Fun is F.U.N.

But it definitely doesn't help a girl lose weight.

I gained another 2 pounds. Which puts me squarely at 177.whatever pounds. Which means these last 10 pounds are going to be my arch nemesis. I can already tell. I've been sweating a LOT at the gym this week but I think it might just be the humidity. But it does give me that smug sense of self satisfaction I so very much enjoy. I also get that same sense when I find a really good happy hour or get a shot (or many) purchased for me so all those days I skipped the gym last week for friends and drinking? Totally worth it. I have too much fun in the summer and after giving up friends, family and booze for a year I don't want to do it again. Not yet. I'm not ready.

The main reason I'm not ready to give up my life for the gym is that the gym is BORING and I hate boring. Seriously it's the worst. So I skipped for a while and had too much fun. Drank most of my calories anyway so it was all fine. It's science.

I finally started going again and yesterday (on the future machine of course) I was staring and judging (my two favorite things to do there) and all my besties were there: Steroids and his girlfriend, the scary ginger girl with a severe muffin top, crazy mullet woman (she AND her mullet are crazy), tiny tattooed guy, the two Korean men (I think they're "just friends"), Jessie from the Biggest Loser (my gym's totally famous no big deal). And I realized (after freaking 16 months at the same gym) that if I have been staring and judging all this time are THEY staring at me and judging? What's my nickname? Do they think, oh there's that girl who burps too much, talks to herself and makes weird faces all the time. What the hell is her problem? Why are her shirts on inside out and is that a chocolate stain? Cause yeah, that's me.

I can't very well walk up to Paperwork or Short-Shorts and ask them if I have a nickname. I did walk up to one of the trainers to inform him that he'd shaved his beard and that he didn't really resemble the nickname I'd given him anymore. PS it was Johnny Surfer. Clean shaven he looked more like Johnny Straightedge. Bo-ring.

But most people don't do stuff like that. I think.

My particular brand of crazy = extra crazy

Part three:

The other questions were basic but still so much fun to answer (and I was rating how much I like these things on a scale of 1 (loathe) to 10 (lurve):

Running errands irresponsibly and often

7, I like being able to say "crap I forgot cotton balls at Target" and going to get them but I also hate traffic, crowds and spending money. So if I was forced to live without something because I couldn't conveniently get it, I'd be okay with that. Resourcefulness!

Carrying purchases 5-10 blocks

5, because I've never done it I don't know. I imagine I'd look pretty awesome pushing a crazy old person cart down the street though. Maybe get some cats to hang out the sides.

How much money do you spend on your insurance and gas per month?

I spend $50 on insurance and about $160 on gas a month. Not to mention the emotional cost of all these accidents (since none have been my fault there’s no payout on my end) and the ulcer I’m growing on account of the almost constant road rage (seriously if I never see another bicyclist I’ll be happy; no one knows how to drive around them- slamming on your brakes is a wonderful idea dumb dumb!). And if I got a new car I would have a car payment again, probably upwards of $150 (GROSS!!!). And while the car would be slightly nicer and gas would go down because of non-16-year-old mileage, the insurance would most likely go up and it would be a wash.

So I’m hoping that this writing is helping my crazy run its course. For the most part I just want to be drunk or sleep all day long. Or both. That could be the PMS talking but I've felt that way for a while now. I blame all the car accidents and the fact that I want to move out of my house so badly I'd be willing to kill a man. Well, not really. Maybe punch a man in the throat. Or a really ugly baby. It’d have to be pretty ugly though. Le sigh. I don't like being stressed! It doesn't suit me at ALL. My sarcasm gets more and more sardonic and scornful. 

Though when I think about it, that totally does suit me.

My particular brand of crazy = extra crazy

Part two:

My life seems to moves at two speeds: super fast, blasting across the alkali flats in a jet powered, monkey navigated... it goes on like that (also, that's a Simpsons quote) or nothing happens ever and I get annoyed and bored. For weeks Insurance Company A (and then B) was doing nothing and then BAM both told me to get estimates and “they wouldn’t have a problem paying me.” Right. Again, the pessimist knows what’s coming.

Last week I went to different body shops and no one would give me an estimate because my car is totaled. Twice. The guy at Kuni said I should call Insurance Company A and tell them about both accidents and just be straight with them. And I was like fuck you, I'm going to get fucked over if I do that. (I didn't say the first part out loud (cause that’s mean) but I did say the second part (swearing is how I make friends)). He instead started telling me how nice the new BMWs are and that they have warranties and all this BS and bitch please, you think I drive a 1995 piece of crap that sounds like a freight train with tape over the check engine light, doors that don't lock (and one that's stuck shut), giant dents in either side, a turn signal that falls out if I go over speed bumps too fast that I can’t take through the car wash because the inside fills with water because I have a duffel bag full of cash in the trunk that doesn't open? Fuck you again and again.

Anyway.

