Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
(Boooo)t camp
Well, since my wish for a week long stomach flu to come and make me not eat and therefore become skinny really quickly...I signed up for boot camp. I am a nut ball, boot camp kills me.
I go to this gym....well...not really a ‘gym’ per say....more like a hard core training facility with sand pits, big tires, ropes, a lot of weights, and crazed instructors walking around. As excited as I am to run through the sand and scale walls, I can’t help but be nervous (what if I can’t do it, what if I look silly, what if I pass out, what if my shorts get hooked on the wall and when I jump over they rip and show my butt to everyone)? NO! Suck it up princess, you don’t get skinny by dreaming it so, climb that rope bitch!
Oh, uh, sorry....got in boot camp mode there for a second. So back to class....
Warm up (felt more like a workout to me) was on the spin bikes (uh, spin! One of the workouts I hate more than anything) and it was tough. The instructor would come around and turn up the tension and make us bike with one leg (whimper) I was gasping and dying and ready to try and sneak lower my tension back down to the baby level, but I was caught and reprimanded with an even higher tension (wahhhh) and then, no word of a lie, the Rocky theme song starts playing (swear to god!). So I muster up the strength to try and finish, and whisper-yell “Adriannnnn” to the two girls next to me as a joke, but they must be too young and just stare at me blankly like I called them Adrian even though their names are probably Bambi and Barbie judging by the size of their hope earrings and their cleavage (they do know this is an all girls boot camp right?).
Wow, 45 minutes of hell and man do I feel awesome. I walk like a shaking leaf to the change room, accidentally walk into the men’s change room (thankfully empty so I didn’t see any peens or hairy man-butts) I chug a bottle of water, munch some protein and veggies (hard boiled eggs and veggie stick which sat in my car all day...nice) drive home, and sleep like a milk-drunk baby.
Next day at work, while practicing my sexy walk to the printer, I feel nothing but butt and thigh pain. It is hard to walk, sit, squat, basically move.
It is my new favourite thing.
I go to this gym....well...not really a ‘gym’ per say....more like a hard core training facility with sand pits, big tires, ropes, a lot of weights, and crazed instructors walking around. As excited as I am to run through the sand and scale walls, I can’t help but be nervous (what if I can’t do it, what if I look silly, what if I pass out, what if my shorts get hooked on the wall and when I jump over they rip and show my butt to everyone)? NO! Suck it up princess, you don’t get skinny by dreaming it so, climb that rope bitch!
Oh, uh, sorry....got in boot camp mode there for a second. So back to class....
Warm up (felt more like a workout to me) was on the spin bikes (uh, spin! One of the workouts I hate more than anything) and it was tough. The instructor would come around and turn up the tension and make us bike with one leg (whimper) I was gasping and dying and ready to try and sneak lower my tension back down to the baby level, but I was caught and reprimanded with an even higher tension (wahhhh) and then, no word of a lie, the Rocky theme song starts playing (swear to god!). So I muster up the strength to try and finish, and whisper-yell “Adriannnnn” to the two girls next to me as a joke, but they must be too young and just stare at me blankly like I called them Adrian even though their names are probably Bambi and Barbie judging by the size of their hope earrings and their cleavage (they do know this is an all girls boot camp right?).
Finally we finish the so called ‘warm up’ and it is on to more intense stuff like:
Jumping rope with an extra heavy mutant jump rope
Running on a treadmill that isn’t turned on (ya, try that at the gym and see if anyone stares at you like a dumdum)
Doing too many weights, push ups, sit ups, burpees, squat jumps, double and triple squat jumps, something else that made my ass hurt but I just can’t explain in type...it is like crawling...like a crab, but forward??? Does that make sense? I call it the ass hurter.
Next day at work, while practicing my sexy walk to the printer, I feel nothing but butt and thigh pain. It is hard to walk, sit, squat, basically move.
It is my new favourite thing.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Pole Dancing Fitness?
