Resolutions, Schmesolutions….

Happy New Year’s, sparklers! I hope you all had a fantastic holiday and sparkly new year. For the first time in a while-I got all dazzled up for NYE and it felt GOOD. The prep and anticipation of getting dressed up super-fancy makes mama HAPPY. I mean me, my sparkly dress and my lashes were FEROCIOUS that night.

Check it:

And the fact that I was able to get my sparkle on, drink a little (lot), dance a little (lot) and devour a hot dog from a street vendor at 1:30 A.M. meant that the night actually lived up to all of the hype. So cheers to that!

Now that we're well into the second week of 2012, I realized a few important facts:

1-It’s been a minute since I posted. (okay, so perhaps MORE than a minute, but please indulge my tiny urban diva side that says things like “it’s been a minute” when it’s ACTUALLY been about six days…) Regardless, it’s been too long. So… Hey, girl, hey! How are you?

2-Winter blows. I hate, HATE being cold. And all of a sudden, it’s winter up in here. Scraping car windows in the morning is the worst when you are prone to wearing skirts and dresses, as I am. Truthfully, I am a lucky girl and most days the Mister performs this service for me. But when I have to do it, I am a salty girl and want to jump into a mug of hot chocolate with extra mini-marshmallows. Which is counter-productive to my next point…

3-Resolutions…. I usually don’t make them. At least with any seriousness or intent to actually KEEP them. I’ve discovered that I am at my core, a pretty hedonistic person. Meaning if something tastes, feels, smells, looks delicious, I will indulge, even when I know I shouldn’t. Almost without fail. Unless… Unless NOT indulging is for a greater purpose. So-if that means NOT diving into said mug of chocolate yum-ness, I can accept that. And I’m not above working hard to get there. I can be a little obsessive on that front as well.
For example, I’ve decided that I want to look like a hot bitch with a rock hard body by summer. Not just, “oh, she looks good for having had a child” good. But badass, “NO WAY a baby came out of that body” good. My dear friend, Ally McLegsforDays*, inspired me because while she has always been hot, the last few times I’ve seen her, she looks ridiculously, scary hot. Like you’d want to hump her leg, she’s so hot. When I asked what she has been doing, she told me her secret: Bikram Yoga. After doing ample research on the topic, I’ve come to the following conclusion:

Oh, HELL, no. Tha fuck?!

NINETY minutes. NINETY MINUTES!!! That’s how long these classes are! If I have that much time to myself without my child or my husband, I am saving it for important things like cocktails with friends or pedicures. Unless a yoga studio pops up across the street from my house that offers Bikram and big gulp sized lattes, starting at 4:30 A.M., this isn’t happening for me. I work out in the mornings, while my family is nestled all snug in their beds. Usually I run for about 25 minutes and end up at Starbucks, where I walk home, reward in hand. Ninety minutes is just not a commitment that I can make on a regular enough basis to see the kind of hotness that Ms. McLegsforDays* has achieved.

Which leads me to my current dilemma: Despite the arctic turn in the weather, I have still been running outside up until this past Monday. Which was the first time in two years that I ran across some sketchy characters on my walk home from Starbucks. Sort of surprising that it’s taken this long considering that I don’t live that far from some dicey areas of the city. And while I am by no means a scaredy cat (sometimes to a fault), it freaked me out enough to put my running on hold until the early mornings get a little lighter.
So-I am back to where I started when I began my fitness kick over 2 years ago-with f-ing Jillian Michael’s and her f-ing 30-day shred dvd. Jesus, this betch is annoying and so awkwardly awkward on screen that I get a workout just cringing from all of her awkward-ness. (Ex: “Oh, yeah baby. Welcome to Level Three. How do you like me now!?”) Ew. I don’t like you. At all. But I like that your video makes my thighs and ass burn like nothing else and that my skinny jeans become my loosey jeans when I do it diligently. And stop stuffing my face with Chipotle and red wine. So stop talking to me, Jillian, because I find your style migraine inducing and your voice makes me feel violent and twitchy.

Anyway, so that’s where I am at with my “become a hot bitch by summer” resolution. If anyone has any other suggestions so I don’t have nightmares about awkward Jillian, please be a pal and send them my way!
Xoxo,
SD

(*Not her actual name. But it SHOULD be.)