Can't Say I Don't Have a Hot Ass

My beloved Pilates instructor Annie recently moved on to greener pastures. Not death- the ultimate green pasture I suppose if you play your cards right- no she moved on to a studio where she could actually make some money. Who can blame her? So, the gym hired this new guy to cover Tuesday & Thursday classes. My sense about this guy is that he is a personal trainer who attended a few weekend seminars to get certified then calls himself a Pilates instructor. I just don't get the sense he did Pilates before getting certified, because he can't articulate about alignment and which muscle groups should be engaged like someone who's been practicing for a while. Not to rip on him, but, you know, he's just not Annie, Pilates goddess.
Anyway, the guy teaches a version of Pilates called Peak Pilates. Its faster paced and more vigorous than the Pilates we were previously doing. This isn't bad, but it goes so fast that I'm not sure I'm engaging the right muscle groups before starting the movements and fear injury. Oh, and let's not forget the increased sweating. I used to sweat in class, but now I drip sweat. My legs get so sweaty that I can barely hold on to them in our "tree" exercise. My hands just slide right down my legs. Crazy sexy, I know.
So, last night at the end of class, the instructor had us all come to the wall for a final spine & hamstring stretch. The wall though happens to be a mirror. We were instructed to keep our tailbones on the mirror while rolling our spine down slowly until our hands hung over our feet, circle our arms in both directions then roll back up. Ah. It felt great. I was all calm and relaxed as I stepped away from the mirror to go clean up my reformer. Then, horror of horrors, I turn back to look at the mirror to find a GIANT, STEAMY, SWEATY ASS PRINT on the mirror. Not just the outline of the ass but CRACK and everything. I was mortified- as I'm sure were the other dainty flowers who take the class with me. I debated, do I see how quickly it will evaporate or do I rush to get a towel to wipe it off, which might smear the mirror? What to do? What to do? I chose option two and dove on a stack of towels and rushed to the mirror to wipe of the hideous imprint of my ass. Will the indignities ever cease?

I Know Its Sunday but...

...let me start by telling you about Friday.

So, I have been sorely behind in my training for the Bike Northwoods tour that I am undertaking in July. Friday, I had the day off of work and decided that I should try to get in some biking before the weekend. So, I head off to the Elm Creek Park Reserve, unload my bike and off I go. Well, about 5 miles in, I'm playing around in the big gear and cruising at about 26 mph, shift down for an upcoming hill and suddenly, automatic transmission. Okay, not really automatic transmission, but basically every pedal rotation, I'm changing the back gear set up and down. FRICK! That was not the word I used, but close enough. So, I stop my bike, call up my bike shop and ask for some advice. They give me good advice, but it didn't work. So, I gingerly pedaled my bike back to the car. Grannies are passing me, which is embarrassing since I'm in my whole serious biker get-up, spandex and all. (I still believe that spandex is a privilege, not a right, but when it comes to prostate preservation, you just have to wear the biking shorts.) Anyway, so I empty my bike bag and put the cell phone and my wallet on top of the car, load the bike in back and head off to the bike shop.
About a mile down highway 169, I'm cruising along at about 60 mph and catch something in my rear view mirror. I look just in time to see my wallet explode on the highway behind me. Now, I carry a fat man wallet, full of receipts and punch cards to coffee and lunch places and membership cards and credit cards and all of this has exploded behind me on a busy highway. So, I pull over and go running up the side of the highway, occasionally darting between cars to grab a flying $20 or a credit card or a receipt. I look really cool in my spandex out there bending over for all the world to see my giant spandex ass picking up the contents of my wallet. FRICK!
Just as I'm about done, two cop cars pull over and ask what's going on. By the way, this was the only time that traffic even bothered to slow down. Anyway, I explain to them what happened, we have a good chuckle and I say, "Well at least it was only my wallet and I found everything." The female cop says, "Yeah, it could have been something really valuable like a laptop." To which I chime in, "Or a baby", proving once again that given the opportunity to leave well enough alone, I will usually say something completely stupid instead. There was a long pause broken by the male cop who said, "Yeah, I guess that could happen." Then they looked at each other until the male cop wished me a nice day and sent me on my way. He then proceeded to follow me to the bike shop about another mile down the road, just in case I should throw out an infant or something. Oh, and the cell phone was still on top of the car. Go figure.
The bike shop got me fixed up (a twisted chain link) and I was back in business for the 150 mile weekend we had planned and have since finished. We got rained on 6 times, cold rain mind you, but thanks to high performance clothing that wicks away moisture, we were dry in a short while. Well, almost dry. I assure you that as a man, there is little less comfortable than biking shorts with a cold wet chamois lodged between your legs. Saturday, we rode from Moose Lake to Duluth and back. Today, we rode from Moose Lake to Hinkley and back. My ass is sore and I suspect I may not be able to walk tomorrow, but we had a good time. Oh, and one of the party said a word I hadn't heard since college- queef. I don't even know that I spelled it right, but what a nasty word. It came up during a conversation about farting during oral sex. Just in case you're wondering, I was tucked in my bed at this point and not part of that conversation, but had a good laugh about it anyway.
Enough for now, but remind me, if I don't tell you later, about why I have a shiner on my left eye. No, not domestic abuse, something much less interesting.

