omg. omg. omg.
We are in crisis mode in the Scouras household right now.
For you to truly understand where we are, you have to know how we got here.
This is where it all began…
Most men have particular values they they refuse to budge on, like only buying American made cars. Steve has many, but one of his biggest things is having a real live Christmas Tree. And not just any tree. Within 500 feet of our complex is a Home Depot selling tress for $30 and even a Boy Scout troop that have set up shop in the liquor store parking lot. He scoffs every time he drives by these “dead” trees and reminds me for the 200th time that he would never allow another person to cut down his Christmas tree. Ever.
Last year was our first Christmas living together so picking out the tree was a big deal. Since I like to pretend I have my own reality show, we even videotaped ourselves selecting the tree and subsequently cutting it down. We made a few mistakes though, that we were determined not to repeat this year.
1. We got the tree literally a week before Christmas. If you’ve never cut down your own tree before (which I hadn’t since I was like, 5) you know it’s a TON of work and not really worth rearranging your entire home for a week of enjoyment.
2. We had a wedding looming. Everything was on stress overload and getting a tree wasn’t high on the priority list until one day we were like “oh crap, we need a tree.”
3. When we got to the tree farm in Rhode Island, every single normal looking tree had already been tagged. We were left to choose from different shapes of shrubbery and Charlie Brown trees.
4. We bought the tree one random morning before both of us had to work. Steve had to drive to work and then home with the tree on the roof because we didn’t even have enough time to set it up that day.
Despite all of these things, we ended up with a nice little first tree.
sigh. i’m depressed now. also, now i miss my couch
So this year, we were going to do it the right way. Steve has been telling me for 6 months that we were going to get our tree from NH because “that’s where trees come from.” We picked a day that we were both off, which happened to be December 1st. Perfect tree date.
So of course, I had to start planning my outfit.
I knew right away I wanted to wear red flannel, because that’s what lumberjacks wear when they cut down trees and cutting down your Christmas tree is pretty much the closest you’ll ever come to being a lumberjack. The problem was I wanted to be like a cute lumberjack, and if you’ve ever seen a real lumberjack, it’s not a word that is often related. I should know, as I am forced to watch many shows that have the word “Logger” in the title.
The best place to buy flannel is clearly L.L. Bean. While I love all my outerwear from Maine’s finest export, I make a point not to buy clothes there, because everything is boxy and pleated. Total Mom jeans, all the way.
oh, hey guys.
So I braved the mall Black Friday weekend searching for the best fitting red flannel shirt money could buy. But not like real money, more like BF sale money, because I knew Steve would have a coronary if I spent an exorbitant amount on another themed article of clothing.
The first place I went to was the Land’s End shop at Sears. I was so disappointed in their flannel selection. Isn’t Land’s End supposed to be like in direct competition with the Bean? They had 2 women’s flannel shirts- one was orange, and one was blue. Not Christmas-y. I did appreciate however that they came in petite sizes, but I didn’t even try them on because who wants to look like a flannel traffic cone?!
Next I hit Hollister/Gilly Hicks/Aero/AE/A&F. While those may be separate stores, I hate them all equally so they get lumped together. 4 out of 5 of those places smell like last call at a skanky club and I’m convinced that you’re going to hear about them being investigated in a child pornography ring someday because all their employees are 14 and scantily clad to the point that I feel like I can’t look directly at them. Most of them had at least fake flannel shirts (you know, the ones that look like it but don’t feel like it- so basically, plaid shirts), but they were all in colors like pink, orange or turquoise and about 5 inches too short for me, which I’m guessing is their tactic for keeping the old farts out (i.e. people over the age of 20). I did actually find a pattern at Hollister that I liked and that was actually flannel but it was a “Dudes” shirt, which is their incredibly dumb way of saying it’s for men. Well, boys. Man boys. Given that Hollister stuff is miniature, I thought maybe I could rock a “Dudes S.” However, since it’s made for Dudes that look like this, it was straight up and down super boxy and not at all flattering. I was really disappointed, because the color and the feel of it was exactly what I was looking for. Also, I spent all my breaks that weekend knocking over tweens trying to get to these stupid shirts anyway.
I began to advertise my plight to coworkers and I was quickly told by them that Target definitely carries flannel shirts. Since I never need a reason to go to Target, I hustled over there and found a few shirts from their Mossimo brand that could have potential. I am normally a small, and I found it weird that the shirt kept gaping at the bust line because I am certainly not known for having a large chest. I grabbed a medium, and it was the same thing. Ick. Even for only $16, I couldn’t do it. Busting out is never a good look, not even for a lady lumberjack. Well probably especially not for them.
On Tuesday night I got a text from a coworker while I was trying on said shirt at Target informing me there were were some faux-flannel red shirts at Marshall’s. While I really didn’t want to forgo the warmth of actual flannel, at this point I felt like I had become desperate and the only thing that would make me feel better was to buy something. I know, not healthy but the pressure! Oh, the pressure.
I ended up finding 2 that I liked and of course, couldn’t decide. One was like a normal red flannel shirt with a green accents and the other one was slightly longer (more like a tunic) red flannel with black accents. One was $10, one was $12.99. What’s a girl to do?
I know what you’re thinking, and I also thought perhaps the answer was to buy both. Once again I reminded myself that this is something I will most likely wear once and that I was already way off the deep end for worrying this much about it. I settled on the $12.99 tunic because I felt like I could wear it with more things (in my head I was envisioning black leggings and riding boots… which I don’t currently have but are on my Christmas list) and it would cover the zipper on my skinny jeans that always manages to unzip itself. Listen. This is a judge free zone. I bought one pair of skinny jeans for $12 from Forever 21 three years ago. I refuse to spend more on that because I feel like the second I do, they will go completely out of style, which was my same reason three years ago for not investing in them in the first place. I guess I showed them seeing as I’m still wearing them.
After I bought my new flannel, the same coworker texted me:
“You know I have a Ralph Lauren Rugby flannel very festive primarily red but has green orange in it. I’ll bring it in tomorrow, you can borrow if for your pic tree outing so ur not spending $ on a shirt you don’t love for a one time use.”
If that didn’t put my crazy ass in perspective, I don’t know what would.
So I tried on her shirt. I immediately liked it because the tag said “slim fit” which meant I would be allowed to have a shape underneath. It also had a patch of brown suede on the front of one of the shoulders, which I enjoyed but was confused why it was only on one.
When I woke up today (tree day!) I was so excited. I put on my ghetto skinny jeans with my brown boots and tucked my borrowed flannel into my jeans with a brown belt. I even accessorized with a gold leaf necklace. It was Lindsay at her most outdoorsy-ness.
lumberjack barbie. saw sold separately
I thought Steve would be excited because flannel is one of his favorite things. In fact, we were flannel twins that day (mainly because I forced him to wear it as well, not that it took that much convincing). However, after I got dressed it seemed like a long amount of time had gone by and he had made zero comments about my outfit.
