Those bastards at Safeway put the Blue Box on sale.

Seriously, when there's a GIANT end cap display of dozens, maybe even hundreds, of my favorite blue boxes all lined up and ready to take home, and the sign says 5 for $5, WTF am I gonna do?  I had to buy some.  BUT, I only bought two.  A year ago, I would have bought five, or maybe ten.  But I did have BBQ chips and cottage cheese for dinner tonight, so it's not like I'm a saint or anything.  I still have no will power.  I have to NOT buy stuff, because if it's in the house, I'm eatin' eat.  I might feel bad later, but I'm eatin' it.  In fact, just writing about the Blue Box and knowing I have 2 in the kitchen is making me salivate.  (Did Pavlov feed his doggies mac n cheese?  Cuz that would've done the job.)

The lazy blogger and America's evil body image.

I've lost that blogging feeling.  Just have nothing to say.  Maybe because I was SO bad for three weeks without my P90partner, Ena.  But Ena's back and we Brought It to our legs and backs on Monday.  And yet, I've still got what feels like 20 pounds of back and belly fat -- I sat and pinched it tonight during Coco Before Chanel.  (I KNOW it's not my fault and I should just take a pill and be all better, but somehow I want to do it the old-fashioned way.)  Enter FitTv, my hero.  I'm watching "The Skinny on Fat" produced as part of the National Body Challenge.  It's an Oz-fest exploring the fat that makes us Americans -- big, fat, diabetic Americans.  It's loaded with great information from our cute scrub-sporting doctor.  But even this show tells us it is NOT our fault if we're fat.  It that's true, then shouldn't some of the Biggest Loser contestants fail miserably?  And yet all of them lose weight.  Not just a little, but a LOT of weight once they start eating right and working out.  So, while I think people may have some predisposition toward obesity, I think it's lazy to just decide that you can't help it, because I think everyone can to some extent, and it's dangerous to do nothing about it.

But more annoying than the "it's not my fault, and I can't do anything about it" attitude, is the idea that doing nothing, not working out, not eating right, just piggin' away and sitting around, is normal, acceptable behavior, and that working out, say 3 times per week, is strange and "obsessive."  Seriously.  I told an acquaintance that I was working out and trying to get back into shape (and, as we know, I'm not working out that much), and she told me I shouldn't "obsess" about it.  "Obsess?"  WTF.  So working out like 3 times per week and actually attempting to get into some kind of healthy shape, instead of being a lump of lard (even if my lumps aren't nearly as bad as 60-70% of the rest of America) is "obsessive."  That's just frickin' sad.  Where has our body image gone, when working out a few times a week and trying to get into a healthy, stronger, leaner, and less future-diabetic shape, is "obsessive?"

Well, if working out a few times a week and trying to get healthy is obsessive, then sign me freakin' up.  I'd rather be crazy than lazy.  Ouch -- harsh, I know.  But there it is.  MHO.

Blaaaaaaahhhhhh and the Cirque pas du Soleil.

I haven't posted in forever.  I'm just not feelin' it.  Am doing a whole lot of NOT working out and NOT getting skinny.  Cheetos (the Natural ones, of course) are my life and soul.  (Although I did clean out my office and file stuff today -- once a year, whether it needs it or not.)

On the upside, TCM is running a night of circus-themed horror movies.  After Freaks, I caught Circus of Horrors, and now Berserk (Joan Crawford) is making my Friday night fabulous.  Who needs to work out? Pas moi.  Muscle?  Overrated.  I'm sure I'll be sorry tomorrow.  Because, yes, there was some wine and internet shopping involved.

P.S.  The eczema is almost gone since I've vampired-up with pants, long sleeves and big hats (what kind of idot vampire would live in Phoenix?) in 114F heat.  Yeah, it's a good look.  I love my life.  Okay, really I do, so my sarcasm there was kind of stoopid.  I blame the wine.

Bringin It Solo. Who knew?

I absolutely cannot believe that I done Brung It all by myself yesterday.  I guess I don't want to lose the progress I've made Bringin It with Ena and Steve (who are both out of town, damn their souls).  And maybe I've gotten used to working out and I kind of missed it.  So I popped in a little chest, shoulders and triceps action yesterday and did a full hour with Tony and the rest of the super freaks with ripped abs in my living room.  Oh yeah.  I'm bad.  I can do like 15 boy push-ups now.  In a row.  And I kind of like doing abs.  (It's so exciting to be getting back into shape and losing the flab!)

