I have been working out for two months at about five times a week for three hours at a time and I doubt that I have lost one ounce!
The only thing that is more frustrating than having to work out in the first place is not seeing any results. I have a goal here people! By next summer I need to be sexy enough to seduce boys that have passed me over, and by this December I need to be small enough to wear a tummyless toga to my birthday party. The clock is ticking!
I guess what is even more annoying than my lack of progress is again, the random people at the gym that cheer me on with every step that I take on the treadmill. I have never been one for encouragement, especially from happy, skinny, pretty people that I don't know. I know that they mean well, but they just get under my skin.
"Hang in there," some old buff man told me while I was working out on some thigh thingy. "It takes a while."
He patted me on my back and I wanted to bite his fingers.
The whole thing just blows! I feel like I practically live at the gym, and I am still just as fat and out of shape as I was two months ago when I started. I'm annoyed enough without the cheering on from strangers and the people telling me I look like I'm losing when I am not just so I don't stop working out.
I don't know. Maybe the bitchy, pissed off mood is just part of one of the stages of losing weight, which is fine I guess. I just would like to know what stage it is when I will actually start losing weight.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
A L.A. State of Mind
Having someone crack jokes in a whisper about me on the plane was my first thumbs up as to how things work in this town.
Living in Atlanta, I never thought that I was "country" until I went downstairs for breakfast in my hotel and realized that they had no grits. Of course, I asked for some and the chef looked at me like I just arrived from the nearest hoedown. He directed me instead to some colorful packs of oatmeal that had interesting heart health facts on the back.
Then I went downtown to my movie event for the L.A. Film Festival. People were nice to me there, but I feel like they were because I had the credentials that said I was supposed to be there. In other places, I said "hello" to people, and they looked at me funny. The people that did speak, I figured, were not from there.
Everyone dresses nice, just like on The Hills. But I had to wonder if anyone knew, especially the women walking around in colorful short dresses and Ugg boots, that there were replicas of their outfits at Target for like ten dollars. For the most part, they have made an art out of wearing expensive brands just to look like they rolled out of bed.
I saw so many women yesterday with such extensive plastic surgery that they looked like humanized cats with loud makeup. There was one older woman with such a high nose that I could not believe that no one every couple of blocks was telling her she looked horrible.
Oh, and the people here are rude by the way. It's like they take extra steps not to talk to you or touch you on the street or look at you. I found myself wondering how people here make friends. Girls in similar outfits would walk in packs, not saying anything, with tall Starbuck's cups and huge shades. It goes without saying that they are unusually thin and shapeless or thin with these huge exaggerated breasts. I mean HUGE! It was nothing like San Francisco which I visited to see a friend of mine. There, hippies would come up and hug you. Here, I just wanted to attempt to hug someone to watch them run from me.
One thing I am impressed with here is the effort the city is making to live Green. On my way to the festival, bus passed super expensive homes that had light paneling and other tools to heat and cool the home through solar energy. That you do not see at all in Atlanta, and we run through our resources like water.
Besides the rude people and weird surgery, I kind of like it here. They have a lot of green space and there is a different protest every day. However, I do not see myself moving here anytime soon, especially not before dropping 100lbs and finding a grocery store that carries grits.
Living in Atlanta, I never thought that I was "country" until I went downstairs for breakfast in my hotel and realized that they had no grits. Of course, I asked for some and the chef looked at me like I just arrived from the nearest hoedown. He directed me instead to some colorful packs of oatmeal that had interesting heart health facts on the back.
Then I went downtown to my movie event for the L.A. Film Festival. People were nice to me there, but I feel like they were because I had the credentials that said I was supposed to be there. In other places, I said "hello" to people, and they looked at me funny. The people that did speak, I figured, were not from there.
Everyone dresses nice, just like on The Hills. But I had to wonder if anyone knew, especially the women walking around in colorful short dresses and Ugg boots, that there were replicas of their outfits at Target for like ten dollars. For the most part, they have made an art out of wearing expensive brands just to look like they rolled out of bed.
I saw so many women yesterday with such extensive plastic surgery that they looked like humanized cats with loud makeup. There was one older woman with such a high nose that I could not believe that no one every couple of blocks was telling her she looked horrible.
