We meet again, blog

It's been awhile, blog. I have not missed you. I have not really even thought about you while I poured gallons of wine and queso down my throat. I ignored the requests of my readers for more posts, even as additional readers have been brought on to read previous postings (in an effort to get "caught up" to what was apparently going to be a regularly-written blog).

Well, we're even. because I'm fat again. Perhaps the real reason I have neglected you dear blog is because I DID NOT want to get back on here and admit that I'm heavier than I was when I started you in the first place. That all the success we shared: the laughter, the tears, the frustration with Little Bit always begging to be in the blog --- all of it is a distant memory. BUT NO MORE. Here I am, hanging my head in shame and putting my fat rolls out for all to see in an effort to reinvigorate my attempts at a healthier lifestyle.

This move back to Texas was so full of uncertainty and disruption, my routine just fell apart. For those of you who know me (and you all do since I'm sharing my weight and possibly pictures of my jiggly bits), you know I really thrive with a routine; preferably one I can color-code in an Excel document. And I also do better if I'm held accountable by people like I Heart Gordmans who will selflessly eat the candy I was planning to eat, Little Bit-who will forcibly use her 110 lb frame to push my fat butt to the gym and my brother, who will just make fun of me until I'm thin again. I hope to grant more names in this blog over the next few months as my new readers follow this journey with me.

Now, if you've read this so far, you must be patient, so I will reward you with the first "real post" of my new life. It's called "Why Body Pump should catch gonnorrhea and die".

Body Pump is this "class" for crazy masochists who like to torture themselves with weights at the direction of very gay men happily screaming at you for an hour. There are 10 songs and each one works a different muscle group for the entire song. All songs are required to be Stairway to Heaven-ish length of no less than 8 minutes long. A fully grown, fit man passed out in the class last night. Yes he did. I expect "melmo" and "I don't have enough weight to lose to win a contest" to comment on this as soon as I have sent this link because they are also crazy masochists (and I convinced them to the class). I might have cried a little bit in the class; I'm not sure. It was an hour of pretending to be on the Biggest Loser except instead of knowing people would watch you on TV, getting the real deal as everyone in the gym AND the outside parking lot gawked at our stupidity and weakness through the WRAP AROUND WINDOWS so generously provided in this room. I will be MORE sore tomorrow, which is making me even crankier today b/c I literally am walking like I don't have control of my legs and am unable to do much in terms of picking up Carter or caring for his basic needs. I left him tied to a tree with a bowl of water this morning b/c I couldnt' pick him up and put him in his car seat. Don't go getting all worried b/c the neighbor promised to check in on him several times today and the sun is supposed to come out later.

Whatever. I'll be there Saturday. Because I'm still wearing my maternity jeans. Yeah, that's right, I said it. So if you're in the Austin area and you're a crazy nutbag, come on up north and let's get pummeled together! Hooray!

And if you've made it this far, you deserve to know my "starting weight".



216.6. Suck on it.