I am no different. And really, it is about time. I couldn’t even start back working out in the gym come the first of the year. It took me until the 24th of this month to actually step foot in there. But, since then, I have been 5 times. (I couldn’t go tonight since I had a late dentist appointment.) (That’s what the kids these days are calling it.) (I wish.)

See, working out has never been fun. I’ve never really enjoyed it. It’s always been a chore for me, never a habit. Yes, I am aware of the benefits. Yes, I feel amazing after I work out. But that is not enough to MAKE me go to the gym. I need more. I need extra motivation.

This year I’m taking part in the Biggest Blogging Loser again that Jennie is doing. That is giving me a bit extra motivation, since there is money and prizes involved. But that alone isn’t going to get me to the gym because shit, I pay for the gym every month and that isn’t even motivation to go. Plus, while I have quite a bit to lose, I’m also 34 damn years old and my metabolism ain’t what it used to be. Weight comes off slowly for me.

I needed some other sort of reward system.

Regan and I are both trying to lose weight and we banter about it daily on gchat and text messages and chastise each other when we eat entire pizzas in one sitting. Recently, she was telling me about this Fitbit thing she got. It’s like a pedometer on crack. It sounded interesting, but eh. Who really cares how many steps you take in a day? It gets old quick, AM I RITE?

Wrong.

She loves it. In addition to steps, it does stairs, which is helpful since I take a lot of stairs in a day. And it also helps track calories burned and your sleep habits. A few minutes on the website and I was sold! I wanted one!

So I decided to turn that into my reward. And instead of rewarding myself for just losing pounds, this reward is based on me actually going to the gym and working out.

My goal is to go to the gym 20 days between January 24 and February 29. That takes into the fact that we have the Super Bowl this weekend and that I’ll be in Arizona on vacation from the 15th-19th.

Apparently this is what I needed. I am going to get this damn Fitbit! I’m going to make the gym my bitch!

Also helpful is that I signed up to run an 8k at the end of March.

Let’s do this!

Lately I have just had no desire to write here. Usually it is just laziness and deciding to watch TV or go to bed at an obscenely early time that leads to no posts. But for the last few weeks, I’ve had thoughts and post ideas and have written these down! I’ve even started like three or four posts only to give up halfway through and then just shut the computer down. The desire, I no has it.*

I think that’s normal. It’s life. It all ebbs and flows. And as much as the whole NaBloPoMo thing helped me kind of get back in the habit, sometimes there is just nothing to write about. I swear, I can talk for days, but lately I’ve had nothing remotely interesting or funny or exciting to talk about.

Plus, even the thought of opening the laptop at home lately has made me stabby with rage. I just don’t want to do it. I’m on the computer all day and on my phone when I’m not, so when I get home, I just want to relax and watch crappy television.

I’ve hardly been on Twitter, in fact I usually ignore it for a majority of the day, unless I’m bored on the bus or train on my commute. I don’t go on Facebook, but that isn’t really any different since I never go on FB. Only to wish people a happy birthday.

I still will play my Words with Friends games and IM with people on gchat, but that has been about it. I’ve been technologied out. And that’s fine. Because I’m a bit too dependent on it as it is.

So, all that to say, I’m feeling less ragey about actually blogging this week. And I might even finish those posts I have recently started. And that I just wrote a whole post about not wanting to blog nor be on the computer, just to…post on my blog from my computer. /meta

And I’ll leave you with a question – where do I find some cheap t-shirts to work out in? I haven’t bought a t-shirt since college, I think. All of my current shirts are from previous jobs and I got them all for free. So needless to say, they are starting to show quite a bit of wear and tear. And I don’t appreciate paying for shirts, especially more than a couple of bucks, so I need your help. Kthanxbai.**

*I like to put in lolcats speak because she loves it so, so much!

**Hi Ali!

Anyway, so one of Rihanna’s new songs out now is called “We Fell in Love in aHopeless Place” and I just love it. It’s got a good beat. But as I was listening to it the other morning while getting ready for work, I thought “what exactly qualifies as a hopeless place?”

So I decided to list all the hopeless places I could think of to fall in love.

• Crack house
• Denny’s
• Bomb shelter
• The Superdome after Katrina
• POW camp
• Crashing plane
• Jail
• War time
• Republican National Convention
• Antarctica
• Sinking ship
• Mars
• Bathroom stall
• Rehab
• Homeless shelter
• Deserted island
• Port-a-potty

Now it’s your turn! Add to the list!

After our warm weekend, it was supposed to be almost 50 today. After last Friday when I was sweating bullets on the bus and train in my scarf and down coat, I thought I’d be smarter today. So I opted for a lighter wool coat and went sans hat. I traded the fake Uggs for tennis shoes. Fifty degrees in January, UR DOIN IT RITE!

