Exercise, healthy and beauty, humor, self-help

Gym-Smell-Timidation

I have been searching through my old drafts of the blog to see what is still relevant and – well?

None of them freaking are…

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Why am I looking through old drafts, you ask? Well, it’s simple, I typically will jot down blog thoughts that eventually turn into these hilarious posts that you all enjoy. But sometimes, it doesn’t always work out. Add to that the fact that my frame of mind when I jotted – said ideas – down, are not my mindset now. So, essentially, they get lost in translation because of time. And my brain changing its mind over time. And for thus, tossed in the trash.

Especially when there is plenty of content right in front of my face.

Or rather, my nose space.

Speaking of working out…

That was a leap… Yes, completely unrelated at all. But stay with me here…

Takeya USA

The gym is a great place to go. I love it, I hit that place twice a day. Pretty much every gym I’ve ever been to has been great and I have no complaints. Except, maybe today….

Right.

Oh! Not about the gym.

Over the weekend my fiancé and I hit the gym. Now, the gym we go to now is small and quaint. And best of all usually fairly quiet. Even when there are other guests there working out. Everyone has – for the most part – decent gym etiquette .

I’m going to feel a little bad about this rant. No you won’t.

Takeya USA

And if you were there you’d be horrified too. Okay I’m listening…

Upon entering the gym, there was an – um… aroma? – yeah, you can call it that; but you’d be wrong. When you think of the word, aroma, you usually equate that to a nice smell. An inviting scent. Like, baked cookies or a whiff of a soft perfume. That chokes you in the breezeways. Quiet.

The student becomes the teacher…

Help! I’ve fallen and the skink won’t let me up!

Stop right there before you go nuts over the smell of banana bread. OR any other pleasant anecdotes of awesome essence of food.

The smell coming off of this other gym guest was horrifying. Uh oh.

If you are older, and you live alone, and you think you don’t smell – and I’m not knocking my elders here – AND its been probably days since you showered? You freaking smell dude. Here she goes. What sucks right, is that this person is so such a sweet guy but God Almighty, could someone let him know that using a shower won’t bite! Hell! Even my grandmother, who is losing her mind in a nursing home, gets bathed daily by someone because she cannot do it herself.

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Criminy!!

I hop on the treadmill anyway after saying hello and I just want to die. Dramatic much? Yes. Or jump off the treadmill and change my plans for a later date. Probably a more conservative approach. The smell in the air was so terrible that my nose itched and I kept sneezing and literally made made my stomach turn.

Again, I’m so NOT trying to be a meanie head.

Hygiene is a basic skill set, people!!

What if we all stopped freaking showering?! OMG. The filth that would ensue. The diseases! People would be catching Leprosy! What’s that? Some ancient disease from the beginning of time. What time was that now? I don’t know. When mummies were a thing or something like that. Great research job there. Eh. *shrugs, you get what I mean.

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Your skin falls off!

If you are an elder, you should already know this. The cleanliness thing, that is. Not necessarily about Leprosy. I don’t think anyone in our day and age has heard of or known anyone who’s skin fell off right in front of their eyes.

Did you give up on life already?

Oh wait, no… that can’t be it. Why?

Nope.

Uh, because you’ve rallied your pig-pen ass all the way to the gym for a workout! So, from where I’m smelling, you have the wear-with-all to scrub a dub-dub in the damn tub!

THERE ARE SHOWERS AT THE GYM FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!!

Oh and that’s not the end of it….

While being less of a horrible reek; the nightmare continued beyond my scope of blurred vision from the clouds of dirt surrounding me.

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MEANWHILE: IN ANOTHER ROOM, NOT SO FAR, FAR AWAY…

My fiancé was doing the stair climber, and afterward was telling me a story of how he was horrified by an old lady smacking her deriere! Just so you have a visual, the stair climber is in the aerobics room. It’s a small gym, as I mentioned. So, if old ladies want to do Zumba. They plop on a video tape (or CD? I don’t know – I’m starting to think I’m in some time warp vortex), and dance around, following along with the woman in M.C. Hammer pants leading the class on the video.

SIDEBAR:

Why the low crotch pants? I don’t no; but I was given an unlikely description that this is what women with non-clean, uh, carpets (a.k.a. vajay-jays) who put off an unpleasant stench and this baggy crotch pant is a remedy to that. Oh geez. Well, you asked…

Well, wait, was that supposed to be a solution to a bigger problem? What kind of solution is that?

I have no freaking idea.

Go to the gynocologist!

Couldn’t agree more.

Pay attention. I can’t now. Seriously, iIs it just me?

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Because that was the first time I’d EVER heard of THAT reason to wear such an ugly style, of said, trendy pant.

Ugh, apparently…

I don’t even want to think about someone’s smelly hoohaw, thank you very much for that visual burned into my mind’s eye.

Circling back, so also during the class, that stinky twat video aerobics instruction, includes slapping your own arse in front of strangers.

At least your booty-smacking old lady didn’t smell like a garbage disposal.

Exercise, healthy and beauty, How To, humor, new years resolutions, self-help

Morning Routine: Phase One

A.K.A.

      PHASE: PLEASE SHOOT ME.

