Sprung

So! I hope you are all having a fabulous new year. I am not a fan of resolutions, but I HAVE been trying to eat a little better and exercise more for several weeks now. The 'Osan 15' is a common phenomena here, so I am right in the thick of things. Well, let me rephrase that: I have heard rumors that perhaps I am not the only one carrying around a few extra margaritas, but I have seen no such evidence on any of my slim and statuesque friends, acquaintances or assorted Osan beauties. In any case, soon I will be in the land of Target and Goodwill and I will be ever so sad if I can't fit into the ratty cargo pants of my choice fifty-three times a week when I need to go shopping.

Tonight, Lloyd and I went to the BX and Chili's, which is the standard big night out on the town here at Osan. I sucked down my fair share of wings and a couple of margaritas, varying the position of the straw so as to cleverly avoid the tequila abrasion. When we got home, I virtuously pounded out some sit-ups, dips, push-ups, leg lifts and stretches. Don't I sound ATHLETIC? Hahahahaha, I totally have you fooled. You should see me, for real. Oh, how you would laugh. After that strenuosity, I didn't want to 'run' the stairs, so I jumped on the mini-trampoline for a while. And by 'a while', I mean about 2.5 minutes. But at least I wasn't smoking deep-fried twinkies, right? Hmmm, I wonder if anyone has tried that?

While I was jumping, Weston weighed in:

Weston: Mama, are you sure that trampoline is strong enough for you?

Me: Yes, I'm sure (pant, gasp)

Weston: Well, those springs have to work awfully hard. You're so HEAVY.

Me: It's fine.

Weston: But look how much they're moving! They go almost to the ground!

Me: Grrrrrrrrrr (pant, gasp)

Bring on the twinkies! I might as well load up; I'm going to die soon anyway. I didn't used to be so fatalistic but I recently had a VERY interesting conversation with Shane. He likes to rub my scars, scabs and rough skin with his grubby little paws. Yesterday he was trying to pick at a spot on my chin, and when I told him to stop, he replied, 'I'll pick your owies WHEN YOU'RE DEAD'. I'm not sure what he has planned but I might as well give up the jumping for the good of trampolinekind everywhere, since my days are numbered. I can see the headlines now: 'Police Baffled by Mysterious Scab Free Corpse; Trampolines Rejoice in Streets'. I just hope they don't try to pin it on the poor twinkies.