Wednesday, September 15, 2010

A Vicious Circle

You all have been witness to my love/hate (mostly hate)relationship with exercise.

In my teens and twenties, I had been employed in places where I was on my feet for ten to eighteen hours a day. Your Dutchess is a kick ass Jack of all Trades. There is a whole array of jobs in my work history. Whatever I was doing, I was always ass busting busy and skipped breakfast and lunch most days. That shit catches up to you eventually, btw.

In my thirties, I started teaching and then, at 40, traded my 2 inch heeled work shoes for 5 inch stilettos and became the Sexy Vice President of Duke and My's company (big title, little work from home) and a Corona drinking, Xanax popping, stay at home Mom.

All that sitting behind a teaching desk all those years, and then sitting on the fucking couch with my laptop and eating bon-bons the past 3 years has my ass spreading faster than the goddamn swine flu. I knew I had to do something.

My first thought was that I would join all the other crazy assholes who jog. I made it through a quarter of a mile before my goddamn boobs jumped off my chest and went home. I found them in the kitchen, eating frosting from the container and drinking my fucking boxed wine.

My next bright idea was Tae Bo. I made it 3 damn days before I cursed Billy fucking Blanks and his shiny, bald head to hell and back. I limped outside and set that fucking DVD on fire. I sat drinking a cold Corona and watching it delicately melt the edges off. I may have been maniacally giggling my ass off too.

I then decided that I probably wouldn't do anything about the size my ass if I wasn't held accountable, so I opened a phonebook.

"Buff Bods, how can I help you?"

"I have an ass spread the size on fucking Montana. Help me."

She explained the process to me as I sat there dumbfounded. Basically, for the low, low price of HOLY SHIT YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING CRAZY??? I could pick a body out of a book and they would get me there. The fourth time I asked her to repeat the fee, I demanded it come with "a bodybuilder to ride around in my goddamn trunk and keep me pepped up. A body builder wearing a fucking super-hero costume. Red tights. I like red." The Bitch hung up on me.

My next call was to a fitness boot camp. When the dickwad screamed at me with so much enthusiasm that I smelled his fucking breath over the phone, I quietly disconnected the call and then ripped the goddamn phone out of the wall for good measure.

Finally, I found Barbie. Barbie worked at a local fitness club and I'm sure, was delivered to our planet from a solar system three-hundred-trillion light fucking years away. She was sent here to destroy us.

Barbie was happy to be up and stretching in the morning and wearing makeup. I was one, "Whoo! Feel that burn!", away from beating her to fucking death with my 3 pound dumbbell.

Barbie called my ass a, "problem area". I called Barbie's calfs "Mr. & Mrs. Beefcake".

Every morning, we would begin our workout the same way. She would stand outside my truck window and beg me to open the door and I would cry and tell her to go make me a motherfucking sandwich. All in all, I thought we had a good relationship.

I ran and stretched and pivoted and climbed and burned and burned and burned. I squeezed and pictured the thin me and portioned my food and drank water, that's right, I DRANK FUCKING WATER, MOM, AND IT DIDN'T DO JACK FUCKING SQUAT FOR MY SKIN. (And I know that bubble gum doesn't stick to your goddamn ribs, either, you sadist)

Sadly, Barbie and I had to part ways when she couldn't handle the crying any more. I will always remember thoes 10 days fondly and I'm sure she will forever remember me since I sent her flowers for firing my ass.

Once I was fired by Barbie the Bitchy Trainer, I decided fuck it, I'm old and fucking tired. Give me the goddamn Hershey's kisses, the Ben & Jerry's and go fuck yourselves. (BTW Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz is my new obsession)

Last night it dawned on me that now, I'm really fucked. The Duke and I are going to the Caribbean in early November, and I need a few more bathing suits. Bathing suits are all on sale right now here in the frozen fucking tundra because winter is breathing down out damn necks. So I foolishly thought today would be a damn fine day to go shopping for the Caribbean trip. I was in such a delicious mood, (read stoned) I decided to invite my Mother along.

"Mom...what is that?" I was standing in front of a full-length mirror at a department store trying on bathing suits. I should have just thrown myself face-first into a fucking wood chipper.

"What?" She pulled her glasses down from her head and placed them on the end of her nose. "Your ass?"

"No, Mom. I can see my ass. The whole northern fucking hemisphere can see my ass. That. Right there."

She leaned in for a closer look and wrinkled her nose in concentration. I prayed to the god's of dressing room's that the attendant wouldn't choose that second to open the goddamn door. I mean, what the hell would I say? Just a sniff test! Minty clean ass and all that!

"That?" She poked at my right butt cheek. "It's a dimple."

I stared at her in horror. "No," I breathed. "No. No. NO. Look again. It could be a ... tumor. Maybe it's a tumor."

"You would rather have a tumor than a dimple?"

"Yes. No! I ... it can't ... don't they make cream for this shit?"

"No, but they make those little skirts that go around the bathing suit. Want me to go get you one?"

I sat down, cursed Ben & Jerry and whimpered. "Shit. Why don't you just get me a fucking mu mu and a bucket of fried chicken while you're at it."

"Oh, suck it up. Exercise."

So, now, I'm ready to try, again. I bought Lean Cuisines and stuck them in the freezer and that's half the goddamn battle, I think. (I haven't actually eaten them, but I bought them. Baby steps, asshats. Baby steps)

Also, I am now a proud owner of the Wii Jillian Michael's fitness program. It looks fucking awesome and I think I can really make a go of it. I only need to know one thing. Does the fucker come with a beer/cup holder?

Sis? Get the Epsom salt, Xanax, and copious amounts of Corona ready. I have a bad feeling about this.

7 comments:

  1. Oh shit! Here we go again. Time to refill the Xanax stash! We are in so much trouble now.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You would TOTALLY rather have a tumor bitch!!! HAHA!!

    The "original Mother of CB" and I have also been in similar situations where I'm thinking,

    "Oh dear God don't let anyone walk in!"

    ReplyDelete
  3. Jillian Micheals is amazing! I have the 30 Day Shred, Burn & Firm Pilates and Biggest Loser Cardio Blast/Max or something. I could burn them for you if you need them! Since we have mutual friend Slutzilla up there. ;]

    ReplyDelete
  4. HEY DUTCH !! IT'S SIR AGAIN !! Why don't you just get a three wheeled bike and ride that around town . The Duke can install a beer keg in the basket that sits between the rear wheels and all you'd have to do is pump it once in a while . Also you can pimp that ride hardfucking core and be the most righteous bitch in your fucking town .Now is that a hardcore fucking idea or what .

    ReplyDelete
  5. Yes Dame penis, we are in trouble. Did you see your Sir's sweet idea about pimpin' my ride?

    CB, I see to always say that when my family is around. HA!

    Babes, in a day or two, I may want you to literally burn the demon DVDs

    Holy fuck Sir, that just cracked me the hell up. I'm in, get to pimpin' that ride. Because remember, the Duke is not good at putting things together.

    ReplyDelete
  6. An ass spread the size of Montana! That is rich! Don't worry I went to Cancun last year and there are lots of pasty fat middle aged people. You'll fit right in (bring sun block).

    ReplyDelete
  7. Mike, I may be middle aged with a spreading ass, but I am not pasty. Fat looks better when it sports a tan, so when the summer ends here, the tanning bed is my best friend.

    ReplyDelete

Followers