Me: You look woodsy.
Steve: Thank you.
*pause*
Me: Do I look woodsy?
Steve: No.
Me: Why not?
Steve: Because you just spent 20 minutes putting on makeup. Just because you’re wearing flannel doesn’t make you outdoorsy.
Busted.
Oh well. At least I got one picture of us together out of it.
flannel twins!
Needless to say, this is only part 1 of Steve and Lindsay’s Christmas Tree Saga. The memory of what happened today is just too traumatizing to relive so soon and I’m in a very fragile place at the moment.
Also it’s 12:30 and I walked around a tree farm for 3 hours today so I’m spent.
Since I know how incredibly difficult it’s going to be for all of you to wait, I will give you a hint as to how it ends:
it’s not pretty.
As you may have noticed by my lack of posts in the “Work It Out” (shout out to anyone who got that Beyonce reference from the Austin Powers 3 soundtrack- represent) section of this blog, I have sort of fallen off the workout wagon. I’m about as far away from the wagon as you can get. In fact, I am probably under the wagon, getting run over by it as we speak.
I worked hard for a whole two weeks leading up to my friend Amy’s wedding. And by worked hard, I mean I went to the gym maybe 3 times a week for 14 days straight. It was a matter of life and death. Well, life and death a $200 bridesmaid dress that didn’t exactly fit. But I’m happy to say, after putting in the least amount of effort possible, I successfully was able to breathe in my dress and kept my husband from having a panic attack over the cost of alterations.
so honored to be a bridesmaid. & pretty excited about the whole breathing thing
I determined using a highly inaccurate $15 plastic scale from Wal-Mart that I lost 3 pounds. Ironically, I think that is also the same amount of wine I consumed that weekend (before you judge, it was at a winery) and needless to say, I haven’t been back to the gym since.
And then this happened:
which one of these is not like the other?
My (little) sister was in a pageant this weekend (2nd runner up, what what) and her body looked more amazing then I have ever seen her look before. So did the majority of the 37 other girls, who I had to watch strut in bathing suits and skintight evening gowns for 2 days straight. After being forced to sit there and stare at people in bikinis for that amount of time, you can’t help but want to crawl into a hole and die. Especially when some of them look like this:
yes, there were props.
Okay so it wasn’t exactly like that, but the girls were all accessorized in their bathing suits, and most of them were wearing body jewelry and feather wings. It was awesome and ridiculous at the same time.
To be fair, my sister had been working her ass off preparing this and doing a million things I would never want to do in a million years, like hot yoga and eating brown rice. I was also wearing a bulky sweater, cuffed boyfriend jeans, and flats. I couldn’t have looked more like a dowdy sister. Except I could, because I also didn’t wash my hair. So I had pretty much set myself up for failure.
The next morning, for some strange reason I had the urge to go to the gym. Weird. I asked my trainer/roommate/personal chef if he wanted to accompany me, to which he looked at my quizzically.
Steve: Did you only ask me to go to the gym because you saw all those girls in the pageant in their bathing suits?
Me: Uh, no. *insulted* Why do I need a reason? You’re always telling me I should go.
Steve: Okay, well you’ve never asked me before.
Me: *pause* I just… really want to go. I have an urge to exercise.
Steve: Yeah, okay.
So we get up bright and early before I have to work that day and go to the gym together. Isn’t that adorable?
BUT WAIT.
What could ruin this otherwise successful couple workout session?
That’s right. WEIGHT LIFTING MAN!
I had sent Steve to the office to commandeer the Christmas cards that the apartment people had been hiding from us for over a week. I was in there for all of 2 seconds by myself when he saunters in and starts furiously wiping the machine down…RIGHT.NEXT.T0.ME. He really gets into it, too. I can never get over how much time he spends sanitizing the four different machines he insists on using, when in my mind I’m convinced that he has never washed his workout jeans or his little hat.
I quickly texted Steve.
omg he’s here
and he’s going to use the machine right next to me
and he’s EXTRA loud today
It was nothing new, just the usual grunting, heavy breathing and flexing in front of the mirror. But it’s totally magnified when it’s like, on top of you and you’re trying to mind your own business and you’re worried about tiny beads of sweat jumping out of his fleece jacket and onto your Glamour “Women of the Year” issue that you look forward to all year long for inspiration to become a better person. The only difference that day was that Clingy Girlfriend was not in attendance. Maybe they’re working on their trust issues that I have concocted in an effort to explain their very unusual relationship. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, see link above.
Side note: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO TELL YOU THIS! Steve came running into the apartment one day after working out all excited. I thought he saw a puppy or something, but it was better: he walked into the gym, and standing in front of him was… wait for it…
Weight Lifting Man flexing while Clingy Girlfriend took pictures of him ON HER CAMERA PHONE! Steve walked right into their photo shoot without even realizing it.
Couldn’t you just die? I was so bitter- I mean, the one millionth time I don’t go to the gym, and this shows up?! My favorite part is that Steve is so into spotting WL Man now as well and he knows that it makes good blog fodder. He actually told me he almost texted me to put on my workout clothes and get down there ASAP so that I could see if for myself.
Okay, back to current WL Man sighting. The more time I spend with him, the more I am confused by his workout regimen. Clearly you know about his ensemble per previous entries. More recently I noticed that he never drinks water at all when he is exercising. Isn’t that bizarre?! I drink a full glass of ice water once I get up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I suck down bottles in the gym because I have a fear of perspiration. I mean, regardless of how you feel, that’s super unhealthy, right?! As a devoted viewer of The Biggest Loser for the past 17 seasons or however the hell long that show has been on, I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to observing a person’s exercise routine. And all I can say is, Bob Harper would most certainly not approve, and neither would Brita, who insists on reminding us 23 times an episode to buy their filters.
I now have a new personal gym goal. I am determined to get a picture of WL Man, because I don’t feel like my descriptions are even doing him justice. (You didn’t think I mean like, a fitness goal, did you?) I’m slightly scared though, because I’m not very stealth and what if he caught me and in a roid-induced rage he snapped me like a twig and I was never heard from again? I have to figure something out, because it’s something you just have to see.
Back to me. I did my usual 30 minutes on the elliptical at level 3. And no, I haven’t started thinking about maybe going up to level 4 yet. Don’t ask.
On the plus side, my half an hour flew by because I spent so much of the time making notes about WL Man on my iPhone.
I spared you a picture of my workout outfit, mainly because I was wearing unintentionally high waisted black stretchy pants and my XL Pinkerton Class of 2003 shirt, and it was not cute.
Also, this exercise experience happened on Monday. It’s Wednesday and I have not returned. And I’ve had 3 meals in the past 2 days that largely were comprised of cheese. I’m sure that will all change, because I am a visual person and am largely motivated by things I see rather than how I feel, and I’ve been saving the Victoria’s Secret holiday fashion show on DVR for such moments of weakness.
