I think it has to be said that my apartment complex is basically college, round 2.
I'm pretty sure half the people who occupy the pool at 2 am with cans of "PBR" are not residents.
And I'm pretty sure the taco bell garbage that Daisy is always eating isn't mine (for once).
However, if like me, one of your favorite pastimes includes judging 20 somethings (or 30 somethings for that matter) with frosted tips, tribal tattoos, and Ed Hardy bathing suits, then you might want to consider Middletown Brooke for your next "stay-cation". I can put you up for the night. Plenty of room in my 10 sq ft apartment.
Moving on.
Now that I am single, and have to make an attempt at my appearance, I have begun exercising and watching what I eat.
After the whole DB debacle, I proceeded to not eat for about 3 weeks, and lose 20 pounds. Divorce is probably the BEST DIET EVER. At one point, my father was actually force feeding me McDonald's Chicken Nuggets (who would have thought that day would come!?!).
Here I am. Size 12. Apparently, according to the LATimes.com, the average American woman is a size 14. I am so skinny!!!
Although, I did have to search for that statistic, since I am frequently encountering articles quoting a size 8 as average (can I vomit?).
So now the challenge is to maintain my size 12 body, even while eating fast food daily, and binge drinking weekly.
I've managed to maintain that number for the last 10 months. But not without the help of some creative interventions.
Like, did you know that some models buy Shrimp and put it on a windowsill, so that it goes bad? And then they eat it the day before a fashion show. This is guaranteed food poisoning, so that they can throw up those 2 extra pounds that they haven't been able to shed form their persistent diet of coffee, cigarettes, and cocaine.
So, I go to Stop & Shop and approach the fish counter.
Me: "I'll have 15 shrimp."
Lady at counter: "Oh, are you having a party?"
Me: "Oh, yes, actually." (Uh, what kind of party would include 15 shrimp? A party of one!)
I go home, and proceed to put the groceries away. At which point, I realize I don't even have a window ledge.
I also realize I have cocktail sauce.
Best shrimp cocktail ever.
Anyway, since the shrimp diet fell through, I decided to join a gym. "Work Out World" (WOW). UGH, how dreadful. Next you know, I will show up with bleach blonde Hair and orange skin, in my Juicy Coture sweatpants.
So, anyway. I show up for my first workout sporting a side pony tail, wearing the standard yoga pants, pink Sports Bra and matching tank, and KangaRoos shoes. Oh, and my signature shade of Mac lipstick, "Viva Glam Gaga."
I look around nervously. This is always the awkward part. I wasn't paying attention during the introductory "tour," and now I don't know where any of the equipment is. For some reason, all I can find are the free weights, and machines that look like they are from the future.
I decide this is a good time to visit the ladies room. I walk in, and pretend to redo my hair, and set up my iPod.
This kills about 30 seconds.
Figuring it would be super embarrassing to leave (since I had just walked in a minute and a half ago), I decide to give it another go.
I walk out, and immediately bump into a 6'1" cute boy.
OMG, it's "Cowboy" (my sexy, upstairs neighbor)!
Me: "Oh, hey!" I say, way too enthusiastically.
Him: "Hi."
Me: "Have you been going here a long time?" I awkwardly stutter.
Him: "Yeah, about 5 years."
Me: "Oh."
I quickly try hatching a plan to get him over to my apartment. Country wedding, anyone? But I draw a blank.
Me: "Uh, well I'm having a party tomorrow night, if you are around, you should stop by. Uh, with whoever."
Him: "Okay cool. I have to work till 2 am, but if you are still up, I will stop by."
Right. Kill me.
Somehow, in this madness, I notice the stairs that lead up to the cardio equipment.
SCORE.
I immediately make a beeline for the elliptical (the "fat girls treadmill"), put it in the "manual" setting, turn it as low as it can go, and start pedaling.
Everything is going well, until I see a 5'8", tan, 105lb girl, with her hair down, wearing nothing but a sports bra, and short-shorts. And she's quickly approaching the elipcal machines.
"No, no, no," I chant to myself silently.
Apparently my karma is not so great today, because although there are 5 machines in a row, ALL of which are empty except mine, she proceeds to get on the one right next to me.
Dumb bitch.
I am huffing and puffing, while silently hoping her shoelace gets caught in the machine.
It doesn't.
She proceeds to stay on the damn elliptical for an hour. Meanwhile, I have gotten off the elliptical, and I'm pretending to stretch, do push-ups, and the ab machine.
As I'm leaving, I notice she is STILL on the machine, with her hair perfectly positioned, without one ounce of sweat dripping down her forehead.
