Spring clean

Spring is here!

Do you know what this means? Just a few more months until the threat of snow is gone! Ah, the Midwest. Gotta love it.

But I've truly been enjoying the weather lately. It's just warm enough to go without a coat, but still cold enough that layering is okay. And trust me, if anyone needs the help of layering, it's someone coming out of a long, cold, harsh, brownie-filled winter. By the time summer rolls around I'll be ready for tank tops, BUT NO SOONER.

I've definitely got the Spring cleaning itch. There is a room in our house that is used, more or less, as a tragic dumping ground for everything we don't feel like dealing with. Random decorative knickknacks, boxes of old paperwork and mail that needs shredding, crap that I've saved since high school and keep around because it's just so ridiculous. They all go to this room to die.

Let's have a moment of silence to commemorate their sacrifice. For my level of procrastination could not exist without them. Farewell, my friends.

Lately I've been bothered by the fact that this room is a sorry waste of space. Turning this room into something more useful like, say, a shrine to former first lady Barbara Bush, a ham-curing warehouse, or guest room isn't really high up on our list of "Things We'd Like To Do With All That Spare Cash We Have Just Sitting Around" (Please read those quotations with heavy sarcasm,) but it would be oh so appealing to be able to walk through the room without battling massive pieces of luggage.

Although I CLEARLY have a deep desire to learn the prosciutto business, I'm having a hard time motivating myself to actually clean the room. I find it difficult to get rid of stuff. I'm sort of like a mild version of a pack rat. Or, if you ask Brian, maybe not so mild. But that's only because he is super organized. I like to think that I'm enriching his life by showing him the ways of creative storage. You see that empty space of floor? That can be a closet! Or, if you are feeling saucy, your very own collection of mail! See the stamp dating back to 2001? YOU DON'T FIND THAT JUST ANYWHERE.

No, I exaggerate. But I seriously am a messy person. As is evidenced by this room. Maybe I'll fix it up and do a before and after shot. But first I must gather the proper motivation required to purge several years of crap. The horror.

If I had to place bets, I'd say a large amount of cursing and frustration is in the near future. Not to mention a rockin' picture of Barbara that is just waiting for it's time to shine.

Happy Spring!

(Backyard at sunset)

Progress

So...

The elliptical is finally assembled.

Why, yes, it is massive. Don't worry. This room previously only housed my wedding dress and our computer. Now they have a friend. Constructive use of living space!

My sister and I actually put it together last Sunday. At first I thought she was kidding when she volunteered to help, but it turns out she is a very handy assistant. And this was her first time assembling a major appliance. AND she was able to put up with my outrageous assembly methods (READ: yelling and cursing.) Not a small feat by any stretch of the imagination. I sense she has a career ahead of her in the field of "building assistant." And by career I mean I will call her every time I buy something that needs assembling. You're welcome, sis. Glad I could help you reach the stars.

She and I put the elliptical together while Brian stayed downstairs and kept an eye on our nephew. I heard a lot of scuffling, but as I did not hear any crying (on Brian's part) and/or glass shattering (probably on nephew's part), I figured all was well. And it was. Although I never knew a five year old could find a house void of toys and other children quite so fascinating. I don't think I've ever met someone so enamored with stairs. You can walk up them! And then back down! You can sit on them! Crawl up them! And if no one is looking, you can JUMP DOWN 3 AT A TIME!

Just FYI. Something to try when the conversation lags at your next dinner party.

So anyway, this begins the long haul to whip my flabby appendages into shape. I'm really excited about it, especially now that the machine is fully operational. So excited, in fact, that I bought a scale. I haven't owned one of those since, well, EVER. I pretty much prefer to be in denial, but what with this new machine and all, I figured I'd better know where I'm starting in order to know how far I've gone. Depressing? Yes. Necessary? Debatable. But I'm going with it.

My sister keeps trying to get me to run a 5K with her. It's really sweet of her to even think I could do such a thing. But come on. Really? I can barely muster the energy to do my taxes, let alone compete in a foot race with athletic types. Unless it's the apocalypse, I'm just not competing with those people.

I'm all about keeping my goals reasonable. I've been exercising in the mornings before work, and even this past Saturday morning. These facts, combined with other factors, known as Life, are why I've just now decided to go eat some cookies. But only 2. Not the 12 I'd usually eat. CAN'T YOU JUST SENSE THE PERSONAL GROWTH?

Who needs a 5K to chart my progress when I have the soon-to-be-falling stock of Nabisco?

Resolving

Well, I'm finally going to begin my New Year's Resolution.

Many a moon ago (roughly 2 months ago, that is) I decided I was going to embark on a serious, life altering, health conscious exercise regimen. Original resolution, no?

I'd been really half-assing it for years, so I figured it was time to get on the ball and go for it. I mean, one can only claim to be deliberating about such things for so long. Sooner or later, someone's gonna start to question your sincerity. And that person should be punched. Hard.

Although, I do think it's totally reasonable to take approximately 5 years to decide on the perfect exercise machine. Haste makes waste. Right? It took me 27 years to find the perfect cheeseburger. And, HOO BOY, was I looking. 5 years? That's nothing. I'm a veritable whiz kid at this exercise stuff. WATCH OUT BOB HARPER.

The problem is I get so bored with exercise. After much deliberation about what kind of exercise would hold my attention, I decided upon purchasing an elliptical. I feel this is ideal for several reasons. You can read a book, you can listen to music, you can watch television if you so desire. The important point I'm trying to stress here is that you can space out. I need that.

Call me crazy, but when I think about waking up every morning to subject my multiple fat cells to what can only be described as torture, I start getting the shakes. The kind that can only be cured with chocolate cake. Or liquor. Or both. So, you know, distraction become key.

I know someone out there right now is asking why I don't just go to the gym. Well, there's a logical answer to that: The gym is gross. For so many reasons. Oh sure, people "clean" their sweat off a machine, but if you worked in the public service industry like I do, you'd know that the honor system is crap. With a capital C. Work in your own sweat, steroid boy.

Also, the people at the gym make me nervous. I suppose part of that is my own insecurity about my body and it's ability to work various large bits of machinery. So, for now, I'm just going to go ahead and look like a dehydrated monkey in the privacy of my own home.

The box containing the elliptical arrived Monday. I'm planning to assemble this bad boy over the weekend, much to Brian's disappointment. I feel his pain. I wouldn't want to be my assistant either. I'm what some of you might call "demanding." Others of you might call it "Crazy." To each their own.