Okay, okay, let’s get to it.  If you have ever tried to implement a new routine for yourself then you totally understand todays post. Now that winter is in full swing, the “new year, new me” hashtag in underway… it’s time for me to get back on that pony express and ride into the sunrise. Huh? I don’t know. But, what I do know is that getting into a new, or in this case, old routine that I had running before summer vacation is not an easy task. Blah.

pexels-photo-1037993.jpegI have begun by setting my alarm (AGAIN) for 4:40 AM months ago. Holy – too early – batman! I know, it’s early but it works. I don’t know why 4:40 is my time to wake but; it just is, and what’s even weirder is I usually get up before my alarm, rising to the the tune of 4:39. 4:17. Or even 3:53. It’s not natural. It’s weird. Totally. I get it, but like I said, it works for me. Cuckoo.

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After I’ve set my alarm for this – godforsaken – time, I have set a series of alarms to keep my morning in check. Now, it’s a work in progress as I have been at this for a few months now since last summer’s end. It’s so easy to get sidetracked in the morning… if you allow it. You totally allow it. I totally do.

Photo Jan 14, 3 36 56 AM.jpgAs free-spirited as I appear to be, I am actually extremely regimented and right down to the incremental minutes of my day. You’d think this would make me cranky if I don’t make a certain task or follow my alarm schedule but really I’m so much more cheerful, helpful and have more inner peace… Like, maybe that’s when my free-spirit-ness kicks in? Hmmm…. Even if I only accomplish one task, I’m cool with it. Like waking up? Yes. Like waking up. Routine is good, people.

Scheduled creativity? Yup. It’s a thing!

This morning; however, or rather the past few days, I have been rather sluggish. Non-motivated. I guess it happen to everyone. Let’s give a quick run down on my mishaps this week to put it in perspective.  Let’s start with the 2-a-day’s at the gym. I’ve totally upped my game on every aspect of my life and I’m feeling the lag. I hopped on the treadmill this morning and fell off. Hold on. What?

Takeya USA

Yup! Just, whoop…. slide. Kerplunk! Right off the back of that moving death machine. I’m IMG_0618.jpg
not even sure how that happens. No one else does either. Regardless. My body must’ve been signaled from the brain that day… not today sloth. Not today.

I attempted to read my third book (Yay!) of the year and it was moving the words around on the page. Boo. Not kidding. It was messing with me. It even hid itself from me. How does a book play hide and seek? Good question! When you find out the answer, tell my lost book, it’s time to give it up and show itself.

My back-to-basics boring food hauls. Well, those are just boring. Not much to report on plain rice and egg whites. Fermented probiotic drinks. Protein bars. Vegetables. Boring. Boring. And more boring. But food is fuel… blah, blah, blah. I know.

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Sitting at my desk to get work done? That kink in my neck creeps up again…. *shakes head, don’t get me started 

Photo Jan 14, 3 31 45 AM.jpgAnyway, I think you get the idea and then, boom! The morning routine I so meticulously orchestrated has fallen to the wayside. I’m now finding myself saying, my body needs to recoup-hit the snooze button. I’ll push my appointments a couple hours-it’ll be fine. Gosh, where are my favorite high heels I like to wear? I donated them? Why the hell did I do that-I loved those things. *remembers aggressive decluttering mission of November 2018

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Damn it.

You’re rambling and way off track. I know.

Just like phase one of that morning routine.

Exercise, fashion, healthy and beauty, humor, new years resolutions, self-help

Pleather Sausage Pants

You ever own a pair of pants? Yespexels-photo-461646.jpeg

That you freaking LOVE?! Yes.

Only to find that said pants you are loving…

Don’t love you back? OMG YES.

Well, this is my black pleather pants I bought last year. Wait. They are gorgeous. Hold on. They are high waisted. Pleather? Oh! Yes, they are plastic leather. Huh? Meaning, they look like some kind of leather; but they aren’t.

Ah! Got it… Carry on.

Anyway, they are skinny style in the leg. And therein lay the problem. My legs aren’t playing nice with the damn stretchy plastic. Oooo, nasty visual there. Right!  My thighs fight them when they’re pulled up. My hips are pushing them off. The waistband has this massive extra space that I could smuggle a large book in between the fabric where my stomach should be. My inner squish is slapping together when I walk, causing an annoying squeaking sound. They’re not even patent leather! How the hell are they squeaking?!

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You see, last year, when I got them, they fit amazingly.  So much so, that I wanted to wear those damn pants  every day! You so would. I totally would.  But let’s face it, you can’t wear leather pants to church, or to the gym, or an animal park. An animal park? Well, maybe I could. And maybe you’d look like a solid, tasty lunch for a predator. Okay. Not the zoo then. While, my weight has toggled a bit this last six-eight months, my physical appearance hasn’t been too gnarly.

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SIDEBAR: this has also been a point of contention for me too. So much so, I had to add a weight loss goal to my annual goal setting resolutions this new year. So sad about that.

Ish, happens. *shrugs

pexels-photo-1040532.jpegMoving on, I’ve also washed these pleggings a couple times and I’m wondering if the shape of the pants themselves had been altered due to that. *fingers crossed, please. Please. Please. Please.

Damn those household chores all to hell. Especially you, laundry. Boo to you. Boo!

And so it begins… the tale of the plastic leather, pleather pleggings. Here’s the plan. I am going to try them on again in February. Oh no, not another plan. Lord help us all if these bastards don’t fit. I’ve been hitting the gym 6 days a week, living on dry toast and rice, and drinking enough water for a buffalo herd.

Which is about the size I’m feeling about now. So it’s fitting!

No, it’s not fitting. The mock-trousers aren’t fitting at all. That’s the problem!

You’ll show them.

No britches are going to beat me. That’s right. *nods in affirmation

Go get ’em, sausage girl!

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