Pole Dancing Fitness Class? Me?
Yes, that is right, why not give it a try?
I must admit I considered bailing a few times as pole dancing class sounds so...well sluty! But I am trying new fitness things, and this is a new thing....so here we go! I arrive early for the class, and there is no waiting area inside, so I sit in my car watching the previous class "perform", clearly they are a couple levels ahead (maybe semi-pro strippers?). As I watch the girls from my car I am very aware that I resemble a pervert parked in the lot peeking through the cracks in the curtains to watch amateur pole dancers. It does look...semi fun? More than anything it looks scary as so many people are watching you whore it up. My god that blonde chick just turned upside down and wrapped her legs around the pole, let go of her hands, and slid gracefully down to the floor and did some hooker get up move, man...will I have to do that? I am not sure these thighs are cut out for rubbing down a brass pole bearing all my weight.
It is time to go in, and I am happy to report that the rest of the new girls look just as scared as I do. I am also surprised to see chubby girls, a very chubby girl, and old woman, and a very old woman, good for them for branching out and taking stripper lessons! The rest of the other girls look like me which makes me happy. When it is my turn at the reception desk I say "Hi, I am here for stripper lessons."
Whoa...I get a death look
"UH, you mean pole dancing class?" the receptionist snaps.
I rack my brain and try to think of another 'profession' that would utilize a stripper pole in their daily duties, but decide to not piss off the receptionist with a bull ring through her nose (does she wear that while stripping?).
"Oh, sorry...yes I want to dance with the pole please"
Bull nose is not impressed and she sends me to the floor group first (dammit!).
I go to the group stretching on the mats (apparently you need to limber up before straddling a pole?) the girl next to me whispers "why do they only have 5 poles when they have classes of 15?" I reply "to punish the ones that call it stripper lessons apparently" she laughs and we are instantly best stripper friends.
Well, I must say. There is more to pole dancing class than flinging yourself around a pole. One, you have to learn to do everything "sexy" there is none of this flopping down on the floor and then jumping back up like you normally would, oh no no no. You have to cat crawl around, and thrust your pelvis around, and POINT YOUR FEET (as I keep getting yelled at to do), and stick that tush out I am told more than once. Also, you are not allowed to walk normal, you have to sexy-walk everywhere, which is actually quite fun.
OK, I instantly feel sexier now that I can walk and crawl like a temptress. LET ME AT THE POLE!
Finally it is my group’s turn to slut it up at the poles. We clean them first (gross) and then learn your basic stripper moves (I mean pole dancing class moves) and now it’s time to grab the pole with your hands (insert dirty joke here) and slide down gracefully, holding all your weight, sliding ever so sexy down the pole and lay sultry down on the floor. Yay I can't wait to try.
Time to sexy-walk up to the pole, my turn!
I now have pole burn.
How did she do that? I did exactly what my instructor did, but instead of slipping around gracefully and oozing stripper elegance, I gyrated down the pole like a vibrating dildo making an unattractive squeaking noise and slammed into the floor. God! I sexy-walk away in shame.
So after an hour of stripper lessons...sorry, I mean pole dancing class...I have come to the following conclusions:
1. This is not a ‘workout’ more of an activity
2. Pole dancing is F*cking hard
3. Strippers deserve those $5 bills they get stuffed in their G-strings
4. I really want to ask the instructors if they are strippers, but figure that will be rude. (do you think they are? I need to know.)
So the next day:
1. My hands are sore from grasping pole (insert another dirty joke here)
2. The tops of my feet are bruised as I don’t know how to gracefully slide down a pole
3. I catch myself sexy-walking to the printer twice
4. I almost try a spin on the stop sign. Almost, it was too wobbly and probably would buckle under the pressure.
Yes, that is right, why not give it a try?
