Because I’ve got Buns Of Envy!
Well, sort of.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to get my bored ass motivated to exercise.
(Yes, it was 95 degrees out. Yes, we have no air conditioning. Yes, I’m slightly insane. Buy hey, if exercising in temperatures that rival Hades isn’t showing motivation, I don’t know what is.)
My lower body is almost back to normal from the class from hell, so it must be time to work my thighs and glutes again. (You might say I'm a glute-n for punishment. Sorry. Couldn't help myself)
I flip the TV on and start surfing through the free shows we get through our cable. I click on the section for fitness. There must be a hundred different programs from which I could choose.
"Buns Of Envy" looks interesting.
I lay out my yoga mat on the carpet.
Vito senses something is up and hops down to sniff my mat. Vito HATES when anyone exercises. Maybe it’s the sudden movements or the lack of attention paid to him, but he goes nuts whenever I try to do something. So basically, I don’t exercise so I don’t upset him.
I click PLAY.
The instructor and two assistants come into view, on a beautiful beach area. She’s a petite little brunette with a diamond-studded “N” around her neck. Interesting exercise gear.
Her outfit resembles less of workout garb and more of that a Girls Gone Wild video star would wear, when she's about to hop into a ring filled with mud.
She picks up a hand weight and begins doing the first set of exercises.
Whoa! No stretching or anything. I'm cool with no warm up and pulled muscles.
My hand weights are downstairs and I don’t feel like going downstairs to get them (Hey, baby steps). What else can I use?
I run (read: walk) to the pantry and grab a can of cannellini beans.
Buns Of Envy, Italian-style.
Miss N is smiling and talking and coaching.
Here we go!
(cue dog barking!)
Reverse lunge.
Check.
Plié squat.
Check.
Glute kick.
Check.
Helicopter Lunge.
And this is where it fell apart.
It’s not that I couldn’t follow her doing the exercise. I’m very adept and catch only rather quickly. It’s just that I couldn’t listen to her coach me through it.
MISS N: “Squat and bring your arms acrost your body. Squat. Acrost. Squat. Acrost. And 8 more. And acrost…”
Acrost??? Acrost???
Her mispronunciation of the word is driving me crazy. It’s all I can hear.
I’ve stopped counting lunges and started counting how many times she’s said 'acrost'.
28.
Twenty-frickin-eight times.
All hope of me getting past this is gone. I put my beans down and sit on the mat. Vito runs up and snuggles in for a belly rub.
Doesn’t look like I’ll have "Buns Of Envy" anytime soon.
But I'm happy with "Command Of The English Language Of Envy".
Monday, June 9, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Small Dog = Big Bark
Things Vito Barks At On A Regular Basis:
Squirrels
Birds
Objects that resemble squirrels and birds
Trucks
Cars
Loud noises
Soft noises
Silence
People
People coming in the house
People walking by the house
People thinking about walking on the same street as our house
Dogs
Dogs walking by the house
Dogs barking in another yard
Runners
Kids
Rain
Wind
Bugs
The vacuum
The air compressor
The lawn mower
Himself
Toys
When he’s hungry
When he’s tired
When he wants to go outside
When he wants more room on the couch
And for some reason, Vito is NOT a fan of our idiot neighbors.
(This has nothing to do with us bad-mouthing and making fun of them on a daily basis. I swear.)
And he does not like being interrupted when he’s about to go on a walk.
So tonight, when I walked out the front door and saw our neighbor on her doorstep, I knew I was in trouble.
NOSY NEIGHBOR: “Hi.”
She gets points for being friendly. But she loses points for being nosy. And annoying.
ME: “Hi.” I’m trying to control Vito, who is so excited to be outside and can’t wait to water the big oak tree.
As she starts talking to me, out of the corner of my eye I see a woman canvassing the neighborhood.
Shit.
NN: “My kids like climbing your tree.”
Visions of half-naked kids falling off branches and lawsuits fill my head.
ME: “I hope they don’t fall out and get hurt.”
