Tag Archives: humor

Lose ten pounds in three weeks!

Welcome to thirty folks!

I’m still just as unmotivated and disappointingly short.

I really thought I would be taller by now.

Scroll down and you’ll see the prior year of half-ass commitments I applied myself to.

Since I’m a fan of excuses, the reason I have been uninvolved is because I am actually happy.

I may have addressed this topic in a prior post, but in the good fashion of being lazy,  I’ll just re-address it instead of clicking out of this window to view another window, to see if I have already mentioned this topic.

Talk about grammatical errors in that sentence above! I’m too tired to go back and edit, so please give me a pass on this one.

I  was really diligent about posting in this thing a few years ago. It was my way of escaping and safely entering a world where I could be myself.

I only added “safely” because it’s nearly 10pm and I have used all my clever adjectives for my copywriting gig earlier.

But over the past year, I haven’t yearned for that escape like I did two years ago.

Hindsight – it was depression.

But now I’ve entered the lovely world of social anxiety and overthinking every goddamn thing.

I actually hesitated writing “goddamn” because I didn’t want to offend anyone.

I don’t know where this liberal overly PC girl came from, but she is exhausting.

Actually, I have a hypothesis…

I’ve been working in front of a computer too damn long! I forgot how to socially interact with people.

So I’ve decided to take the plunge and teach Spin.

(Like how I brought in the theme of the blog finally?)

It wasn’t so much a plunge as it was a halfass, two sentence inquiry to a craigslist ad.

Luckily for me, a brand new gym is opening, and they need to staff from the ground up.

So it’s by default I got the gig.

But it really reinforces my mantra of “why try hard?”

Which brings me back to our theme of the blog.

(Not really, I just got bored of writing what I litterally just wrote and decided to skip the topic altogether.)

My work is doing a weight-loss challenge. For camaraderie sake I want to participate.

The challenge is to put in $40 and lose 10 pounds in three weeks. If I lose the 10 pounds, I get $80 back!

For you non-maths out there, that’s double my investment.

If I do not lose 10 pounds, I lose my $40. That is opposite of investment.

(Of course my first thought was how can I cheat this?)

Because my laziness outweighs my frugalness (see DietBet post – then immediately notice the non follow-up DiteBet post after) the money motivation isn’t a guarantee I’ll follow through.

So I thought real hard and realized the last time I attempted a “diet” was when I posted on this thing religiously.

Hence this post 🙂

Weigh in is tomorrow. I figured I would update my three-week adventure daily to try and stay motivated.

Hopefully you all can keep me accountable. All you diligent followers you (add winky face).

It’s late and the cat is needing attention – for the record a literal cat – I’m out.

Til tomorrow with weigh-in updates.

…we’ll see if it happens.

Night!

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It’s been awhile (in the melody of that one Staind song)

Hello beautiful people!

I believe my last post was about the Diet Bet challenge I committed six months to prior to the holidays and ended on my 30th birthday.

Here’s the update.

I lost interest after month one.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t effective. Because it was in the back of my mind, I did make mental notes of my eating habits and commit into a few extra workouts a week. And by few I mean two.

I got back down to my normal weight which I give more credit to moving out of my mom’s (I’d like to note, before I turned 30) and not going out on dates with my awesome winemaker boyfriend four times a week.

I didn’t have to add in the winemaker part, but I feel it is imperative to our relationship and our drunken conversation the night we met which lead to a text message by me to him the following day. I didn’t remember his name, the way he looked (besides his lumberjack beard – which we all know is the manliest of beards), or where we even met, but I did remember the fact he was a winemaker.

So why am I back? I am back because A. I miss writing in this silly little blog and B. shameless self promotion.

I am now in a big kid job, which honestly scares the crap out of me (figuratively not literally). My new title is Marketing and Sales Coordinator. Writing about FSAs, the new Overtime Regulation, and tip-shraing, gave me the itch to write in my own personal blog for funsies AND send a link to the workplace blog.

So if you have time, help your girl out and read the more anecdotal post I published yesterday. It’s similar to my personal blog with the exception of chat about my unsuccessful fitness journey and beard-mentioning hot men.

Thank you all for your support! I’m so excited to be back!

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Treasure hunt -wait that’s a thing?

Living in California during the midst of a major drought means great opportunities to hike in 70 degree weather in the beginning of April. 

