debutaunt.com

The PTM

Picture this:

I went to my gym today to meet with my trainer. He's way cool. I haven't thought of a suitable pseudonym, so until further notice he will be called The PTM (The Personal Trainer Man). Most of this session was checking my true body age, aka your fitness level, and talking about my goals.

The news, of course, is all discouraging. But I'm trying really hard not to be discouraged. I don't know why (although I suspect) I am feeling so upset.

Apparently I am not a 39 year old woman. But I am a 47 year old woman. My cardio is not only in the low zone, but it's nearly in the NO Zone. Nothing wrong with being 47 if you are actually 47.

Add on a few totally inflexible hamstrings, and *bonus* fairly decent strenght, and you got Deboldutaunt.

BTW, I am high as a kite right now. My pupils are sooo dialated I look like Nicole Ritchie at ... what else? An eye exam. I took some benadryl and some ativan because I still have snotty cold and it's kind of making me nauseated, ergo the ativan. I feel like walking around saying, "Duuuuuuuuuude."

So Zoe has a playdate with some friends from school. I nearly typed old, but they were only six. And we don't realy know anyone here still, so I don't have any old (meaning long-time) friends.

Why do people get high on purpose? This sucks.

So after the treadmill and other tests, The PTM has out the little pinchers thing to check how FAT YOU ARE! Damn those people many years ago with their stupid "pinch the inch." Some of us don't mind our inches. Wasn't that a cereal commercial. Like the ones they have now that say, eeat 2 bowls of cereal a day. Um. sorry. Jiggawhat? Those bowls only contain like 150 calories. If you replace meals with those, you will still be damn hunry.

I'm too high to type anymore. My apologies.

I can do this. Fight the discouragment.

I'm seeing two of everything. I'm going to try to type sideways.

Tonight the biggest fattest tear dropped onto my computer. Big and fat as rain. I'm such a titty baby. I'm crying without reason. I'm sick of being sick. I guess it's better than being dead.

See how big and gloopy it is. Like a tear puddle.

No reason tthe cry really. I just am tired and sick.

Did you know that if you are laying in bed and it's all uncomfortable nd you keep checking the duvet cover and you still don't find anything, that if you actually looked carefully, you'd realize you are laying on your glasses. I used to always find my phone that way.

I see aqua flamingos in these big giant pink feather boa.

And the cute overplucked eyebrowns looked super sweet on the little shop girl, but on me.. not so girly.

"Mommy. Who waxed your eye?" I'll have the pics when i can hold a camera still.

Made me feel smoooooove. to get them waxed (paintul torture) But when I looked, i realize that I'm not the Forever 21 type of chick. Me no likey.

I'm not coordinated enough yet to.... wait. I forgot what I was going to say.

Say night night.

my right eye is fucked up. It's all megablurry. I can't seem to find signs of storke other than leg numbness and stuff. Do you hallucinate? Amy I dying?

Surely I cannot as this would be my last post. And it's horrile and incoherent.

Posted by debutaunt at December 18, 2006 08:53 PM