Translation: keep your kids out of my tree. And yard. (And life!)
Vito spots the strange woman, who is wearing a blue “Democratic Party” T-shirt and carrying a clipboard. He announces her arrival with a ridiculously loud barking fit. Whenever this happens if you just close your eyes you’d swear there was a pit bull in front of you.
NN: “They just love your yard. That little slope there, they call it a ‘mountain’. And today when they were in your tree Micah said to me, ‘Mommy, we’re not supposed to be doing this’.”
I have a newfound respect for Micah, who at 6, is the smartest family member.
ME: “Umm hmm.” I’m trying to control Vito who is doing all he can to wrangle away from me and run to the Democratic Princess who is walking up our driveway.
DP: “Oh uh, looks like this might not be a good time.”
Vito is barking LIKE A PSYCHOPATH and trying to charge her.
ME: “You think?”
DP (taking a step towards my front door): “Should I just ring the bell?”
You see me standing outside here with an out of control dog, and you want to ring the bell?
ME: “Um, nobody’s home.” Because I’m standing out here. In the driveway. With the dog. Who is barking. At YOU.
DP: “Oh, okay.” Then she sees my neighbor, who is completely trapped on her front steps. “Hi. I’m with the Democratic Convention…”
She starts her spiel about going door to door, registering to vote, etc., etc.
Vito and I make our way out of the line of questioning and round the corner. It’s a nice night for a walk. Vito prances excitedly in front of me.
When we don’t have any interruptions, we usually have a nice walk. We vary our routes, peeing on all blades of grass equally. I know where all the dogs in the neighborhood live, so that even if we’re lucky enough to avoid them out on their nightly exercise, we can skillfully avoid them lounging in their electronic-fenced yards.
However, on those nights that Vito sees (or hears – dogs have amazing hearing!) something from the above list, forget it. There’s out-of-control barking, which is highly embarrassing. It looks like we never trained Vito how to walk on a leash and behave in social settings (NOTE: we didn’t). This raucous behavior usually results in me swooping my arm under Vito’s chest and holding him as we hurry past the offender. For some reason, Vito doesn’t bark when he’s being carried.
But, due to the Exercise Class From Hell on Sunday, there’s no way I could possibly pick Vito up with inflicting severe pain throughout my entire lower half.
And because karma’s a bitch, we have company as we approach the 4-way intersection.
What I want to do is make my way quietly (and conspicuously) across the street to the sidewalk on the left side of the street. Give Vito a chance to poop, then quietly head home.
However, I’m faced with a dilemma.
Coming at us from the right, is an octogenarian SLOWLY making his way down the sidewalk with his cane. Even though he’s moving only a slight notch above “completely still”, Vito senses the activity and whips his head around.
Damn. The geezer sees Vito and waves.
I barely notice the old man because I’m focused on the black cat sitting on the right side of the street across from us. The cat is not moving, its piercing green eyes fixated on Vito. I mentally will the cat to “play dead” by remaining immobile, and not to run away and cause a commotion.
At the same time Vito and I sense motion to our left and we both turn to see a woman walking up the sidewalk pushing a baby carriage with a dog on a leash.
You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
The feisty tan dog on the pink leash begins the barking festivities. And barking with dogs is like yawning with humans, totally contagious. Before I know it both Vito and his new friend are participating in a duet.
I give the woman my best, “Dogs. What can you do??!!” face (with shoulders shrugging) as she shouts a command to her dog who in turns stops barking and sits quietly at her feet. Show off.
(The face she gives me back (disapproving and incredulous) is more along the lines of, “Don’t you know how to control your dog???”)
Obviously not.
I continue to drag Vito across the street, shouting some commands of my own. They sound something like, “Please stop barking! You’re embarrassing Mommy!” and (my favorite, bartering with the puppy): “If you stop barking Mommy will give you extra treats when we get home!”
Vito is temporarily distracted by two squirrels playing tag in a yard and forgets about the geezer, dog and baby.
But just to keep things interesting, the black cat bolts towards us and crosses our path.