Except, dumbass, it’s January. In Chicago. Yes, it is mild, but it is still January in Chicago. Which means it is still butt-ass cold in the mornings. And still hat weather. And down coat weather. And not thin sweater weather. (Seriously self. A thin, 3/4 sleeve sweater in January? What the fuck were you thinking?)

Guess who was freezing at the bus stop this morning? Go on, guess!

I figured by the time 5 PM rolled around, we would have some warmer weather and some nice-for-January temps. This was especially important because I had to work outside for two hours after work handing out information to commuters. I figured I was just properly dressed enough for 50 degrees in January so I wouldn’t be too hot or too cold.

Oh boy how wrong I was.

I’ve been home for like an hour and I still can’t feel my toes. This post has taken me an hour to write because my fingertips are still numb, so if I try to type at a normal speed, it comes out like this – nvr0[vd ak jr3i vd;hgri0e[o.

I’m not complaining. It could be so much worse. I am pissed at my stupidity. I know better. I’m a Chicagoan! Once you bring out the down coat, it really needs to stay out. Better to be too hot in this weather than too cold. Trust me. (HEAR THAT, SELF??!?)

The problem with this mild winter is that my body is not used to the cold. It hasn’t gotten a chance to acclimate. Yeah, we’ve had a day or two of some cold temps (i.e. normal for this time of year), but nothing like it could be. So when those days come, so few and far between, it knocks me on my ass. I want to eat all the things and then sleep for days. And then I don’t get a chance to toughen up and get used to it because then tomorrow? A high of 52. No. REALLY.

Again, not complaining. Except if it means it will be 60 and cloudy in July. Then we’re taking this outside, Mother Nature. Mano y mano.

Normally, if I’m at the bar watching the game, I’m not tweeting as much. I usually only go on Twitter at the bar when someone is in the bathroom or when they go out to smoke. Or when I decide to stay at the bar by myself, which let’s be honest, that NEVER ends well.

These are the kinds of tweets you get when I’m home and sober watching the game and the Bears choke and lose one more time.

Don’t you want to be following me on Twitter now? Where’s my booze?

See, I went to my mom’s for Thanksgiving. And since I started the new tradition of mimosas on Thanksgiving, I brought the champagne and orange juice. And since my mom needed help, I got there before noon and started drinking then. No one else arrived until close to three. So I drank a lot by myself. (We went through four bottles easily, so everyone enjoyed them!)

Then there was dinner and wine with dinner and more wine and then some beer and then I just passed out on the couch at my mom’s, without posting anything. (I actually tried the WordPress app, but it wouldn’t work. And at that point it wouldn’t have been more than jibberish after all that hooch.)

I just gave up then. There wasn’t any reason to post on Friday or Saturday then, since no one reads on the weekends.

I’m disappointed, but I had a lot of fun on Turkey Day, so I am not too sad. I posted every day for 23 days, and that’s nothing to shake a stick at. And I think I’m back in the habit of posting regularly, so mission accomplished.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday!

Tomorrow I’ll tell you all about how after just posting THIS, my dentist called me a wuss! GAH!

Wheeeee!

So the surgery went well today and I’m currently sans one tooth. It took a bit longer than they expected because as is the norm with every single dental procedure I’ve ever had, it was anything but routine. But, my surgeon was awesome and he got it all done and said we are in good shape. I go back a week from Monday for a check-up and then in about six months, he’ll put the implant in.

The surgery was really fine. Nitrous is amazing. It’s like being drunk, but without the hangover. When it first started he was all “do you want some more?” And I’m all “HELL YEAH!” Actually it was more like “muah huh” because I had nine million things in my mouth. I’m sure he regretted that later when I was so relaxed and couldn’t keep my mouth open.

The problem is that there were so many opportunities for “that’s what she said” jokes that I couldn’t actually say because of the nine million things in my mouth. (That’s what she said.) In fact, after they were done, I tried to make one and I think it came out as “dwas zut eeee erd”. Because there was no laughing. Except for my own.

I was fully recovered by the time Daisy came to pick me up, which was sad for her and the entire internet. I should have made her come home with me until the pain meds kicked in to get some good material. But then again, that’s what Twitter is for.

(Shout out to her for being so sweet and not only picking me up on a work day, but she also picked me up a smoothie from Jamba Juice and made sure it was extra blended and had no seeds. I’m lucky to have friends like her!)

And seriously, thank God for Twitter. When one has this kind of procedure or is sick or suffering, it is tough when you’re single. The cats don’t help and you just want your mommy and want people to listen to you whine and just make you feel better. So really, thank you all. And I’m sorry for all the excessive tweeting.

Now I’m going to lie down and watch oodles of TV. And maybe do a few cartwheels. Because right now, I can do anything! DAMN these pills are magic!

