deviant plans...

I have to get more 'cardio', as you hip folks say, in.

car·di·okärdēō  

adjective no. no, this is very much a VERB. 

is physical activity (see! verbage words. physical and activity) which raises the heart rate to around 60 to 85 percent (wtf?) of the heart's maximum (does that say maximum?) heart rate for an extended period of time, usually twenty minutes or longer (911 is on hold and please tell my children I loved them)

Dr. Dude, I cant even fathom lifting my feet off the ground so how the (a whole bunch of expletives) am I  going to run, jog, walk, crawl, drag myself down the block or even out of my yard?
I'm going to start taking my pulse when I'm stressed out to the max and pray for a miracle since my brain runs 987,658,991,018 miles a second, it really should be some form of exercise. 

My quick deviant brain tells me other ways to raise my heart rate... I could always try and:

drive towards oncoming traffic

tap dance on a land mine field 

fall down stairs

slap then run from the po-po

trip

give a 4 year old a loaded gun

look at baby animals

lick an electrical outlet

put on pantyhose or wet bathing suit

stab a toaster

hire someone stand behind me and yell Boo! in the dark

have vans with tinted windows drive by slowly

take off pantyhose or wet bathing suit

touch Jarred Hasselhoff... or David

slip in the tub

stub my toe

sit on a washing machine (if it shakes my guts, brain and heart, it's cardio. I said so)

...for 20 minutes a day. 

God, for real?

I have the willpower of a fucking rusty sieve.

What's the dealio? Exercising sucks, I get it. Being fat is way suckier. Who wants to sound like their grandpa? I miss him but not enough to channel his grunts of despair when getting up off the floor.
I'm still a frugal, meatless, healthy shopper but because of my lack of cardio, not eating enough throughout the day, having one too many beers and loading up on white starchy carbs because I am an addict to potatoes has done ZILCH for this chick. I know what i have to do but I'm such a pansy. I'm such a BLOB of a limp dying pansy, I am a heavy, dead, blob of flower. That is how much of a pansy I am.

Extremely discouraged... this sucks so bad. Wishing I could say I lost 20 pounds or even 10. I hate myself right now. I hope a goat headbutts me right in the gut at such full force it gives me miracle abs. See? Pansy me, always wishing for the easy magical miracles.

morose, miserable, melancholy, moping Mania on the loose

woke up irritated in many ways today.

1. regretting the shit i ate a couple days ago... so hard to avoid shitty food when out and about. Easy to say "just plan a meal and pack it to go" but  kids and I are fluky and I don't want to change our free spirit of running out whenever we want/can. I refuse to be a stable, organized, mom. ew. I have to get into the habit of saying, no thanks or do you have any grain? Maybe I have to watch this to see why we need to avoid chicken. I already watched the, pre-falling off rocker, Joaquin Phoenix narrated, earthlings. A huge chunk of me, died that day. anyhoo, i'm pissed off i ate so shitty while out. 

chicken maggots,  chicken scrotum skin,  chicken bubbly phlegm, chicken port a potty at comfest in blazing sun, chicken burt reynolds. Trying to initiate some automatic chicken thinking reflexes so next time I say chicken I might vomit on the spot. Yum chicken? NO, chicken diarrhea!

2. why do i blog? i don't have the time for it barely and it's not something i enjoy when i have no followers or people who read it. I'd rather just send a short text of my daily doings to the 2 people who read this shit.

3. Brian has a doctor appointment today and I am terrified for him.
4. I could care less what happens to the ecosystem as long as someone could promise me there was a way to kill all mosquitoes. I don't even want all spiders, bees and wasps dead, just asking for the mosquitoes to die.
5. I have to filter my thoughts & words. I hate that.
I cant keep venting, it's just bringing more bitterness out. Stuff that isn't even related to food and health. Off to walk and search for some imaginary happy gas, sauce or whatever form it comes in. This being down shit is for the birds.