Today, I am going to do something I have been wanting to do for a while, but have always put off for stupid/financial/lazy reasons.
I'm going to the gym this afternoon. Yes, Beloved Readers. I kid you not.
I signed up last week, dished out waaaay more money than it should cost to work out in a high-tech facility, and voilà.
I understand it's a service and one should pay for it, but here's what bugs me. The guy who signed me up was definitely a salesman. I mean, I got the tour and the demos before we talked money. He was giving me a tour in English, because my anglo friend signed up with me. This is what he sounded like - it was great. Just a preview for you, my lovelies:
"Dis? De 'Ammer Streng? It's de bess in de Wess. Diss it's de bess matchine you can get, because it's de eye tech stuff, you know? Me, I work 'ere, I never seen people hurt their self, break something, or stretch a muscle. Because dis, it's all how do I say, it's all..you can see you 'ave de security belt, like in a car. Nice, hein?"
Yes. De bess in de Wess indeed. I provided him with that expression, because he was hesitating at each new section of the gym, looking for a way to say it was the best equipment on the market. So I said: "The best in the West" while doing the little shooting motion with my hands. And that was it. He loved it. So it became:
"Dis? Bess machine in the Wess in Qwebec. It's de bess." (doing the hands-palms-down sweeping motion indicating finality.)
When he told me the price I would have to pay, I was knocked right off my chair. I think he saw the disbelief in my face - granted, my jaw was unhinged, mouth open, vacant expression in the eyes - I must have looked quite dumb. I mentally picked myself up from the floor, laughed and asked him why it was so expensive. He looked at me, fake confidence oozing from every pore, and tried to do the cute eye thing at me (which pissed me off) and said - I'm sparing you the québécois accent this time : "You're right, ok? Money should not be an obstacle on your way to feeling better in your body. You want to lose weight? Here's what I can do for you." And he proceeded to give me a shit deal. "Okay. Our advert says it costs this much a month? That's not good. It's false representation, sort of. You know? Because actually, that price? It's the price for ONE service (i.e. just cardio, just free weights), no trainer to get you started. You are not allowed to use all the other services." His attitude changed, he became pissed off, because I did not fall for his routine and I asked questions. He would have liked me to sign right away. I'm guessing he makes commission.
Then we found common ground (sort of). I never thought I'd have to ask so many questions not to get handed a crappy deal. I am mad that it should cost me so much to feel better. All that being said, I am spending the money knowing full well that I am paying for the latest high-tech equipment (de bess in the Wess, sigh) and location. I'll have to pay extra to get someone to help be build my programme, which pisses me off too. I can't afford to pay for that today. So I'll be with a friend who has worked out in a gym before, and she'll help me. And I'll be really careful and not overdo it. And I'll stretch before and after. Ahhh. Jesus. Here we go.
At least I got a really sweet deal on gym shoes yesterday. *high five*
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
Planned Chocolate Consumption.
Easter. Bleh.
I'll eat all of my two chocolates. One bunny, one baby chicken.
Then I'll feel queazy.
Then I'll promise myself, for the umpteenth year in a row, that I will never eat all of my chocolate in one sitting ever again because I'll feel like crap and my heartbeat will be racing and I'll generally feel like my eyes are about to pop out of my head. Not a pretty picture.
Okay, I won't do that. Thank you, Conscience (Little Person Living Inside My Head - is that you?), for making me realize I could voluntarily avoid feeling sick sometime this weekend. I'll eat the bunny only. Then the next day, I'll eat the baby chicken.
No, no, wait, I won't do that either. I'll be reasonable. I'll have only the bunny's ears.
He's only got an ear and a third, really, because he's sitting sideways. It's a profile of a bunny.
So I'll eat that, then I'll put the earless bunny away. Then I'll eat the baby chicken's head. And I'll put the rest away too. It's actually a 2-D baby chicken, so it's not too bad if I eat its head, then the rest some other time. I mean, it's not a full 3-D chicken. No harm done.
Ah. I feel much better now, knowing how I'll eat my chocolate this year. When I was a kid, thank the authorities my mom kept me in line, because I think I would have eaten the whole collection of chocolates we got in one day. It seems like our whole family thought it was a good plan to buy us chocolate, and in my memories there was chocolate everywhere. Had I eaten all of it, I probably would have run a freaking trench into the hardwood floor, pacing and pulling out my hair (and my sister's, heehee), rolling my eyes and screaming insanities.
But no. My mom rationed the chocolate. I am thankful now, but as a child I felt it was the most cruel thing a mother could do to her children, especially at Easter, what with all the fuzzy bunnies and little yellow baby chickens and pastel colors all around. Oh! And the woven baskets we made in school and filled with the plastic hair/fake hay stuff.