World Peace!
I’ve been married almost a year now, and while that seems like a substantial amount of time, there are some things that we do not share. Like toothbrushes. That totally freaks me out. I don’t care how long you’re married for, I just think that is gross. *Shudder* Wait, what was I talking about?
Oh right, sharing. So one of the biggest things we have not shared yet in our post nuptial life is the elusive Bruins/Canadiens game. For those of you who don’t know, that is the hockey equivalent to the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry. I’ve gone to a fair amount of Bruins games over the past 6 years that I have known Steve, but I kind of didn’t realize the importance of a game like this. This is my interpretation of how the exchange went in which he informed me I would be his official “date” to the event. Yes, event.
would you care to join me for an a very special evening?
S: I am taking you to the Bruins game on Thursday.
Me: Oh yay! Who are we playing? (Tip #1 for wannabe sports fans- speak about team as if you are an actual player.)
S: The Canadiens. (Cue dramatic music)
Me: Oh, okay. Well I’ve been to a Canadiens game be-“
S: (cuts me off) No you haven’t.
Me: What?
S: You have never been to a Canadiens game. You have been to two Toronto games. There is a big difference.
Me: Oh. (Clearly by this point I know there are like 6 teams from Canada, but I kind of thought we were just referring to all of them as “Canadians” with an A.) Well, that should be fun.
S: There are some rules.
Me: What?!
S: Rules. Things you can and cannot do at this game. You don’t understand how important this is.
As I sat there with my mouth open, because I myself have never even given so many restrictions for the 8 hours of Oscar coverage that I insist on watching in silence, I was given a very succinct list of the “rules.”
1. No cell phones out during a period (which is 20 MINUTES LONG)
2. No extended arm self photos of ourselves while the game is happening
3. Only allowed to take 3 pictures of the game per period
4. Must focus on the game at all times and no talking about ANYTHING else
And just like that, he was able to suck all the fun out of the privilege of going to game. Yes, privilege. I discovered that after 6 years, the only reason I was finally allowed to attend the Bruins/Canadiens was because he put a ring on it. In fact, these were his exact words when telling me why I should consider myself lucky to attend this game with him:
“You’re allowed to go to Canadiens games now because you’re actually my wife. Before, when you were just my fiance there was a chance it wouldn’t work out.”
So that’s what I knew that this would not be an ordinary “fun night out” for the two of us at this game. Still, I wanted to be the best hockey wife I could be, but while retaining my usual sense of style.
First things first, I had to pick out my outfit. As you can imagine, I’ve acquired quite a bit of Bruins clothing and accessories over the years, but I’m always careful not to pile on too much of it at once because I think that’s a surefire way to make it look like you’re not a real fan. An over-abundance of fan wear just seems like you’re compensating for something. Like maybe if I throw on one extra hat of accessory it’ll totally make up for not knowing the name of team’s head coach (which is Claude Julien by the way- BAM!).
I settled on my skinny jeans with my black fur lined lace up boots (because the weather was meeeh that day and I’m always cold in the Garden) with my official black and gold Bruins jersey over a few layers, all in coordinating colors of course. I say “official” jersey because I actually have 2. Unfortunately I am not allowed to wear the other one because it is pink, which would push me into the dreaded “pink hat” territory, a place where no real fan wants to be.
I only bought the pink jersey because it was on sale and because I can fit into the extra large girl size. After wearing it for the first year or so that I was going to games with Steve, he finally bought me a real jersey (well, real in it’s color scheme- still kids sized. What?! It’s cheaper). And now my pink jersey is banished forever to my closet, because he wouldn’t dare be caught within 50 feet of the Garden with a chick in one of these. Sigh. I thought it was cute.
Anyway, next I had to decide on accessories. I have a lot of Bruins jewelry for all different occasions (you know, some formal, some fancy. In case there is ever a “fancy” Bruins event I get to go to…?). Some of it is gold, some silver, so I have to pick and choose my combinations strategically. On this day though, I had already lent like half my jewelry to someone for their Halloween costume so it made my choice a bit easier. I settled on my larger sized gold “B” earrings (yes, I have more than one size of the SAME earrings) and then transferred my essential belongings into my Bruins clutch purse. Okay I know it’s starting to sound like I’m wearing a lot of Bruins things, but that handbag was a necessity. Do you know what a pain it is to carry a hobo sized purse around that place?!
earrings, jersey & clutch by b’s pro shop. full set of teeth, not included
Next: Makeup! I decided to do a gold eye shadow with a thick amount of black liner. Black and Gold- get it?! I know, it’s starting to get crazy. I swear I’m done. Only I’m not, because I also wore gold lip gloss but I don’t think that was so obvious.
bruins, sponsored by cover girl? i smell an endorsement deal waiting to happen…
Last but not least, I needed outerwear. I put on my Bruins black track jacket that Steve gave me for my birthday and my white Stanley Cup Champions hat. Okay, I didn’t really need the hat but when we were planning out all the Cup merchandise we were going to buy (yes there was an actual day we spent doing that) I made a huge deal about wanting a white women’s hat that said “Stanley Cup Champions” on it that wasn’t the official one that came out the day after they won (it was so masculine and huge and not cute), and I found one (for a mere $40) and I’ve never worn it.
Also, Steve does this thing where he takes pictures of each page of his season tickets before he rips them up. So there was mini ticket photo shoot:
yeah, work it
And then we finally got out the door! Unfortunately, we did not leave as early as Crazy wanted to and it was like half rainy out, so the traffic was terrible. Even though the game doesn’t start until 7:00, and usually then it’s still more like 7:15 or something, somebody likes to be in their seat with a Molson and chicken parm sandwich well before Rene takes the ice for the national anthem. I’ll give you a hint- it’s not me.
The antsy-ness reached it’s critical mass around Exit 17 on the pike, which is always the worst at that time of day. But he couldn’t handle that we were a mere few miles away with over an hour to spare. “I have to pee,” he said, annoyed. “This is why I have to get to games early so I can get my bodily functions situated.” It was 5:52. Also, I don’t want to know what that means.
Needless to say, we got up the escalators, through the refreshment line and in our seats just before Rene took to the ice. So we missed warmups, but luckily, we were there in time for the pre-game montage, which I enjoy watching as much as the actual game. After the lights came back on, I looked around the Garden and was shocked to see how few seats were filled.
crickets
Where was everyone?! Didn’t they know that we were playing our arch rivals, the hated Canadiens? Don’t these people have their own frantic husbands giving them lectures 3 days before and forcing them out the door as they are still applying their Bruins themed makeup? Don’t they realize that they pro shop will be open after the game so now really isn’t the time to stock up on B’s merchandise?!
If they didn’t know it, they eventually realized it and filtered into their seats within the first half of the period or so. But still. I’m a pink hat?! You people don’t even show up in time for the start of the game! Double standard?! I think so.
