The Gym

Eeechwjiehweruiywehchchhhhhh... That is how I feel about the gym.  I don't like it.  BUT I just saw myself in pictures at a friends wedding and frankly, I look like 10 pounds of sh!t stuffed in a 5-pound bag.  Gross.  Though the dress is cute, well, on the hanger now, it is time to get rid of the chub.  So I am joining the gym this afternoon.  At least the gym I go to (we've had a long and checkered past: I used to belong, but then I got a new job out of town so I quit.  Then I got my old job back, rejoined, and then I got pregnant and was vomiting seven (yes, SEVEN) times a day so I made my doctor send them a note so I could quit again.) is REALLY nice, and it's all girls, and it smells like the gorgeous spa across the street from my office, so really, I probably won't be talking about it again UNLESS some old naked woman comes over and touches me on the shoulder (NAKED) and (NAKED) says in this ultra-creep voice "You're pretty".  Then, I'll have lots to share.  Otherwise, no big deal.  But I am excited to get rid of my fat-back and start looking like an Olsen twin.  Kidding!  Except not really what?!

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