FAMILY PICS (or MANLY THANG)




JOEY EVANS





JOEY EVANS





NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS

It’s time once again for the annual swearing of the New Year’s resolution - that time honored tradition where we solemnly make all kinds of wonderful pledges to both ourselves & our loved ones. But all the good intentions and big plans mean naught because deep down in our pudgy little cholesterol laden hearts we know that we’ll never follow through on any them. Those extra 10, 20, (hell admit it) 50 pounds aren’t going anywhere any time soon and even the thought of giving up smoking has you fumbling in your pocket for a light like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver.

Big business is well aware of all this. January is the prime month of the year for gym memberships while sales of athletic wear and home fitness equipment are higher than at Christmas. Health food stores tout the latest cure all and TV informational push the latest diet/patch/pill that makes the fat melt away and somehow magically makes you look 15 years in the process. Who knew that losing weight would make your gray hair, wrinkles & eye baggage go away?

Get real people. If you DID lose all that weight you’d look like a Shar-Pei with all that excess skin drooping down - although you could save on underwear because that floppy skin apron where your gut used to be is going’a hang down & hide your punanny/pecker from view. Which won’t be an issue because you KNOW that you are not gonna give up Big Macs & Snickers and the only time you’ll lace up your Nike’s will be to go buy goodies at the store.

Loose skin, jingly butt cheeks, drooping jowls, chicken wing upper arms. Wait I’ve got all those already! Damn it all, I’m gonna have to do it, make a resolution and count on y’all to keep me honest.

RESOLUTIONS:

1. Get Healthy

2.....

'Heck, one is enough for me',

It's time to embrace being Miss Average

This article in The Daily Mail really hits home! I think all women should read it and take it to heart. Here's one highlight:

After all, some of the most contented women I know are average in the
nicest possible way.

They are attractive enough to avoid weeping when they look in the mirror and to acquire a nice boyfriend, while being not quite beautiful enough to make other women hate them and to be shackled to maintaining their look well past the time at which they might have the energy to do so.

They are blessed with enough nous to navigate their way through life relatively smoothly without the pitfalls inherent in being a tortured genius, and they earn enough to pay the bills and finance the odd luxury mini-break, even if they will never hold a platinum card.

In short, they're ordinary.

You don't have to be the youngest, richest, thinnest, prettiest woman in the world to be happy; so all of us "normal" women have something to celebrate. Don't wait until you lose 10 pounds or the house is perfect to do the things that make you happy. Go on a trip, wear that red dress and enjoy life. If you keep waiting, it may be too late before you have the time/money/looks to do what you want.

ON THE FLOOR

Now I know I’m getting old.


After spending several hours in the floor surrounded by wrapping paper and bows, I found that I couldn’t just get up like I used to. Damned if I didn’t have to get on my hands and knees before I could struggle upright and on my feet! I go to the gym, I do setups and all that other crap, why the hell did my tired old bones lockup after hunkering down on the carpet? I was OK once I was standing, but gravity had me glued to the floor. It was like there was a big magnet sucking my fat ass downward every time I tried to stand up.

The cats seemed to get a kick out of it; they circled me meowing either encouragement or insults, I couldn’t tell which. I shoulda chunked them both up against the wall before I got up off the floor, just to teach them not to laugh at the person responsible for filling the food dish and emptying the litter box. Thank God no one else was around to witness my decent into feebleness or else I never would have heard the end of it (I know y’all won’t tell anyone!).

Guess I need to take up yoga or something to help on my flexibility. There aren’t any classes here in the boonies but I can get a CD and entertain the pussies some more. Thank goodness there aren’t anymore presents to wrap; I’m not sure I can go through anymore humiliation this week.

YEA ME!

Wahoo! This morning for the very first time I actually lasted a full 20 minutes on the elliptical machine. Not too shabby considering it was 4:00 A.M and I haven't been quit smoking for that long; plus the first time that I set foot on the damn thing I couldn’t even go 3 minutes. Granted I was melting and dripping all over the floor this morning but damn it, I did it!!!!!! I would have done a happy dance all over the gym but my knees were wobbly and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by falling on my face in front of all my workout buddies.

Wonder how long I’d have to stay on the evil elliptical to work off all that gloriously fattening but oh so tasty, totally to-die-for 4 cheese baked polenta (that’s Italian grits for all y’all Southerners out there) that I cooked and ate yesterday? Leftovers are hidden in my lunch for today, yum!

MOVE YOUR ASS

As I’ve complained bragged talked about before, I’ve been on a self improvement kick (i.e. quit smoking, move my ample derriere and get some exercise, maybe even try to eat a little healthier). Sweet Thang is still recovering from his motorcycle mishap; after 3 months being bed-ridden and wheelchair-bound, you’d think he would be chomping at the bit to get back in shape. So the obvious idea would be that we do things together, providing each other with encouragement etc etc . Wrong.