Thank god for the smoothie bar.
I'm pretty sure half the people who occupy the pool at 2 am with cans of "PBR" are not residents.
And I'm pretty sure the taco bell garbage that Daisy is always eating isn't mine (for once).
However, if like me, one of your favorite pastimes includes judging 20 somethings (or 30 somethings for that matter) with frosted tips, tribal tattoos, and Ed Hardy bathing suits, then you might want to consider Middletown Brooke for your next "stay-cation". I can put you up for the night. Plenty of room in my 10 sq ft apartment.
Moving on.
Now that I am single, and have to make an attempt at my appearance, I have begun exercising and watching what I eat.
After the whole DB debacle, I proceeded to not eat for about 3 weeks, and lose 20 pounds. Divorce is probably the BEST DIET EVER. At one point, my father was actually force feeding me McDonald's Chicken Nuggets (who would have thought that day would come!?!).
Here I am. Size 12. Apparently, according to the LATimes.com, the average American woman is a size 14. I am so skinny!!!
Although, I did have to search for that statistic, since I am frequently encountering articles quoting a size 8 as average (can I vomit?).
So now the challenge is to maintain my size 12 body, even while eating fast food daily, and binge drinking weekly.
I've managed to maintain that number for the last 10 months. But not without the help of some creative interventions.
Like, did you know that some models buy Shrimp and put it on a windowsill, so that it goes bad? And then they eat it the day before a fashion show. This is guaranteed food poisoning, so that they can throw up those 2 extra pounds that they haven't been able to shed form their persistent diet of coffee, cigarettes, and cocaine.
So, I go to Stop & Shop and approach the fish counter.
Me: "I'll have 15 shrimp."
Lady at counter: "Oh, are you having a party?"
Me: "Oh, yes, actually." (Uh, what kind of party would include 15 shrimp? A party of one!)
I go home, and proceed to put the groceries away. At which point, I realize I don't even have a window ledge.
I also realize I have cocktail sauce.
Best shrimp cocktail ever.
Anyway, since the shrimp diet fell through, I decided to join a gym. "Work Out World" (WOW). UGH, how dreadful. Next you know, I will show up with bleach blonde Hair and orange skin, in my Juicy Coture sweatpants.
So, anyway. I show up for my first workout sporting a side pony tail, wearing the standard yoga pants, pink Sports Bra and matching tank, and KangaRoos shoes. Oh, and my signature shade of Mac lipstick, "Viva Glam Gaga."
I look around nervously. This is always the awkward part. I wasn't paying attention during the introductory "tour," and now I don't know where any of the equipment is. For some reason, all I can find are the free weights, and machines that look like they are from the future.
I decide this is a good time to visit the ladies room. I walk in, and pretend to redo my hair, and set up my iPod.
This kills about 30 seconds.
Figuring it would be super embarrassing to leave (since I had just walked in a minute and a half ago), I decide to give it another go.
I walk out, and immediately bump into a 6'1" cute boy.
OMG, it's "Cowboy" (my sexy, upstairs neighbor)!
Me: "Oh, hey!" I say, way too enthusiastically.
Him: "Hi."
Me: "Have you been going here a long time?" I awkwardly stutter.
Him: "Yeah, about 5 years."
Me: "Oh."
I quickly try hatching a plan to get him over to my apartment. Country wedding, anyone? But I draw a blank.
Me: "Uh, well I'm having a party tomorrow night, if you are around, you should stop by. Uh, with whoever."
Him: "Okay cool. I have to work till 2 am, but if you are still up, I will stop by."
Right. Kill me.
Somehow, in this madness, I notice the stairs that lead up to the cardio equipment.
SCORE.
I immediately make a beeline for the elliptical (the "fat girls treadmill"), put it in the "manual" setting, turn it as low as it can go, and start pedaling.
Everything is going well, until I see a 5'8", tan, 105lb girl, with her hair down, wearing nothing but a sports bra, and short-shorts. And she's quickly approaching the elipcal machines.
"No, no, no," I chant to myself silently.
Apparently my karma is not so great today, because although there are 5 machines in a row, ALL of which are empty except mine, she proceeds to get on the one right next to me.
Dumb bitch.
I am huffing and puffing, while silently hoping her shoelace gets caught in the machine.
It doesn't.
She proceeds to stay on the damn elliptical for an hour. Meanwhile, I have gotten off the elliptical, and I'm pretending to stretch, do push-ups, and the ab machine.
As I'm leaving, I notice she is STILL on the machine, with her hair perfectly positioned, without one ounce of sweat dripping down her forehead.
Thank god for the smoothie bar.
