…a la Jam.
Yesterday after working my 7th day straight in a row, I drove across town to the new gym that I just joined. I put off going for weeks, mostly because I have been disturbingly busy, and then outta town, and then way too busy to breathe, but also because I HATE gyms.
Read that careful.
I HATE GYMS.
Not working out. But I hate the uber-trendy-million-dollar-a-month-I-spend-more-money-on-workout-clothes-and-smoothies-than-I-do-food-networking-on-the-elliptical-see-and-be-seen-I’m-only-here-cuz-it’s-in-fashion-cuz-I-know-I-stay-this-skinny-by-binging-and-purging hipster gym. Hate that shit.
And my gym is in fact part of a huge national chain with all the pretty white people in the commercials working out and smiling but not sweating, not a hair out of place. But I figured, my membership was free. I had no more excuse to put it off anymore.
So I made it part of my weekend errands that I had to get accomplished. I called and made an appointment to be shown around on Sunday. After receiving a confirmation email from Mr. Stereotypical Mexican, I’m only slightly unsure about actually showing.
I go of course.
And I’m greeted at the door by Cow Tipping Texas Boy.
“Hay there, ma’am,” he drawls at me and I bust out laughing. “I’m Stereotypical Mexican.” He greets me with a firm handshake. Seeing as how his last name is SO stereotypical Mexican, I am both shocked and appalled by the blond hair blue eyed abomination of a perfectly good Hispanic name standing in front of me. After a little conversation though, I am more pleasantly surprised that he is really nice. And not just nice. Texas nice. Which is like on a whole ‘another level.
He shows me around and leaves me to my own devices. I look around and I’m happy to see that the clientele is pretty mixed; there’s a couple kids barely out of high school in the free weights area, a black couple working their legs, the elderly couple making kissy faces at each other on the treadmills, the brunette on the elliptical. It’s comfy. Everyone seems to know or recognize each other. Smiles all around. No superbly coordinated workout ensembles. Sweat.
(But tell me why 3 of the TVs were on the Food Network? TORTURE.)
Creeping up on the first hour of my workout, I strike up a convo with the brunette who has now taken up residence on the elliptical machine next to me. She’s all syrupy sweet southern drawl, maybe a couple years older than me. I’m listening, sure, but I can’t stop looking at her legs. They’re RIDICULOUS. Seriously, while she’s talking I’m trying to figure out how to convince her to let me oil her up and throw her in someones music video and make us both some money. Her body is positively sick. This girl must live here, I’m convinced. I wanna hate her immediately. But she’s too damn nice. So we decide mutually to hate the skinny bitch a couple machines over who needs more macaroni and cheese than she does another second on an elliptical. As we’re talking, the brunette mentions “the husband and kids.”
“Kids? Husband?” I say all confused. “What did you get married at like 13?”
“Oh honey,” she says to me, all southern fried giggles, “I’m 49.”
**record screeches to a halt**
Are you fucking kidding me?
“The eight of us-“
“I’m sorry, did you say eight?”
“Oh yes. I have 6 children.”
I literally fall off my machine and on to the floor.
Not only is this woman older than my mother and looking younger than me, but she has given birth SIX GODDAMN TIMES and she is still video hoe worthy?!?!?
Get the fuck outta here.
As I’m leaving I notice some drama popping off at the door with the extra skinny girl who has apparently called the cops for some reason. Booooo. Skinny bitches always mad.
I stop at the grocery store and then head home and start cooking. There is actually food in my fridge as this is my second trip to the grocery store. On Friday, I’d had a lil talk with myself. It went something like this…
Self, why won’t you cook? You hate fast food, you’re wasting money, you barely eat as it is because of it… and bitch YOU CAN COOK. It would be different if you couldn’t. What is your problem? Take your lazy ass to the grocery store.
And so I did.
While chopping the fresh onion, peppers, and lime to be sauteed with the chicken for the fajitas I was making, I remembered just how therapeutic cooking is. Ended up with chicken fajitas on warm, fresh tortillas, fresh black beans, and Mexican rice (brown rice with diced tomatoes). Yum-o!!!
I meant to take a picture of it for you, but I ate it far too quickly.
After I finished, I cleaned up the house a lil, gave the dog a bath, ran some errands, updated my planner for the week, made a budget for the upcoming month and got my clothes together for work. I even got in bed at a decent hour. That is simply unheard of for the kid.
I have another couple gym appointments scheduled this week, so let’s pray for more of the same.
On tonight’s menu… stuffed chicken breasts, asparagus and fresh corn. Yummy!
Wipe your mouf 🙂