Oh, and the people here are rude by the way. It's like they take extra steps not to talk to you or touch you on the street or look at you. I found myself wondering how people here make friends. Girls in similar outfits would walk in packs, not saying anything, with tall Starbuck's cups and huge shades. It goes without saying that they are unusually thin and shapeless or thin with these huge exaggerated breasts. I mean HUGE! It was nothing like San Francisco which I visited to see a friend of mine. There, hippies would come up and hug you. Here, I just wanted to attempt to hug someone to watch them run from me.
One thing I am impressed with here is the effort the city is making to live Green. On my way to the festival, bus passed super expensive homes that had light paneling and other tools to heat and cool the home through solar energy. That you do not see at all in Atlanta, and we run through our resources like water.
Besides the rude people and weird surgery, I kind of like it here. They have a lot of green space and there is a different protest every day. However, I do not see myself moving here anytime soon, especially not before dropping 100lbs and finding a grocery store that carries grits.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Cass and the Condom
My brother got into college! Not that I didn't think he would, I just can not believe that he is getting so old.
So I was making a list of things that I think he would need, you know like more underwear and a mini fridge when he jokingly suggested condoms.
Ugh, I had been thinking about that, seriously since he was like thirteen. Luckily my brother is an angel compared to the niggaz he grew up around and the ones I went to college with myself, so nothing had to be said until now.
I don't know! The whole thing makes me nervous. I was already disgusted by the fact that my younger, immature cousins were having sex, but the thought of my brother with some skanky college girl with a greasy weave and a fat booty makes me want to put my hand in a blender.
Why don't we teach the kids to be abstinent anymore? I mean, I know that it's impractical and I know that it's supposedly different for boys, but if he messes up, he'll end up eighteen with cornrolls working the night shift at WalMart and sleeping in his car before classes. If he gets a girl pregnant or gets an STD, I just don't think he is old enough to understand how quickly and horribly his life will change. All I think is on his mind is scenes from pornos and trashy love song lyrics.
As you well know, I do not and have not had sex, and even though it' gets irritating, I understand that my life is easier because of this decision and I wish my brother would make the same choice. OK, I know that that's wishful thinking. So next week, wearing all black and sunglasses, I guess I will go get him so condoms. Gross.
So I was making a list of things that I think he would need, you know like more underwear and a mini fridge when he jokingly suggested condoms.
Ugh, I had been thinking about that, seriously since he was like thirteen. Luckily my brother is an angel compared to the niggaz he grew up around and the ones I went to college with myself, so nothing had to be said until now.
I don't know! The whole thing makes me nervous. I was already disgusted by the fact that my younger, immature cousins were having sex, but the thought of my brother with some skanky college girl with a greasy weave and a fat booty makes me want to put my hand in a blender.
Why don't we teach the kids to be abstinent anymore? I mean, I know that it's impractical and I know that it's supposedly different for boys, but if he messes up, he'll end up eighteen with cornrolls working the night shift at WalMart and sleeping in his car before classes. If he gets a girl pregnant or gets an STD, I just don't think he is old enough to understand how quickly and horribly his life will change. All I think is on his mind is scenes from pornos and trashy love song lyrics.
As you well know, I do not and have not had sex, and even though it' gets irritating, I understand that my life is easier because of this decision and I wish my brother would make the same choice. OK, I know that that's wishful thinking. So next week, wearing all black and sunglasses, I guess I will go get him so condoms. Gross.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Pray About It
Lately I have been scared to pray. Not sure why. I'm guessing because I just assume that God is tired of hearing the same bullshit from me. "Get me out of here!" "Give me a high score on the GRE even though I didn't really study." "Send me a man!" "Let this infection clear up on its own," and blah, blah, blah.
Then today I read my friend Quinton's status and he said that he didn't think he was praying enough.
I don't think, I know that I am not praying enough, and oddly enough I blame J.C...Jesus Christ if you're nasty. Get it? Janet Jackson? Never mind.
When I was a kid I prayed every night for no other reason than my grandma told me to. She was so persistent about it that I figured that if I didn't pray something bad would happen. So one day I decided I wouldn't pray, and I didn't for like a week. And after I didn't die, I just decided to pray whenever I felt good and damn ready. I wish that I would have had a random pain or witnessed a car crash or something that would have ran me back to my knees with my hands clasped and eyes closed.
