In which I attempt a resurection. Again.

So, once again, I am full of the suck when it comes to this poor little blog of mine. Once again, I am going to attempt to write on a more regular basis. I figure that I can do some writing in the morning while Miss Squish is down for her morning nap. It’s either do some writing, or continue to be the Bingo Blitz whore that I’ve become over the recent months. Super special THANK YOU to the chickie who introduced me to THAT game. Yes, you know who you are.

*cough*

Yeah.

Recently, I’ve been toying around with the idea of joining a gym. I’ve still got a nice chunk of weight I’d like to tell fuck off to and working with a 5 pound set of ankle weights and nothing else isn’t really helping me meet that goal. Sure, I managed to lose all the baby weight I gained from the girl baby, but I have yet to lose the weight that the boy baby made me gain damned near 11 years ago. Yes, I am still blaming my fat assedness on that pregnancy. I could also throw in the fact that I have a bad case of The Lazy®, too, but I really think that would be overkill.

So. Joining a gym. This is something that would help me to not only get rid of excess weight, but it would also get me out of the fucking house more than once or twice a week. I love being able to stay home with the baby right now, I really do, but I need to be able to do something outside of babies and kids and cats. Greg scraped his leg the other day and I looked at him, and asked completely straight faced, if he had a “boo-boo”. That is definitely a sign that I need to be out amongst adults for at least an hour.

The problem? Lack of funding. I don’t have the money (or room) to get exercise equipment for my house and I don’t really have the money to join a gym. Sure, there’s one by the mall that’s only $10 – $15 a month, but it’s got a weird boy-girl schedule and I’d like to be able to go to a gym every day. I’d also like someone to go with me, but my friends are just as broke as I am. I guess living in the most dangerous city in America is really only good for bragging rights.

I have wanted to take a spinning class forever or to at least get one of those bikes for my house, but to no avail. Yes, I bought an Ab-something-or-other one year and then never used it, but in my defense, I am not the most coordinated of people and Greg managed to hurt his back using it. If he hurt himself, there’s no telling what my fat ass could have done. I mean, I could have managed to make my liver fall out or something! (Seriously, I’m the chick who managed to chip her front teeth SNEEZING for shit’s sake.)

At any rate, I need to get my ass out of the house more often (I’m still debating on whether or not I should count going to church as leaving the house. Technically, yes, I am out amongst other people, but at the same time, I’m still doing pretty much everything I do while I’m home. I’m just doing it out in public) and joining a gym would give me a reason and a place to go. And I could also turn myself into a smoking hot chickie, too. (I thought about using the MILF term, but I hate that term and it makes me want to punch myself in the throat when I use it, especially since I don’t particularly care if I’m a mom someone else would like to fuck. While it’s nice to know dudes think I’m hot, I really don’t want or need to know much beyond that, ya know?) Oh yeah, and it would make me healthier so I could run in marathons and blahblahblah. I’m not really all that keen on running right now, but I might decide I like it if I can join a gym and drop some weight. Maybe. Again, my whole being as coordinated as a drunk hippo thing comes into play here. 

So, yeah, that’s where I’m at right now. Wanting to join a gym and get out of the house. Also, I would LOVE to be able to move the fuck out of this city, like, yesterday. I thought that might be able to happen soon, but now I’m not so sure. It would really be nice to feel safe in my home again. Ugh.

 

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