Monthly Archives: August 2012

He wants me to come over and feel his bicep and more!

Eight days ago I decided to start Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred, mostly because I want to build up the muscles necessary to take out the teenagers at the gym who sit on the machines and text War and Peace-length messages to their friends instead of oh, I don’t know, WORKING OUT. It seriously takes these morons half an hour to do 10 hamstring curls. Usually the culprits are 15-year-old twigs who probably haven’t even heard of cellulite yet, which gets me REALLY riled up because if I looked like they do I would spend my evenings running naked through the streets with a bullhorn shouting, “Everybody look at my ass!” and not at the gym trying to work off the solitary percentage point of body fat separating myself from a fossil.

I know I could probably just ask the twigs to move, but it’s more satisfying to pace back and forth behind the stack of floor mats in the poorly lit corner like a creepy gym spinster and ragefully calculate how many minutes the local youth are stealing from my evening routine of eating prunes and watching Golden Girls while massaging the bunions on my shriveled, 28-year-old feet. (Totally joking. Except for the Golden Girls.)

I was nervous to start day one of the shred, but it’s not as tough as I had feared. It is, however, the polar opposite of the Crunch cardio sculpt DVDs I had been doing, where the instructor allows you to rest periodically and acts like your friendly neighborhood Girl Scout Leader. Jillian, on the other hand, believes resting is for assholes and acts like the leader of your friendly neighborhood prison gang, minus the improvised shiv whittled from a government-issued toothbrush (I think – I haven’t gotten to level 2 yet). I feel like it should be too early to see any sort of results, but I was putting my hair up this morning and I swear my biceps look way bigger than they did when I started just over a week ago. (Also: I was late to work due to an ensuing Schwarzenegger pose-fest in front of the bathroom mirror.)

Get in da sock bun! Nowwww!

I of course wasn’t together enough to take any “before” photos prior to starting level one, but I will remember to take some once I complete each of the levels. I intend to post them here, but I’ll be honest: The probability of whether I actually do it is a function of a) how much my body resembles that of William Shatner’s and b) how drunk I am at the time of posting.

Why I’m not a screenwriter

A few weekends ago we saw “Transformers 3: What were you thinking, Patrick Dempsey?” on Netflix and decided to watch it. You may be asking yourself why I would do this to myself. Well, why did I once watch an entire season of “Bridalplasty” in two days? Why do some people want to have kids? If Snooki gets punched in the face in the forest, do the trees high five each other without making a sound? Some things are just a mystery, is what I’m saying.

Anyway, about 10 seconds into the movie, I knew I was going to have to find a way to pass the next two-and-a-half hours in my head. If you haven’t seen this trilogy, the following synopsis will fill you in on all seven hours of combined storyline: Hot girl, shit exploding. Seriously, that is the entire story. I would not be surprised to find out the plotlines for these movies were originally finger-painted on rock walls by cavemen and subsequently discovered by Michael Bay on a vision quest for blockbuster movie ideas deep in the wilderness outside of Los Angeles (quick, somebody make this into a movie starring Nic Cage).

To pass the time during the movie, I started imagining what non-action movies would look like if they had been directed by Michael Bay. May I present to you:

“The Sound of Music: Do-re-DIE”

Honestly, I would watch the shit out of that movie. I was routinely forced to watch “The Sound of Music” against my will as a child, and do you know what would make the scene where the head nun sings for 20 minutes about climbing every mountain more exciting? EXPLOSIONS, that’s what. Try fording those streams when they’re ON FIRE, sister.

This, in turn, got me thinking, what would have happened if Michael Bay had teamed up with Nicholas “Shakespeare” Sparks?  I’ll tell you what would have happened:

“The Notebook: Sorry, this explosion probably caused your memory loss”

Sure, I cried at the end of “The Notebook,” but only because I envied the main character’s Alzheimer’s – I’m stuck with the memory of watching this movie forever.

Finally, I like to think that when Kirk Cameron tried to prove to literally tens of moviegoers worldwide that marriage can be fireproof, Michael Bay was all, “Challenge extended,” and came up with the idea for:

“Fireproof your IP address”

I’d imagine this one would be mostly the same, except every time Kirk Cameron looks at porn, God drops an a-bomb on a third world country.

Actually, that might be true.