Don't get me wrong -- I'm a long way from ripped.  And my external layer of fat is truly resilient.  I thought it would be long gone by now.  But nope, it's permafat (kind of like permafrost, only fat).  So I still feel a bit old and pudgy, I bought bigger tops this summer, my fat still squishes unflatteringly around anything more constricting than baggy boxer shorts, and I won't be wearing a bikini any time soon, but the layer of fat is a little thinner and I don't feel as bad in my jeans and my larger-sized tops.  Plus I'm not as worried about what I eat, because I'm burning it off and then counting on the new muscle to continue to kill the fat.  I'm not ready to buy more of the Blue-Box-that-should-not-enter-my-cupboards yet, but I'm hoping by the fall that I'll be able to withstand the occasional Mac ('n cheese) Attack.

Because I'm feeling better in my pants, I haven't checked the scale in a while.  So I'ma do it now.  Do I undress first?  Who knows, back in a flash....

...well, after removing my heavy (French Gap) jeans, my Keen tennies, and my biggest jewelry, I came in at 115.6.  And that was at the most "accurate" (i.e., the lightest) spot on my bathroom floor.  Am I the only one whose scale gives different readings at different locations?  If I put the scale at one spot on my tile, I weigh a full pound more than at other spots.  What, is gravity working harder there?  Anyway, I'd like to be a bit lighter, but I'm chalking this one up to (1) more muscle from frickin' thousands of P90pushups, and (2) the really dense Baby Bel "light" cheese wheel that I had with my toast this morning.  That thing was like an alien material -- like half a ton in a 1" wax package.  Holy heavy cow.

A big slice of the Fourth.

Let's see, Cheetos (lots), fried chicken strips (also lots), sub sandwich, egg rolls, seven layer dip with chips (most of the platter, because I was lucky enough to snag the last tray at Safeway), 3 fudgesicles, and 2/3ds of a giant raspberry pudding cake ring.  And, of course, a Bud Light Lime and 2-3 glasses of wine.  Oh yeah, I'm a patriot.  A pudgy little patriot.

The good, the bad, and the itchy.

Well, the good news is, I'm Bringin' It again.  Yeah!!!  Kudos to Ena's spouse and P90X substitute, Steve-O, for Bringin' It this morning.  In fact, he's the one that motivated, cuz I probably would've gotten around to calling to arrange a workout, oh, next week.  So we killed ourselves with legs and back and then really put the hurt on with Ab Ripper X.  Wahooooooo!  Oh, I'm a health nut.  Another six months of this and I really WILL have abs.

The bad and the itchy are kind of one and the same.  My skin continues to try to kill me.  Yesterday I walked the dogs for about 10 minutes when it was sunny and about as hot as the surface of the sun, and with legs and arms exposed.  I guess my sunscreen must have worn off, because I paid for that with a return of eczema (the itch that rashes) all over my arms and lower legs (plus my face itches, but my hat must have protected me from the full-on eczema or Grover's on my face).  I'm back to where I was two years ago, waking up at night itching all over, so I have to get up and put heat (I like to use my hair dryer, thanks) on the rash to fire off the histamine.  Nice.  Basically, since March it's become more and more clear that I'm photosensitive.  So now, not only am I allergic to grass, trees, dust, pollen, dogs, cats, and basically everything that grows or breathes, now I'm apparently allergic to friggin' sunshine.  Sunshine!  Shit.  It's kind of sunny here in Phoenix.  And so much for spending the 4th poolside workin' on my tan.   

So life is good when it's not sucking rocks.  Let's do a quick check with the New Digital and see what two weeks in Europe did to my middle-aged flabby body....114.6.  Ouch a little bit.  And I must confess -- the scale actually said 116.4, but then I removed a shirt layer and moved the scale to another spot on the floor to get a "more accurate" read.  114.6 it is.

P.S.  Snooty photo of attempt to avoid French sunshine while face recovering from red-spotted Grover's inserted here -- always classy with my tiger T-shirt.

P.P.S.  P90Update: the legs and back workout provides a painful, but excellent, non-surgical butt lift.  You know what's great when it's 112F and your butt hurts?  A fudgesicle.  Hard to type with, but tasty.