Jillian Michaels is NO JOKE

So, here’s part of the story – the rest involves monthly cycles and bodily functions, so I’ll put that behind the cut for you squeamish types. The 30-day shred dvd arrived yesterday. Friday was payday, and in addition to getting my Kindle, I indulged myself quite a bit more than I usually do, as a reward for sticking with the 30-day shred. Short story: SWEET MOTHER OF FUCKING GOD HAVE I EARNED EVERYTHING I GOT, AND THEN SOME. After the first day. Jillian Michaels DOES NOT PLAY. I wanted to die of exhaustion when it was over. I’ve recovered a bit now (although I have a troubling cough that won’t go away, and I’m wondering if it’s related to the workout, my asthma, my blood pressure meds, or just a hinky cough), but I am sure that tomorrow morning I will feel like hot buttered ass in hell.

So, the dvd arrived yesterday. Why didn’t I start it yesterday, you might very well ask? That’s a good question. A little bit because, after reading tons of reviews of this program, I decided it might be in my best interest to *start out* doing it every other day; then, if I feel able, move up to doing it every damn day (as it’s intended). This way I don’t find out the hard way that I do indeed need a day of recovery – because “the hard way” would mean missing work. Boo to that; I’m trying to save leave, not use it. But the primary reason I didn’t start the shred yesterday was: my fucking period. Vasectomies are awesome; husbands who get them are totally rad badass husbands who should get blown every night for taking such a big one for the no-baby team. (Key word here is “should,” by the way. As in “ought to, ideally, but…won’t.”) I am super happy to have one less medicine to take. I’m not really afraid of modern medicine, and my doctor is all on top of possible interactions, but still, the less I have to take, the better. Except I really had no idea HOW MUCH the birth control pill was mitigating my period. I mean, I knew I’d gotten to the point of having, for all intents and purposes, NO period whatsoever, but I figured when I stopped the pill and my flow came back, it wouldn’t be too bad. But yesterday, let’s see. How did I put it to Greg? Oh yes: “It’s like a fucking crime scene. No joke.” Yesterday was my SECOND day of heavy flow. (In my entire life, I’ve only ever had one heavy flow day, and the word “heavy” was really relative. It was like, two days of light flow on either side of a medium flow, and then one last day of almost but not quite nothing. Now “heavy” is like “holy shit, I seriously think my appendix is rupturing, take me to the hospital” rolling on the ground, crying, and dry-heaving. But I’m not having babies, so thank Baphomet for that.)

Today was my THIRD goddamn heavy day. Oh yes. If there IS a God, and this shit IS some sort of punishment for Eve wanting to know a thing or two – oh, me and God are going to have some serious words. And by “words”, I mean “I’m going to shove my fist in his face, a la Dee Reynolds.”

But anyways. Here’s the deal: Greg left this morning with Don (GREAT music blog, btw, go check it out – sorry I’ve been remiss in plugging it til now) and James to go to DC to see Iron Maiden and Dream Theater. Why I decided not to go, too, I couldn’t possibly tell you. I must have been either brain dead or flat ass broke that day. Or both. So I went to work alone this morning. After work, I went to Moshi Moshi to get my brows waxed (I know, right?! finally!) and a “super mini facial.” That facial was fucking heavenly. I think I want to marry Tara and have her babies. Or maybe just hand over some skrilla on a regular basis to get her to rub my face? That’d work, too. Done with that, totally blissed out, and I go get some groceries. I don’t feel like hitting Kroger AND a second place (needed ‘beaters for a craft project), so I went to Target, even though we broke up with them for Kroger months ago. Whatevs. In the meantime, Target has moved all their groceries around, so I couldn’t find shit. Took way longer than it should have, and, hoo boy, was I irritable. Get home, unload all the goddamn groceries, and put them away. And then, even though it’s nigh on eight o’clock, and I want to get to sleep at a decent time (and so probably shouldn’t be doing anything adrenaline-rush-inducing), I put on my workout clothes like a goddamn champ and start the shred.

The shred which is no fucking joke. The shred which made me goddamn glad I decided oh so wisely NOT to eat dinner beforehand, because I would certainly have barfed it up on the living room floor. But I did that goddamn shred. I did it. I fucking…well, I didn’t pwn it, really. It pwned me. But I pushed through it, and I fucking did it, and then I wanted to just die. But instead I rested for a bit, drank some water, and then washed all the sweat off. (Can I just say how sad it made me to sweat all over my lovely clean freshly-facial’d-face? But it had to be done.) Then I put on my jimjams, and then I go to take a piss – the first time I’ve lifted the toilet lid since I’ve gotten home.

So, at nine o’clock, I texted my darling husband the following. (I forgo proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation in texting to save, like, a damn penny, as wordy as I am.) And if you ever wondered what true love looked like, take a damn good gander:

“Went to moshi. Got groceries. Home about seven thirty. Put up food. Did shred dvd. Wanted to die but showered instead. Just opened the toilet. Which of you assholes left that turd in the toilet to dissolve for me to see. Your an asshole. Im going to pee flush your turd and die of exhaustion. Hope you fuckers are having a great time.”

Edited to add: Huh. Just read on Spark People that Jillian herself said the shred is meant to be done every other day. Well shit. (And that’s me, coming out of the Spark People closet. I’ve never mentioned it before, and I generally don’t, because I’m still embarrassed to talk about losing weight. But if you want to know what has helped IMMENSELY in the last year, during which I’ve managed to lose and keep off forty pounds: Spark People. I got really slack about it for a while, and that’s why it’s only forty pounds. But I’m getting serious again, because, well, I really don’t want my liver to get fucked up, and I’d like my blood pressure to go back down, and then there’s exercise to support my bellydance practice, so, Spark People. Check it out.)

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