One of those people that eventually filed in was Steve’s season ticket seatmate Brian. Brian is a quiet fellow, and I’m 95% positive that for the first year they had these tickets, he and Steve didn’t utter one word to each other, and their seats touch. As someone who forms a bond with strangers that I meet once in a movie theater, I was appalled. Over time, they became “friends” in the sense they talk to each other during games and added each other on Facebook. Brian also usually brings a male relative to the games, and I think by now Steve has met more of his extended family than mine.
So I almost fell out of my hard yellow seat when Brian took his seat with… A GIRL. Yes, an actual female. At a Canadiens game! Oh, the irony. After lecturing me about the importance of choosing a buddy for these sort of games that is blood related or unable to separate without legal documentation, here was Brian, a fellow season ticket holder, with a girl that wasn’t his wife, fiance or girlfriend. SHE WAS JUST A FRIEND. I just about died.
Me: That’s weird. I don’t remember you telling me that Brian got married.
S: *Ignore.*
Me: And I don’t see a ring, so they’re definitely not engaged. That’s so odd. He doesn’t have a sister, right?
S: *Drink beer, consume sandwich.*
Me: So you’re telling me that guys sometimes take girls to Canadiens and other important games that they don’t have a life long connection to? That’s weird. He must not have read the rules or something. Make sure he gets a copy. Don’t you always carry a first edition of Who To Bring to a Bruins/Canadiens Game in your vest?
Okay so I didn’t technically say that. But I did point out that she wasn’t wearing a hint of Bruins memorabilia, just a gray turtleneck. Amateur.
Needless to say, this was an awesome game to attend. Spoiler alert: we ended up losing 2-1. But it almost didn’t matter, because this was the stuff that real hockey games are made of. I was at a game a few years ago and I saw someone shatter the glass, but until this Canadiens game, I had never seen so much actual fighting in person. You see, these two guys, Marchand (us) and Subban (them) had it out for each other for literally the entire game. They would fight, get shoved in the penalty box, wait out their time, then the second they entered the rink would just start killing each other again. And they did this no less than three times, so much so that they missed the rest of the games because they had more minutes off the ice than what was left in the period.
People were going crazy. However, amongst all the frenzy, there was the nicest family of four sitting behind us that was a very welcome change from the usual drunk college girls that spill beer in my hair. Like I said, we lost this game, so there were definitely some plays didn’t exhibit the B’s best Stanley Cup worthy skills. Usually, when they screw up, all we hear around us is drunken swearing. These people were like “oh, that’s okay, at least they tried.” I even snuck into the conversation between the teenage daughter and her mother when I eavesdropped them talking about Bruins nail polish. They even wanted to see all my iPhone pics of my B’s themed manicures. Well, whether or not they wanted to they saw them anyway.
how do you spell team spirit? for me it’s: o.p.i.
Anyway, this family was so nice it gave me home for the future. Hockey didn’t have to be all about violence and rivalries and spending $10 on a personal pan pizza. This was like a fun night out for these people, something they were all enjoying together, as a family.
Me: That’s going to be you and your family someday isn’t it? Or I guess, our family.
S: If you’re lucky it’ll be your family.
Me: Uh, it better be me, I’m at the Canadiens game.
At some point I was allowed to take my requisite photo of the two of us together. This is the only one from the entire game, which took a lot of restraint on my part.
steve is clearly happy about what is going on here
Since it was only a few days before Halloween, between periods the Bruins flashed a couple of photos of the Jumbotron of various players in costume visiting kids at Children’s. Steve leaned over and asked me if I had seen the pictures online of our team captain, Zdeno Chara (who happens to be 6’9) dressed as a pink bunny rabbit.
Me: Nope, I definitely missed that one.
Brian’s date: Oh here, let me show you. *whips out her phone*
Me: Wow, you just like, have that all ready to go on your phone?
BD: Well, I follow the Bruins on Facebook and Twitter, so it’s easy just to pull it up.
As I sat there with my mouth open, Steve whispered in my ear “now that’s the kind of girl you take home to your parents.”
And me? Well, this is the guy I took home to my parents:
no, not patrice. the guy on the left. made you look!
While there are many other topics on my blogging back burner that I have yet to write about, all will be momentarily paused for a moment of silence, as the union of one Kim Kardashian and Kim Humphries is now dead. Ironic, being that it’s Halloween and all. Point… Kim?
While there have been rumors of a rift for months now, being a serious journalist myself, I choice not to believe the hype until I heard it from a legitimate source, i.e. US Weekly by way of a Ryan Seacrest tweet.
This comes as a great shock to all of us that thought that these two were different, and that they would defy all the crumbling Hollywood marriages that came before them, but alas, we must accept that this most perfect union is now over.
Who are we kidding. The jokes about these two write themselves. I once read that during Britney’s mental breakdown, some magazine outlets already started crafting obituaries for her because that was the direction they thought that she was headed. I imagine they may have prepared in advance for this situation as well and probably have had their “Kim & Kris in Krisis!” articles prepped since before ink was dried on their prenup.
Clearly, no one thought this would last (including myself), although I’m sure that the execs at E! had hope to get at least a year and a baby Kardashian out of the deal at least. I don’t think the question is “where did it all go wrong,” as it was glaringly obvious to anyone who watched those torturous 4 hours of wedding coverage that these two people were not compatible in the slightest. I think the main thing about this whole thing that is super embarrassing is that everyone, including her own family members, Twitter followers and the majority of the general public saw what a sham this was. I don’t know what’s more sad- the thought that she was so blinded by the excitement of finally getting married or that she wanted to have said wedding so bad that she agreed to go along with marrying someone she didn’t even like just to do so.
I don’t personally think that Kim Kardashian is a bad person. Is she everything that’s wrong with society? Pretty much. Does she not posses an iota of talent but yet is more famous than most creative people ever actually will be? Of course. But if you listen to her for 10 seconds talk with that weird baby voice you realize that she’s really not even intelligent enough to do anything really bad on purpose because she probably couldn’t even figure out how to do so. So deep down, I don’t really feel that she went through all of this just to get paid for having her dream wedding. I think she’s just not smart enough to know better and is clearly highly influenced by everyone around her.
What kills me about all of this is that throughout this whole thing, I think it actually made some of the other K’s look better, which I was pretty sure was impossible. Take Kourtney, who everyone is begging to get married to her baby daddy Scott. She could easily have had an almost as expensive wedding as Kim with the same amount of media coverage, and she’s choosing not to. I personally think it’s because deep down she knows that Scott is a giant tool and doesn’t want to be stuck with him forever (although I don’t know why she would think that, as it’s clearly not the case with unions in this family). I hate to even think this, but I sort of commend her. Yeah, she did things backwards and probably shouldn’t have let herself get knocked up by a guy while he was in the middle of an alcoholic raging period in his life, but at least she has the sense to know that she shouldn’t go and get married now just because she can.