Unbridled barking ensues.
Who says 2 classes of dog obedience isn’t shining through. Normally, Vito would have chased after the cat.
Progress.
Squirrels
Birds
Objects that resemble squirrels and birds
Trucks
Cars
Loud noises
Soft noises
Silence
People
People coming in the house
People walking by the house
People thinking about walking on the same street as our house
Dogs
Dogs walking by the house
Dogs barking in another yard
Runners
Kids
Rain
Wind
Bugs
The vacuum
The air compressor
The lawn mower
Himself
Toys
When he’s hungry
When he’s tired
When he wants to go outside
When he wants more room on the couch
And for some reason, Vito is NOT a fan of our idiot neighbors.
(This has nothing to do with us bad-mouthing and making fun of them on a daily basis. I swear.)
And he does not like being interrupted when he’s about to go on a walk.
So tonight, when I walked out the front door and saw our neighbor on her doorstep, I knew I was in trouble.
NOSY NEIGHBOR: “Hi.”
She gets points for being friendly. But she loses points for being nosy. And annoying.
ME: “Hi.” I’m trying to control Vito, who is so excited to be outside and can’t wait to water the big oak tree.
As she starts talking to me, out of the corner of my eye I see a woman canvassing the neighborhood.
Shit.
NN: “My kids like climbing your tree.”
Visions of half-naked kids falling off branches and lawsuits fill my head.
ME: “I hope they don’t fall out and get hurt.”
Translation: keep your kids out of my tree. And yard. (And life!)
Vito spots the strange woman, who is wearing a blue “Democratic Party” T-shirt and carrying a clipboard. He announces her arrival with a ridiculously loud barking fit. Whenever this happens if you just close your eyes you’d swear there was a pit bull in front of you.
NN: “They just love your yard. That little slope there, they call it a ‘mountain’. And today when they were in your tree Micah said to me, ‘Mommy, we’re not supposed to be doing this’.”
I have a newfound respect for Micah, who at 6, is the smartest family member.
ME: “Umm hmm.” I’m trying to control Vito who is doing all he can to wrangle away from me and run to the Democratic Princess who is walking up our driveway.
DP: “Oh uh, looks like this might not be a good time.”
Vito is barking LIKE A PSYCHOPATH and trying to charge her.
ME: “You think?”
DP (taking a step towards my front door): “Should I just ring the bell?”
You see me standing outside here with an out of control dog, and you want to ring the bell?
ME: “Um, nobody’s home.” Because I’m standing out here. In the driveway. With the dog. Who is barking. At YOU.
DP: “Oh, okay.” Then she sees my neighbor, who is completely trapped on her front steps. “Hi. I’m with the Democratic Convention…”
She starts her spiel about going door to door, registering to vote, etc., etc.
Vito and I make our way out of the line of questioning and round the corner. It’s a nice night for a walk. Vito prances excitedly in front of me.
When we don’t have any interruptions, we usually have a nice walk. We vary our routes, peeing on all blades of grass equally. I know where all the dogs in the neighborhood live, so that even if we’re lucky enough to avoid them out on their nightly exercise, we can skillfully avoid them lounging in their electronic-fenced yards.
However, on those nights that Vito sees (or hears – dogs have amazing hearing!) something from the above list, forget it. There’s out-of-control barking, which is highly embarrassing. It looks like we never trained Vito how to walk on a leash and behave in social settings (NOTE: we didn’t). This raucous behavior usually results in me swooping my arm under Vito’s chest and holding him as we hurry past the offender. For some reason, Vito doesn’t bark when he’s being carried.
But, due to the Exercise Class From Hell on Sunday, there’s no way I could possibly pick Vito up with inflicting severe pain throughout my entire lower half.
And because karma’s a bitch, we have company as we approach the 4-way intersection.
What I want to do is make my way quietly (and conspicuously) across the street to the sidewalk on the left side of the street. Give Vito a chance to poop, then quietly head home.
However, I’m faced with a dilemma.