I must admit I considered bailing a few times as pole dancing class sounds so...well sluty! But I am trying new fitness things, and this is a new thing....so here we go! I arrive early for the class, and there is no waiting area inside, so I sit in my car watching the previous class "perform", clearly they are a couple levels ahead (maybe semi-pro strippers?). As I watch the girls from my car I am very aware that I resemble a pervert parked in the lot peeking through the cracks in the curtains to watch amateur pole dancers. It does look...semi fun? More than anything it looks scary as so many people are watching you whore it up. My god that blonde chick just turned upside down and wrapped her legs around the pole, let go of her hands, and slid gracefully down to the floor and did some hooker get up move, man...will I have to do that? I am not sure these thighs are cut out for rubbing down a brass pole bearing all my weight.
It is time to go in, and I am happy to report that the rest of the new girls look just as scared as I do. I am also surprised to see chubby girls, a very chubby girl, and old woman, and a very old woman, good for them for branching out and taking stripper lessons! The rest of the other girls look like me which makes me happy. When it is my turn at the reception desk I say "Hi, I am here for stripper lessons."
Whoa...I get a death look
"UH, you mean pole dancing class?" the receptionist snaps.
I rack my brain and try to think of another 'profession' that would utilize a stripper pole in their daily duties, but decide to not piss off the receptionist with a bull ring through her nose (does she wear that while stripping?).
"Oh, sorry...yes I want to dance with the pole please"
Bull nose is not impressed and she sends me to the floor group first (dammit!).
I go to the group stretching on the mats (apparently you need to limber up before straddling a pole?) the girl next to me whispers "why do they only have 5 poles when they have classes of 15?" I reply "to punish the ones that call it stripper lessons apparently" she laughs and we are instantly best stripper friends.
Well, I must say. There is more to pole dancing class than flinging yourself around a pole. One, you have to learn to do everything "sexy" there is none of this flopping down on the floor and then jumping back up like you normally would, oh no no no. You have to cat crawl around, and thrust your pelvis around, and POINT YOUR FEET (as I keep getting yelled at to do), and stick that tush out I am told more than once. Also, you are not allowed to walk normal, you have to sexy-walk everywhere, which is actually quite fun.
OK, I instantly feel sexier now that I can walk and crawl like a temptress. LET ME AT THE POLE!
Finally it is my group’s turn to slut it up at the poles. We clean them first (gross) and then learn your basic stripper moves (I mean pole dancing class moves) and now it’s time to grab the pole with your hands (insert dirty joke here) and slide down gracefully, holding all your weight, sliding ever so sexy down the pole and lay sultry down on the floor. Yay I can't wait to try.
Time to sexy-walk up to the pole, my turn!
I now have pole burn.
How did she do that? I did exactly what my instructor did, but instead of slipping around gracefully and oozing stripper elegance, I gyrated down the pole like a vibrating dildo making an unattractive squeaking noise and slammed into the floor. God! I sexy-walk away in shame.
So after an hour of stripper lessons...sorry, I mean pole dancing class...I have come to the following conclusions:
1. This is not a ‘workout’ more of an activity
2. Pole dancing is F*cking hard
3. Strippers deserve those $5 bills they get stuffed in their G-strings
4. I really want to ask the instructors if they are strippers, but figure that will be rude. (do you think they are? I need to know.)
So the next day:
1. My hands are sore from grasping pole (insert another dirty joke here)
2. The tops of my feet are bruised as I don’t know how to gracefully slide down a pole
3. I catch myself sexy-walking to the printer twice
4. I almost try a spin on the stop sign. Almost, it was too wobbly and probably would buckle under the pressure.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
7 weeks to go
We as you know I (and most of my bridal party) am trying to lose those last pesky fat pounds so we can rock it on the beach in a mere 7 weeks. We want to look like hot sexy models and not like this:
Or at least that is how I see myself in my mind some days when that EFFing scale won’t budge, and that stupid measuring tape doesn’t get any smaller.