And Khloe!!! Who would have known that she would have the example relationship in this family?! Everyone said her and Lamar wouldn’t last after being engaged for 9 days, and it’s been like 2 years and they’re still together. Now I know that that is by no means a union to put your money on, but at least she and Lamar actually seem like they like each other. They managed to convince us during their wedding special and subsequent spin off that they were madly in love as we watched them slobber all over each other, unlike the painful, icy conversations we were forced to watch between Kim and Kris.
So where does this leave poor Kim? Well not that she’ll ever be poor anything as she has a rock solid prenup. Unfortunately, we’ve already seen all the promos for Kourtney and Kim Take New York and Kris is definitely a part of them. Also they’ve been traipsing around NYC for the past 2 months so I’m sure he’s already a big part of the footage. However, someone on a shall-remain-nameless Bravo reality show killed themselves and they still went ahead with their season as planned, so who the hell knows.
For my birthday this year, I received my first ever big girl fancy camera. While I’ve been taking pictures with a professional camera since I was 10, I have never had a camera that was solely mine (i.e. that I did have to beg, plead and promise my dad my first born in order to borrow it).
I was so excited when I opened my new Canon Rebel T3i and all its trimmings. That excitement quickly wore off when my husband told me that the camera was not so much a gift as a business investment and that he hoped I would earn the money back in photography jobs to pay for it. Eeek.
Aside from weddings with my dad and a few bar mitzvahs, I haven’t done a lot of other photo work on my own. So I decided it was time to get a little bit experience beyond the family business. My coworker Becky had been joking for months that I could “practice” with my new camera on her family. So we finally picked a date that we would all be off and starting thinking of a theme for our shoot.
Becky is a huge Bruins fan, and since their championship win this year, Becky was inspired to carve a Stanley Cup themed pumpkin. She worked diligently the night before, carefully carving “We Got the Cup” into a large homegrown pumpkin from her dad’s garden. We would take the family photo outside in her yard with the whole nine yards- leaf pile, flannel and the pumpkin. Very fall.
And then, it rained.
Not just a little bit of rain, but like pouring awful buckets of cold, cold rain, sandwiched in between some of the nicest fall days you can imagine. It was so unfair.
But not to be dismayed, we started thinking of our other options. So I called the New England Sports Center in Marlboro and asked if it would be okay to do a mini photoshoot inside one of their 6 rinks. While I’m not quite sure that the elderly man who answered the phone understood what I was asking, I was 70% sure he gave us permission. And that was good enough for me.
On the way to the rink, we were determined to take a picture outside somewhere with the pumpkin. One of the locations Becky suggested was a covered bridge on the way to the rink so we could all stay dry, as cameras and rain do not mix, and neither does 3 1/2 year olds and rain either. As we pulled over to the side of the road, we were greeted by some not so friendly creatures: two of the ugliest, meanest looking geese I have ever seen. They were enormous. Like if they were professional athletes, you would test them for steroids because they were so much larger than any of their other goose cohorts. They were a nasty gray color and had a look in their beady little eyes that said, “don’t you dare get out of that car.” At this point, we thought it would be funny to open the window and have Becky’s son Tyler yell at them to go away, to which they promptly honked back at us with a noise that I can only describe as resembling a fog horn on a cruise ship. This was not fun for Tyler and he quickly begged us to drive away. We relented our only outdoor location option, as the geese were clearly not moving and we were sufficiently freaked. I wish I had been able to get a picture of them to illustrate how awful they were, but I was fearful of our lives and was totally okay just booking it the eff away from there.
Since we were forced to take our photo shoot indoors, neither of us could really figure out a good way to get the pumpkin inside the arena. So the pumpkin stayed in the car, but Becky, Tyler and I continued on.
As you can imagine, I have never taken pictures inside a hockey rink (at least not beyond the photos I take on my iPhone at the Bruins games from the balcony) and I also don’t have a whole lot of experience photographing children beyond flower girls at weddings (and anyone who knows me knows exactly how I feel about that). So this was a lot of firsts for me, especially shooting with a brand new camera that I still feel like is smarter than me. But overall I was way happy with how everything came out, and Becky and Tyler were awesome first victims… I mean subjects. Here’s a few of my favorite shots of the day:
We even got a special tour of the Zamboni cellar (who knows what it’s actually called) where Keith the driver taught Tyler all about what happens to the snow that gets scraped off the ice!
Thanks to Becky and Tyler for being such awesome subjects, and to all the people at NE Sports Center for totally looking the other way while we trespassed through their location.
I know I have fallen off the celebrity scandal train lately because there are more interesting things to talk about in my life, like oversized ship wheels that may try to kill me and the art of shoe cleaning. Okay it’s more like there hasn’t been anything crazy lately that has really inspired me. Britney is in a healthy relationship with an actual person instead of Starbucks. Glee has been on a month long hiatus due to baseball. The girl from Twilight that isn’t Kristen Stewart marrying a loser from American Idol is the biggest celebrity wedding I’ve heard about in weeks. Yawn, yawn, snooze.
But yesterday, something rocked the Twitterverse that could not go unnoticed. One of my former favorite celebrities and current hot mess Jessica Simpson tweeted this photo of herself:
At first glance, it may not seem like there is anything crazy disgusting about this photo other than the fact that it’s a picture of someone on a toilet. Until you find out that:
THIS PICTURE WAS TAKEN IN A PUBLIC RESTROOM!
Okay, so it was Bergdorf Goodman, where the restrooms are probably cleaner than the table that I eat off of and the decor costs more than my parents house. But still, ew.
I just have so many questions. First of all, why is she barefoot?! The caption accompanying this photo was “short girl problems,” but even if she took off her shoes to further illustrate her point, where are they? More importantly, how did she even take this photo of herself? Was someone else in there with her and she was like here, take my Blackberry and have at it?
There’s just so many questions that I don’t have answers to, and probably wouldn’t want to know anyway. More importantly, is she pregnant or not?!
If you’re the type of girl that will let the Internet see you pee, you should also be the type of girl that does a 6 page “Finally, A Baby for Jess!” US Weekly spread for a hefty “charitable donation.” Just sayin.
I consider myself pretty self-sufficient, despite the fact that I cannot cook, clean or launder without guidance from an expert. And by expert, I mean the Internet. Or my husband. Or my mom. Okay, so maybe I’m not as smarty and independent as I would like to be. You would think that I was one of those girls that went straight from living at Mommy and Daddy’s house to being taken care of by her husband, but that is far from the truth (besides the taken care of part, I mean, I do need to eat). I actually lived by myself (with a roommate) for almost 2 years (or 15 months) and survived (more like got parking tickets and ate Spaghettios a lot). I’m forever grateful for my “swinging apartment in the city” (Mom’s words, not mine), but I still feel like there were a lot of things that I never learned how to do myself and I’m not sure why.
