facepalm | Everything is Blooming

I’m not sure if you are aware, but right now, Amazon has Queen’s Greatest Hits available for mp3 download for just $2.99. It’s a pretty good investment, especially if you’ve forgotten what the originals sound like after hearing the songs on Glee. After listening to it, I found that I really enjoyed the originals way more than a bunch of 20-somethings pretending to be teenagers dancing and singing overproduced versions of Somebody to Love and Another One Bites the Dust.

I got into work this morning and decided to listen to it right away simply because it was my most recent purchase. Of course it starts out with We Will Rock You, which was the perfect anthem to start a day of office work. I’ve been filling in for a woman who retired last week and haven’t been particularly thrilled about it. (Tthen again, what job in an office is thrilling?) But this got me pumped up to sort through trip reports and write fleet numbers on folders (I’m so glad I have a college degree). The next song was, of course, We are the Champions. I remember listening to this when I was a kid. My dad would put the record on while my mom was at work at night, and Corey and I would sing along to what I only knew as the song in Mighty Ducks. It seemed very fitting as I continued sorting trip reports, since I’m obviously the champion of the cubicle jungle.

At some point, someone told me there were donuts by the coffee area. I resisted for about ten minutes before deciding I really wanted a greasy ball of dough covered in frosting and sprinkles. I selected a round one with vanilla frosting and a bit of red sugar on the top. It looked about as harmless as a donut could look. I don’t know how many calories are in a donut, nor do I care to know. I’m sure it’s astronomical and will make me want to starve myself until somebody else brings donuts into the office. I ate it slowly while I did my work. I was a little surprised to find that the red sprinkles corresponded, apparently, to the raspberry filling. The only change I made was to take smaller bits to avoid getting raspberry jelly on my cardigan. You know, because I’m a lady.

It wasn’t until I was 3/4 of the way done with the donut that I realized I hadn’t even enjoyed the thing. The dough tasteless (isn’t all donut dough truly tasteless?) and too greasy. The jelly was too sugary. The frosting and the sprinkles were the only enjoyable part. And by that time, I was already past the point of no return, so I ended up just finishing the thing.

It was disappointing for several reasons. First, the breakfast dessert I had anticipated sucked. Second, I had just mindlessly inhaled the day’s caloric limit. Third, I had breezed through twenty minutes completely unaware of what I was doing. It was like highway hypnosis but five times worse since the evidence would go straight to my ass. Though the evidence may show otherwise, I don’t take pride in spending any amount of time being unaware of myself.

I like to think of myself as a pretty self aware person, but this whole donut-eating experience shook me. Apparently I have very little knowledge of my own actions. I imagine the implications of this are quite big too, because how are my mindless actions or words affecting people around me? When I have conversations, I like to think that I choose my words fairly carefully, but that can’t always be the case. I have a sarcastic streak that some people probably don’t understand. Sometimes my tone is drier than I intend, and by the time I realize it, it’s too late to explain or compensate for. And sometimes I know I’m just careless.

Which makes me wonder how people view me. I’d like to think of myself as a quirky girl who wears cardigans and lots of sundresses in the summer, someone who giggles in her cubicle while listening to comedians, and thinks everybody should read at least one Kurt Vonnegut novel a year. But maybe they see me as this self-absorbed bitch who makes off-handed comments about the weather and weekend plans.

Anyway, this jelly donut sort of prompted an existential crisis, which was further exacerbated when I realized what song I was singing along to.

Fat Bottom Girls.

After eating a jelly donut, that was just a quick and cruel turn to the tragic.

Tonight Katie and I went to a strength training class. It was further proof that I have almost no arm or core strength.

This time, the instructor was male. He was a small-built man with tight muscles and small tattoo on the inside of his forearm. He seemed nice enough. He welcomed us as he put on his headset – which I found funny since there were only five people in the class tonight, but whatever – and told us we would be doing a circuit workout with three stations.

So, other than Katie and I, there was a young mother trying to lose baby weight, a middle-aged woman, and a fifty-something woman with Michelle Obama arms.

Each station lasted twelve minutes and consisted of six exercises. The first was arms – chest presses, rows, curls, something called an Arnold press, and squat presses. Because I have almost no arm strength and have very little willpower, I thought I would grab 10lb weights. I started out with chest presses, only to do three reps before Tattoo Headset came over and handed me 15lb weights. “You can do more,” he said. “Ten pounds isn’t allowed here.”

“But I have no arm strength!” I protested.

“You’ll get it,” he barked before also swapping Katie’s weights and then harassing the middle-aged woman.

I think I should have stayed with the 10lb weights. Tattoo Headset kept yelling about form and each time he yelled, my form got worse.

Michelle Obama Arms was a champ with perfect form and Tattoo Headset kept complimenting her. I wanted to tell her to go home. She was done working out. Like, done working out for her life. She was in the best shape a woman her age could hope for and could rock a sleeveless dress.

Then we had to do these exercises around these massive tractor wheels. I don’t know if you know about tractor wheels, but when lying on the side, they’re roughly four feet tall. Tattoo Headset told us to step up with kettlebells (EIGHTEEN GODDAMN POUNDS) to the beat of the music – which was roughly 210bpm. And we had to keep our bodies straight when we stood on the wheel. Yeah, my body was not cooperating. My abs hurt more than anything else by that point, so it was almost impossible to stand straight. I would pause briefly to compose myself (re: let my muscles stop quivering), and he would yell, “KEEP GOING! MAKE IT WORK! STAY STRONG! COME ON, GUYS!” I had no center of gravity. At one point, I almost fell into the tire and then back out of the tire.

When I gracefully stumbled with the kettlebell prepared to break my fall, Tattoo Headset just told me not to do that. In fact, he said to pretend it was lava. Right. Like my body would stop falling just because there was pretend lava in the middle of the tire.

While I was falling into the tire, Michelle Obama Arms was stepping up like a champ, hardly breaking a sweat. Bitch.

On the way home, Katie said she hated the instructor. She’s one of the most stubborn people I know, so it doesn’t surprise me that she didn’t like him swapping her weights or telling her what to do. But I appreciated his insistence. As I’ve already stated, I don’t have much willpower, so when I work out, I tend to slow down when it gets hard, instead of pushing through. So, even though I almost fell into a tire and will most likely not be able to pick up a folder tomorrow at work, I feel good.

Now I’m going to go make this face in and flaunt my imaginary Michelle Obama arms.

I should thank Tattoo Headset for making me use the 15lb weights.

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