Coming at us from the right, is an octogenarian SLOWLY making his way down the sidewalk with his cane. Even though he’s moving only a slight notch above “completely still”, Vito senses the activity and whips his head around.
Damn. The geezer sees Vito and waves.
I barely notice the old man because I’m focused on the black cat sitting on the right side of the street across from us. The cat is not moving, its piercing green eyes fixated on Vito. I mentally will the cat to “play dead” by remaining immobile, and not to run away and cause a commotion.
At the same time Vito and I sense motion to our left and we both turn to see a woman walking up the sidewalk pushing a baby carriage with a dog on a leash.
You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
The feisty tan dog on the pink leash begins the barking festivities. And barking with dogs is like yawning with humans, totally contagious. Before I know it both Vito and his new friend are participating in a duet.
I give the woman my best, “Dogs. What can you do??!!” face (with shoulders shrugging) as she shouts a command to her dog who in turns stops barking and sits quietly at her feet. Show off.
(The face she gives me back (disapproving and incredulous) is more along the lines of, “Don’t you know how to control your dog???”)
Obviously not.
I continue to drag Vito across the street, shouting some commands of my own. They sound something like, “Please stop barking! You’re embarrassing Mommy!” and (my favorite, bartering with the puppy): “If you stop barking Mommy will give you extra treats when we get home!”
Vito is temporarily distracted by two squirrels playing tag in a yard and forgets about the geezer, dog and baby.
But just to keep things interesting, the black cat bolts towards us and crosses our path.
Unbridled barking ensues.
Who says 2 classes of dog obedience isn’t shining through. Normally, Vito would have chased after the cat.
Progress.
It Was THAT Kind Of Day
Text message I sent yesterday:
"LEAVING WORK NOW. STOPPING FOR VODKA AND BALLOONS."
"LEAVING WORK NOW. STOPPING FOR VODKA AND BALLOONS."
Monday, June 2, 2008
Can't. Move. My. Legs.
Ouch.
That about sums it up.
I’m SO sore. Like, ridiculously so.
(I can’t be THAT out of shape, can I???)
I feel a little bit better that when I was leaving the muscle class (alt class title: The Joke's On You If You Think You'll Be Walkin' Tomorrow), Melissa, the instructor, said to me, “You did a GREAT job for your first time! This was a tough class this week. I can tell you have a background in dance.”
Yes. WAY in the background. Like 2 decades ago.
On Sunday morning, my body must’ve been SO excited that it was going to exercise that it woke up at 6am. Just like that. Wide awake. And there was no falling back to sleep, either. I listened to the birds singing for a half hour and then got up.
There were 10 of us in the class, a rather impressive showing for early on Sunday morning. I was the second to youngest attendee (no surprise there). Most of the women were in their 40’s.
A few women were making small talk and doing little stretches to warm up. One woman was stretching and limbering up like she was about to take the stage as Clara in a production of The Nutcracker.
About 15 minutes into class I knew I was going to be in trouble. I was able to keep up the whole time (I have amazing balance; I had no trouble standing on one leg for 100 counts doing the exercises), but I was pushing my muscles (many of which had been strangers to the barre for 16 years).
We worked everything: glutes, inner and outer thighs, calves, obliques, abdominals, hamstrings. Even the muscles in our feet (??!!).
It was the longest hour of my life. I started to feel the pain of my future on the way home.
I couldn’t even take Vito on a walk yesterday, despite how beautiful it was outside, because I just imagined myself getting halfway around the neighborhood and my legs just collapsing in fatigue. Vito is a little small to cart my body home on his back.
It hurts to sit, stand, move, stay still, walk, drive, bend, straighten up, sneeze, brush my teeth (because I walk around while do so) and put on shoes.
However – despite bouts of nausea and almost throwing up 4 times during class – I think I will go back.
That is, if I’m able to maneuver stairs by Wednesday.
(Now I understand why there’s a RAMP into her studio!)
That about sums it up.
I’m SO sore. Like, ridiculously so.
