I hate the gym. I’ve said it before I know, but I cannot say it enough. All the sweaty tank top wearing men with their disgusting armpit hair hanging out, the grunting, the pretending their not doing it with each other in the locker room, the girls with full make-up on doing 100 thousand lunges in mini spandex shorts right in front of the machine you are on. Not to mention the feeling that there are 100 people staring at you judging every inch of your body and every move you make, it’s horrifying. I was not blessed with my Dad’s love of working out, running or general ability to look in great shape no matter what. My little sister was, but I unfortunately was not. It sucks.
I was doing well for awhile there, but then I sort of gave up. I mean I really need to lose about 15 pounds and it’s just so frustrating. I don’t want to starve myself, I can’t in fact starve myself, I am incapable. I love carbs and I get extremely cranky when I don’t eat what I want. I am a pretty healthy person, but apparently I should be limiting my diet to spinach leaves and fat free yogurt or something because my ass is not getting any smaller.
Due to my encounter with the scale this morning, which involved me screaming at the cat, possibly shedding a tear and then stomping around for 10 minutes even though no one else was home, I have decided I need to become a morning workout person.
If there is anything I hate almost as much as the gym it’s getting up early. So basically if you see me or talk to me in the morning (between 6am and 12pm in my world) over the next few weeks you should just assume I don’t actually want to rip your head off and light you on fire, I’m just doing the two things I hate the most at the same time. This will inevitably create a diabolical monster of sorts. Good luck to those of you who live with me or date me.