Love to Hate Her: Denise Austin

I hate her; I do, but I have to admit, she may be my only salvation.
Months of trotting my largess around parks and on my treadmill have amounted to virtual squat, but just over a week of Denise Austin's kickass exercise death match and I've lost 10 pounds.

Yes, I said 10 pounds.

Every time I look down at my bulging stomach I am shocked that it is actually bulging less. I have LESS of a bulge! There is hope left in this world yet.

Just to make sure my eyes aren't deceiving me I grab a hold of the offending blubber and heft it to see if my hands can make me understand what my eyes can't believe. It's shrinking :) :) :) !!

Getting here has not been pretty and more ugliness must ensue. MUCH more ugliness.

I only do the videos in my basement, because, God Forbid, one of my neighbors were to catch site of my hulking form flopping around like a sopping wet whale out of water. I wouldn't want to make them have to move out of town, or worse - attend therapy.

So while I struggle to breathe and heave my laden thighs just one more time - Come on, you can do it! - onto that step, I hate her, but I have to love her too. She's like the mother-in-law you'll never be good enough for, but you keep trying so damn hard anyway.

I admit, I don't do half of the exercises. "I'm not even trying that," I frequently think while jogging in place and fighting for air as I watch her skinny, fit butt prance around, but one day I just might get there.

So, though it pains me to do it, I leave you with an Austinism: "Strong bodies strong minds, because you are worth it."

I may have to start muting the TV.

Chocolate Pastry Bender

Chocolate + pastry = get the hell outta my way.

Diet? Diet who?

Damn you $1 Arby's chocolate croissant, damn you.

Super Sexy Salsa-style Scrubbing

Today I developed "Latino Fusion Floor Scrubbing."

1: Put on some funky salsa-style hip-hoppy cross-breed music.

2: Get scrubber, bucket and cleanser.

3: Shake your rump while squatting down to hand scrub the floor. Do not let your knees touch the ground. Work your arms in circles, swing your hips from side to side like you're Jessica Rabbit.

Oh yeah, eat your heart out J Lo.

It may not be pretty, but it works. Have fun.

Can't be Helped, Can't be Stopped

There are some people in this world that, no matter how hard you try, you just can't help. They have to want to help themselves and if they don't there isn't anything you can do about it.

I am one of those people.

I refuse to stop eating Tim's (an editor at the newspaper) awesome brownies and if anyone tries to stop me I will hurt them.

Tim makes the best most chocolaty, nutty, chewy deeelicious brownies in the history of the world. He is famous for them in at least five different areas of this office.

Today we celebrated something. Who knows what?? I can't keep up. It was another workday, another table of fat and goodness.

But there was something different.

Today they put the dessert table all the way across the room, so it wasn't right in front of me.

I don't know if they did it on purpose, or if that's just where - after one million years - they decided it should be, but that's where it went. WWWWAAAAAAYYYY far from me and out of my sight and smell range.

How does that old saying go? "Out of sight, out of mind?" That's because they're all in my mouth. (That's what she said.)

At least I have to walk across the room to get my fix now. It's hard though because I can't just nonchalantly walk by and snag a piece of banana cake, I have no other reason to be over there so everyone knows what I'm doing.

At least I'm getting some extra exercise. Sigh.

Another gift designed to destroy me

It's no wonder a girl can't lose weight around here. Newsroom gifts never have less than 10,000 calories in them. 

Notice my skinny co-worker Nate Stemen in the background enjoying his choco-chippty muffin. He won't stay skinny long. Muhahahahahaha!

Bathroom Confessional

"I have a confession to make," the voice from the other side of the bathroom stall said over the sound of me peeing.

"Tell me what you have done, my child," I said.

I didn't really say that. The voice was one of my co-workers. What I said was, "Are you seriously confessing something to me from the other side of a bathroom stall?"

Laughter. "I guess I am," the voice said. "I ate a Snickers bar today. I was was really hungry."

I wish I could remember my reply, but I don't, so here's what I should have said ...

"Ask forgiveness from the scale gods and do 100 sit-ups in penance. Go in peace my child and don't eat any more Snickers bars this week ... and never to speak to me of Snickers bars while in the bathroom again!"