Hot People Just Look Away

So, I've been pretty busy with my last few days of work (It's my last week! As of tomorrow I will be, for the first time, legitimately unemployed)...so I've let the exercise slip a bit. Also, I like to do it outside, and it's effing cold out, which has made even the outdoor WINTER sports unbearable.

One of the INDOOR exercises I've taken up this year is something called Zumba - I think it's supposed fuse Latin rhythms with easy-to-follow steps so working out can FINALLY be fun. And for a long time, I thought it was fun. I thought it was fun because I was in a big room with a bunch of forty-ish women who weren't really that fit (you know...the one I'll be when I'm forty-ish) and had little to no sense of rhythm and couldn't really follow along with the steps (in their defense, the instructor is pretty terrible at calling out the steps ahead of time, but still...). I had rhythm, and my hips were shaking...I thought I looked like a hot mama...especially in comparison to the forty-ish crowd.

But last week, my Zumba class was moved to a smaller facility. Not only was I hampered by the fact that someone with no rhythm (and therefore no way for me to predict whether their next step was going to be on my toes) could bump into me at any time, but there were also two large plate-glass windows at the front of the room. They were surprisingly reflective. This allowed me to see exactly what I looked like in my work-out gear, shaking my hips and trying to keep up with the delayed step calls. Hot it was not. To call it spicy would be laughable. After that, I spent more time worrying about how I looked than actually getting a great workout and having fun. Zumba was ruined by a window.

But that's not the only time I realized that I'm not so graceful when I'm being active. My uncle and cousin and I went ziplining for my birthday (btw, this is SO fun. Do it. Go out and do it now. Stop reading! [ok, don't actually stop reading...]). It was like flying - you're suspended over the tops of trees by a piece of cable. Birds look graceful when they're flying...why shouldn't I?
This looks pretty epic, doesn't it? Upon closer examination, though, THIS is what was happening:


















Is that a sweater around my waist? A particularly wide belt? Is there some kind of canvas netting in the harness? Please for the love of GOD explain this picture!!!

Nope. That's my midriff. It's hanging out like a pre-teen at recess.

ALL of the up-close pictures are like this....feet ungracefully flexed and belly-button out to wink at everyone. Fan-effing-tastic.

And this made me think of all the things I really enjoy doing for exercise...and then it made me curious about how I looked doing them. Apparently, I look reasonably ok doing the "light" setting for DDR:


(Yes, that is the world's fattest cat, of World Weekly News fame. She lives in my house)

But increase the difficulty, and you stop being able to tell that the thing I'm dancing to has a beat.



It's especially attractive that I'm continually adjusting my bra straps. If only this habit were limited to vigorous exercise...alas...

Pilates is just as bad (if not worse). Observe:





My favourite part of that is the extreme panting at the end. I am out of breath due to the exertion of a single sit-up.

So, I think it's obvious that exercise has got to be a major part of Plan Ab-tastic. Otherwise, I'd have to starve myself such that the fat surrounding my current abs dissolves...and I have a wealth of theoretical knowledge explaining to me why THAT's a bad idea. But the glimpse I caught of myself in the plate-glass window has me worried...what if all those times I danced like nobody was watching, somebody actually was watching? I don't want to be some stiff-hipped girl with her midriff hanging out!

I need brain-bleach. Stat.

Photography and Cinematography courtesy of my 13-year-old cousin.

Hot People Cut Their Losses

So, I never got that coffee date, and really I wouldn't mind except for the absolute DRAMA that went along with never getting that coffee date.
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Dear Single Men: If you don't really dig seeing a girl again, do not - I repeat - DO NOT immediately add her to Facebook. This gives her the impression that you are interested in her. Trust me. I've been there. Recently.

But if you do, and then she subsequently asks you for a coffee date, there are three acceptable responses.

A. Accept the coffee date since, hey, she may end up being the love of your life (please do not misunderstand - I do not want to be the love of anybody's life right now - certainly not when I'm only going to be living in this vicinity for another three weeks, max...I'm just trying to get across that it really probably wouldn't be SO bad to accept the date).

B. Say up front that you had a great time the other night, but you're just not that into a date right now (this, while initially hurtful, is probably your most gallant option).

C. Do not respond to the message, and several days later quietly delete her from your friends list (this is your second most gallant option, because while it will result in 3-7 days of false hope and incessant facebook-checking, at least you're not technically leading anybody on.)

The WRONG thing to do is to accept the date and then provide her with a phone number that does not actually belong to you. That is just hurtful. I'm OBVIOUSLY speaking in hypotheticals here and am not bitter in any way.

Love, Miss T
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Since I had kind of a shitty week, I thought I would indulge myself in a little bit of retail therapy. By shopping for bathing suits. Clearly, I am a genius.

So, while I have been riding my bike pretty regularly over the summer, and managed not to fail at getting up the biggest hill on my ride yesterday (it only took me two months!), I discovered today that there's still quite a bit of butter on my body. These pictures speak for themselves (Warning: I decided some months ago that the next bathing suit I bought WOULD be a bikini, so...yeah...avert your eyes if you wish).
I guess this isn't so bad except that I tend to do things other than stand perfectly still with my arms up slightly trying to hold a camera out of the way of the picture. I hate to think of the rolls and folds that might result if I ever leaned forward. Eep. More work on the bicycle is in order, I suspect.

Also - I never EVER thought I would curse my breasts. Sometimes they like to peek out of tops that I thought were work appropriate and suddenly make them work inappropriate, but they've never done anything terribly harmful to me. I suspect, though, that if I were to wear any of these bikini tops (most halter ties), I would have a half-inch-wide trench dug into the back of my neck due to the weight of my very ample bosoms. The suit on the bottom right actually made me afraid they might try to escape out the bottom. Say hello to my underboob.

I actually tied everything quite tightly for this shot, so you can see how little support this top had, leading me to the conclusion that nobody makes a bikini top with boob support for the affordable department store shopper.

Yergh. Cearly, I came home empty handed. In the meantime, I've decided that the next few weeks are going to involve much more intensive bike riding, possibly a trip to a much fancier bathing suit store (I already had a very serious chat with my visa on the bus ride home), and also some deep contemplation about whether this actually is the summer for a bikini.

As for coffee dates, I'm sure this wasn't my last chance ever.