I ate the following:
2 helpings, more like heapings....chicken noodles
1 spoonful.....some type of hashbrown casserole with corn flakes on top
1 helping.......mashed potatoes with about 1 lb. butter already melted in
1 giant piece.....ham
2 helpings.......creamed corn casserole
2.......sausages wrapped in bacon, covered in brown sugar
I'm not even going to BEGIN with the desert table.
After feeding my face and then using the amazing alcohol-dar that I have that enabled me to pick out which wrapped gift contained booze in the White Elephant gift exchange, I headed off to the trainer.
The building the gym is in, is actually very cool. It is in an old skating rink so basically its a ski lodge with some equiptment in it.
I promptly met up with my man-trainer Jeff. He is one buff dude. Basically, my whole work-out is based around sculpting. Not too shabby because that means....NO CARDIO! Yesssssss. It was however, slightly distracting when Jeff was attempting to show me what positions and exercises to do on the gravity machine. He has the tightest ass I have ever seen, by far. There it is. I said. Thats right.
A couple interruptions by awkward middle aged white men who I swear, hang out there all day, later and my 40 minute work-out was over before I knew it
Not as disasterous as I thought although I'm already starting to feel sore. Which means I'm going to have another one of those post work-out mornings where I am so sore that I get stuck in the middle of my bed, not able to move, even just to roll over and turn off my alarm clock. It is truly the most pathetic of situations.
Right, so work out done. Great. Burning calories is awesome!
Leave it to me to find some way to undo it all. "How?", you ask?
Two words: COOKIE. PARTY.
Yes, I was invited to a cookie party. In my opinion, it is a way for women who like bridal showers/baby showers/bachelorette parties to work in just one more event to play games that include giggling, paper products, drinks that have more sugar than alcohol.
Lets be honest, the only time giggling, paper products, and girly drinks are a good time is when you are laughing your ass off as you toilet paper someone's house after you and your companion (Patsy: write this down, doesn't this sound fun?) drink and entire bucket of pre-made margaritas.
Back to the point. I went to this party to appease a very nice lady who even I can't say no to and it was a "Cookie Party". (and not the Sarah Silverman kind of cookie party, although I tried to pretend like it was allllll evening)
I think my favorite part of the night was the gingerbread house sequence. 13 women, 2 teams, 1 sassy radio anchor who likes to win. I couldn't help it, no one pumps icing through a pointed plastic bag like me.
Well, needless to say we won the gingerbread house making contest.
The prize: A brand new giant measuring cup!!
AND, as the designated measuring-cup-passer-outer-lady hands me my cup, she says this:
DMCPOL: Here you go! Now you have to get married and use it!
Me: ..........I'm pretty sure I could finish all of whatever this could possibly make on my own, thanks.
What. The. Fuck. Who actually says something like that? Because thats what I always think of when I walk into a Williams Sonoma or Crate and Barrel, "Oh boy! I can't wait to get married so I can shop here!" Never.
First of all, cooking is something I do to survive, not for fun. Second of all, for those of you that don't know me...we don't use the "M" word.
Yes, I want to find my soul-mate. Yes, I want to have a family. However, why do I need the same institution that tells me that my gay friends CAN'T get married, that I (of all people) can?
People in my life that will make a much better wife than me:
Luke List
Joey Wolhieter
David Weinheimer
K-Fed
Preposterous. Anyways, this lady tells me I need a measuring cup to get married.
What I really wanted to say:
DMCPOL: Here's your measuring cup, go get married!
Me: Here's a new, shiny, turkey baster. Go fuck yourself.
Cue glass of champagne 3.
It was at this point that I completely tore those cookies up. I tried all of them, twice even. And tomorrow when I am sore as hell but know that I ended up +a trillion calories even after working out- I blame you measuring cup lady, I blame YOU! |
2 comments:
That is classic:)
Here here, I also look forward to telling someone to fuck themself with a shiney new turkey baster....oh, I can hardly wait!
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