Besides the faith lost as a child, I hate asking for things. I mean, isn't God supposed to know everything? My grandmother has Alzheimer's. I fear that my Aunt is going to kick my family out of her house and I will have to sell my ass in order to pay for my family to live in an extended stay hotel as well as to buy us prepackaged grits to eat for all three meals. My mom is unemployed. Plus I'm always tired and I live in consistent fear of life pretty much and feel that I am just two seconds away from a breakdown...if I had the energy to have one. Dare I pose the question, but how shitty does shit have to get before God steps in?
Man...that question gave me the chills. Sorry God, I was just jivin'.
Once my friend Frances described God as a really cool boyfriend. If this is the case, I'm in trouble. I'm like the worst girlfriend on the books. I nag. He gives and I take and take and take, rarely a thank you. I don't introduce him to my friends and I ALWAYS question his whereabouts. He satisfies me and I don't reciprocate. OK, maybe that one went a bit too far, but you get the drift. Hopefully, he doesn't dump me.
Well, today I talked to my buddy Rae that has hit some hard times. She was telling me all what is going on in her life, and I didn't know what to tell her, so I told her to pray about it. Now I have always hated it when people told me that. I always felt like people who tell you that just don't have any good advice and think that saying that makes them sound profound. But with all that's going on in life and in the world in general, I found that I told her to pray about it because there is literally nothing left to do.
Then today I read my friend Quinton's status and he said that he didn't think he was praying enough.
I don't think, I know that I am not praying enough, and oddly enough I blame J.C...Jesus Christ if you're nasty. Get it? Janet Jackson? Never mind.
When I was a kid I prayed every night for no other reason than my grandma told me to. She was so persistent about it that I figured that if I didn't pray something bad would happen. So one day I decided I wouldn't pray, and I didn't for like a week. And after I didn't die, I just decided to pray whenever I felt good and damn ready. I wish that I would have had a random pain or witnessed a car crash or something that would have ran me back to my knees with my hands clasped and eyes closed.
Besides the faith lost as a child, I hate asking for things. I mean, isn't God supposed to know everything? My grandmother has Alzheimer's. I fear that my Aunt is going to kick my family out of her house and I will have to sell my ass in order to pay for my family to live in an extended stay hotel as well as to buy us prepackaged grits to eat for all three meals. My mom is unemployed. Plus I'm always tired and I live in consistent fear of life pretty much and feel that I am just two seconds away from a breakdown...if I had the energy to have one. Dare I pose the question, but how shitty does shit have to get before God steps in?
Man...that question gave me the chills. Sorry God, I was just jivin'.
Once my friend Frances described God as a really cool boyfriend. If this is the case, I'm in trouble. I'm like the worst girlfriend on the books. I nag. He gives and I take and take and take, rarely a thank you. I don't introduce him to my friends and I ALWAYS question his whereabouts. He satisfies me and I don't reciprocate. OK, maybe that one went a bit too far, but you get the drift. Hopefully, he doesn't dump me.
Well, today I talked to my buddy Rae that has hit some hard times. She was telling me all what is going on in her life, and I didn't know what to tell her, so I told her to pray about it. Now I have always hated it when people told me that. I always felt like people who tell you that just don't have any good advice and think that saying that makes them sound profound. But with all that's going on in life and in the world in general, I found that I told her to pray about it because there is literally nothing left to do.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Baby Bells
Lately, I find myself wanting a baby, even though I generally do not like kids.
It all started when I was still in college and went to the children's service at my church. Usually, I dodge these services because the kids cannot sing, I hate their never-ending little ribbon dances, and they are just overall annoying. But this particular service the kids sang and I cried. They just looked so cute!
Needless to say, I was turned off by my emotions.
Now, whenever I see a baby I have to stop and comment on how cute he or she is and dangle my fingers in its face and do that annoying baby talk. It's like I separate from myself, and I see myself mingling with the baby and I'm like, "Quit it!" But I can't.
Don't worry, I'm not going to have a baby. I actually can't think of anything more devastating to my future than having a baby right now, but I do think about them a lot.
These feelings have even spilled into how I look at men. If I find myself liking a guy a small voice will say in my head, "He would make a good father," which is odd because, due to my own personal daddy issues and issues with men in general, I always felt that if I did have a kid, I would probably be a single mother.