So what I need is ‘extra’ help....but what? I am desperate and at the point where I find myself looking at fat burner pills, and Jillian Micheals Detox pills....but as we know...whole healthy food and exercise is key, not pills. Calories are already being counted, fat and carb grams are being watched....exercising as much as possible....What else can I do?
How about kick my ass into high gear: Signed up for BIKINI BOOT CAMP!
Oh my god what have I done? First class is this week, I will keep you posted :)
Or at least that is how I see myself in my mind some days when that EFFing scale won’t budge, and that stupid measuring tape doesn’t get any smaller.
So what I need is ‘extra’ help....but what? I am desperate and at the point where I find myself looking at fat burner pills, and Jillian Micheals Detox pills....but as we know...whole healthy food and exercise is key, not pills. Calories are already being counted, fat and carb grams are being watched....exercising as much as possible....What else can I do?
How about kick my ass into high gear: Signed up for BIKINI BOOT CAMP!
Oh my god what have I done? First class is this week, I will keep you posted :)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
No yoga for a bit...
Well, here we are. Almost 8 weeks until the wedding, a beach wedding as I like the pressure apparently. My dress finally arrived and surprise! It is too small. I don’t get it. I am not eating until the wedding, and I am working out 20 hours a day. That should lose the last ten pounds no?
Someone at my new Nazi-yoga studio stole my yoga matt. A super sweaty (right after hot yoga) matt rolled up with my equally sweaty towel. Someone took my matt and put the towel in the lost in found, stealth move, what a jerk! Since when do yogi’s steal? Aren’t they supposed to be a zen and love the world? Hopefully karma makes them fart loudly in yoga class.
Someone at my new Nazi-yoga studio stole my yoga matt. A super sweaty (right after hot yoga) matt rolled up with my equally sweaty towel. Someone took my matt and put the towel in the lost in found, stealth move, what a jerk! Since when do yogi’s steal? Aren’t they supposed to be a zen and love the world? Hopefully karma makes them fart loudly in yoga class.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Bikram?
So I didn’t realize that there are so many different types of yoga, and I don’t mean just different poses and beginner verses advance and hot verses not. I went to a yoga studio called Bikram yoga. Never heard of it, thought it was just a granola yoga name for the studio. BUT it was a different bread all together, for one, they had two people working the desk (unheard of) they had TWO changing rooms (wha tha?) and they had lockers (I know right? I though yoga people where all zen and too cool to stoop to theft).
So as I am waiting in the hall for the current class to end, the other main difference I notice is the amount of men in this class, it is at least 1/3 men (about 60 in the class). The doors open and the reddest, sweatiest, most tired looking group of people I have ever seen start to saunter/stumble out. When it is my turn to enter, I immediately regret my decision of coming as it is so hot (40 degrees Celsius) and there is no zen yoga paraphernalia just a big empty room that has a weird diagonal wall that throws off my center line when I am trying to align myself in front of the mirror (so stupid).
I do my usual pre-class ritual, sit there looking like I know what the hell I am doing, but really I am people watching and checking out everyone around me. The man next to me (decked out in TIGHT lulu) has the biggest pecs I have ever seen, like two cantaloupes taped under his shirt. He catches me staring at his pecks and does one of those moves where one peck flexes and then the other one does, I laughed out of awkwardness, not impressiveness. Making a mental note to not look to my left ever again I scan the rest of the class, one girl has the same yoga matt and the same water bottle as me, clearly she has good taste and we can be friends, maybe she will comment me on my top and I will say I like her shorts and we will be yoga buddies forever and have post class fruit picnics with....wait...does she have a neck tattoo? I don’t think I can handle that in a friendship.
As I am weight obsessed I scrutinize each woman’s body in the class (I do this where ever I am: seminars, stores, parties, I can’t help it) and decide that I am yet again larger than most of the woman here, DAMIT!
Class is about to start and a straggler comes in late and sets up his mat directly in front of me, he starts sweating immediately and I get the pungent smell of curry and mould magnified a million times from the steamy hot room, good this place is probably crawling with bacteria, why do I put myself in these situations? Oh right, to be skinny.
