Saturday, May 11, 2013

Hula fucking hooping

So recently, I was reading this:

Kelly Osborne talked about how she and her friends hula hoop at home while watching TV. I scratched my ass and thought about this. Hula hooping while watching quality Lifetime movies? Interesting. I went out and got myself one.

Because how difficult could hula hooping possibly be?

Holy shit.

I held the hula hoop up to my back. I swung it around, moved my hips, and the hoop dropped like dead weight. Hmmm. I tried this three times. Then I swore.

Oh, of course--research. I googled "how to hula hoop" and up popped 5.4 million results. Okay, so I'm not alone.

Several entries suggested putting one foot in front of the other, bending the knees, and doing a sort of back and forth rocking motion. I tried this. It doesn't work. I felt like Rain Man.
I'm an excellent driver hula hooper.

This is bullshit.

Deeper into my research, I started watching videos on YouTube. These women barely move their bodies. The hoop rolls effortlessly around their 12-yr-old boy hips.
Yeah, I don't see any hip
movement. And is that bitch painting her nails?

I frowned. I picked up the hoop and tried again. This time I cut myself. This is a foam-covered adult hula hoop. And now I have a cut on my ankle. This fucking animal bit me.

Another video directed me to bend my knees and move my lower body. "Swing those hips, girls!" I tossed the ring around me, knees apart as if I'm on a surf board, hips swinging in an exaggerated circle, arms swinging over my head like a tree in a hurricane. The hoop went around three times. I passed out. This couldn't be right.
Aaaand I officially look like Saturn.

I didn't look anything like the girl in the video. I was out of breath. The cats were hiding under the bed. Finn actually did one of those cartoon runs, where they rev up, back claws scratching the floor, before darting away. My hula hooping has officially traumatized my pets. This is not good.

Many people online have said things like, "After four weeks, I could keep it up for the length of an entire commercial." I am not a patient woman. But I will continue to try. I would like to apologize to the downstairs neighbors. Every time the hoop drops, they probably point to the ceiling and look at each other until they hear me swear. It's like counting the seconds after lightning flashes.


Sunday, May 5, 2013

An unprompted look at my ass leads me here...

Ah, Weight Watchers. It has been too long. Monthly I see your charge show up on my bank statement and think, "Well, I've seriously got to stop paying their light bill." But in the back of my mind, I also think, "Well, it's there if I want it."

I've had a love/hate relationship with WW over the years, I won't lie. And not purely because of my sense of denial (dude, it sooo doesn't work [when I cheat and drink a bottle of wine but write in "5 points"]), but also because of my sense of entitlement (who punishes an avocado like this!? It comes from a TREE!).

No worries, my little friend. I'll be visiting. Often.

But entitlement has settled comfortably around me in the shape of chins and dimples in weird places and an ass I don't recognize. And I don't even look at my ass. Ever, really. Except, perhaps, by mistake. And that happened the other day. And I thought, what is that sad white saucer behind me? Yup, sad white-girl ass. Flat. Deflated. But substantial all the same. Now if I'm going to have junk in my trunk, it better be a thing to marvel over in a GOOD way. As in: Daaaaamn, girl! Not as in: Sweetie, maybe you shouldn't tuck that shirt in.

So here I am. Ready to give this another try. And I'm blogging about it because I was concerned that I don't already overshare with you all. Maybe it will keep me on track if I can bitch about the internal battle I'm about to wage between body and mind. Because if you can't laugh at your girth, what will you laugh at? While eating an entire avocado. Because it's healthy. Naturally. Because it's from a tree.

And if time passes and I've stopped writing about my health, let's agree now that we both know I'm on a bender somewhere, probably enjoying myself. And let's not judge me too harshly.