The adults actually made us work for that shit too, we had to go on an Easter-egg hunt all around the house. And the adults were all standing there, in a line, with a glass of wine in one hand, patting each other on the back, thinking they were smart. They were thinking: "Oohhh, they'll never find it this year. We'll have to give them hints. We've found way better hiding spots than last year's. Haha. We adults are so smart. We find the best hiding places for chocolate. Look at them, poor little helpless creatures, lifting the sofa cushions. Pffft! Shyeah right!" and then after thinking all that, they would stand there, astonished and positively flabbergasted, as we proudly displayed the whole lot, just like that, found in ten minutes. Oh - maybe even five minutes. Ha! In your face, adults! Good times. I loved the Easter-egg hunt. Especially when I found the mother lode, the king/queen/royalty of all Eastereggs, the Laura Secord creme-filled egg. Oh man.
I actually bought one a few years ago, after holding it in my hands for a couple of seconds in the store thinking back to its awesome taste and creaminess. I took it home, sat in the kitchen, tore the box open and, just like my mom used to do, pulled out a serrated knife and cut a slice of it, width-wise. I looked at it a little more, and ate the slice.
Then I felt queazy.
Then I promised myself that I would never buy that ever again because I felt like crap and my heartbeat was racing and I generally felt like my eyes were about to pop out of my head. It's amazing what you can sustain when you're a kid.
When I was a kid, to me, Easter was for overindulging, eating craploads of chocolate at all times of day, and eating the ham. I'll be eating the ham this year. I'll be cooking the ham myself, for crying out loud. So I'll definitely be eating the ham, and also the bunny and the baby chicken. But not all at once.
Because I'm smart. That's right.
I'll eat all of my two chocolates. One bunny, one baby chicken.
Then I'll feel queazy.
Then I'll promise myself, for the umpteenth year in a row, that I will never eat all of my chocolate in one sitting ever again because I'll feel like crap and my heartbeat will be racing and I'll generally feel like my eyes are about to pop out of my head. Not a pretty picture.
Okay, I won't do that. Thank you, Conscience (Little Person Living Inside My Head - is that you?), for making me realize I could voluntarily avoid feeling sick sometime this weekend. I'll eat the bunny only. Then the next day, I'll eat the baby chicken.
No, no, wait, I won't do that either. I'll be reasonable. I'll have only the bunny's ears.
He's only got an ear and a third, really, because he's sitting sideways. It's a profile of a bunny.
So I'll eat that, then I'll put the earless bunny away. Then I'll eat the baby chicken's head. And I'll put the rest away too. It's actually a 2-D baby chicken, so it's not too bad if I eat its head, then the rest some other time. I mean, it's not a full 3-D chicken. No harm done.
Ah. I feel much better now, knowing how I'll eat my chocolate this year. When I was a kid, thank the authorities my mom kept me in line, because I think I would have eaten the whole collection of chocolates we got in one day. It seems like our whole family thought it was a good plan to buy us chocolate, and in my memories there was chocolate everywhere. Had I eaten all of it, I probably would have run a freaking trench into the hardwood floor, pacing and pulling out my hair (and my sister's, heehee), rolling my eyes and screaming insanities.
But no. My mom rationed the chocolate. I am thankful now, but as a child I felt it was the most cruel thing a mother could do to her children, especially at Easter, what with all the fuzzy bunnies and little yellow baby chickens and pastel colors all around. Oh! And the woven baskets we made in school and filled with the plastic hair/fake hay stuff.
The adults actually made us work for that shit too, we had to go on an Easter-egg hunt all around the house. And the adults were all standing there, in a line, with a glass of wine in one hand, patting each other on the back, thinking they were smart. They were thinking: "Oohhh, they'll never find it this year. We'll have to give them hints. We've found way better hiding spots than last year's. Haha. We adults are so smart. We find the best hiding places for chocolate. Look at them, poor little helpless creatures, lifting the sofa cushions. Pffft! Shyeah right!" and then after thinking all that, they would stand there, astonished and positively flabbergasted, as we proudly displayed the whole lot, just like that, found in ten minutes. Oh - maybe even five minutes. Ha! In your face, adults! Good times. I loved the Easter-egg hunt. Especially when I found the mother lode, the king/queen/royalty of all Eastereggs, the Laura Secord creme-filled egg. Oh man.
I actually bought one a few years ago, after holding it in my hands for a couple of seconds in the store thinking back to its awesome taste and creaminess. I took it home, sat in the kitchen, tore the box open and, just like my mom used to do, pulled out a serrated knife and cut a slice of it, width-wise. I looked at it a little more, and ate the slice.
Then I felt queazy.
Then I promised myself that I would never buy that ever again because I felt like crap and my heartbeat was racing and I generally felt like my eyes were about to pop out of my head. It's amazing what you can sustain when you're a kid.
When I was a kid, to me, Easter was for overindulging, eating craploads of chocolate at all times of day, and eating the ham. I'll be eating the ham this year. I'll be cooking the ham myself, for crying out loud. So I'll definitely be eating the ham, and also the bunny and the baby chicken. But not all at once.
Because I'm smart. That's right.
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