Instead of a normal yoga class when the lights are turned on slowly and the teacher has a calm soothing voice, a drill sergeant comes in and snaps on the lights, she barks orders the WHOLE time, she never shuts up, what the f*ck kind of yoga is this? We start with this weird breathing exercise that makes me feel like I am at a cult meeting and wonder when the kool-aid starts. Everyone is acting like it is completely normal to breathe this raspy throat air noise thing, I feel perverted listening to everyone sound like they are about to climax. Finally we start with the poses, I rock them all of course, the cult leader calls out to one of the new students who looks like they are about to pass out (literally looks like she forgets where she is) and asks another student to go her some juice (I stifle a laugh because I picture her coming back with glasses of poisoned kool-aid and someone with a nose ring like a bull shoots me a dagger look, I pretend to cough and ignore him, but I am scared that he is the assistant cult leader).
Mouldy curry man is creeping closer and closer to my matt, his toe nails are gross and have gunk under them (yoga peeps are supposed to be clean and cool! Didn’t he get the memo?) so I keep inching my mat away from him, and actually retreat backwards at one point when he lost the grip on his foot and it flung down towards the ground and some of his foot sweat droplets landed on ME! Ick gross sick!
I barely make it through this class, and boy do I mean barely, as in I had to sit out a lot of moves.
I am so hot, I need air, the girl on my other side of me (opposite Mr. Pecktacular) sees my beet face and fans me a little with the side of her matt, I smile gratefully and she mouths that there is only 5 minutes left (I love her).
I have probably sweated out a half litre of water, that is OK as I drank 3 litres of water today, and 1 during the two hours I was in that heat cell, and I am sure I will drink another one when I am done.
Class dismissed (yay the pain is over) I rush out of there faster than Usain Bolt, throw my clothes on over my sweaty everything, and rush outside, never ever ever have I been happy to deal with Canadian winter in March. I am never coming back here, this class is insane. Final relief of the heat, the cold night air on my hot skin brings me back to reality and I am starving and light headed from the crazy-cult-heat-oven. My face stays beet red for about an hour after class, craving a shower and carbs, I rushed home (where my fiancé hugged me and then recoiled at my soaking wet body and musty damp gym smell, told me I look like I am going to barf and to go shower before he does) just before getting in the shower I jump on the scale.
Two pounds lighter.
Totally coming back to this insane class tomorrow.
So as I am waiting in the hall for the current class to end, the other main difference I notice is the amount of men in this class, it is at least 1/3 men (about 60 in the class). The doors open and the reddest, sweatiest, most tired looking group of people I have ever seen start to saunter/stumble out. When it is my turn to enter, I immediately regret my decision of coming as it is so hot (40 degrees Celsius) and there is no zen yoga paraphernalia just a big empty room that has a weird diagonal wall that throws off my center line when I am trying to align myself in front of the mirror (so stupid).
I do my usual pre-class ritual, sit there looking like I know what the hell I am doing, but really I am people watching and checking out everyone around me. The man next to me (decked out in TIGHT lulu) has the biggest pecs I have ever seen, like two cantaloupes taped under his shirt. He catches me staring at his pecks and does one of those moves where one peck flexes and then the other one does, I laughed out of awkwardness, not impressiveness. Making a mental note to not look to my left ever again I scan the rest of the class, one girl has the same yoga matt and the same water bottle as me, clearly she has good taste and we can be friends, maybe she will comment me on my top and I will say I like her shorts and we will be yoga buddies forever and have post class fruit picnics with....wait...does she have a neck tattoo? I don’t think I can handle that in a friendship.
As I am weight obsessed I scrutinize each woman’s body in the class (I do this where ever I am: seminars, stores, parties, I can’t help it) and decide that I am yet again larger than most of the woman here, DAMIT!
