Rockin' the 2 Pack

Over the past year and a half I've lost somewhere in the area of 35-40 pounds. While I've watched tv shows or heard about people that lose two to three times that in a year I'm more of the thinking that slow and steady wins the race. I'm 5 pounds away from my ideal 'I'd be happy if I didn't lose any more' weight which seems to be hanging on for dear life. And I can see exactly where it is.And it's driving me crazy.

As strange as I think it sounds, I have a defined 2 pack on my upper abs. It's there, it's real - it's not just my ribs, I swear. They're muscles baby, and I'm proud of them. I'm half tempted to wear a bikini top with high waisted jeans just to flaunt them. Okay, I'm not at all tempted, but you have to admit its not a totally ridiculous idea.

And the lower abs, is a little pooch that just sits there and says "Here is a good two pounds, covering your four sweet ass, rock hard abdominal muscles just to piss you off".

It probably doesn't help that nearly a month ago I fell down the stairs, quite possibly breaking my tailbone which has left me fairly useless in the crunches/sit up department. Yelping out in pain with every roll on my bum is embarrassing, even when I'm alone in my basement dungeon of a 'gym' my husband and I have created. 

At this point I realize I really don't have a point, other than to vent over my non existent full 6 pack and gloat over my completely defined yet unable to be flaunted 2 pack of pure, unadulterated muscle.

You know you're jealous.

Good intentions

I seem to be full of lots of good intentions lately. Like ditching my old blog and starting this one so I can say whatever I want without needing to censor. And then I didn't post anything for a few weeks and here I am.

This summer I had all intentions to spend my Saturdays at the farmers market, buying local as much as possible. I figured 'hey, I'm finished with school now, I have time again, I can do this!" I cancelled my home delivery of semi local produce that I had been receiving for almost two years because the variety was sub-par and as I said - 'semi local'. They could never tell me exactly where it was coming from and I'm pretty sure that bananas don't grow in Michigan. But here I am, in the middle of July and I've been to the farmers market once. Granted I picked up a second job that has me working every other weekend so my actual Saturday availability was cut in half, but apparently on those days that I do have open I'm either not in town, or sleeping off the night before. Don't judge me, I work 50+ hours a week at one job and an additional 16 hours on the weekends every other week, girl needs to let loose every once in awhile. 

I could say 'here's to making a change, I vow that THIS weekend I WILL make it to the farmers market!' But I don't really see that happening. 

So I think its best to just not make any intentions. Good or bad. Although bad intentions can sometimes result in fun activities. 

 

Back at it....

So I've been here before. In the land of blogs. In another form, as another duck, but a duck all the same. This time I'm changing things up a bit. Writing for me, for hilarity, for the amusement of those I don't know, and them alone. Previously I thought "the more the merrier!" but when certain people, certain family members, started reading my blog...it was no longer just something I wrote and then left. Each topic then became something that I had to explain, discuss, and rehash...over and over and over again.

You'd think it would be nice to hear "oh your post was so funny!" but when you know it could be funnier because you're leaving things out that you didn't think Grandma needed to hear....well then its not nearly as flattering. When you're biting your tongue in a forum where you should be able to bare what you want to bare - it's time to change things up.

So it's you and me - random internet peoples. Of course I'd hope that some of my old favorites will find their way over here. And hopefully now my brutal honesty won't scare them off, and maybe I'll feel more excited and motivated to write when I know I can write whatever I want.

So here we go. Still a duck. Still in the wrong place. But finally figuring things out, one webbed foot at a time.

I don't really have webbed feet. I swear.