(I can’t be THAT out of shape, can I???)
I feel a little bit better that when I was leaving the muscle class (alt class title: The Joke's On You If You Think You'll Be Walkin' Tomorrow), Melissa, the instructor, said to me, “You did a GREAT job for your first time! This was a tough class this week. I can tell you have a background in dance.”
Yes. WAY in the background. Like 2 decades ago.
On Sunday morning, my body must’ve been SO excited that it was going to exercise that it woke up at 6am. Just like that. Wide awake. And there was no falling back to sleep, either. I listened to the birds singing for a half hour and then got up.
There were 10 of us in the class, a rather impressive showing for early on Sunday morning. I was the second to youngest attendee (no surprise there). Most of the women were in their 40’s.
A few women were making small talk and doing little stretches to warm up. One woman was stretching and limbering up like she was about to take the stage as Clara in a production of The Nutcracker.
About 15 minutes into class I knew I was going to be in trouble. I was able to keep up the whole time (I have amazing balance; I had no trouble standing on one leg for 100 counts doing the exercises), but I was pushing my muscles (many of which had been strangers to the barre for 16 years).
We worked everything: glutes, inner and outer thighs, calves, obliques, abdominals, hamstrings. Even the muscles in our feet (??!!).
It was the longest hour of my life. I started to feel the pain of my future on the way home.
I couldn’t even take Vito on a walk yesterday, despite how beautiful it was outside, because I just imagined myself getting halfway around the neighborhood and my legs just collapsing in fatigue. Vito is a little small to cart my body home on his back.
It hurts to sit, stand, move, stay still, walk, drive, bend, straighten up, sneeze, brush my teeth (because I walk around while do so) and put on shoes.
However – despite bouts of nausea and almost throwing up 4 times during class – I think I will go back.
That is, if I’m able to maneuver stairs by Wednesday.
(Now I understand why there’s a RAMP into her studio!)
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Breaking The Law?
Today I was driving home from the store and as I turned onto my street I ended up behind this eight-year-old on his bike.
In the middle of the road.
Swerving.
On a cell phone.
(No, he wasn't hands free. And no, he was NOT wearing a helmet or any sort of protective pads. Um, hello? Kid, what are your parents thinking???)
In the middle of the road.
Swerving.
On a cell phone.
(No, he wasn't hands free. And no, he was NOT wearing a helmet or any sort of protective pads. Um, hello? Kid, what are your parents thinking???)
Book Review: La La Love Ya, Jen Lancaster!
I just finished "Such A Pretty Fat" by Jen Lancaster and it was fabu.
(Actually, I finished it on Friday night. Over a glass of rioja.)
I am embarrassed at how long it took me to read this book. I'm a fast reader, and I usually devour Jen's books in one sitting (they're THAT good!). But this time, everything got in the way. I had been working late. I had been really tired (been getting up early and trying to go on a walk before work). I'd read two pages, then I'd fall asleep.
And now I'm in that post-good-book melancholy that I fall into whenever I finish reading something I love. This was one of those books that I just didn't want to end.
Now onto the next book that will entertain me during lunch, distract me from TV and keep me from folding laundry.
(Actually, I finished it on Friday night. Over a glass of rioja.)
I am embarrassed at how long it took me to read this book. I'm a fast reader, and I usually devour Jen's books in one sitting (they're THAT good!). But this time, everything got in the way. I had been working late. I had been really tired (been getting up early and trying to go on a walk before work). I'd read two pages, then I'd fall asleep.
And now I'm in that post-good-book melancholy that I fall into whenever I finish reading something I love. This was one of those books that I just didn't want to end.
Now onto the next book that will entertain me during lunch, distract me from TV and keep me from folding laundry.
Who Wants Cake?
Only one week to go until Dad's retirement party.
Friday morning at work
On the phone with Mom
MOM: "I need to order the cake."
ME: "Okay. Let's do it."
MOM: "I heard that the place near you is good. It starts with a 'G'."
ME: "Emerald Bakery?"