Dead Rabbit

Like Kirelimel, I'm having a strange dream life recently. Last night, I had a dream in which I was about 4 months pregnant. Talk about an oops baby. In the dream, there was no explanation for my pregnancy aside from divine intervention or parthenogenesis- and I didn't even know I had eggs! But, that's not how the public saw it. I was attending a conference on some topic I don't remember, when the subject of pregnant men came up. The majority of attendees believed male pregnancy was the work of, who else, SATAN!! Bravely, I stood up and announced my pregnancy to the group, shamed them a little for being assholes and, get this, also told them that 8 years earlier, I had given birth to a little girl who was now being raised by my sister as my niece. I didn't even know that until I said it. After my little speech, I became a little afraid for my life and the life of my miracle baby and snuck out quietly.

This isn't the first time I've dreamed I was pregnant. In each dream, there is no visible means of giving birth either- no vagina anywhere. Where's miracle baby going to come out?? Anyway, this dream was probably precipitated by two things, The Oprah had on that pregnant "man" from Oregon this week and I looked at my gut in the mirror last night before going to bed, standing there in my underpants, and was horrified. Why can't I have dreams where I'm thin, or at least on the table getting liposuction? Why? :o)

Stuck in My Head v3

The only person more susceptible to getting songs stuck in his head than me is my partner Curt. We're both horrible in this regard. A single word or short phrase in a sentence will generate some musical reference and then it's all over- we're singing it or rehashing it in our heads all night. For example, the other day someone used the phrase "if you want to" in a sentence at work. Can you guess which song popped into my melon? If you guessed "Safety Dance" you were correct. There are advantages to having a partner more susceptible to musical torture than me. When Curt gets fixated on a song and sings parts of it over and over and over and over and it is a song I don't like, I can change the station, so to speak, to something I like- usually Stevie Nicks. On many occasions, I have switched Curt to singing 'Edge of Seventeen' or 'Stand Back' just by quietly humming it in the background. Fun.
So anyway, we come home from work yesterday, I settle in to read e-mails while Curt is in the kitchen. Suddenly, I hear something so terrifying issuing forth from Curt that I think it might be a deranged request for euthanasia. He must have seen something in the fridge that set this off. Here, my friends, is the song he was singing loudly with "la" as the only word, that then got stuck in my head until we started watching our movie. Sadly, I woke up with it stuck in my head. This truly sucks. Don't hurt me.

Evil Game Update

Yes, I have been playing Boggle online instead of blogging. 282 games later at 2 minutes each (you do the math on how many hours that comes to), I am losing my mind. I even lost some sleep the other night because I went to bed rehashing all sorts of strange word combinations in my head. So sad really. Through all this, I did find a way to feel better about myself and my game playing habits- THIS. Check out the number of games the top ten have played. Oh yeah, I'm sane by comparison. Thank you very much.

How Good Has Your Day Been If You Haven't Bitch Slapped Someone?