This is not to say I am insensitive to the drought. In fact, I haven’t washed my car in nearly a year. It is to say, I will seize the day and venture out in all the beauty California has to offer. 

This is, of course, after I nursed my hangover with a food truck kimchi grilled cheese. 

Because I have grand plans of being active every Saturday, and yet, every Saturday I tend to somehow end up with wine, I got my lazy ass hiking last weekend thanks to Geocaching. 

I have to admit, I had never heard of this before and was convinced my friends were just saying a random set of syllables together. But it is, in fact, a real thing as well as a convient app on my phone:

Download the app, click on a green dot, follow the clues and gps coordinates to some random treasure a random person hid. 

Part of the reason I was so amused by this concept was because my friends who told me about it were on beach cruisers downtown looking for geocaches. The idea of three adults riding around on bikes looking for small trinkets really made me happy. 

So last Saturday I finally was active thanks to this Geocache app. Not to brag, but I found the first Geocache amongst my team of three:

First member was my neice whom I allowed to wear flip flops on a hike because I am an adult, and I trusted that a 12 year old could hike in flip flops because she said so. 

Her mediocre superpower is the ability to walk through any terrain in subpar footwear. (You have to imagine these introductions with capes). 

Then there was Tankman. A 38 pound Boston terrier who seems to never calm down even despite his dog years of 42. His superpower is the ability to get distracted by any reflection or shadow on the ground. 

Then there was Jon, the Tankman wrangler. A very important skill to have as Tank is my dog and tends to walk me on these hikes. 

Then there’s me who holds the power of positivity. If we went in the wrong direction to find a geocache, it was okay because I would point out to my fellow sidekicks the beautiful views that layed in front of us. 

What usually was a four mile hike, turned into a seven mile hike and exploration of new territories. 

The point of all this you ask? Physical activity doesn’t always have to be a hard workout or boring. And it’s okay to eat a fatty sandwich before your Saturday  hike 😉 

You only live once afterall. 

YOLO!

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The Unhappy Face

The unhappy face started when I was in preschool: Ms. Judy showed me a letter and I would have to name it.
So when she placed the magnetic “W” on the board and I said “C”, she sent me home with a brown-construction paper sad face while my best friend Kyle got the yellow-smiley face.

I don’t know how many four year olds are familiar with the alphabet, but I was not one of them and Kyle was.

So far that’s a 50/50 statistic.

To this day I still remember that unhappy face I continually got sent home with. If you’re good with reading between the lines, you have come to the rightful conclusion that I always guessed “C” in this non-multiple choice test.

Fast forward 25 years and now I can confidentially say I know the difference between a “W” and “C”. I am also fully aware of the impact a sad face has for any sort of negative reinforcement.

Because my job is in front of a computer all day, I successfully gained ten pounds.

Unfortunately not in the chest area.

Once I finally got fed up with the steady weight gain, I proposed to my department to do an exercise for two minutes on the hour.

In front of the window.
That’s in front of the street.
That’s in front of an apartment community.
Where people walk their dogs.

Luckily they agreed.

The first thing I learned: squats do a better job of waking me up than my third cup of morning coffee.

The second thing I learned: supermans in an office in the middle of the day looks eerily similar to a bank being held up.

The third thing I learned: it’s really easy to skip an hour – especially if we are in the middle of something.

That’s where the unhappy face comes in.

As a joke, I placed a sad face under our 12pm slot to remind ourselves we failed. Much like the way Ms. Judy reminded me I failed at the alphabet so many years ago.

Clearly I have some deep seeded psychological issues with this.

But somehow, this joke caught on. My manager missed an hour and made sure to do double the next hour because she “didn’t want an unhappy face.”

Soon enough we made sure to get each hour, whether it was to do double one hour, or exercise alone in front of the window if we missed on the hour. If not, we shamefully have to draw the dreaded sad face.

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Since I’ve started this routine, I’ve lost a couple pounds. (With my luck, probably in the chest area.) I see a little definition in my abs, and I feel more camaraderie with my department.

The fact is, you don’t need multiple hours in the gym, or need to be in shape, just a little change to your daily routine and you will be surprise with the impact it will have on you. You will also be surprised the impact an upside down happy face will have on your motivation.

‘Til next time friends!!

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The Healthy Comment

Fellas, I know you all mean well when you tell us ladies we look “healthy”, but let’s come up with a better euphemism for nice ass.

Is it bad I’d rather be sexually harassed than referred to as healthy?

