Sweat! Sweat! Baby!
Yeah, that's right, gonna make you sweat like you are Rocky, running up the stairs and punching the sides of frozen cows in meat lockers.
If you were us, right now, you might be in Spin class on a bike, figuratively pedaling your heart out and literally pedaling your arse off.
You might be dreaming of the day when you, too, will fit your Brand New Little Bum in those fancy little underwear that people leave dragging all over the locker room floor.
If we were the 'regular us' right now, we would be doing these things. But we are not the 'regular us' right now; we are 'some other us'. We are all at home, resting and recuperating.
Jenny is barfy sick, I am in migraine mode, and Lisa is in mom mode, trying to get her family ready for the trek down south for the weekend. Mat may have gone to the gym but we don't know yet.
Jenny's bullfrog/raven vocal arrangement has made a full-force comeback so she is trying to send it on its own tour.
You know how I felt when I woke up this morning? I didn't even shower. I had a nosebleed. My hair looked like the stuff on that Chuckie doll on the movie Child's Play. You know it's going to be a good day when you look into a mirror and you remind yourself of a toy serial killer. Now, it's a party.
So maybe you are sweating. I'm not. I'm frozen, on my couch, under a blanket with my eyes burning out of my head, logging the reasons why we have wimped out tonight. We will get back on the horse later.
I want to lay on the couch with a blanket over my head, surrounded by French Fries and gravy and have a big mound over top of chicken wings and maybe some breadsticks. And have some chocolate cake on the side. And a glass of milk. And I would not be able to eat all / any of it, but this is what I would call comfort food at this point. Warm, beautiful fries and chicken and bread and milk. Mmmmm, carbs. And cake. And a blanket over top of all of us. NOW, it's a party.
IronMan/Brent: approximately 7 years.... FatGirls: 1
Gimme a blanket... Chuckie has to have a bit of a nap.