And the weird thing is, is that now that I’m married, I constantly feel like I am straddling a fine line between being able to do things for myself at home and becoming a 1950’s housewife. If you’re a woman and you express that you want to become more advanced in the areas of cooking, cleaning or anything housewife-adjacent, immediately people think that you want to learn how to better serve your husband and your household. My feeling about this is that it’s 2011, and while I don’t have to throw on an apron and start vacuuming in pearls just because I’m married, I do need to learn how to do some things on my own so I don’t always have to ask my husband for help. So when I talk about becoming more domestic, don’t get all feminist trippy on me and say I’m sending women back 50 years. It’s not about becoming a housewife, we’re talking basic survival skills here. And let’s face it, between Steve and I we can clearly tell who the better housewife would be.
Lately I’ve been stumbling across little projects that I want to accomplish but haven’t gotten around to yet. Like the bag of clothes in my hallway labeled “Fix” (buttons, zippers, etc.). Or the basket of laundry in my room that specifically can only be hand washed (which I used to throw in with the regular laundry anyway but I am grown up now and therefore read the washing instructions).
One thing I stumbled upon while I was simply trying to unpack my weekend bag was a pair of white patent leather Jessica Simpson peep toes that I got for $40 at TJ Maxx. Now clearly, it is not white shoe season (as I was FORCED as a child not to wear white shoes past Labor Day even though I desperately wanted to) but it totally irks me that I have worn these shoes once and they were covered in black scuff marks.
Like many of my other household endeavors, I asked the Google gods to answer my query. And what do you know, they have an answer for everything! I found this and my shoe prayers were answered.
Now granted I wasn’t working on Loubs here, but let’s be real- $40 was really pushing the shoe budget for me. After all, you’ve heard my sneaker story. I was shocked to discover that the answer was as simple as:
Head to your local drugstore or Target/Wal-Mart and purchase the cheapest bottle of nail polish remover you can find. Dip a Q-tip in the remover and apply it to your scuff, gently rubbing the mark off.
First, I assessed the damage. Not cute.
ignore weird shoe lumpiness.
Next I armed myself with one of my favorite products- Walmart brand nail polish remover. I use this stuff to clean everything, especially my computer keys. I have probably killed a million brain cells scrubbing tiny objects with a Q-tip soaked in remover, but now they shiny. Oh so shiny… pretty… wait, what were we talking about?
Oh, right. Shoes.
scrubby scrub scrub
And miraculously, it worked! Well, sort of. It definitely took me a while to get in a rhythm with it. I found that if I scrubbed too much, it just smeared the scuff deeper into the shoe and stained it what appears to be permanently. Sad face. After a little bit of trial and error, I found it worked the best to use a new clean Q-tip on each scuff (I know, annoying, right?) and to lightly rub it in circles until the scuff came off. It was definitely an improvement for my Banished to the Closet Until Easter shoes, as they now look like this:
unfortunately, nail polish remover can’t rub off the cheapness of the shoe.
lumps forever.
I was pleased with the results, despite the face that I felt like I was murdering baby seals with the amount of Q-tips I used in the process.
pretty sure you can’t recycle these
Yes, I realize there is a giant hair on those Q-tips. I know, gross. Clearly it came from my head. I didn’t notice it in the photo until after I threw them all away, and I’m certainly not digging them out of the trash to re-photograph. Because do you know what’s in there? MORE HAIR. Yes, I am a shedder.
Like many projects I discover in lieu of finishing the existing project I was working on in the first place, I became obsessed with cleaning every pair of patent leather shoes I owned. Lucky for me, that is exactly 2. However, I was particularly obsessed with a certain pair of shoes that were in desperate need of cleaning just to see if I could conquer their mighty scuffs:
AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!
I know what you’re thinking. Lindsay, where did those FABULOUS shoes come from?! An amazing vintage store? An underground thrift shop? Picking with your husband? Okay, maybe you weren’t thinking any of those things. Maybe you’re like my mother and just thought, “interesting.” Regardless, these shoes are a zillion years old and they’re from Payless. YOU HEARD ME. The best part is I didn’t even BUY them- I found them discarded in my sister’s closet and took them when I needed to dress up like someone from The Depression at work. Don’t ask.
this look is coming back, promise
Needless to say, I have always thought they were cute in a vintage-y way, but could never think of what to wear them with, other than a costume. Plus, they were scuffed up to all hell. I tried my second favorite cleaning product, the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (which I am convinced is going to make me barren or give my future children three heads or something because I don’t know what kind of chemicals are in that thing, all I know is that it WORKS) and it did nothing!
Anyway, these shoes were covered in scuff marks. Like every time I thought I got rid of the last one, three more grew in its place. But I persevered, and after many minutes of gentle Q Tip scrubbing, I ended up with this:
be careful- you may need sunglasses
And the clouds opened up and the Hallelujah chorus rang out from above, as I now have another pair of functional shoes.
But no outfits to go with them.
If you wish to contribute to the cause, you may purchase me any item from here.
Or if you’re on a budget, here.
Happy Shopping!
~L
PS- If you’re looking for other tips/deals/shopping guides, check out the rest of Budget Fashionista. I especially liked the How To Shop section. As if I needed help in that area.
One of the hardest things about cohabiting with a member of the opposite sex is merging your decorating styles together. Personally, my style is very girly, modern, light. Recently, I was flipping through a Pottery Barn catalogue and this photo made my heart stop:
there’s a gift-wrapping station. *swoon*
Unfortunately, Steve’s idea of the ultimate home office may differ slightly compared to mine:
you’re welcome, Pottery Barn
Needless to say, our decorating styles couldn’t be more different. I like clean lines and he likes a color palate of black and gold and/or things that look like they’re from 1853.
So when we finally moved in together, it took FOREVER to decide on a theme for our bedroom. The hardest thing to figure out is how you can color palate that works for masculine and feminine, and how you can merge things with a whole other person and still retain parts of yourself.
Originally we were leaning towards a light blue tone, which in my brain was accented with white and silver. For him, not so much. I don’t know how it happened, but when we were in Home Depot one day trying to choose between colors like Blue Cascade or Crystal Water, Steve turned to me and said, “what about navy?” And somehow, it just clicked.
Once we figured out that a nautical theme was the best way for both of us to be happy in our abode, we registered for things that would compliment our newly agreed upon motif.
However living in a 700 square foot offers up its own set of decorating challenges, as you’re not so much focused on feng shui as you are feng “what can I use to hide all this crap.” It’s been over a year since we lived here, and I’m finally starting to feel like it’s an actual bedroom and not a staging area for things that don’t fit in the living room.