What does healthy even mean? Back in my high school days I was referred to as “thick”.

Again, just tell me I have a fat ass.

Being healthy is a lifestyle; one that probably includes less drinking and cookies than my current lifestyle.

I got drunk with my friends and insisted on eating my best friends three-week old wedding cake. After she well-advised me not to, my insistence and determination wasn’t abating so she hesitantly cut me a piece of the purple fondant cake.

I ate it.

Admittedly not my proudest moment.

My point is, healthy does not describe me, so let’s come up with a better adjective.

The fact is, I like my curves. I love my big ass, and I do squats to make it even bigger. This doesn’t mean I’m not self -conscious at times or don’t fantasize about being skinny.

I don’t need to go into societal pressure and norms of how women are perceived in our culture, but in the back of my head I’m just as guilty as the next girl for thinking skinny is the only sexy.

So I can’t help but take a comment as “healthy”, as a way to describe how not skinny I am. Therefore, not sexy I am.

I know. I know. Crazy girl brain.

Here are the adjectives I do prefer:
Curvy
Fit
Perfect (😉)

That’s all you get. So let’s avoid the “healthy” and “thick” descriptions to describe the non-skinny ladies.

That’s talking to a lady lesson 101. You’re welcome.

Til next time friends.

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Bummed-outness: we’ll pretend it’s a word

Last week I was feeling a bit melancholy.

God that’s a dramatic word: melancholy. (Place back of hand on forehead) “I’m so melancholy”.

I just really wanted to use that word from my sixth grade vocab test.

Thanks Mrs. Kardin.

I’m lying. I don’t remember my sixth grade teachers name. I made that part up.

But real talk: I was a bit bummed and slow motion last week. Usually what fixes this problem is a jog around the reservoir.

This isn’t always the wisest decision.
Back in July I was having one hell of a rough day, so I decided to go jog at 1:00pm

1:00pm in the middle of July.

July at 1:00 fucking pm!

I can’t even feel bad for myself because this was just an all around dumb idea.

It was 90 degrees with direct sunlight beaming on me (and I swear only me) no shade in sight with my pride quickly dwindling.

A mile into the jog I was hating life but had to trek on. I couldn’t let complete strangers (wisely walking the reservoir at 1:00pm in the middle if July) know I was sucking.

Nearly a mile and a half into it I saw a bench and decided to do abs. I wanted the complete strangers around me to think this was all part of my plan when in reality I was about to die.

Talk about a melancholy moment.

Before mile two came around I wound up walking. I went to the grass to look like I was stretching but instead cried because I couldn’t release my sadness during the jog. In fact, the jog only made me more sad.

Ugh, I’m such a girl sometimes.

That was the last time I jogged the reservoir.

So this past Sunday around 1:00pm (you think I would learn my lesson) I got my dreadful yoga pants on and SF Giants hat and went back to the reservoir.

I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be able to jog. Sure I’ve been working out, but 30 minute gym sessions isn’t exactly prepping for a three-mile, hilly cardio session.

I got to the reservoir and my VW told me it was only 76 degrees out.

Already a better start.

I put on my “Reminds me of Summer 2014” playlist and started the jog.

With the cooler weather, a solid playlist, and my bummed-outness (I feel like sadness is too dramatic of a word for what I was feeling last week) motivating me, I managed to do the full three miles. In fact, by mile three, I figured why not do four.

I did four miles without expecting to complete one! And I did it all right under 40 minutes. Usually I keep a much slower pace if I haven’t ran outside for awhile. I don’t even want to discuss how slow my pace usually is, but we’ll just say it’s comparable to a pleasant trot.

In the end, the four miles outside during a transitioning season with Public Enemy playing in my ear, I found it incredibly hard to be sad (oops: Bummed-out) for the rest of the day.

Sometimes a little unpleasant emotion can spark something wonderful inside.

There’s always a bright side 🙂

Below I posted a pic of the four songs that remind me of Summer 2014. You don’t have to listen to them, just know they mean something to me.

And take that as an invitation to share your playlist with me.

‘Til next time friends!

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The Bridesmaids Dress

A couple of weeks ago an absolutely amazing couple got married and I was privileged enough to stand by the bride’s side during the beautiful ceremony.

This is just a sexed up way to say I was a bridesmaid.

I had ordered the bridesmaids dress in June. It was a very snug fit when I bought it, so naturally when I picked it up a month later I avoided trying it on again.

