When else are your parents going to spend several thousand dollars a year just for you to go to a strange town and get drunk every night?” ~David Wood
Yeah, that has nothing to do with the kind of homecoming quote I was looking for but it made me laugh so I’m keeping it.
OK, so new template, new blog entry, new me (soon, I hope), but still returning to my blog.
Anyway, I decided to start Weight Watchers (WW) online and Couch25K (C25K) (That is couch to five K, btw.) today because I needed a change in my life and in for a penny, in for a pound, a journey of a thousand steps starts with one…, whatever, all those sickly platitudes. I know that the last entry said I shouldn’t care but I’m tired of the judgment.
Now, let me just say right up front that I don’t run. I’ll repeat that: I. Do. Not. Run. Maybe if I were being chased by a bear or a guy with a sword, or a cop dressed as a clown, then I might get the urge to move, but even then I might just say, “Fuck it. Gotta die of something.” Also, I have some jacked-up knees, bursitis in my right hip, and my balance is so bad that I can just fall over for no good reason, or if there is lint on the rug. But, since a number of friends have had success with C25K and didn’t die from it I thought I’d give it a shot. Let me also tell you that I have no intentions of running any goddamn 5K. I am only doing this to make my ass look good and to wear cute clothes again. Any other benefit is purely secondary. Longer life? Sweet. Better health? Bonus. Back into the skinny jeans? Fuck yeah! THAT’S what I’m talking about.
As far as the WW goes, well, another friend started on it a few months ago and is now almost 30 lb lighter, and if I’d started when he did then I would be almost 30 lb lighter now but I didn’t so now I’m not but you gotta start somewhere. Right? Again. Better health? Whatever. Tight skirts? Why, thank ya, don’t mind if I do.
I put on a pair of gray leggings and a gray t-shirt, two bras because I don’t own a sports bra, because, come on, why would I, and my tennis shoes. I was pretty self-conscious about the leggings/no shorts thing but decided that I would not give a shit because I’ll be gone in a few days and not see these people again anyway.
I had P!nk as my soundtrack because I love her, love her style, love her attitude and she has a smokin’ hot bod so she can be thinspiration (not the scary pro-ana thinspiration, for the record) for me. Also, as it turns out, she really likes a 4/4 beat and I can walk at a nice pace to her stuff, and then cut-time it on the running parts.
Here’s how it works: You hit Go, there’s a little “ding” then a little voice says, “Warm up,” you start walking. Awesome. Let’s start this bitch. I started walking to Who Knew, which was a nice warm-up piece, walked over to a parking lot, and then the little voice, a guy, said, “Run.” And I did. At least as best as I could given that my happy fat ass doesn’t like to run. At all. Ever.
I had to run for 60 seconds, and the first time was not a problem, because 60 seconds? Big deal. Then the guy said, “Walk,” so I walked for 90 seconds. Beautiful. The goal is to do 5 minutes of warm up, 20 minutes of jog and then walk, and then another 5 minute cool down.
All was well and good until the third “Run” command, and then my nose started running, and I’m starting to breathe hard, and my legs are already tired, and then ahhh, “Walk.” Then “Run.” Then repeat but treble the runny nose, the breathing hard, and the painful legs. Then I heard this little jingly sound, and I thought, “Hell, yeah, I’m done! Hallelujah!” But oh no, that sadistic little bastard said all nonchalant-like and shit, “Half way.” HALF-WAY?! Oh fuck me! And fuck you too, little C25K voice guy! “Walk.” Fine! I’m walking. (I hate you. I hate you.)
By the end of the 31 minutes, I was hot and sticky (thank god it was only 77 today or I’d be dead), and my legs were jelly. I wanted to hunt down voice guy and rip his nuts out through his throat. Supposedly I do this three times this week and then move on to week two but I think that might be overestimating my ability by a lot. I will move on when I’m darn good and ready, mister C25K man! (I plan to update this blog every time I run, which should be three, four times a week. Let’s keep our fingers crossed, shall we?)
Back in the house and time to start charting everything I eat, and I know that will get old pretty quickly but has to be done.
See, I bought this beautiful corset (in red) to use as part of a costume but I can’t wear it right now and I’d like to be close to being able to wear it for Halloween, and if not that then New Year’s and if not that, Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras is about seven months away and it will get here whether I start a new-me program or not. Also, I own a gorgeous, gorgeous Ralph Lauren Purple Label orange linen dress that I have never worn. And I spent way too much money on it to not wear it. I will wear that sombitch next summer, if not sooner. It is shear and bias cut and deadly.
Ok, enough about exercise and shit. Last month I was in Toronto at Indian Line Campground, which is a nice enough place. Kind of rustic, quite a few tent campers in our area but pretty good. I got to see Billy Elliot, which I loved, and not just because it’s a musical. “Carousel” is a musical and I hate it. “Cats.” Cats! Hated it. Oh my god, how I hated it. One good number, “Memory,” (Memory starts around the 3:49 mark. Feel free to skip to it. I’m showing the Tony broadcast because that was the first time I saw Betty Buckley sing, and she blew my 15-year-old brain to bits. The power out of that little bitty body. Dang. She’s Texan, y’all. Whoo!) and the rest is shite. BTW, that one number? Is about the cat dying. I did not know that until I saw it. Fuck that. I can’t listen it to anymore because it makes me sad.