If MNMom were a teacher, I would take a class from her so I could get easy assignments like this one. (She is, but I don't have enough B.O. or ciggy smell to be in her class.) She has tagg-ed (say it with two syllables for more fun) me with listing only 10 things that people do that make we want to slap them. Hold on everyone, this is going to go by fast.
1. Developing, or worse- stealing, a catch phrase, or gesture and overusing it. Slap!
2. Kicking the back of my seat in the movie theater. Slap!
3. Anyone stopping in front of me in the pencil thin isles at Trader Joe's. Slap!
4. Driving the wrong direction in an angled parking lot, even though the arrow is there to guide you, not to mention the direction of the cars. Slap! Slap!
5. Pondering choices at the salad bar while making decision noises. Slap!
6. Using of the non-word "irregardless." Slap!
7. Dressing young girls in suggestive clothing with the word "foxy" or "hottie" bedazzled on the front. Then, dressing like your children. Slap! Slap! Slap!
8. Merging at the very last minute. Slap! Slap!
9. Driving erratically while talking on your cell phone. Slap!
10. Interrupting me in a way that lets me know they haven't even started listening. Slap!

Ten Songs I Never Want to Hear Again

Lately, I've been hearing songs (mostly at the gym) that are so horrible or over exposed that I want to scream. As you may know, they also get stuck in my head. Really ugly.
Here are ten songs I really want go the rest of my life without hearing again:

1. Celebrate..... Kool and the Gang
2. You Light Up My Life..... Debbie Boone
3. The (mother @#$!#*&!) Macarena..... Los Del Rio
4. All Night Long.... Lionel Richie
5. Candle in the Wind ..... Elton John
6. Any Michael Jackson song where is says "shamon" or whatever the hell he's saying
7. Red Red Wine..... UB40
8. Achy Breaky Heart ..... Billy Ray Cyrus
9. We Built This City on Rock and Roll..... Jefferson Starship
10. Evergreen ..... Barbra Streisand

Hmmm. I think I'm going to tag some folks here, though I warn you that if I see anything by Stevie Nicks on your lists, I'll be a little hurt. Tag to: Ben Bob, Melinda June, MNMom, Kirelimel, and how about that crafty Madame Leiderhosen. I'm also tagging ScottJ, even though his blog is political and maybe just a bit too high brow to mention Muskrat Love or some other horror.

Another @#$#!*% Trip to Whole Foods

Why can't I leave Whole Foods with only what I intended to get?? Aaarrrggghh!! This morning, I stopped in after the farmer's market to pick up a bottle of balsamic vinegar. I quickly found a bottle and popped it in my basket and was ready to go.
Then it happened- the evil cheese counter. I start looking at some cheese with no real intent to buy any, when I hear a voice from behind the counter. It is one of Whole Foods' many cheese incubuses- a disarmingly cute, polite, 20-something young man with cheese knowledge- saying "Sir, could I interest you in some Stilton with a chile-lime puree on a spelt cracker this morning?" Of course, I said yes. What was I supposed to say- "F*ck you, cheese boy, minion of the dark lord of quality dairy products?" It was like he read my mind- cheese? chile? lime? This guy was good.
So, what did I leave with? A bottle of balsamic vinegar, two varieties of stinky cheese, a 9.99 3 oz jar of chile-lime puree (!!!), a tiny bottle of truffle oil that I spotted at the evil cheese counter and a copy of the UTNE Reader with the cover story "Why Are We So Angry?". Why? Because we spend all our money at the damn cheese counter. That's why!
When I got home I opened the blue and left the gorgonzola for later, sliced a pear, and dabbed a teaspoon of chile-lime puree on the plate. It was a moment of heaven- and it fit on my Whole New Me diet/fitness plan.

Translucent and Lacking Vitamin D

Sun. I need sun. It has been raining for about two weeks and not a single ray of unblocked sun. I'm crabby and can see my veins through my skin.

A Whole New Me!

So, I completely made up the title. *sigh* However, I did sign up for program at the gym this weekend that started tonight. The name is Team Weight Loss and is a combination of exercise, nutrition and education. It's a 12 week program where 8 of us theoretically support each other through the program to meet our goals. Why did I do this?