Deep down I knew the truth.

Weeks went by and the unused dress hung alone in my closet protected by the plastic it was delivered in.

Weeks went on and in the back of my head I kept reminding myself “you know you have to face the truth”.

Finally on one Thursday night at 11:00pm (because that’s a great time to get shit done apparently) I unwrapped the virginal bridesmaids dress, slipped it over my thighs, up to my chest and zipped it halfway.

There was ruching at the waistline (it’s where the fabric is kind of bunched. Being around girls trying on dresses, you learn useless terms like this) so I figured that’s why I couldn’t zip it up.

I asked my roommate (my younger sister) to try and zip it up.

“It’s not zipping Rik”.

Shit.

So I go to my other roommate (my younger brother) and ask him to zip it up.

“Umm Rik, it’s not going up”.

Fuck!!!!!

This is the moment shear panic arises. Here I had months to try on the now tainted dress and I waited just a few weeks prior to the wedding at 11pm at night when everything is closed to try on this god forsaken, condemned dress!

And yes I am fully aware that is a run on sentence, but I figured it was necessary to portray the panic I was in at the time.

Panic wasn’t the only thing I was experiencing; then there was shame because I had gained enough weight for the dress to not fit around my fucking ribcage. Who gains weight around their ribcage and not in their boobs?

Thanks genetics.

I had thought these things only happened in sitcoms.

So I had to face the music and called in for a larger size. Still bummed I had gained a few pounds, I decided I had to work on my back since the dress was a strapless and I wanted to look my best despite the few extra pounds I had gained.

So I started going to the gym and did rows, assisted pull-ups, and a few triceps because tri’s are sexy.

By the time the wedding came around, I tried on my new sized dress and zipped it up.

It fit perfectly!

But then I looked at my shoulders and back and instantly was self-conscious because I looked buff and less feminine in the dress.

What the fuck is wrong with girl brain?!

Really? I’m self-conscious because I’m too buff?

Moral of the story – there’s no winning in the weight category! Love your body no matter what!

That and no one likes how they look in a bridesmaids dress. So get drunk to not care and dance your little ass off! Because if you’re a bridesmaid, chances are someone you absolutely love gave you the privilege of making you part of their special day and that’s really all it’s about.

Til next time friends!

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In the words of Christina – because you’re beautiful

Due to some major life changes, I recently moved back in with my mom

I’m 28 years old.

With this major life change comes additional roommates: my brother and sister.

They’re 17 years old.

And yes they are twins (that always seems to be the immediate follow-up question).

Not only do I feel old when I try to explain to my little sister the area code rule through song she can’t make reference to, but now weight is the number one topic of choice.

Constantly being surrounded by two women (occasionally three when you add in my older sister’s visits) conversation inevitably turns into confessions of eating cookies and Doritos while passionately grabbing an area of our bodies with both hands and looking angry. (My area is the outer thigh.)

I forgot how toxic it is to be around other women. We’re constantly criticizing ourselves and (even worse) each other on our flaws.

And I’m guilty of even using the term flaws to describe my outer thighs. It’s negative connotation only reinforces my need to be self conscious.

The fact is, my outer thigh is my outer thigh. As much as I hate it, it’s my body and I love my body. This need for us to find “flaws” in ourselves is mind boggling to me.

I earned the little definition I put into my body. True I could put more work, but who the fuck cares? Really? As cheesy as this sounds, your body is your temple, love it, embrace it, grab parts of it passionately and be proud of it.

No angry face this time.

I work out because it makes me feel better at the end of the day. Not because I want to lose weight.

My point is, instead of being around the women you love and have superficial conversations about what you want to improve, look at yourself and really embrace the body you have. Tell yourself what your proud of. Tell them what to be proud of and you MAKE them take that compliment.

Both of my sisters have amazing legs I would kill for, shoulders of athletes, and thin ankles (I don’t want to talk about that one).

Think positively of your body. You’re the only one with it. Every dimple, every scar, every “pooch” is yours and yours only. And that’s what makes you beautiful.

And Kudos to anyone who picked up the Ludacris and Nate Dogg reference.

Til next time friends.

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My demise-a yoga pant story

Since when did buying workout pants become more difficult than finding a flattering bathing suite?

I blame this on the yoga pant fad. I was perfectly happy wearing my comfortable, swooshy, baggy, sweat pants back when I was 15. They were part of my cheerleading uniform with my name and bulldog embroidered on the top. (GO DOGS!)