Class is about to start and a straggler comes in late and sets up his mat directly in front of me, he starts sweating immediately and I get the pungent smell of curry and mould magnified a million times from the steamy hot room, good this place is probably crawling with bacteria, why do I put myself in these situations? Oh right, to be skinny.
Instead of a normal yoga class when the lights are turned on slowly and the teacher has a calm soothing voice, a drill sergeant comes in and snaps on the lights, she barks orders the WHOLE time, she never shuts up, what the f*ck kind of yoga is this? We start with this weird breathing exercise that makes me feel like I am at a cult meeting and wonder when the kool-aid starts. Everyone is acting like it is completely normal to breathe this raspy throat air noise thing, I feel perverted listening to everyone sound like they are about to climax. Finally we start with the poses, I rock them all of course, the cult leader calls out to one of the new students who looks like they are about to pass out (literally looks like she forgets where she is) and asks another student to go her some juice (I stifle a laugh because I picture her coming back with glasses of poisoned kool-aid and someone with a nose ring like a bull shoots me a dagger look, I pretend to cough and ignore him, but I am scared that he is the assistant cult leader).
Mouldy curry man is creeping closer and closer to my matt, his toe nails are gross and have gunk under them (yoga peeps are supposed to be clean and cool! Didn’t he get the memo?) so I keep inching my mat away from him, and actually retreat backwards at one point when he lost the grip on his foot and it flung down towards the ground and some of his foot sweat droplets landed on ME! Ick gross sick!
I barely make it through this class, and boy do I mean barely, as in I had to sit out a lot of moves.
I am so hot, I need air, the girl on my other side of me (opposite Mr. Pecktacular) sees my beet face and fans me a little with the side of her matt, I smile gratefully and she mouths that there is only 5 minutes left (I love her).
I have probably sweated out a half litre of water, that is OK as I drank 3 litres of water today, and 1 during the two hours I was in that heat cell, and I am sure I will drink another one when I am done.
Class dismissed (yay the pain is over) I rush out of there faster than Usain Bolt, throw my clothes on over my sweaty everything, and rush outside, never ever ever have I been happy to deal with Canadian winter in March. I am never coming back here, this class is insane. Final relief of the heat, the cold night air on my hot skin brings me back to reality and I am starving and light headed from the crazy-cult-heat-oven. My face stays beet red for about an hour after class, craving a shower and carbs, I rushed home (where my fiancé hugged me and then recoiled at my soaking wet body and musty damp gym smell, told me I look like I am going to barf and to go shower before he does) just before getting in the shower I jump on the scale.
Two pounds lighter.
Totally coming back to this insane class tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Do you eat when you are sad? Or starve? (Eat right?)
Hardest time to eat healthy?
Road Trips?
Vacations?
Celebrations?
Funerals?
When really bad news is received?
I don't know what is harder, sticking to a healthy clean diet during celebrations and happy times? Or the bad sad times. For happy times you want to share in the celebrations with lots of good eats and drinks, but with sad times I actually find it worse, I mean it’s not very polite to ask my grandmother to make a different meal for me because minced meat pie is not only disgusting tasting (taste like a meat egg roll soaked in gravy) it is also fatty, and full of crappy ingredients like margarine and loads of white flour (also, if you have seen Sweeny Todd, you don't ever want to eat meat pies anyway). However...not the best time to be food picky as more important things are happening. So instead I would casually place piece by piece of meat pie on my dad's plate when he wasn't looking. My mom saw me do this and did the same with her margarine soaked no taste bread, but she promptly got caught as she is not the stealth food Nazi I am. Thank god there was salad on the table that I gladly ate 4 bowls of.
During the sad times (in this case a funeral for my grandfather), food will appear out of nowhere. Friends and family members bring boatloads of food, no one cares if it is healthy because everyone is so preoccupied they forget to eat and prepare meals, and then they realize they are starving because it is 7pm and they haven't eaten all day...well, the tray of sweets (whoever brought those lemon square bread things need to never ever make them again, I don't want to eat your lemon garbage when I am sad!) and the tray of mayo-white-bread-sandwiches start to look pretty tasty. Or in my case, many meals of grapes, cheese, and veggie sticks.
