Disregard previous post

Once again, the first day of the rest of my life never actually happened. Why is it always so easy to come up with a reasonable excuse to get out of doing a minute amount of exercising? My hips don't lie, as the song goes, and they keep telling me to get ahold of myself.

I *HATE* girls that put no effort into watching what they eat or worrying about making physical activity a regular part of their every day lives. Hate is a strong word, so that's why I made it cute by putting little stars around it. I don't actually HATE these girls, I just have a love-hate relationship with them. Only there's more hate than love.

I think that after tonight, I'll be more than willing to jump into the gym routine. Reasoning? I have to go KHAKI PANTS shopping. I hate pants shopping in general, but khaki is the worst. It just never sits right on all the bootylicious ladies out there. Here is hoping that tonight will cooperate with me, and there will be peace at last.

Fo sho.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Isn't that a somewhat skewed quote from American Beauty? Maybe? To simplify things, today is just one more day that I swear I'm going to get back into the hardcore gym routine. How sad is it that the gym is less than one mile from my house (I could walk and/or ride a bike there) and I have gone there less than 10 times since I moved into my house?

Somebody motivate me! It seems like the only time I have success is when I unhealthily cut off almost all food from my diet. But that always gets boring REALLY fast, so regular exercise seems like it really IS the logical solution. Now, just so I don't seem like I'm going to any kind of extreme, there are certain body parts that I'm very happy with and don't need to change. These body parts include, but are not limited to: hands, feet, face, ears, head, wrists, and ankles. I think I've worked really hard at keeping those areas toned and sexy. It's all those other areas that I just haven't had time for.

I also hate going to the gym because unless I go late in the evening, when I'm already tired and just wanting to lounge around, it's filled with big burly men and scarily muscular women. Am I the only normal person left in the world? Really? Can't I be somewhere in the middle? I don't want cankles, but I don't want to look like Madonna on my upper body. http://tinyurl.com/leargt

I'm sure there has to be a Celine Dion song that can perfectly describe my situation and then soothe me like a baby. Maybe Whitney or Mariah can make it all better too.

Blogging skills?

So I've been told lately that I should blog.....multiple times.  I hysterically begged to differ, however, as I feel like I am most clever audibly, rather than while recording thoughts on a computer screen.  It's almost as bad as having to listen to a recording of myself talking on a tape recorder.  It just doesn't sound as much like me as when it was being recorded.  Oh well, I'll try to make it worth your time.   

If I could have my way, I would be able to work from home, blogging away my days about all sorts of things:  restaurant reviews, toy reviews, my design projects, house upgrades, cooking...and I'd make boku bucks doing just this.  There has to be more to life than only making a few cents each month off of Google ads, right?  Become a professional blogger would justify my passionate desire to have a gigantic desktop Mac.  A little white MacBook just won't cut it when it comes to blogging with the big dogs. 

So here I go, I am going to very much attempt to turn myself into a regular blogger, rather than just a person who somehow manages to throw a few clever phrases into conversation every now and then and resultantly feels like I'm on top of the witty world.  Hopefully, as my blogging skills improve, so will my photography skills.  My poor Nikon is just collecting dust.  And away we go...

(shout out to SarDau for the encouragement!)