Run, fat girl, run

In an effort to lose this pesky 70 extra pounds I'm toting around on my stomach and ass, I've decided to work out religiously on my husband's days off. Today I was getting ready to go to the workout room at our apartment complex and my husband starts asking me about my progress. As in, how fast I can run now. I looked at him with a confused expression. Run? I don't run. Ever. I've tried it and I hate it fiercely. I hate the heavy breathing and the way all my fat bounces violently as I pound away on the treadmill and I know that even though I am busting my ass and my lungs are going to explode, to the observer I just look silly, like a fat person trying to run through knee deep snow.

Anyway, it's hard to explain this to my husband. He's 6'1" and weighs 175. He's in the army and it's part of his job to stay in shape. And it's infuriating because he's one of those assholes who can eat 10,000 calories a day and not put on any weight. His whole family is like that. I feel like Gulliver or the giant from Jack and the Bean stalk when we go visit his family, a diminutive clan of people who live in a house stock full of every snack and guilty food pleasure you could ask for.

So I just told him that I'm doing my best. I did a 37 minute stationary bike workout and then just for kicks and giggles, I got on the treadmill and cranked it up to 5.3 mph, which according to Adam, should be a light jog. For the first 30 seconds I was ok, despite my fat and boobs flailing about. I was thankful no one else was in the work out room. After 1 minute and 27 seconds I was gripping the rails of the treadmill and punching the red Emergency Stop button for dear life. My distance? .12 miles. That's half a lap around a track. I would fail an army physical test with flying colors.

And guess what Adam brought home for lunch? Carl's Jr., goddamit.

You do your time. Don't let your time do you.

Maybe I'm sleep deprived and pissed off because my scabby elbow itches and stings constantly. Maybe I'm pissed off that the Chase credit people keep calling me. Maybe I'm cranky because my wearable wardrobe has been reduced to stretchy yoga pants and big t shirts. Whatever the reason, I was in a very foul mood this morning. I yelled at my daughter and I felt incredibly guilty about it. My husband started nagging me about not flushing the toilet after I pee so I started crying. Maybe I'm genuinely depressed. I haven't felt great the past six months because I'm stuck in this town that I hate and while I love being a mom, I feel isolated and bored most of the time.

So Adam took Kimmy to the park and I decided to suck it up and get ready to go grocery shopping. I took a quality bath and got ready. Then while I was waiting for them to get home and watching "Locked Up Abroad" on the National Geographic channel, I heard a great piece of uplifting advice from a one time American inmate of a Korean prison. He said that while he served his sentence (I think is was 2 or 3 years) he did his best to make the most of it by reading, writing, and doing yoga because someone had told him, "You do your time, don't let your time do you." Although I wouldn't go so far as to say I feel like I'm in a Korean prison, I definitely am not where I want to be in life and my Negative Nancy attitude isn't helping.

On my way to Wal Mart I ruminated on that little nugget. Do your time. Don't let it do you. I decided to make a conscious effort to be more positive and less melodramatic. I need to exercise more, read and write more, and figure out something to look forward to. I was feeling better about things once I got to the store and even more so once I overheard a lady on her cell phone. Here's a snippet:

"I don't care! You don't need to be out til 5 or 6 AM when you have five kids at home! I couldn't sleep all night cuz I was fuckin worried!"

At the risk of making it obvious that I was eavesdropping, I slowed my pace in hopes of hearing more, but alas, the shitty parent on the other end of the phone must have had a lot to say in his or her defense, so I kept walking and missed out. Thanks lady, that made me feel better about my parenting capabilities. I may lose my patience and yell sometimes, I may be tempted to drink myself into a black out (which I've never done. I haven't had a drink since before I got pregnant), and my daughter may have just uttered her first curse word the other night when I set of the smoke detector -- but I've never stayed out til 5 or 6 am. So I've got that going for me.

Oh, the thing about the curse word! Well, if I am cooking something and the recipe says to bake it for 20 minutes at 425 degrees, I have to adjust the time and temperature for my oven on HGH. So I was trying to cook some chicken at 300 degrees and when I opened the oven after 15 minutes to check on it, the breading was charred black and smoke billowed out, which set off the smoke detector. Kimmy ran into the kitchen and yelled "Fuck!" about five times until I got the screeching alarm off. Great, she's going to be that hillbilly kid in preschool who cusses and gets in trouble, even though it's mine and Adam's fault she's picking up such horrible language.