A week at home with my family and funeral food, with no exercise (other than the half ass push-ups and mild yoga stretches I could do at about 10pm when I was alone in my room) equals a very unwelcomed 2 pound gain. If this trip wasn’t worse enough due to the circumstances, I also had to see and speak to extended family members, some that I haven’t seen in over ten years, well, when you are a chubby kid/teenager (not to mention how much bigger your boobs are when you are a chubby overflowing underwire pinching double D cup, compared to my now almost full C cup) and you then move out of province and no longer see or keep in touch with your extended family, you come back home, thinner, older, and probably a little taller, well it is beyond annoying. “Oh you lost weight” “Well don’t you look different” and my favourite line which was blurted out in a room full of people: “How much weight did you lose? 20 pound? 30 pounds, tell me!!!” Do they think I am unaware I have lost weight? Is it a shock that my hairstyle and body is different than that of ten years ago? One of them (I don’t know...second cousin twice removed?...actually said “oh, you where a lot chubbier back then” (ARRRRHHHG) I had to remind myself: this is a funeral, don’t tell her that is better than being a fat cow now. Instead smiled and said “well, you haven’t changed at all, same haircut and everything” (A nicer insult, but she didn’t even notice, just patted her teased-half-bangs and smiled). God, who are these people? Oh right....family.
Boot Camp Class starts soon, maybe I can lose two pounds per class?
Road Trips?
Vacations?
Celebrations?
Funerals?
When really bad news is received?
I don't know what is harder, sticking to a healthy clean diet during celebrations and happy times? Or the bad sad times. For happy times you want to share in the celebrations with lots of good eats and drinks, but with sad times I actually find it worse, I mean it’s not very polite to ask my grandmother to make a different meal for me because minced meat pie is not only disgusting tasting (taste like a meat egg roll soaked in gravy) it is also fatty, and full of crappy ingredients like margarine and loads of white flour (also, if you have seen Sweeny Todd, you don't ever want to eat meat pies anyway). However...not the best time to be food picky as more important things are happening. So instead I would casually place piece by piece of meat pie on my dad's plate when he wasn't looking. My mom saw me do this and did the same with her margarine soaked no taste bread, but she promptly got caught as she is not the stealth food Nazi I am. Thank god there was salad on the table that I gladly ate 4 bowls of.
During the sad times (in this case a funeral for my grandfather), food will appear out of nowhere. Friends and family members bring boatloads of food, no one cares if it is healthy because everyone is so preoccupied they forget to eat and prepare meals, and then they realize they are starving because it is 7pm and they haven't eaten all day...well, the tray of sweets (whoever brought those lemon square bread things need to never ever make them again, I don't want to eat your lemon garbage when I am sad!) and the tray of mayo-white-bread-sandwiches start to look pretty tasty. Or in my case, many meals of grapes, cheese, and veggie sticks.
A week at home with my family and funeral food, with no exercise (other than the half ass push-ups and mild yoga stretches I could do at about 10pm when I was alone in my room) equals a very unwelcomed 2 pound gain. If this trip wasn’t worse enough due to the circumstances, I also had to see and speak to extended family members, some that I haven’t seen in over ten years, well, when you are a chubby kid/teenager (not to mention how much bigger your boobs are when you are a chubby overflowing underwire pinching double D cup, compared to my now almost full C cup) and you then move out of province and no longer see or keep in touch with your extended family, you come back home, thinner, older, and probably a little taller, well it is beyond annoying. “Oh you lost weight” “Well don’t you look different” and my favourite line which was blurted out in a room full of people: “How much weight did you lose? 20 pound? 30 pounds, tell me!!!” Do they think I am unaware I have lost weight? Is it a shock that my hairstyle and body is different than that of ten years ago? One of them (I don’t know...second cousin twice removed?...actually said “oh, you where a lot chubbier back then” (ARRRRHHHG) I had to remind myself: this is a funeral, don’t tell her that is better than being a fat cow now. Instead smiled and said “well, you haven’t changed at all, same haircut and everything” (A nicer insult, but she didn’t even notice, just patted her teased-half-bangs and smiled). God, who are these people? Oh right....family.