There are so many options and variables and unknowns floating around my head and occupying my every thought. What if I don’t get any money and I’m stuck with a worthless (twice) car? What if I somehow manage to get both insurance companies to (rightly) pay for repairs? Do I keep my car (if A or B don’t take it in the process)? Do I get a new one? Do I go without a vehicle (which I’ve never done before)? Again, there’s all that crazy. So my friend Elyse, who used to be my gym buddy until she defected to North Carolina, came up with a handy quiz (which appeals to the part of me that still wishes I could read Seventeen magazine quizzes that will tell me if the boy in my math class really does like me. SPOILER ALERT: he doesn’t) to help me decide what I want to do, regardless of any other factors. One of the questions made me laugh and laugh and laugh. It’s a completely reasonable question but one that is truly… well, laughable. So here it is, reprinted with my permission.

Do you see your car as a status symbol?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Totally legit question, but if you saw my car right now... oh lawdy. I was downtown the other night and since my car won't lock (or rather unlock so I can't lock it) I like to make it look as terrible as possible to deter possible thieves or ran sackers (though there’s nothing of value to steal now that my beer tokens were taken), with dents on both sides it's not hard to do, but I pull out the turn signal just for good measure and this guy saw me and started laughing. I explained (summed up) and he just laughed harder and was like "maybe they'll take pity and leave a twenty in there for you." It was... pretty hilarious. So short answer long... no. No I don't. 

Also nobody left me a twenty.

My particular brand of crazy = extra crazy

Part one:

I’m a Paul, a woman, a Virgo and pretty bat-shit crazy. That is an almost lethal combination of ridiculous. I obsessively think about everything. Worrying about things I can’t change, planning and plotting the things I can, lying wide awake at night replaying conversations in my brain - both good and bad. It’s a mildly psychopathic existence, I’m not gonna lie.

With all this crazy floating around my head I was surprised that getting into a car accident two months ago (my first one ever thank you very much) was not as traumatizing (at the time) as I would have thought. The guy was a dick but it wasn’t my fault so my optimistic side wanted to believe everything was going to work out fine. My pessimistic side (the one that’s usually right) was already figuring out all the ways I was going to get screwed over. Cut to two months later and we can all guess which side was on the money (and I’m totally using that term derisively).

Three weeks ago I got into another accident that was also not my fault- this time I wasn’t even moving, just sitting in my car watching the scene unfold before me. Again my inner pessimist knew the score and all I could do was drink copious amounts of beer to get her to shut up. Two bottles alone during the phone call to my insurance company. That’s my MO most of the time regardless so what the hell. 

Detox blows anyway.

The past five weeks...

... have pretty much been the best. I am a pessimist at heart, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, the rug to be pulled out from under me, and any other weird esoteric phrase involving fabrics (while I wouldn't say I have bad luck and most of what I deal with are first world white person problems it does seem like nothing is ever very easy for me). While I use every opportunity to display caustic wit with a dash of hypocrisy and disdain, I really am happy most of the time. Expecting the worst from most everything means I'm pleasantly surprised almost all the time. And the ability to laugh at even the smallest (and dumbest)things is awesome, everyone should try it. A couple weeks ago I was on my way into work and there was a giant penis drawn in chalk on the street. Like bigger than my car. I laughed for 10 minutes straight and then randomly throughout the day whenever I thought of it. Best commute ever.

Though all the the car accidents aren't the best thing ever, I still have to laugh (or else I get really upset & frustrated and I hate leaking emotionless robot tears), joking with the sarcastic cop that told me to go all Dukes of Hazard on my non-opening door. No one (I hope) expects to get into three car accidents in less than six weeks. Only one was my fault- the one with little to no damage to either car (except my turn signal falls out if I go over a speed bump too fast). The ones that weren't my fault? At least now Jack has horrible symmetrical damage to either side. It appeases the obsessive-compulsive in me on some ridiculous level.

Back to the "best" part. (It doesn't take much to get me on a complain-y streak. But complaining makes me happy so then we're back to that!) Alaska was amazing, beer is wonderful, my friends are fantastic and I like my job. All good news. I decided multiple times that "detox starts tomorrow" but then something would come up: free concerts (Matisyahu at the zoo, my friend Halie at the Heathman) free booze at block parties, bar-b-ques, girls nights, weekends in college towns, and the Brewer's Festival. When I got home after that I had 4 plastics mugs in my purse and a beer token in my bra. THAT is a successful day. So detox was pushed and pushed and pushed as was my liver and bank account. To the extreme.

Now it's August 1st. I haven't counted calories or cared much about the gym (it's so mundane almost all the time, thank goodness for my innate ability to judge everyone around me or I'd be so bored) since the middle of June. Now that summer is finally here I can play tennis and go on hikes, that alleviates some of the more banal workouts. I weighed myself this morning and it's not too bad, all things considered. 175.9. I've had worse. By about 40 pounds. But now instead of only seven pounds away from my goal I'm back to 10. So detox officially and for realsies starts today. Counting calories, shunning my friends and booze (I'm equally sorry to both parties) and hitting the gym six times a week. I want to be in the 160s by my birthday and maths tells me that's six pounds in six weeks. I'm pretty sure cutting out alcohol alone will force out a couple of the more bloated pounds.

Also fudgesicles don't count during detox.