I'm going to put on some sweat pants and eat some shrimp tacos from Chacho's.

What do I do with all my free time?

1. Crochet or knit

No, I'm not 60. I'm a housewife, or a stay at home mom. I don't want to say that I took up crafting because I was bored. It's not as though I don't do things around my home on a day to day basis (see list below). I guess I just thought "housewife = yarn balls" so I started a few little projects. My latest is a baby blanket for my BFF Katie. She is having her first baby in November, so I started a blankie in July and am now barely finishing it. So much for a career on Etsy.

2. Talk on the phone with friends and/or family

I don't do this a lot. I mean, my kid isn't sitting in a dirty diaper playing with power cords while I'm chatting away on the phone. I usually get in a quick chat during her nap time, or while she's playing. Kids do need some time to play by themselves. Anyway, my phone conversations usually revolve around how much I hate San Antonio, the latest thing my husband did to piss me off, or something awesome that Kimmy (that's my little one) did. In fact, Katie just called a minute a go but I was paying bills. And while I love talking to Katie, I really have been putting the bills off for far too long.

3. Haggle with bill collectors and utility companies

Today it was the electric company. Seems we owe $142.00. It's San Antonio and it's hot so we have a high bill. Luckily, the electric company is still in the process of switching our account from our old address to our new address, so I have some time to put this one off. Let's see if the bank is so kind about our auto loans.

4. Triage bills

I really shouldn't put off my car payment much longer. But we're behind on so much other crap. Sigh. I drink coffee, I check my email, I fiddle with the calculator. I remember that I need to go to the grocery store for toilet paper. I think of maybe splitting up my car payment between this pay check and the next.

5. Do dishes

Uck, I'm sick of doing this. Surely I don't want to write about it, aside from saying, "I hate doing dishes!"

6. Clean, clean, and clean

My husband recently got on my ass about the cleanliness of our apartment. You know when you get a new car, and you tell everyone the RULES of the car? No eating in this car, no smoking, you wipe your feet when you get in, you don't leave anything in this car? That's how my husband is with this apartment. You'd think we moved on up to the East side or something. It's just another apartment. But woe unto those who may drop a sippy cup onto the floor! Gadzooks, a bit of water or even -- gasp!-- milk may fall upon the carpet! It's not like I don't clean up constantly throughout the day. I spot treat the carpet and vacuum about once a day. Oh, and the awesome new apartment that he just had to have? Well the common grassy areas are covered in dog shit and our neighbor just got arrested, a la COPS style, complete with the screaming, cussing, and slamming doors. I loved when she yelled, "I'm not struggling! Mom, this is your fucking fault!" over and over again.

7. Watch tv

I love how I'll watch a program (yeah, I said program, like I'm my mom) about a woman who weighed like 230 pounds and then she started going to the gym and now she's a bikini model. I get all encouraged and psyched up about my own weight loss goals. And then the next day I run out and try the new Big Carl Burger from Carl's Jr.

8. Go to the park

Since our apartment complex has no play area for kids, I have to take Kimmy to the park about every day so she can run off her ants in the pants. I'm not complaining, I usually like taking her to the park and watching her play. And sometimes I get to see a shining example of the typical San Antonian. Example? Sure. There was the guy there with his kid who was, oh probably about two years old. It was about 65 degrees out, overcast. Kinda cold, but not too bad. Everyone had on a hoodie or windbreaker. Not this kid. He was wearing a sweatshirt, a diaper, socks, and shoes. That's right, no pants of any kind. I felt so bad for that kid. Then there was the lady I saw yesterday. In San Antonio, it goes from being 65 degrees to 90 degrees over the course of 4 days and it was hot and humid. So I pull up to the playground yesterday and see a lady sitting in a lawn chair with her legs spread out, propped up on a cooler. She was wearing a strapless sundress, which thankfully covered her legs. She was wearing a neck brace and smoking a cigarette while yelling at her kids who were walking a 250 pound dog around. As awesome as this lady was (and goddammit, I wish I had the balls to whip out my phone and get a picture. I mean, it's not like she could have kicked my ass. She was in a neck brace) I was even more awesome today. I took Kimmy to a different park this morning. I have the bladder of a tit mouse so I had to pee at the park restroom. I was carrying Kimmy to the car and I tripped and fell. Luckily, Kimmy was not injured. My right elbow took the brunt of the impact, and to prove it, all the skin from that elbow is still at the park.