|that's about as useful as a man with no...er...wallet|
And whipped icing.
And cars with eyelashes.
And acid reflux.
AND SHAKER CUPS WITH MISSING BOTTOMS!!!!
Missing bottoms are only acceptable if you're a a kid with diaper rash or a top shelf sKripper in the middle of the graveyard shift at an all nude bar, "Jangle and Dangle"
My weight is up and I'm none too happy about it. Its not a large enough amount for me to really be worried about, but its big enough for it to slightly grate my scale obsessed brain. I know what I want to weigh, and I don't really want to be any bigger or smaller. Is that really too much to ask?
The scale hasn't been my friend ever since I went to Zumba last weekend. The following day, I had a big swoosh and Bessie hasn't been the same all week. I'm not blaming it on Zumba, I'm just using that as a reference point. It would be nice if I could blame weight gain on exercise.It would be nice if I could blame all of life's ills on exercise! What if you could stop something bad by NOT doing an exercise? Like if you wanted to immediately become more attractive, all you'd have to do is stop doing Taebo. What a novel revelation!
Broke? Stop Zumbaing.
Acne? No more elliptical.
Irritating as people wearing your nerves? Put the kibosh on all that running?
Ebola? Well, you're royally screwed on that one there buddy.
Impotence? No more leg lifts!
Anyway, I'm about to catch this flying pig to this wonderfully fantastic, alternate universe I've created. See you at the end of the rainbow!