Although Sweet Thang is hobbling around on a cane, he can’t hold out for very long. I’ve been trying to get him to go walking with me but he moans that it’s too hot. Don’t tell his Mom, but the only outing that he’s been interested in is going to the bar and shooting pool while drinking beer with his hard ankle buddies. As a matter of fact, it's the first place he drove when he managed to escape from Mom's watchful eye. So I suggested “mall walking” and he actually got insulted; informing me that’s what “old women do”. Hell, the oldest woman I know can run circles around him; if he doesn’t get his fat ass in gear he’ll never be able to go back to work and I’ll be damned if I’ll feel sorry for him OR support him.

I took him to Sears just to get him out of the house and he lasted about 30 minutes; heck I thought every man alive could spend all day in Sears! The same thing happened at Hartselle’s indoor flea market; 30 minutes and we had to go. I managed to get him to go to the movies and he did stay for the whole film (Live Free or Die Hard; excellent flick, lots of bang for your buck). However he shifted and moaned and groaned the whole time and when it came time to leave it took him 10 minutes just to get out of his seat. The man's gotta start moving or he's going to develop rust!

I know it’s gonna be a long, hard recovery but Sweet Thang has got to get out from in front of the TV and put forth some effort. It’s been 4 months; the bones have healed but his muscles have gone to shit. Yeah, I know it hurts but nothing’s going to make it better other than just grit your teeth and “Get ‘Er Done”. His Aunt has offered the use of her swimming pool for the aqua therapy that his Dr. recommended but I can’t get him to even try. Maybe if I get a cattle prod and keep zapping him he’ll get in gear………..

In other news, I’ve got a new ‘do, y’all. I’ve been foiled! As Ashley worked on giving me a metal head, I glanced in the mirror and scared myself! The image reflected back at me looked like something from SETI looking for radio signals. You know, evidence of life on other planets. ET, phone home!!

So now I have lovely tri-tone tresses, my ever increasing gray hairs are camouflaged, and the guys at work are actually giving me compliments. I must look OK, usually I have to shave my head before they notice so compliments are a big deal. Plus they keep asking me how much weight I’ve lost. My clothes fit differently, I can actually shimmy into some jeans that I haven’t worn in several years and zip them while standing up, but the dad gummed #%*^%^# scales haven’t budged.

I guess I’m rearranging my body even if I haven’t dropped any pounds. I did get my body fat content and measurements taken at Curves the other day; every thing was about what I imagined, not good but improving. But I was shocked at my bust measurement, I'm 48 inches around the boobs! Now I know why I weigh so much, I've got 50 pounds of titties weighing me down. I knew I wear several sizes bigger in tops than bottoms but dang y'all. Now I feel lop-sidded.

Sorry I’ve been MIA, I promise to do better. I just got high speed at home so it should be easier for me to post from there. Heck; new hair, new modem, tighter ass ………. Who knows what’ll happen next!

WORKOUT

THE HARDER I TRY.......

It came out of the dark and hit me like a ten pound hammer. That damn craving, the one I thought was gone for good. My mouth filled with slobber and I strangled the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. I gulped air, practicing those deep breathing exercises that’s supposed to help and all the while hungered for a smoke with every atom of my being.

Thank whatever deity that was looking after me, at 3:30 AM on rural highway 33 as it wound down Courtland mountain with moonlight sifting through the woods and coyotes' eyes gleaming in the dark, there was nowhere to buy a pack and no one to bum off of; I was safe from temptation. After checking the mirror to make sure I wasn’t foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog I drove the rest of the way into work and hit the gym, hoping to sweat out this devilish hankering for a cancer stick.

I’ve been soooooooo good for so long. Why now, after weeks of being smoke free, do I crave the damn things? When will I be free from this weakness? I haven’t even attempted a diet, just tried to stay smoke-free and away from the lure of other smokers.

I come from the age when smoking was considered "grown up" and "romantic". You know, back in the stone ages before Uncle Sam let us all know that tobacco was a killer. Watch any old movie, the hero always lights his lady love's cig. Then you have the gratuitous dual "smoking in the bed after sex" scene. Hell, back then smoking was cool and sexy and almost everyone lit up. Now old folks like me are fighting the habit, and some of us are fighting a losing battle.

Almost my entire family smoked back then, most of them still do. The habit contributed greatly to my Mom's death; so I know it's bad for me, that it stinks and is a nasty habit. But damn it's hard to give up!

Work opened a really nice gym on the plant site and I’ve been going in early on days and staying over after midnights in the hope of gaining a little muscle and thinking perhaps my gasping for breath on the cardio portion would help me resist the siren call of tobacco. I usually do 10 minutes of stretches, 20 minutes of cardio, 20 minutes of weight training, 20 more minutes of cardio and then a final 10 minutes of stretches. I've even conquered the incline sit-up bench! Not too shabby for an over-the-hill old broad who sits on her arse 12 hours a day for a living.

The plan was to get off of tobacco, get in semi-shape and then work on the food portion of my “get healthier.” plan. When you pass the age of 50 you have to work a lot harder on getting in shape. Plus I’m a hedonist so I’ve been putting off the diet part; I didn’t think I could give up good food and smoking at the same time.

Oh well, I guess it's back to one day at a time. I've resisted Demon Tobacco, now if I can just kick my honey bun habit.......