bloggers block

So, much to my chagrin, my excitement to contribute more in the world of blogging has been foiled by my lack of topic ideas. Although the suggestion of dogs in tuxedos vs chimps in tuxedos was tempting, I feel that either one is borderline animal cruelty, and would therefore probably be taboo. Although, I do secretly think dogs in costumes are pretty damn cute. Oh, and hats. Dogs in hats are straight adorable. But back to my point- I don't know what to write about. It would be fairly easy to turn this into a page of rants and criticisms of anything under the sun, but I'd prefer to keep this lighthearted. So until my muse blesses me with a new and interesting idea, I am open to suggestion. Just don't ask me what I think of health care, Barack Obama, anything sports related, the Jonas Brothers, or... anything else I don't really know about!

P.S. hated that Ke$ha song, "Tik Tok," when I first heard it, now I can't get enough. I am now thoroughly convinced that the music industry is inserting subliminal messaging into songs by her, Miley Cyrus, and Lady Gaga to make me want to bust a move every time I listen to the radio. I wonder how many dance related car accidents could be blamed on their auditory addictive stimulants... Kids, just listen to NPR.

The Treadmill is My Enemy.

So tonight, newly invigorated with energy from God knows where, I worked out. Not at the gym, no, my part-time job and seemingly endless gas costs prevent me from joining a 24-hour facility with shiny machines, weights, and buff bods. I actually trekked down to the arctic cold basement to use the family treadmill. Set in Cardio mode, incline at 8%, I spent 45 long minutes watching The Office on TBS and jogging, in place.

There's just something about a treadmill that makes me dizzy. First of all, there's no wind resistance. It's just running, but without the benefit of a self-made breeze to cool you down. Not that I needed cooling down in the sixty degree basement, but the air does seem less fresh when you're breathing in the same cubic foot of oxygen. And then there's the monotony of the run itself. At least outside you can turn down random streets, swing by a park, avoid a heinous hill or even pull a Rocky up a lengthy flight of stairs. Unless the treadmill comes equipped with fancy gears to swing into alternating inclines and a screen to make me "believe" I'm running on a sunny beach, I'm really just sweating in my parents crap-filled basement.

Now the elliptical is a machine I can respect. At least on that one I actually feel the muscles that are lit up on that little body diagram on the screen- calves, hamstrings, quads, butt. It's like the manufacturers knew that by providing that diagram, whoever was on the machine would be relieved by the reassurance that- Yes! you really are getting what the machine promised! Look! Those little lights were right! I can really feel it! Not to mention that on the elliptical you can go backwards. Have you ever tried to go backwards on the treadmill? I haven't dared to myself, but I'm sure myriad viral video posters can amuse you with their attempts.

And to end with a question for any exercise-minded readers out there, why is it that I rarely get a stitch in my side on the elliptical, but on the treadmill I feel like my ribcage is giving me the finger, big time? Maybe I'm just an awkward runner. And what do you do for those little buggers? Breathe? Drink water? Stretch? I really would like to know, especially since mom's treadmill will be my sole form of cardio exercise in the immediate future. Meanwhile, let's hope this new burst of exercise enthusiasm stays with me. Miley and I are back on our way to being in shape! (as long as we can stay away from my parents' kitchen...)

Starting the New Year Off Happy

Having taken an hiatus from writing the past few weeks, I felt the urge to get back on the blogging bandwagon after lunch with my friend Anna today. We were enjoying a steaming hot plate of our favorite pad thai when, out of the blue, Anna told me that I seemed really happy. Not cheery, per say, or chipper like I'd gotten a good night's sleep, but simply - happy. She told me that I seemed to be in a really good place, with a positive outlook on life and the world around me. The words bright and aura may have even entered the conversation. So I got to thinking, I really am happy right now.

It comes as a surprise to me that I've resurfaced from a long dive into what seemed like the most depressed two months of my life, and am now genuinely optimistic. Starting in November with my unfortunate auto accident (my fault), to not getting my dream internship, to all my Christmas money going to the car insurance deductible, and finally wrapping it up with a nice new years bow of borrowing my mother's new Nissan and returning it sans one window thanks to a break-in, I can't deny that I've spent many days recently in the comfort of my dark bedroom. Watching the Office on Netflix. Refusing to set foot in the world lest I get struck by lightening. Oh did I mention- still single amongst a throng of happily coupled friends, with no prospects. All right Universe, I know Karma is a bitch, but lately she's been a bit of a heinous douchebag.

My question now is, what am I unconsciously doing right that my friend has noticed such a positive glow emanating from me?Could be the booze, I do enjoy a strong Irish Coffee in the mornings since the weather turned so bitterly cold. Just kidding! But really, I haven't been exercising, so it can't be endorphines... Maybe it's the joy of living with my increasingly senile parents and not having any money? No, pretty sure that's not it. Frankly, I'm stumped. But I'm kind of okay with that.

What I've come to realize is, maybe it's just part of my DNA to not sweat the small stuff. Maybe I really am an eternal optimist, as much as I'd like to deny it and embrace the witty, cynical person I'd kind of hoped I was. I just don't think I'm cut out for dark and depressing. Two days ago I bought Patti Stanger's book, Become Your Own Matchmaker, and what the Millionaire Matchmaker has taught me in only 4 short chapters is: You'll never be happy with someone until you're happy with yourself first. So that's what I'm going to do! No one is going to get me where I want to be in life, except me. Everyone has the power to control how their life will turn out, you just need the goals and determination to get there.

So here it is, my New Year's Resolution: STOP WASTING TIME. It does absolutely no good to wallow in self-pity about a job, a boy, living arrangements, or money. The harsh reality of being 22 is that no one is going to give you anything anymore. So I'm going to use this blog as a kind of self-checker, making myself accountable for where my life goes in the next year. If no one reads it, at least I'll feel responsible to the universe to make happen what I've set out for myself. So Universe, or Karma, or God or whoever, bring it on. Go ahead and push my buttons, it'll just make me want to kick ass that much harder.




As an afterthought, I realize this may come off as narcissistic/feminist/clichéd new years declarations, but it's what I need right now. And if it gets me to check off one more thing on my "to-do" list today, then so be it.