MOM: "Yes! That's it!"
Saturday morning
Emerald Bakery
Mom lets me do the talking. We get the lowdown on the cakes. We take a card and tell the guy we'll be calling him.
MOM: "What should we get?"
ME: "What kind of cake does Dad like?"
MOM: "Your Dad doesn't eat cake."
Right.
MOM: "If it were up to me, I like chocolate."
ME: "Guess what? It IS up to you. Let's get chocolate."
MOM: "But not everybody eats chocolate."
And not everybody RSVP'd to the party, either, but that hasn't stopped us from giving the final head count and lunch orders to the restaurant.
ME: "You're never going to please everyone. How about 2 layers of chocolate and one layer of vanilla?"
MOM: "Vanilla or Golden?"
Seriously? Does it matter? Neither one of us even LIKES yellow cake.
ME: "Golden. With raspberry filling."
MOM: "And what about the frosting?"
ME: "I don't eat frosting, so I don't care."
MOM (whining, sort of): "Please help me out on this."
Help you out?
Who put together the guest list? Who picked the place? Who chose the meals? Who created, printed, addressed and mailed the invitations? Who managed the RSVPs? Who had a "you better reply NOW" email sent to the delinquent invitees? Who's coming up with the plan to get Dad to the restaurant next week?
You're right, Mom, I should totally step up.
ME: "I don't like super-sweet frosting, I think it ruins a cake."
MOM: "How about butter cream?"
ME: "Perfect." I think.
MOM: "And what about decorations on the cake?"
ME: "How about, 'Happy Retirement'?"
MOM: "And what else? I don't think your Dad is a flower guy."
ME: "Mom, it's a cake. It's going to cut up into 40 pieces. Why don't you see if they can do a little golf tee on a putting green or golf clubs or something."
MOM: "What a fabulous idea! You're so good at this."
Yes, I know.
Can't wait to "help plan" the next family event.
Friday morning at work
On the phone with Mom
MOM: "I need to order the cake."
ME: "Okay. Let's do it."
MOM: "I heard that the place near you is good. It starts with a 'G'."
ME: "Emerald Bakery?"
MOM: "Yes! That's it!"
Saturday morning
Emerald Bakery
Mom lets me do the talking. We get the lowdown on the cakes. We take a card and tell the guy we'll be calling him.
MOM: "What should we get?"
ME: "What kind of cake does Dad like?"
MOM: "Your Dad doesn't eat cake."
Right.
MOM: "If it were up to me, I like chocolate."
ME: "Guess what? It IS up to you. Let's get chocolate."
MOM: "But not everybody eats chocolate."
And not everybody RSVP'd to the party, either, but that hasn't stopped us from giving the final head count and lunch orders to the restaurant.
ME: "You're never going to please everyone. How about 2 layers of chocolate and one layer of vanilla?"
MOM: "Vanilla or Golden?"
Seriously? Does it matter? Neither one of us even LIKES yellow cake.
ME: "Golden. With raspberry filling."
MOM: "And what about the frosting?"
ME: "I don't eat frosting, so I don't care."
MOM (whining, sort of): "Please help me out on this."
Help you out?
Who put together the guest list? Who picked the place? Who chose the meals? Who created, printed, addressed and mailed the invitations? Who managed the RSVPs? Who had a "you better reply NOW" email sent to the delinquent invitees? Who's coming up with the plan to get Dad to the restaurant next week?
You're right, Mom, I should totally step up.
ME: "I don't like super-sweet frosting, I think it ruins a cake."
MOM: "How about butter cream?"
ME: "Perfect." I think.
MOM: "And what about decorations on the cake?"
ME: "How about, 'Happy Retirement'?"
MOM: "And what else? I don't think your Dad is a flower guy."
ME: "Mom, it's a cake. It's going to cut up into 40 pieces. Why don't you see if they can do a little golf tee on a putting green or golf clubs or something."
MOM: "What a fabulous idea! You're so good at this."
Yes, I know.
Can't wait to "help plan" the next family event.
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