Wednesday, July 14, 2010

sweatin' to the old me

So, it is true, I do be up in the gym working on my fitness as the great philosopher Fergie, Ferg says. Of course, she peed her pants on stage, so I feel especially kindred to her. Having been mistaken for a drag queen before, it's important I work on my girlish figure. Hey, it was the 70s, everyone wore too much eye makeup and I may have been fond of my shoulder pads which made me look even more the linebacker. All the same, i'm tryin damn it.

So, I don't get why the hell they put so damn many mirrors in the YWCA. I know you need to watch yourself curl. But I do not, repeat NOT, need to watch myself run. It's a horrible testament to gravity to watch my face as I run. I have jowls like HOOCH. and, we have previously established I may be inclined to sing while I run. I may even do a semi- dance and work in an assslap when listening to a certain Ke$ha track. Thank you for getting me through the third mile, you skanky tween.

So, I realize my willpower is low and my strength is all but gone. I think I maybe need new shoes? Am on the treadmill cresting mile 3 when I think, yes I need roller skates. That would make this enjoyable, I could dart home like a Prius with a stuck gas pedal.
Then I nearly tripped on my own boob and had to concentrate again.

My only goal in life is not to be jealous of those people- the folks whose ass moves the same direction their legs do when they walk. Is that so inconquerable?

Best of luck kiddies, talk soon

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