I had 2 days off in a row this week which was a total shock to my system. I decided I was going to use that time wisely to try to complete projects that I have never actually started. And let me tell you, I was a lean, mean, cleaning washing organizing dusting decorating machine. And since my room has never looked so good, I figured what better time to take really nice photos of it with my new camera to show off… I mean share… with all 17 of you?!
these are actually super annoying because they always clack against each other, but HOW CUTE?!
yes, I live in fear of that ship wheel… but it looks good so it’s totally worth it
A few things going on here you need to know about (yes, NEED!).
– The navy coverlet and shams are from Crate and Barrel. Clearly nothing I could ever afford on my own, but who needs money when you have an Uncle Peter?
– The duvet is my first and only purchase from Pottery Barn. It was ON SALE for $79. That one hurt a little bit.
– The picture over by the window is a painting of a boat near a dock next to a barn or something in the winter. This is one of the finds scored by Steve and Mark on one of their “picking” excursions (i.e. yardsale).
– The ship wheel clearly completes the room, but not without a price, namely my sanity. The backstory on that is that Steve and I discovered this gem at Home Goods when we were “picking” (or just you know, shopping regularly) for nautical items for the room. It was some crazy price like $140, which is higher than I think I’ve ever spent on all the items I’ve purchased at Home Goods ever in my entire life. We knew it was way over our budget, but continued to visit said HG about once a week essentially stalking the item. One day I came home and Steve surprised me with it, a STEAL for $80 on clearance. In purchasing it though, we discovered just how damn heavy it is. Steve and Mark got it up on the wall somehow, but when I got home they didn’t seem like they were exactly confident in their handywork. Cut to me and Steve sleeping at the foot of our bed for 4 days so that I could be positive it wasn’t going to fall on our heads and kill us. My theory was that if fell on our feet, the worst that would happen is that we would break our ankles or something. If it fell on our heads, we’d either be dead or brain damaged, and I just felt it was really early on in our marriage to be testing that whole “for better or for worse” thing. But it’s still up, so… victory!
my nightstand
One of my favorite things that I registered for was that bedside carafe. Why? I don’t know. It just makes me feel fancy. Chelsea Handler and remotes? Less fancy, but necessary.
Steve’s nightstand
So what’s wrong this picture? Historical books, check. Nautical bowling pin looking thing, check. Picture of your wife when when she was 14 years old?! Yep, you read correctly- that is a school photo of yours truly when she was a freshman in high school, complete with braces and an uneven haircut that I swear was supposed to look like Christina Aguilera (pre-Dirrty days). You may think this is super creepy, and you’re totally right. Steve always used to laugh at this picture at my parent’s house because he claims that I closely resemble the youngest Hanson brother. So this year my mother framed it, wrapped it, and GAVE it to him for Easter! Like as a gift! And now he keeps it on his beside table just to bug me.
I don’t know if my nerves can take hanging one more heavy thing on the wall
Steve scored these buoys from his uncle and I am determined to use them but I have no idea how. So for now they are serving the very important role of doorstop.
my dresser- where the girly things still live
I’m a big believer in that if you have pretty accessories, you should act like they are part of your decor and display them. I have more jewelry than I could wear in a year. If I didn’t show it in my room, I would never see it. And that collection is worth tens of dollars.
too much? okay I swear I’m done with the jewelry
I lied! suckaaahs
I’ve been storing my earrings like this for years, because I frankly just don’t know what else to do with them. I keep all my earrings on the cards they came on and hang them on tacks. Same with long necklaces.
This is my first ever walk in closet. Although it is getting increasingly difficult to actually walk in there because I keep filling it with stuff. Did I mention that this a shared closet with my husband? I did give him two drawers in that dresser. The smaller ones.
headbands are like tiaras for poor peopleI have all my headbands in cylindrical clear vase for storage/display. I got the idea for this after I saw an article in People about the costume designer for Gossip Girl. If it’s good enough for the gay guy that gets to dress Blair Waldorf, it’s good enough for me.
you never know when inspiration will strike
I want to keep everything I have in lucite. It just makes every thing look better. Right now I only have this rectangle holder for my perfume from The Container Store. I really want to upgrade and get some for my makeup too. All I need is one bajillion dollars.
And last but not least, I leave you with… the dress closet.
hello, girls
no wire hangers! only white, always
The dress closet is one of my favorite purchases of all time. I picked up this baby on sale at Ikea for $36. That’s right, three-six. Unfortunately, it is practically made of paper and suffered an injury during the move. Steve has already started warning me that it will not make it through another move as it is balancing on three legs right now. I plan on throwing myself on top of it and refusing to leave it, like Kate and Leo in Titanic. I’ll never let go…
I know what you’re thinking.
I swear I will not only be posting about my lame attempts at an exercise routine (maybe not so much a routine, just a general butt-shrinking in order to fit into my bridesmaid dress) for the rest of my blogging life. It just seems that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to stick to anything, and something about sharing via the Inter-web sort of makes me accountable for keeping up with it. Even if I am boring everyone senseless.
Don’t worry. We will get back to all the juicy stuff eventually.
So today I was determined to get back on the workout wagon. Since I have yet to create Lindsay’s Ultimate Calorie Burning Playlist, I was really counting on being able to watch hour 53 of the Kardashian wedding special. However for the past three weeks now ALL THREE REMOTES in the gym have been missing. MISSING! Like stuck on Court TV missing. I always bring a backup book or magazine in case other people have beat me to it and commandeered the TV and have it set on something stupid, but I really do not enjoy reading while exercising because I feel like my eyes are bouncing all over the place.
When I got the gym I saw that there was one lone woman walking on the treadmill. I was just grateful that it wasn’t A.) WL Man or B.) a super teeny fit skinny lady. However I was less enthralled when less than one minute after entering she stated “they really need to get an ab machine up in this place!”
I looked around, confused. No intro or anything, she just started talking to me like we were old pals halfway through an hour long convo. “Yeah,” I laughed nervously. “I guess that’s the only thing they don’t have.”
“I really need to do my ab workouts. I used to be in here all the time and I haven’t been lately and I’m trying to get back into it,” she continued.
“Uh-huh.” *Put headphones on get on elliptical*
“What do you think of the elliptical?” she asked.
“What?” *Is this seriously happening*
“Like do you think it works?” Wait, is she calling me fat? Like she’s implying the whole 3.5 hours I have spent slaving over that machine aren’t immediately visible to the common gym goer?
“Um, I don’t know. I’m really the wrong person to ask. I only do this because I hate running.”
I stupidly thought that I was in the clear after that. Headphones on, book open, didn’t matter- she kept going.
“Do you know how to work these thing?” she asked, pointing one of the three remotes that miraculously showed up at one TV and another one turned on instead.
This is the part where I pretended I couldn’t hear her. “Um, what?”
“I can’t get these things to work. Like I’m pointing at this one and that one turns on instead. What is going on?!”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know how to use those things because they are normally never here.” I glanced at her machine. 1:13 left. Thank God.
