Tue, Nov 25, 2008
Hey Miz -
I wrote this for you while stranded in JFK’s Delta Terminal (shout-out to Smoothie World!) I actually typed it out on my handheld, which was probably extremely helpful for my carpal tunnel, bulging disk and various other writing-incurred repetitive stress injuries. But you and the Bumbling Band? So worth it.
PS If you can help me spread the word about my new website name, I’d be SO grateful. The Weighting Game is now going to be found at iVillage’s brand spanking new site, NeverSayDiet.com I’m one of the body image bloggers and I begbegbeg all of your readers who are interested in all things muffin top, airbrushing and bicep curl to bookmark me here. – or if they already read me at Weighting Game, simply switch over the link.
Thanks for letting me guest post! I shall now sit back and wait for the mania that is the MizFit Commenting section commence.
Accidental flashing at 24,000 feet
You board your aircraft and you think you’re safe. The air smells appropriately stale, the pilot looks reasonably sober, and there are only minimal milky stains on Seat 14D. Sweet. You get yourself all buckled in and tray tabled-up, the plane goes fly high in the sky…and that’s where the problems begin.
First, if you fall asleep, you risk looking like a moron to anyone who walks by and sees you passed out cold, your mouth big enough to swallow a bacon double cheeseburger whole. Then one of those embarrassing hynogogic jerks jolts through your body, your hand flying up like a bat outta hell and possibly slapping your next door neighbor. Then the
waitressairline attendant brings the cart by and offers you those delicious butter cakes known as shortbread cookies, and in two bites, you’ve totally undone your smart airport food court choices (low fat fruit and yogurt parfait; skim latte).
Next, your legs start to ache from being compressed in a seat clearly made for an infant, so you go to stretch. Little do you know, your jeans have stretched out from all that sitting, therefore exposing your entire “Kiss Me, I’m Sweet” thong to the priest sitting behind you. Be careful opening the overhead compartment, as waistbands may have shifted during the flight.
I don’t even want to talk about the sanitary issues happening in a bathroom the size of a coffin, or the neighbor who murmurs to himself as he “reads” his girly magazine, or the two women behind you who have been softly singing hymns from the Bible for the past hour. Once was nice but c’mon, now you’re just making people nervous.
And that nasty, Sahara-dry air? Even a pimply teenage boy’s forehead would turn to sandpaper after two hours. But no way am I schlepping an Evian mister on board. You do know what “Evian” spells backwards, right? “TOO MUCH MONEY FOR WATER.”
Of course, once you land, you’ll likely smack your head against the ceiling as you stand up, or find yourself staring into the armpit of a sweaty fellow passenger reaching for their luggage, or forget your barely-read magazine in the seat pocket. As you deplane, parched for liquids and ready to devour anything with the word “chicken” or “stick” in it due to in-flight meal deprivation, you’ll promise yourself, “Next time, I’m flying first class. I deserve a little champagne and a comfy, clean, hair-free blanket and a seat that reclines more than five degrees.” But you won’t, because that seat costs $5000.
Not that all of this happened to me yesterday on my flight from Chicago to NY or anything.
(I hope that sound I hear is all of you clicking and bookmarking. oh, and returning here for the continuing rambles below.)
Our second guest today is the blog-free wonder known as the Toddler Tornado.
Even though we’ve recently discussed core exercise (& beaten *that* fitness horse to death) I requested she demonstrate for the Bumbling Band the exercise we do together to strengthen our core.
Please to enjoy and please to note the outfit.
It’s a mismatched hodgepodge hastily thrown together when Texas plunged into frigid (read: 50 degree) temps.
(and no, Im not kidding. if she were able to balance the camera then *I* would have demo’d merely so you could hear her scream GO MOMMY! GO!! when my belly thwacks the swing as I land.)