Boot Camp Class starts soon, maybe I can lose two pounds per class?
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Ick.
Still eating McDonalds? This video shows the breakdown of popular McDonald menu items. The video is a little longer than it needs to be, if you don’t want to watch the full 5 minutes, I will just tell you now: Food breaks down; McDonald fries do not, at all, not even a little bit. Don’t eat them, ever.
http://www.geeksaresexy.net/2007/06/14/why-you-should-not-eat-mcdonalds-food/
The hold that McDonalds has over the general public is amazing. We all ate there as kids, had fun birthday parties, and played with what was probably a pervy out of work ex con dressed up as a weird yellow clown man who hung around a purple blob and some burglar man who stole hamburgers and it was normal and accepted by society that this mascot was an all out thief? Many people at my office (adults) still eat there (gross). For lunch one woman had a big mac, supersized fries, 10 chicken nuggets (dipped in a concoction of bbq-sweet-and-sour-mayonnaise-ketchup –do-it-yourself-dip), apple pie, supersized coke, AND a milkshake. FOR LUNCH!!! The woman that was eating with her said, and I quote, “you should have got a healthier meal like me” and she was eating (kid you not) filet o fish, supersized fries, and a supersized diet coke. Because that is healthy, unrecognizable square breaded deep fried “fish” (a.k.a.: pieces of crappy fish such as Pollock or Hoki...wtf is a Hoki fish?) topped with process cheese on a while sugar flour bun, with fuck knows what sauce. With non decomposing fries, sugar ketchup, too much salt, and a chemical drink to wash it down with. Mmmm, healthy! I hope they threw it up afterwards.
It amazes and saddens me that people out in the world think that McDonalds has GOOD food. I mean, have these people never been to a restaurant? Like a real restaurant? Not fast food joints or pubs or your local crap bar? Can you imagine if the highlight of your eating life was going to McDonalds? Sad. Very very sad.
http://www.geeksaresexy.net/2007/06/14/why-you-should-not-eat-mcdonalds-food/
The hold that McDonalds has over the general public is amazing. We all ate there as kids, had fun birthday parties, and played with what was probably a pervy out of work ex con dressed up as a weird yellow clown man who hung around a purple blob and some burglar man who stole hamburgers and it was normal and accepted by society that this mascot was an all out thief? Many people at my office (adults) still eat there (gross). For lunch one woman had a big mac, supersized fries, 10 chicken nuggets (dipped in a concoction of bbq-sweet-and-sour-mayonnaise-ketchup –do-it-yourself-dip), apple pie, supersized coke, AND a milkshake. FOR LUNCH!!! The woman that was eating with her said, and I quote, “you should have got a healthier meal like me” and she was eating (kid you not) filet o fish, supersized fries, and a supersized diet coke. Because that is healthy, unrecognizable square breaded deep fried “fish” (a.k.a.: pieces of crappy fish such as Pollock or Hoki...wtf is a Hoki fish?) topped with process cheese on a while sugar flour bun, with fuck knows what sauce. With non decomposing fries, sugar ketchup, too much salt, and a chemical drink to wash it down with. Mmmm, healthy! I hope they threw it up afterwards.
It amazes and saddens me that people out in the world think that McDonalds has GOOD food. I mean, have these people never been to a restaurant? Like a real restaurant? Not fast food joints or pubs or your local crap bar? Can you imagine if the highlight of your eating life was going to McDonalds? Sad. Very very sad.
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