This is what I say to myself everytime I catch a glimpse of my naked ass in the mirror. Grooooooss.
I just spent the last 11 and a half days being the laziest, most unproductive slug of a human being ever. I slept well into the afternoon daily, nursed probably close to a dozen hangovers and ate every made-with-real-butter, gravy soaked, deep fat fried and frosted with lard item I could get my hands on. I even ate a piece of fruit cake, which arguably may not have actually been edible since it had the exact consistency and flavor of Play-Doh with some mysterious, crunchy pieces of crusty asshole thrown in (c'mon, don't act like you've never eaten Play-Doh...and crusty pieces of asshole), yet I still ate it.
And now here I am, back at work, back to the daily grind, back to a productive life, with my pants suction cupped to my ass while I rub my beer belly for good luck in the new year. I'm not complaining about the extra vacation time. When they told me about this glorious concept of closing the office completely between Christmas and New Year's thus creating an extra week to week and a half of vacation for all the employees during my interview I was all, 'wait, you mean I get to spend more than a morning with my family this Christmas and I'm not going to be so stressed out that I want to curl up in the fetal position and shiver until a hot fireman rescues me while I do it? I'm in.'
Shit, I didn't complain, I reveled in it. I made people jealous with my freedom. I wallowed around in it like a fat stoned cat in a vat of catnip. And, now, I'm just that...FAT. I've survived many an extended vacation before. I mean, shit, they were a month long in college, yet I never came back to reality looking like Fat Albert - minus the whole black guy part...details...Now I finally understand why people always bitch about gaining weight during the holidays and the reason why the Special K commercials where the little girl mistakes her mother's big ass in a red robe for Santa were created.
My weight has never been a concern. I've always been so active that I never had to worry about what I ate. I don't even own a scale because I've always just judged my health, my weight, my appearance on the way I saw myself in the mirror and ease of physical activity. And, perhaps 'fat' is a strong word since I know I'm still in better shape than the majority even after Lazy Fest '08, however the image I see in the mirror now is very scary and I don't like it. It's just an important lesson learned: In order to continue being a hot piece of ass as my metabolism slows throughout my 20s, there must be minimal sitting on that ass.
So, getting back to work is not all bad, minus dragging my ass out of bed at the crack of dawn, because I'll get back into the gym routine and most importantly, back to dance class and my teeny tiny metallic spandex shorts wearing friend. Then I'll be back to normal mentally and physically...or lets hope so...
I mentioned hangovers, which means I did manage to pry my face away from food just long enough to go to a bar and reattach it to a drink...many bars and many drinks. A few important out-of-towners came to Kansas City for a visit, so martinis were in order. My Katherine Heigl look-a-like friend, also known as Lisa and one of my oldest friends was here an entire week and I took the liberty of entertaining her with a tacky Christmas sweater pub crawl and taking her Power & Light District virginity by dancing like retards at Shark Bar.
Becca, my get-in-trouble-in-junior-high-history class, cartwheel through the mall partner in crime also popped into town for a few days which allowed me to catch up on her crazy life - just passed the bar, living, clerking and cocktailing her way up to lawyer status in Chicago all while maintaining a long distance relationship with her boyfriend in Cincinnati and living in a 320-square-foot studio apartment. Damn.
However, I think my favorite minutes, hours, DAYS of the break were spent with a certain guy mentioned at the end of this entry - also known as Jim. He impressed the fam, he cooks...and loves it, he busts out bottles of wine and two Styrofoam cups from his coat at the movies, he has bacon and eggs tattooed on his biceps and he entertains with tales a writer like myself dreams of experiencing just for the material. I guess that's what happens when you date someone who's lived a lifetime before you. Plus, he's just the right mixture of eccentric, even keeled, smart ass and kind to get along with my tard ass. We're having us a good 'ole time.
Along with hanging out and plumping up, much hilarity ensued during my break yet I was too lazy to lift my fingers to a keyboard and write about it, so it looks like I'll have a lot to talk about in the next few days such as Christmas presents (nothing is more important you know), the Christmas Eve from hell (oh yes, I thought things like this only happened in the movies), my trip to In The Pink Skincare (hmmmm...) and, of course, New Year's resolutions.
OK, now it's time to go run my ass off...literally.