the cheese stands alone

Underneath That Leaf Is A Mess

Okay, some serious decisions have been made here at Chez Cheese.

(not the least of which is I should stop saying "Chez Cheese")

Quite frankly, the job search isn't going well. I've been out of the market for so long my skills, once considered adequate, are now in the area of "ding fries are done ". Since it's the holiday season and most retail establishments have already trapped, skinned, and mounted hired their extra staff, they aren't in a hurry to take on another mouth to .... let's not go there.

'S okay. The GM1 and I will not starve, move to a van down by the river and eat government cheese, nor sell body parts on Ebay. Just a little belt tightening, that's all.

To that very end, I have a new goal: recover from the mists of time and cheddar gone by my size 6 ass.

(insert pause while waiting for roar of the crowd to subside)

I spend most, yea verily, ALL my time not wasted spent on public humiliation the job search here in front of the computer, mentally masturbating and finding myself impotent slaving away to bring you, my fair and glorious unconscious slaves of the coming revolution readers as much filler as I can without getting graphic about my sex life good quality writing.

Needless to say, while the statmeter loves me a little more lately, my ass is the size of Oklahoma.

Oh crap, now that damn song is earwormed in my head.... "OOOOOOKlahoma, where the wind da da da da da da..." That's all I know of it, and it's enough.
So taking into account my "free" time (it must be free because sure as hell no one is paying me for it) and the dismaying increase in my fat layer (rumor is getting around that I was the stunt double for that bag of liposuctioned glop in "Fight Club"), I have A PLAN.

The gym on the Naval Base is free to active duty and dependents. That's me, a dependent. Some of my parts depend a lot farther than I'd like.

So I'm going to devote myself to sucking up every single bit of dependent benefits I can before the GM1 retires getting myself whipped back into shape. To that end, I have signed up for something today called Jinglebell Jump, which is the we need to justify this huge flyer-printing budget annual Aerobics Marathon.

I will be out there, jumping and jingling and stepping and kickboxing and cycling and dropping dead and being trampled by younger women who already have tiny asses and lesser squeamishness about stomping the dead body of an overly ambitious middle-aged chunky in their rampant pursuit of the perfect abs and my god people don't you have any idea of what my innards are going to do to your designer aerobic shoes? You'll never get those stains off.

Yep, I am Getting In Shape. Working It Off. Just Saying No. Taking Back The Tights. I'm going to become the Number One Gym Hound in the county.

Right after I finish this beer.

Posted by LeeAnn at December 9, 2003 08:02 AM