This terrible thing keeps happening where I get really effing inspired to write posts that get my blood pumpin' (take that as you will) during wildly inappropriate times (go with it) when there is zero time to sit down and vomit onto my keyboard. So what happens is I start emailing myself links. And the thing about emailing yourself is yourself is the easiest self to ignore in your inbox--as if I have any sort of issue ignoring selves in my inbox (what up, 450 unread emails just in the primary category?!).
So basically what I'm saying is there are about 12 blog post topics flailing around in my head and I haven't so much as made flirty eyes with any of them yet. They're sitting in my inbox and in the notes section of the ole Iphe (that's my new abbriev for the iPhone, how do we feel about that? Totes adorbz, amiright?).
But there is one thing that I've been meaning to address since Saturday and it is on the topic of fitness (and I may or may not feel like a hypocrite talking about it since I may or may not have just finished a second glass of wine and exercised my fingertips more than any other part of my body for the last 4.5 hours since being released for the laziest recess ever).
So I was super lucky to be invited to participate in the September Revolt Fitness Uprising: the Four Week Booty Challenge led by the beautiful Nichole Hunstman, and I'm certainly not one to turn down a challenge (especially one that will potentially make my booty less jiggly and more 'licious). So I started last Tuesday (a day late, as per usual -- which I decided the abbriev was spelled "jouge" like "rouge" but with a soft j) thinking that Labor Day wouldn't count due to baseball gameage and hangovers to be rid of. I was wrong, and my glutes were thoroughly destroyed and yea, still are a week+2 days later.
On Tuesday of this week (again, starting late because of the whole not sleeping Sunday night thing) I decided to get back on my game (hot buns for the win!) by running. I ran about 2.4 miles before busting my ass for what makes two separate and totally ridiculous occasions of eating concrete during runs in the past month. I finished up at about 4.2 miles, but my pride was deflated and incidentally my knees were swollen as a mofugger. So instead of doing my Revolt workout afterward as planned, I whined to my roommate who then poured me a glass of wine and I proceeded to not give two pewps about working out.
Then Wednesday, with my swollen knees and pussy (really? How in the actual eff do you spell something that is full of pus?) elbow in tow, I made the executive decision to not work out and instead digest the rest of a previously opened bottle of wine and get that word vomit that has been building up on out of there instead.
So cheers, my friends. I may be late and a little
distracted lazy, but today I fully plan on working toward making my booty look revolting--wait, I mean I'm leading a revolt.. on.. butt dimples.. Okay, I'll stop. But I will be updating you lovely people on the state of my booty for the next month (@mackensieg), so be cool and don't judge me (because apparently wine doesn't help in the quest for a Shakira bod--lame). Let's go get our sweat on.