Don't worry though; it was Chobani, so it totally hardened and then flaked right out. So now, rather than sporting the Monica Lewinsky vibe, I just look like I could totally play Ally Sheedy's character in The Breakfast Club. All I need is the pencil and a desk.
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I lead a rich life.
Moving on, it has come to my attention lately that the universe is trying to tell me something.
As I mentioned awhile back, after veering off track and taking a considerable detour to Real Lifesville, where I partook in all of the the tasty delights and pleasures it had to offer, I am now back on the Healthyish Highway. I've been "really serious, guys" for the past three weeks, and I am happy to say that for once, "really serious, guys" doesn't seem to be morphing me into some kind of calorie-fearing Food Dictator. I'm planning on doing a summary post after I've been at it for a month, but suffice to say that I've managed to drop a few pounds without counting anything and have settled into a little routine that seems to be working for me.
One huge difference compared with my previous efforts to get back in shape is that I decided to give myself a month before I checked for any progress. I haven't "weighed in" on the scale hidden in the coat closet since November 28th. I will say, though, that last Friday night, I was exhausted, worn down and just could NOT get myself amped up to hit the gym. Maybe it's weird, but it's usually my favorite time to go; it's almost always empty and the odds that someone might witness my lip synched rendition of "Mistletoe" plummet. But last week, I just wasn't feeling it. Andrew was out of town visiting his brother, I had the apartment to myself, and it has been a really long week. So, I took the T home, popped in to the local packy and managed to score a $40 bottle of pinot noir for $20. Then I went home, dragged out the Wii fit, and prepared to get my hula hoop on.
Per usual, my squat little Mii paraded herself across the screen, then hopped herself up on to the balance board. Obviously, I followed suit. Following the typical, judgemental "Ohh!" (F**k you, Nintendo), it did its little calculation and spit out my new BMI. Andrew and I had played around a few days before, so it was no huge shock to me or anything, but I was surprised to see that I was down another few pounds from Tuesday, putting my unofficial ten day loss at a pretty substantial number for me. I was stoked, which obviously led to a renewed zeal for the cardio games. I hadn't even broken out the wine yet, but when I saw that I had unlocked "Step Aerobics -- 10 minutes", I actually clapped.
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This is when the messages from the universe started.
You might be shocked to know that, despite many years as a figure skater, graceful as a gazelle I am not. So while the little Miis did their thing, kicking and stepping and sideways turning their way through the advanced musical number, I tried my best to stomp along. Not to brag or anything, but a twenty-step string of "Perfects" may have been involved. I even threw in some wild arm moves. There, in the comfort of my own home, with no one to watch and my newly svelte physique, I pretty much thought I was Janet Jackson.
Until a loud knock came at the door, scaring the piss out of me and causing a minor mishap in which I might have kicked the tv instead of the air. Following a minor detour to the kitchen to grab the sharpest knife we own, (So what if I live in a totally secure and safe building?! I can quote Home Alone from memory. Suck brick, kid!) I crept to the door and peered through the little hole. There stood a very burly man, impatiently tapping away.
"Uh... yes?" I tried to sound really tough. Bruiser from Legally Blonde would have been totally scared of me.
"Yeah, um, hi... I'm your downstairs neighbor. I, um... just wanted to make sure that everything is ok up here? Because, um... my light fixtures are shaking. Like, really badly. What are you doing?"
Mortifying.
Assuring him that I was "just moving something, but I'm all set now!", I returned to my Wii with my face on fire. I finished my little kickline on tiptoe, then poured myself a large glass of wine and promptly laughed at the hilarity of the situation. Which I totally would have forgotten, were it not for Tuesday night.
Tuesday night, Andrew and I went to the Bruins game with a few of my coworkers. Since I only actually know the guy who fronted the money for the tickets, we went early to meet up, pregame and grab a bite to eat with one of A's best friends, who has a set of season tickets with a buddy. I had a few beers, for the first time since starting this little weight loss effort (I haven't been on the wagon, but I've been sticking to a single 4oz serving of wine at a time. Not to be confused with only drinking 4oz at a time, but pouring them that way and then deciding after if I want more. It's amazing how much less I drink!). And then we went to the game, watched Tuukka Rask shut out 42 shots, and sometime during the 3rd period, the ice girls did their little schtick where they come chuck t-shirts into the upper deck seats.
I've always coveted those prizes. I don't know what it is about plucking something out of the air, but I've tried every single time to catch one and never have. This time, though, I really brought my A-game and utilized the skills I've honed by dominating all of the balance games on the Wii to snag one out from under my coworker's foot after
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| Sorry about the picture quality... Droid camera. Boo! |
Thanks, Chipotle.
As though the previous two incidents weren't enough to drive home the point, the Universe didn't stop there. No, no -- I'm a little bit dense, so apparently it felt the need to use my favorite diet saboteur as a vehicle to drive home its point. Because when I came in to work yesterday, I found this little gem waiting for me upon my desk.
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| Subtle hint? |
So instead, I laughed.
It's all just so damn funny. Here I am, for once, NOT busting my ass and freaking out about every little thing I eat, and these little events that previously would have thrown me in to some kind of crazed downward spiral are instead just rolling off my back.
It feels good.
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Well, I'm off to put the finishing touches on the playlist for tonight's shindig. That's right; I'm not only an attendee/co-planner/ol' Anne Hathaway in Devil Wears Prada, I'm also the DJ. In previous years, my job consisted of transferring roughly six hours' worth of classical music on to an iPod, but this year, my boss gave me carte blanche to "modernize" things, so long as there were no holiday tunes (it's a research environment). Unfortunately, it's not exactly the kind of event where people get all crazy and dance and do inappropriate things (well, there's usually one person, and I spend all year praying that it won't be me). So, my friend and colleague KJ, who was assigned to help me with this task, and I agreed that our best bet was to go with jazz, but to keep it somewhat modern. After convincing my boss that this is once again "hip" (hello, Chuck Bass had a speakeasy. It doesn't get more hip than Gossip Girl, at least not in any world I want to live in), we ended up with a playlist comprised mostly of Michael Buble, with some classic tunes thrown in there.
And Rebecca Black's "Friday," which I am totally queuing up to play right as everyone arrives.
Have a great weekend!
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