WHEEEEEEE!!

I don’t have an inside voice. I have a voice. And it’s loud and you can hear it inside or outside.

I never really got in trouble for it growing up, that I can remember. I’m usually told to “use my inside voice” and then I try. I have finally learned, at 34 years of age, that I need to whisper. My inside voice is what I imagine whispering to be. I am unable to actually whisper. Which makes it hard to talk about people behind their backs.

This isn’t a good thing to have in the workplace. Especially at new places of employment. People hear a raised voice and they think any number of things – shouting, anger, frustration. But with me, it’s not the case. I get amped up sometimes, and then I get excited and I TALK REALLY LOUDLY.

I generally don’t need to calm down. I’m an excitable gal. I get going easily. I cannot talk in a low, monotone voice at all. I’m not upset, I’m just using the VOLUME of my voice to convey something. Trust me, you’ll know when I’m pissed.

I’m always amazed at people who can whisper. I mean, I’ve always worked in a cubicle village. Whispering is key if you don’t want anyone to hear what you’re saying. I hear people talking to each other or on the phone and the volume is so low and I’m JEALOUS! How do you get your voice that low? Also, why aren’t you talking louder so I can eavesdrop on your conversations? And are you talking about meeeee?

My friend Teri is the same way. When she and I get together, her husband Kirk likes to be as far away from us as possible. One, because he can pretend he doesn’t know us, and two, because he’ll still be able to hear what we say no matter how far away from us he is.

It’s all just part of my enchanting charm. And probably why I’m still single.

So I chose to believe her! Of course I did!

I started probiotics a few days ago. And I started the antibiotics this morning. I’m hoping it all works out and there are no poop-splosions in my near future. But, on a good note, I know what the symptoms are, in case I do have a repeat occurrence, and then I will stop taking the medicine. As opposed to the last time, when I just kept taking medicine that was making my ass feel like it was on fire.

Ahem.

Anyway, I bring this up because today I started two medicines in advance of the oral surgery. I picked them up at the drug store near my office this morning because when I went to pick them up yesterday, I realized I left my wallet at home. Good thing I bring my lunch!

The two things were not in a small white paper bag like normal prescriptions. They were in a LARGE brown paper bag. I’m pretty sure everyone that saw me leaving CVS this morning thought I was carrying an enema in the bag. Or 20 pregnancy tests.

But no! It was just a large bottle of pills and a GINORMOUS bottle of anti-bacterial mouthwash.

I started both these medicines this morning. The antibiotic is straight forward. The only thing that worried me was a) the chance of the poop issues, of course, and b) that it specifically says that if heartburn is one of the side effects, to contact your doctor immediately. Like it’s considered a SERIOUS side effect, where poop-splosions are just regular, run-of-the-mill side effects.

Well. Hmmm. That’s not good. Because I GET HEARTBURN EVERY DAY.

How do you know the difference? AM I GOING TO DIE?

The mouth rinse is also stupid. I have to do it twice a day, preferably once in the morning and once before bed. The problem with this is that I cannot eat or drink for two hours once I rinse. That’s fine at night when I’m drooling on my pillow. Not so fine in the morning when I’m hungry and thirsty and ITCHING for the caffeine from my coffee to be racing through my veins.

Oh! And it leaves a nasty taste in your mouth! So even water tastes gross! And food! So! At least it should work wonders on my too-tight pants!

As long as it doesn’t lead to the Kristin Johnsons, I’m calling it a huge victory.

I re-elected him and then he left me. For 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to work with the President. I couldn’t fault him, only because he called me personally to say that he was leaving and he was glad I voted for him and he was sorry to let me down. Or something like that.

(I still have that message saved on my answering machine. Because clearly, he only called ME.)

Then my fake boyfriend decided to run for Mayor of Chicago! And then he won! And now he’s been on the job for like 6 months. He’s doing a fine job, if I say so myself. (Don’t tell me differently.)

As I mentioned, it is no secret how much I love my fake boyfriend. I even wrote about the time I was in the same room as him, with 3,000 other people.

The funny thing is that I find myself defending him, like he pays me to do it. Which he does not. Not that I would turn that opportunity down.

Chicago is by no means perfect and he has a lot of work to do with a very archaic system in place. The old mayor was here for 27 years. Change isn’t easy to come by after that many years.

But if I’m in a conversation and someone starts saying something about him, I get all amped up to defend him, like someone insulted my nephew. Even my friend Melissa commented the other day that it is OK to disagree with something he does. He’s not perfect. He will make mistakes.

I won’t admit to them. It’s blasphemous! Plus, you have to be careful. He’s always watching.

DOESN’T THAT PHOTO MAKE YOU SWOON??

*Term coined by my friend Julie because of all my Rahmy love.