tobermory's Diaryland Diary

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Somebody needs to take a nice pill

So I was sort of hoping that with the new period-only-four-times-per-year pill that I’d be spared the lovely PMS symptoms. I may not have bloating, cramps, or y’know……flow, but I do seem to have channeled my inner Bitchy McCrabbyton today (and I could eat a metric ton of chocolate – hello stereotype!) and therefore I shall rant.

Rant #1
There is a new Boot Camp instructor for this session because one of the two women who had been teaching has school-age children and she needs to be home in the mornings to get them ready for their day. So instead of the kinder, gentler Boot Camp that I have become used to, I will now be subjected to Assy O’Shoutsalot for the next six weeks. Today Assy informed us that we could not use iPods. OK fine. Watch my mile time plummet because I do not possess the inner motivation to push myself. See me sluggishly plod up the staircase and then sullenly mope down the parking garage ramp (emphasis on the sullen part). There is no joy in rote exercise without perky pop anthems. And the reasoning? We might get hurt. Hello, I am an adult. Who signed a waiver. Also, I made it through three previous sessions of Boot Camp using an iPod without injuring either myself or anyone else. I did not dodge in front of a car or stumble blindly into the path of a fellow runner. Oh, what’s that you say? It’s so I can hear you yell at us? It must be so I can clearly hear you repeatedly say, “Let’s move it – this is Boot Camp, not yoga.” That has got to be it. Personally I prefer the instructor to just tell us what to do and then let us go and do it. I see my payment for Boot Camp class more as an hour of structured exercise with monitors to dream up punishing and well-varied routines and then hang around to make sure I actually do them. I am not paying for a sarcastic cheerleader. I swear if he calls us maggots – even jokingly - I’m going to unhinge my jaw and bite his head off. His assistant, who looks remarkably like a very fit Lawrence Fishburn, was doing adjustments during the strength training part and he mentioned to me that I was all tensed up. I wanted to tell him that he’d be tense too if his tiny insular exercise world was put all ajumble but instead I just mumbled something about changing my stance. Anyone want to start a betting pool on how long I last before storming out of class in a rage? If you call your instructor a Fuckwad do they make you quit the gym?

Rant #2
I had my day all planned out. I was going to take a hard spin class after work and then come home to a delicious and well earned slice of Chicago-style deep-dish pizza that Steve was nice enough to bring home for me last night. I know that pizza = calories, so I figured that the bust-ass spin class would take care of the overage. I got to work and looked in the car for my spin shoes to bring in with my gym bag and they were not there. My spin shoes are ALWAYS in my car because that is just where they are. Apparently someone (Steve) took everything out of my car before vacation and then didn’t put the important bits (my spin shoes) back when we got home. He could have said, “my dearest Poppy, to make more room for the inevitable junk that we buy when we go on vacation I took out your spin shoes,” which would then have put the onus on me to remember to put them back in. Then it would be no spin shoes in car = I forgot to retrieve them from wherever they are and I have only myself at whom to point the blame finger. But he didn’t and he also put them in the basement behind a closed door where I wouldn’t have ever thought to look for them if I had known that they weren’t in my car. Harrumph. So, now I have the pizza dilemma. I suppose I could go to the gym after work and do a little elliptical time and earn the pizza that way, but since school has started the traffic is horrendous and by the time I get home I just want to gouge out my eyes and then sit on the couch, all twitchy and irritated. I can only shout, “Move you stupid prick!” so many times on the way home before it begins to sap my energy and make me hate humanity. Yes, I agree, it would be better if I could take public transportation but believe it or not the train would increase my commute by about an hour.

Non Rant #3
I just went online and requested a catalog (or catalogue as they say since they’re British) from Boden because I thought I’d treat myself and my newly smaller ass to one of their spectacularly cute skirts. I highly recommend requesting a catalog if only so you can give yourself a title. I am now Princess Poppy although that was certainly not my only choice. I could have been, among other things, Countessa, Lady, The Marquess of, Viscountess (damn – I totally should have chosen that one), or Rear Admiral (heh – they said Rear Admiral). Boden, I salute you and your willy-nilly self aggrandizing and self appointed titles. Who hasn’t wanted to be Colonel Sir or Wing Commander Whatever? Now I want to know if I get the catalog and then place a phone order, do they have to call me Princess Poppy? Heh, that would be fun. For me. I suppose they get this all the time and there is much eye rolling at the call center when Baroness Ashley calls.

Rant #4
I ranted so much that I have run out of time and space to chat about my vacation so I shall try to do that tomorrow when I will, perhaps, be less of a Crabby Appleton.

Breakfast: yogurt, frosted mini-wheats which suck although they are little fiber-bombs. Next time I’m at the grocery I’m stocking up on the Crispix.
Lunch - naughty, naughty me: Jimmy John’s veggie sub, bag of baked Lay’s, diet Coke.
Dinner: I know I’m going to eat the pizza. The inevitableness is overwhelming. Crap, now I’m going to have to go the gym after work.
Exercise: Boot Camp – running drills on the track and then running up & down the parking garage, strength training and ab work. All while being yelled at and without the benefit of a backbeat.

1:58 p.m. - 2007-09-12

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