Thursday, June 12, 2008

Fatty Fat Fat Fat

You know how you have those days where your normal pants feel like your skinny pants and as you button that top button you wonder if they were mistakenly put in the dryer on high heat? And you have to do squats and lunges before you can bend over to put on your shoes? And you look in the mirror and see your puffy face and tell yourself that you are just bloated and that in a couple days that will all be gone?

Yeah…this is not one of those days. I thought I went through all those girlish-figure changes back in college when I discovered that I could no longer eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But let me tell you, the wardrobe that fit me just fine a month ago…not so much anymore.

“Oh you’re just being dramatic,” you might say. But no, I have proof. Yesterday, I wore a cute little blouse that I have had forever. Unfortunately, I couldn’t button it, but I wore it anyway (layering is my friend). It has these cute little cap sleeves with button closures. I sat at my desk typing away and I noticed that I was making more and more typos. My arms were falling asleep. I looked at my arms ballooning out of my sleeves and realized that if I didn’t do something fast…I might have to amputate. You won’t even believe what I had to do…I unbuttoned my little decorative buttons on my cute blouse. Do you hear me!?!? I had to unbutton my mother-effing sleeves!?!? There is fat and then there is so fat you have to unbutton you sleeves fat.

So if muffin tops and camel toes ever come in fashion, give me a call, I would be happy to give you some pointers.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Hell On Wheels

Uncoordinated. Disoriented. Unbalanced. Anxiety-ridden. Injured.

These are just some of the adjectives that can be used in concert with the thought of Ashley on a bike.

Saturday was a day of miserable chores and errands and accomplishing things…everything that a Saturday shouldn’t be. So to get work-happy Boyfriend to let us stop raking, I knew I had to find something ultra-fun and wacky. I suggested a bike ride. It might not seem wacky to the average human, but to those who know me, suggesting physical activity is seriously out-of-the-box for me.

I donned my newly-purchased helmet (which I have contemplated just wearing all the time) and hopped on my sister’s bike (which I stole) and we were off. Well…Boyfriend was off…it took me awhile to get going. We took the back roads as long as possible…but the moment came where we had to ride along the busy street for like a block and a half. Illegal or not…I rode on the sidewalk…because I don’t have a death wish and prefer to live thank you very much.

TEN MOTHER-EFFING MILES LATER…we returned to this busy section of road on the way home. I cautiously led the way along the sidewalk, trying desperately not to fall as I bumped over the canyons that city officials would call sidewalk cracks. I looked ahead and noticed that the sidewalk narrowed in front of me as there were a bus stop. I started to “eeeeeee” quietly in a high pitch to myself and tried to focus on going straight. Just then, a beastly bus jumped out of nowhere (well…not nowhere…he was slowly pulling to curb for the last block…but scared the poop out of me nonetheless). I visually measured my handlebars. I visually measured the sidewalk between the bus and the bus stop…and with my constant swervy path, I was not going to fit. I stopped quickly as I sidled up alongside the bus. But when I went to set my left foot down I tipped and stepped off the curb. Simultaneously, I attempted to throw my other leg over the bike to steady myself. But my foot (those of you who know me also happen to know that I have very large feet that are a huge tripping hazard in the most normal situations) got caught on the center bar and I turned toward the bus to catch my falling self.

The resultant position involved me, one leg off the curb, the other folded up under me, with my knee wedged between the bus and the bike, both hands slipping down the side of the bus while my face (and particularly my nose) smushed against the window.

Needless to say…it was neither comfortable nor fun. What it was…embarrassing…as the passengers gawked at me and the driver asked me if I was ok.

Yeah…I suck at bikes. Boyfriend and I are going to stick to places from now on where I can’t run my face into parked buses.

P.S. I realize that my description may be lacking, so I drew a little illustration to clarify. Enjoy.