“Well this is just crazy. I don’t know what to do with these things,” she said. I glance again. 1:46 left. What, wtf?!
Somehow by the grace of God she finishes her workout and then begins the most thorough treadmill wipe down I have EVER SEEN. Like she was getting all up in every nook, cranny and appendage with that Purell wipe.
“Okay, I’m going to go now. Bye!”
“Um, bye.” I couldn’t even pretend I was going to wait for her to fully exit the building before I leaped off my machine, grabbed THE CORRECT REMOTE and switched over to E! the second that KK’s Fairytale Wedding Special Event Extravaganza began.
I did 30 minutes of cardio, on Level 3 (that one’s for you, Steve), ROLLING and 4 sets of 10 reps (that’s right, I have learned some gym vocab) on some sort of arm press thing. And then I came home and immediately stuffed my face with a pita pocket pizza. Don’t worry- it was whole wheat. And I only ate three handfuls of shredded mozzarella out of the bag. I am totally gaining self control over my binging. I’m in a much better place in my food consumption.
That and Steve saw me sneak it into the bedroom and decided to hide the bag from me.
Whatevs. I plan on waking up skinny tomorrow.
So after The Great Nike Acquisition it was time to put my money where my mouth was ($36 to be exact) and actually you know, use them. So on Friday morning, I awoke bright and early (otherwise known as 8:30 am) and forced myself to go to the gym.
After picking out my “First Day With New Sneakers” workout outfit and loading up my Lululemon aluminum water bottle (just using those words makes me feel more athletic) I headed over to the tiny gym in our apartment complex’s clubhouse. I was elated to find it empty, as one of the biggest things that has kept me from going to the gym in my lifetime is that I hate working out around people, specifically men, more specifically, sweaty gym men.
There are multiple reasons I feel ridiculous at the gym. In no particular order:
1. I can never quite figure out how to use any of the machines.
2. I am fearful of being judged on the amount (or lackthereof) of pounds I am lifting
3. I like to put all three tv’s on different crappy shows
Since I was alone, I felt the need to have photographic evidence that not only did I make it to the gym, but I coordinated my workout accessories with my new kicks!
sans makeup and sans shame. you’re welcome, internet
Side note: Huge bummer because ALL THE REMOTES WERE MISSING. Three TV’s and no remotes. It’s like I was being tested by a higher power. I cried a little. Gym=fail.
So even though my psycho trainer/husband was not there to push me past my usual limits, I voluntarily did 25 minutes on the elliptical at Level 3. Thank you, thank you. I would have done more, but due to the amount of time spent putting together said workout outfit I lost some of my actual workout time if I was going to get back and shower and get ready for work in time.
However, at the near end of my Level 3 rolling intervals, I started thinking about using one of the machines that does arm things. Okay, I know there’s a lot of those but I clearly don’t know what they are called so I’m just going to say it’s the one with the long bar that you pull down a bunch of times and you try not to let go of it so fast that it springs up and bangs against the machine. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.
And then I saw him. Walking over to the gym with his odd girlfriend in tow like he was going to own that place. I panicked as I glanced at the time left on my machine- one minute of rolling and a two minute cool down left?! I’d never get off the elliptical in time to stake a claim on that machine. And sure enough, less than a minute later, I was face-to-face with him- Weight Lifting Man.
In case you don’t know, WL Man is a particular breed of man gym rat that only works out his upper body. Now I know virtually nothing about exercise or anatomy, but I’m 99% positive that it’s not really that healthy to do absolutely no cardio and pump iron EVERY DAY.
Our specific WL Man is a rather odd character, at least to me. We have never spoken, but I’ve completely made up a back story about him that is completely unfounded. He comes into the gym everyday around 9:30 wearing jeans, black almost like crappy dress shoes, a black fleece jacket, a weight lifting belt and weird little gloves. Top it all of with a black Under Armor skull cap and you have yourself a hell of a looker.
Needless to say, WL Man is enormous on top and relatively small on the bottom. Every time I see him, I literally have to stop myself from going up to him and asking him why he only works out his arms because I’m so dumbfounded as to why a normal person would want to look so unbalanced on purpose.
The main thing that is annoying about this breed of gym rat is that he uses 3 or 4 machines at a time for what I’m told is “circuit training.” Now I think something like this would fly in a large gym that you actually pay for, but in a tiny clubhouse gym the size of my living room, you’re taking up a quarter of the equipment that no one else is allowed to use. Not that I would ever ask, because I clearly don’t know how to use any of those things and I’m afraid that he would like, bark at me or something. Again, this I am assuming because I have never heard his voice.
And of course a man like this can’t work out in silence, so there is a fair amount of grunting that comes from trying to lift/press double his body weight. Of all the things I dislike about gyms, that has to be the absolute worst. I could spend my entire life studying men’s brains and will still never comprehend the need to grunt while doing things, especially in front of people, like I don’t know… women?! And I’m sorry- I’m not saying that I am by any means worthy of being stared at in the gym (see exhibit A above) but when there is a man behind me that I can’t see and I’m sweating and elliptical-ing and he is grunting and making other odd noises, I cannot help but get freaked out.
If that wasn’t odd enough, he also has a girlfriend/wife/significant other who comes to the gym with him BUT NEVER WORKS OUT. That’s right- she sits on one of the machines (something with round thing that goes on top of your legs that you push up… I don’t know it’s the best I can do) and either reads or plays on her phone. It’s not like she’s his personal trainer as they exchange no words the entire time. It just makes no sense to me, and I probably end up burning more calories in my brain trying to examine their relationship than I do actually exercising with my body. The story I’ve concocted thus far is that they’ve had a tumultuous relationship but are trying to move past previous issues, however, WL Man still does not trust her and therefore makes her go with him EVERYWHERE so he can keep an eye on her. The more I see them, more details are added to this story in my head, so stay tuned for further developments.
I figured once I saw WL Man I knew my workout was pretty much done. I hopped off that elliptical, wiped down my machine and hightailed it out of there, with the slam of the door behind me silencing his all too familiar grunts.
So basically all I got out of this was 25 minutes of mild cardio and the realization that I absolutely cannot go back to the place until I make a new “Workout Playlist.” I mean I almost didn’t go because I didn’t feel I had an adequate upbeat track list to provide the soundtrack to my physical transformation. But it was a lot for me, because I forced myself to go when I didn’t want to and could have stayed in bed and no one’s life would have been better or worse because of it (well, except for mine). So yay, me. A tiny, baby, minuscule step, but still- something.
But that was Friday. And I haven’t made it back yet… and I ate fettuccine today… for lunch. And dinner. And I binged ALL DAY on Saturday and drank very sugary girly mixed drinks in honor of bachelorette whose bridesmaid dress I would like to fit into someday, otherwise known as less than 2 weeks from now.
But hey, tomorrow’s another day.
Get Snappy
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