The Slaughter. Would be the scale.
One might think, but Ruth? Haven't you been dedicating yourself whole heartedly to working out, running like a Jonas Brother being chased by the mother of a 12 year old school girl who didn't get a ticket?
Why yes readers. I have. So why, one might ask again, are you as down trodden as that same school gir's mother who never did catch that blasted Jonas brother?
BEcause, bloggerites. It's not working! It is in fact, having the very opposite effect. I cannot for any reason, other than God truly hating my very existence, think of a reason that I would be gaining weight?
Stop right there. I know. Muscle weighs more than fat. But let me assure you. I've seen the Rock. I've Seen JOhn Cena. And what I've got going on down there. Doesn't even come close to resembling muscle.
I'm still fat. so much so, that this conversation was able to transpire one evening during a harmless gathering of friends...
ME: You know what I think is so funny?
Group: Besides Kevin Federline still considering a career as an artist? What?
Me: I never get hit on by guys. EVER. I am not seeking it mind you, but I don't ever get hit on by them? I do however seem to attract females like MC Hammer attracted bad debts. I don't get it?
Group. (Mostly one guy in group): You know why that is don't you?
Me: No, weird bald guy in group who I really wasn't talking to. Why?
Guy: (notice the lack of group reply) Well, you are kind of sexy, but you're also fat. Girls like personality. Guys like the appearance. Lose some weight. And you'll be set...
ME: (holding iPhone in such a way that should the voices in my head telling me to stab him, don't subside, I can thrust it at his jugular and run without so much as a missed call). Um? Ok. Thanks? I think?
yeah. I know.
WHAT??? So that's it. I'm fat. I'm not as fat as I once was but apparently, I am still too round to elicit response from males. Were I actively seeking, I might be in trouble.
If I were not so intent on losing this weight before my 10 year reunion, ( I know what you're thinking, and yes, I am only 21. I graduated when I was 11. No worries), I would just say forget it. But I can't. I have to do this. It's that important to me. I will be the girl who looks better at her reunion than she did at her graduation. It helps a lot that the only photo still around of me on my graduation gives me the appearance of a girl who was unable to be in the suns presence during her 17 year stay on the earth, and apparently was also forbidden to use a hair brush? I'm thanking my lucky stars we were required to wear gowns, because there is no telling what ensemble I opted for in order to WOW my 356 other classmates, who could have cared less.
In other news, that isn't weight related, and yes, occasionally I have that.
I've begun the daunting task of getting settled into my scrapbook room. I took the opportunity to utilize this time when my children are home all day, and the rain sees the need to grace us with it's presence, to put them to work. I've always known my kids were built for hard labor. They have their fathers muscles, and my dedication to excuse making as to why they can't use them.
Bribery was however on my side. And we lugged 4 more totes into the room. I began the task, by making "piles" placing things of a similar nature, into groups with other things of that same similar nature. And I've come to realize. Alot of scrapbook stuff looks alike. Either that, or I'm just really bad at making piles...
Before. And After. HA.
Yeah. I'm not funny. I have serious issues with organizing. I try. I mean well. But sadly after 3 days, and 100 trips up the stairs with buckets full of crap. I have this to show for it. Woo hoo. Buttons. I know. BAby steps. That's the same approach I take to all my life's goals I have no intention of ever meeting. I say baby steps, and people assume I'm making progress. Usually. I'm not.
I don't know. I mean well. ASide from the no scrap Zone being in dire straights. The rest of life seems to be, well following suit. I need a career. A serious one. It appears that useless house wife who spends her days filling out myspace and facebook surveys in an attempt to forget about the laundry that is piling up faster than evidence against OJ Simpson, is actually not a very lucrative venture. My college idea was fantastic, but they booed my idea of trading scrapbook paper for tuition, so until which time I find a concrete source to pay for my college. I'm back to square 1. Which would actually imply I had left square zero.
I have not. So there you have it folks. My happiness was short lived. My pants are still just as tight. My Scrap HQ, or ground zero as I like to call it, is just as messy, and my desire to go on has all but been squashed. I know. Woe is me. Go eat a twinkie Ruth. Quit lamenting
Perhaps I shall. In the mean time. Keep your eyes on the prize. Whatever yours may be. I'm shooting for a size 10. not a size 1( ). That's me. Falling out of my pants. Just in case you wondered. I'm still here. Probably on facebook. If you need me. Feel free to contact me.
Bloggingly Yours. Ruthimus.