1. My waist size (starts with a 4) is now to the point that if I go one size up, all manufacturers assume that I have a 28 or 30 inch inseam. Have they never seen a tall fat guy?? If there was a Lane Bryant for men, I would shop there, but I will not go in to a big and tall shop for men.
2. I have man boobs that only go away if I pull my shoulders way back and arch my back in an uncomfortable way that is unpleasant to look at and sort of says "Anyone for some leche?"
3. I am tired all the time and have little energy to anything but wake up and go to work, then lounge in the evenings.
4. I have ZERO self control around eating things that I see- especially in candy jars that are strategically placed through all 16 floors of our office building.
5. I don't really even see fat on other people, but I'm really conscious of my own. I don't intend to be bone skinny, but I do want to get down around 200 lbs.

Each week, I am going to post my progress here. If I am losing weight, I don't want any praise, but if I'm not, I want shame. LOTS OF SHAME. Being raised Lutheran, this works. Start practicing now.

So, here is my before picture. I don't expect I'll look much different after losing some weight, maybe just a little saggier with a happier disposition.

Winter Fashion For Teenage Boys

Every year I sign up to buy a new jacket, hat and gloves for a local child who's family might otherwise not be able to afford it. I really enjoy doing this because I know some young person won't have to suffer on their way to school this winter. I also like to shop.
Two years ago, I picked a 5 year old boy and got some of the coolest small clothes on the planet. Last year, I figured that the teenagers on the list would probably get picked last, so I signed up to buy for a 16 year old girl who wanted a pink jacket in a large size. I figured it couldn't be too hard to find, pink being the new black and all. However after visiting about 10 stores, there weren't any pink jackets outside of the petites department, so I abandon the pink jacket idea and decided to get pink accessories for a jacket of another color. Easier? Wrong. I found a 16 year old girl sales clerk and asked her "Would you wear this?" She replied "If I wanted to be called grandma." Every jacket I picked up she would say things like "Old lady", "Really old lady", "Too ghetto", "Too uptight", etc. After about an hour of this, we landed on a really lovely gray wool coat and some cute pink accessories. Whew.
This year, I signed up to buy for a 16 year old boy who wants a jacket of any color. Easy, right? Wrong again. I have no idea what teenagers wear and there aren't many in my neighborhood that I can observe. Each time I step into an outerwear department, I hear last year's sales clerk in my ear. So, I'm desperate. If any of you have a teenage boy, know a teenage boy, live within a mile of a teenage boy, PLEASE HELP ME. What on earth do teenage boys, who are probably not gay, wear for winter attire?

Get Out Your Tape Measures....

Yesterday, I happened to have a little cloth tape measure in my hand and decided it would be fun to measure the circumference of my head. I've always known I had a big head but never bothered to measure it. And the result- just over 22" around. Holy crap! That is bigger than some waists out there. Yet another deformity to go with my webbed toes Chang and Eng, that match nicely with their sisters on the other foot Ahn Hua and Jun Lien.

So how big is your head??

Am I Messed Up for Thinking This?

I need the input of some people who are more socially well adjusted than me on this one. Please, if I'm insane and headed for trouble, let me know.

A very dear old friend recently had a ruptured diverticulum and required surgery resulting in a temporary colostomy. After several rough days, she is doing much better. She happens to be possibly the funniest person I know with a great ability to laugh at herself. So, what I was thinking was that I would sew her some colostomy bag cozies with different themes: An Evening Out (gold sequins), Trailer Park (holds a pack of cigarettes and lighter), Holiday (Halloween, Hannukah), etc.

So, the question is, am I completely twisted, or would she think this is as humorous as I do?

Booty Shaking to Relieve Stress

I know this Jem (no relation to Jewel) song is about two years old, but flopping around to it is really satisfying in a way that is silly and helps me relieve stress.

So, everybody stand up.

Do it now!

Hit play.

When the intro comes on that sounds a little like the Nutcracker Suite, stand on your tip toes (or en pointe if you're really sassy) make ballet arms above your head and do a little string of pearls across the room until the beat starts.

When the beat starts, quickly shift to this pose: stand like Miss Wiggins from the Carol Burnett show, put your bent arms up near your shoulders with palms facing out. Now shake your ass side to side and push your arms out double time. You are now a funky girl! Go funky girl!

When the kids start singing, switch to a Pee Wee Herman dance (like Tequila! only faster).

When the kids quit singing, switch back to above. You'll get a chance in a little bit to revert back to the ballet you did in the intro.

Dance. Repeat.

Fun for me to picture you doing it too.