Do swooshy pants even exist anymore?

Do people born in the 90s even know what the hell I’m talking about?

Because I got a new job, I had to start a new routine. I was going to get rid of my 24 Hour Fitness membership until I realized there was one in the same building as my new profession. Waking up and going to the gym in the morning would allow me to avoid traffic without having to sacrifice sleep.

My first morning at the new gym I chose to do the stair climber. This 24 Hour Fitness has several of these machines that all happen to reside in front of a mirror. This means while I am on the climber the reflection in the mirror is of my back.

At least this is what I thought.

This gym is small and the ceiling is next to my head while I climb. I don’t know if you noticed, but most ceilings have lights in them. As I’m climbing on the stair climber that resides in front of a mirror next to the ceiling with lights, I look in the mirror that is behind me and see a white ass staring at me.

With low ceilings, and fluorescent lights made out x-ray vision, it was no match for cheap yoga pant material to hide my white ass.

I was in a difficult position. I had to choose to continue to work out and pretend as if my ass isn’t as white as it is, or admit defeat and stop working out and hide in shame?

I continued to do my workout. White ass and all.

That afternoon I added “Buy new yoga pants” to my to-do list. I went against all the advice from fellow yoga pant wearers and went to Target instead of Old Navy because I’m lazy and it is the closest store to my house. While walking up and down the aisles of potential yoga pants, I hand tested all the pairs of interest. This isn’t as sexy of a test as it sounds; I simply placed my palm in the pants and stretched to see if I could see my skin.

Every pair of yoga pants. Every single pair. Every fucking pair man! I could see my skin.

I bought shorts.

So the next day I was in the gym wearing a pair of shorts I opted to simply buy and not try on. The shorts fit perfectly around my hips, but were slightly too tight around the thighs. If I did any form of jumping, the shorts became panties. 

On top of inappropriately short shorts, the x-ray vision fluorescent lights had an impeccable capability of not only showing my white ass in yoga pants, but also emphasizing my cellulite. 

Gyms need to adopt stripper lighting.

Needless to say, I was back at the store and this time took the advice of fellow yoga pant wearers and went with a few pairs from Old Navy. They are a little thicker, but I still don’t have the courage to look behind me into the mirror while on the stair climber. Instead, I try and get the one stair climber in front of the storage door.

This is what I have I learned from this experience:

1. Fluorescent lighting is the devil and clearly invented by a man.

2. I have a new found appreciation for how my body looks in a bikini.

3. Out of all the terrible styles we have brought back from the 90s, why isn’t swooshy pants one of them?

Til next time friends!

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The life-saving core

I recently took a job jumping into dumpsters. As glamorous as it sounds, please don’t be jealous quite yet. 

I don’t know how many of you know this, but most dumpsters are 5’2”. Just like my height. 

What a coincidence!

When throwing large, heavy, trash bags into a dumpster your height, it can be physically demanding. It takes the ability to lift, balance, and (not to mention) the agility to keep it from hitting you in the face. 

I would also have to throw these large, heavy, trash bags into dumpsters six feet away from the back of my little Nissan pickup. (Nissan has not paid me to mention them in this post). Now what does this have to do with core you ask? I’m almost positive I would be dead in Hell if I had not relied on my core strength. Okay, death and Hell may be an exaggeration. But when you are forced to lift other people’s trash near your face and risk remnants of kitty litter, old soda, and unknown cooking oils splashing back on you, it feels a lot like how I imagine Hell:

Degrading. 

Maintaining a tight stomach helped me keep my balance while on top of the dumpsters filled with mountain ranges of trash bags. It also helped me gain momentum to throw the bags filled with my lost hopes and dreams across multiple bins. I would sometimes mix it up and use my glutes (along with my core) to lift the really heavy bags up. I would use these techniques while reminding myself I have a college degree and served this country. 

If it wasn’t for my core strength, this physical job would have been far more physically draining. I hardly had to go to the gym since I was getting a wicked trash workout in, and I never suffered any injury (well, serious injury). Your core is a beautiful, powerful, and necessary tool to your body. Don’t ignore it. Use it for the most mundane task. I promise you’ll be pleasantly surprised. 

As far my job…

I found a new one in an office not within the trash industry.

The real lesson here: never trust a middle aged man with a small “environmental” business when he tells you that you won’t have to touch trash.

Til next time friends!

 

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