So what do I do? Do I ignore my urges forever and one day possibly regret it, or do I one day have a kid and hate myself for giving up all my freedoms and dedicating my life to a little person who will one day leave me?
I guess it is too soon to tell. Until I get my life figured out, I guess I will just satisfy my mommy needs by catching as many children's services as possible.
It all started when I was still in college and went to the children's service at my church. Usually, I dodge these services because the kids cannot sing, I hate their never-ending little ribbon dances, and they are just overall annoying. But this particular service the kids sang and I cried. They just looked so cute!
Needless to say, I was turned off by my emotions.
Now, whenever I see a baby I have to stop and comment on how cute he or she is and dangle my fingers in its face and do that annoying baby talk. It's like I separate from myself, and I see myself mingling with the baby and I'm like, "Quit it!" But I can't.
Don't worry, I'm not going to have a baby. I actually can't think of anything more devastating to my future than having a baby right now, but I do think about them a lot.
These feelings have even spilled into how I look at men. If I find myself liking a guy a small voice will say in my head, "He would make a good father," which is odd because, due to my own personal daddy issues and issues with men in general, I always felt that if I did have a kid, I would probably be a single mother.
So what do I do? Do I ignore my urges forever and one day possibly regret it, or do I one day have a kid and hate myself for giving up all my freedoms and dedicating my life to a little person who will one day leave me?
I guess it is too soon to tell. Until I get my life figured out, I guess I will just satisfy my mommy needs by catching as many children's services as possible.
Fit and Freaky
I guess that I am a sexual person, and I guess that everyone else is too. I also understand that everyone wants to get laid and that no one wants to be alone. But not until I started going to the gym did I really start to understand the desperateness of it all.
If all the power was off in my gym, the lights could run on the sexual energy of the place. They guys are all sweaty and pretending to not notice the girls checking them out, and the girls do their stretches making sure that their booties are extra tooted in the air.
When I first started attending this gym, I laughed at the women who acted like they didn't know how to use the machines so that a man would come help them as well as at the men who always just happened to end up toweling themselves down in front of the ladies' locker room. But today, I found myself getting sucked in.
There was this guy who had to be in his mid-50s. He was an Omega. This I know from the brand on his arm. And even though he was old enough to be my daddy, may I just say that he was fine? He was all sexy and big and sweaty. He seemed to be everywhere I turned, probably because I was following him from machine to machine. If only I had the guts of some of the other chicks at the gym who would have skipped over to him in their color-coordinated Nike short set claiming to not know where the weights were, I might have walked away with a phone number.
Instead, I walked away feeling gross. Not because he was old, but because of the sexuality on display all around me. It almost felt like it was on sale. And as much as I hate seeing women act silly to attract a man, I was totally wishing that one of the racketball players asked me how much I cost. Or maybe one of the basketball players. Ugh, this is so gross! I will keep you posted though. Observing the predator-esque skills of everyone else in the gym and putting my own spin on it, maybe I can snag this trainer I have my eye on. So much for having dignity.
If all the power was off in my gym, the lights could run on the sexual energy of the place. They guys are all sweaty and pretending to not notice the girls checking them out, and the girls do their stretches making sure that their booties are extra tooted in the air.
When I first started attending this gym, I laughed at the women who acted like they didn't know how to use the machines so that a man would come help them as well as at the men who always just happened to end up toweling themselves down in front of the ladies' locker room. But today, I found myself getting sucked in.
There was this guy who had to be in his mid-50s. He was an Omega. This I know from the brand on his arm. And even though he was old enough to be my daddy, may I just say that he was fine? He was all sexy and big and sweaty. He seemed to be everywhere I turned, probably because I was following him from machine to machine. If only I had the guts of some of the other chicks at the gym who would have skipped over to him in their color-coordinated Nike short set claiming to not know where the weights were, I might have walked away with a phone number.
Instead, I walked away feeling gross. Not because he was old, but because of the sexuality on display all around me. It almost felt like it was on sale. And as much as I hate seeing women act silly to attract a man, I was totally wishing that one of the racketball players asked me how much I cost. Or maybe one of the basketball players. Ugh, this is so gross! I will keep you posted though. Observing the predator-esque skills of everyone else in the gym and putting my own spin on it, maybe I can snag this trainer I have my eye on. So much for having dignity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)