Anyway, I also saw Glee! Live!, which was a lot of fun and I was only 12 rows from the stage. And I saw Zoe Keating again. You remember her. I told you about her last year, which I believe was only two or three posts ago because I suck.
I had my first root canal in Toronto, and all I can say about that is thank god for anesthesia, the good kind, the kind in a vein. I can handle anything you got as far as stuff to my face and teeth but long ago I heard that a root canal was the worst thing ever and it has become thisclose to a phobia for me. So I got some good shit, was completely aware of what was happening to me, and did not give one bit of one tenth of a shit about it. I highly recommend dental anesthesia. I should also say, “Floss your teeth, kids. Every day. Not once in a while. Not once a week. Every day, at least once.”
We made friends with the guy next door, Paul, and he introduced us to some female travelers who were delightful and I was sad to see them go. We met Carly and Sam(antha) from Australia, and Julia from Germany. Ladies? You are welcome to visit, anywhere, any time.
But here is the cool story about how small a world it really is: (backstory) Once upon a time my mom worked at a place called E-Systems in Garland, TX. E-Systems was (is?) a defense contractor and my mom worked as a technical writer then proposals specialist for them for, oh, 20+ years, and when she was made redundant ended up at a place in Rockwall, TX (where she lives, and has lived since 1989ish) called L-3 Comcepts. She has been with them about five years now.
One day at Indian Line the Dude came over and asked if I’d seen the fifth-wheels with the Texas plates. “No,” I replied but I was of course interested because 1) It’s always nice to see American plates when you are in Canada, 2) It’s always nice to see Texas plates when you are anywhere outside of Texas, provided, of course, that you ARE a Texan or hold Texas dear for whatever reason, and 3) It’s always especially nice to see when 1 and 2 go together somehow.
It being laundry day and all, and laundry being pretty much my chore, which I don’t mind because it gets me out of the RV for a while, and some public solitude is always a nice thing, a respite, if you will, I went down to the campground laundromat, saw a car parked out in front with TEXAS plates, walked in and asked the only person there, “Are you ‘Texas?’” And she said, “Yes,” and to use a Texism, we got to talkin’.
We do a little jawin’ about RVing through Canada, and how we like the park, and I say that I’m from Texas. And she asks where and I give the whole spiel, which goes a little like this, “Well, I was born in Baytown, outside of Houston, and lived there when I was little, and while most of my family is there I grew up in the Dallas area where my momma is. She is in Rockwall, which is just east of Dallas.” And she said, “I live in Rockwall.”
Well, hell. I almost said, “Get the fuck out!” but I didn’t because my momma raised me right and I’m not about to cuss in front of a woman who could be my momma. I thought it but I said, “Nuh uh! Where?” Turns out she lives in the neighborhood we started out in.
I tell her all of this, and we marvel at the coincidence, and exchange names. She is Susan and we continue with the conversation, like you do, about how we love Texas, and how big Rockwall has gotten, and how glad we were that the city council wised up and let beer and wine sales in and thank god for the Kroger, and how nice it is now that they have remodeled, and how great it is to not have to drive 30 damn minutes into Dallas to Dolphin Road, or all the way out to McClindon-Chisholm just to buy some damn beer for the party, and even though they opened Mobil City (Sigel’s! Represent!), it was still a bitch because, damn! It was always so crowded.
That convo peters out and then she asked what my mom does. Is she still working? Have any hobbies, etc? I tell her that yes ma’am, my mom is still working and has a terrific job with a place right down the street from the house, called L-3 Comcept. Susan says, “I know L-3. The company I work for gets volunteers from there, and every year L-3 sponsors one of our families.” (The families that have a hard time with making ends meet, which are more and more everyday, thank you so very fucking much Shrub and your hell-bound cronies. But I digress.)
Whoa. Another coincidence. Now it’s time to tell her mom’s name because they obviously have some folks in common. Susan doesn’t recognize my mom’s name and she tells me her last name and her husband’s name, Larry and Susan Lazinski. The only “Lazinskis” in Rockwall. We talk about defense contracting for a minute and then she says that Larry worked outside of Rockwall in Greenville for a few years at, and I say it with her, “E-Systems.” “Yes,” she said, and before that in Garland. At this point I just put my head down on the washer. “My mom worked there for over 20 years.”
We were both just flabbergasted that not only were we Texans in Toronto, but Texans from Rockwall in Toronto, but Texans from Rockwall in Toronto whose family members worked at the same places. We made a plan to meet the next day for cocktails, and I went back to the RV, called my mom and asked her if she knew Larry Lazinski. “Yes, I know Larry. We worked together quite a bit at E-Systems. Oh, and I just thought of him yesterday because I got the Habitat for Humanity flyer.” Turns out Larry is quite involved with HfH, and my mom worked on a build.
This is a tiny, tiny planet, y’all. And, I have a standing invitation to dinner with Susan the next time I’m home.
If you still check in on this blog, thanks. I will keep you posted. By the way, my knees and hip are yelling at me. Thank you so very much Exercise! Pffffffttttt to you, and a big middle finger salute!
Talk to you tomorrow or the next day.
