Journal #6: I Want to "Icky Thump" Matt Damon in His Face

Tuesday, February 8th, in the year of Our Lord 2011

Matt Damon is everywhere.  No...seriously.  He was on 6 of the 8 televisions at the Allen Center this evening.  If it wasn't The Bourne Identity, it was the The Adjustment Bureau trailer.  He's also on a new episode of "30 Rock" on Thursday.  Good lord. 

You know what else is everywhere like Matt Damon?
His cholesterol levels.

And on the other 2 televisions?  The Biggest Loser and Fox News.  Wow, thanks for the variety, Allen Center.  Watching chubbies on national television lose weight and watching mentally-challenged people some producer plucked off the street and plopped in front of a camera is exactly what I want to work out to.  I don't think Glenn Beck is an actual person; just a human-idiot hybrid.  He's God's mistake.  I think God took a really painful Taco Bell shit one night after some heavy drinking with Satan, looked down, almost flushed it before changing his mind and putting googly-eyes on the turd and naming him "Glenn Beck".  It was supposed to be a prank, but He accidently gave Beck a brain (God apologizes, He thought it was a kernel of corn) and all of a sudden, Beck had his own TV show.

"SURPRISE!  They're both empty!  GOTCHA!
Boy, you guys are soooo stupid.  Where did I leave my MadLibs? 
I was working on the script for tonight's show. What's another word
for 'I think Obama's a terrorist?'  Anybody?"

I guess watching "The Biggest Loser" is a bit of a self-esteem booster.  Hey, at least 80 million people don't have to see my sweaty, fat ass pounding away on the pavement.  I'm exercising in relative privacy [A/N: I say relative because I don't recognize anyone from any of my classes when I work out.  If someone is there, I move as far away as possible from them.]

Exploiting those with "glandular problems"
one episode at a time.


I'm starting to favor certain types of exercise equipment; the Death Machine I worked out on tonight is probably going to be a once-a-week deal.  Holy shit on a shingle, Batman.  Never again!  I think Satan himself designed this elliptical machine.  And I'm fairly sure He himself would never use it...that asshole.

Oh, wait.  He must've to get that RIPPED bod for his
Halloween party.

I do have to admit something...I lied last night in my post.  I said I was going to get up and go swimming this morning.  I didn't.  [A/N: Oh, hush.  It was one day.  No big deal, right?  ...right?] I freaked Brooke out by not waking up and getting out of bed when my alarm went off at 6:00 a.m.  That's right, I slept in until 8:00.  Oh yeah, bitches.  I'm a god damn rebel.  But it'll be a different story on Thursday and Friday, when I jump right back into the water found only on the former planet [A/N: Forever a true planet in my heart] Pluto. 

"When I was a kid, besides walking 10 miles uphill
both ways to get god damn anywhere, Pluto was a planet.
Now, go bring Mama her night-night juice."

I am hoping [A/N: Hahaha, "hoping" is a very weighted word in that sentence] to be jogging [A/N: The very thought of that is making me giggle] by the end of the semester.  Running over the summer would be ideal.  Maybe Dad could set up a short route for me to run, possibly by Spring Break.

I've started to measure how far and long I have to walk somewhere by the songs I listen to while walking.  For instance, to get to the 2nd floor of the Collins Classroom Center on the UWSP campus, it takes one full play of "Raining Men" by Rihanna and Nicki Minaj, along with half of "When I Hear My Name" by The White Stripes.  To get from my dorm to the Dreyfus University Center, it takes a full "Icky Thump" by The White Stripes and nearly three-fourths of "S&M" by Rihanna.  And if I'm feeling frisky, two plays of "Teenagers" and "Dead" by My Chemical Romance will get me anywhere, anytime.  It's like I have this down to a complete science.

Sometime in the future, I'll put up a partial playlist of the songs I listen to while working out.  I have an odd taste in music, but it seems to be working out for me.

Journal #5: We Are the Champions

Monday, February 7th, in the year of Our Lord 2011

I don' think I'll take another weekend off again.  Working out today was terrible.  I hurt...all over.  It didn't help that I couldn't keep a steady pace on the elliptical because none of my music had a consistent beat.  I went from Rihanna to Kings of Leon and nearly killed myself  re-adjusting my strides. 

GAH. 
Re-adjust my strides?  More like re-adjust my...never mind...just keep reading, please.

But on a more positive note, biking for a half hour has really helped with my extracurricular reading list.  Oh my poor, poor Nook.  I haven't touched it in weeks and I can hear it crying out to me every time I look at it on my desk.  It just looks so sad sitting there, its dark screen waiting for me to load up a new novel with exciting characters for it to read out loud to me.  Wait for me, my dearest electronic reader!  I shan't be too long from withholding myself from your leather-bound goodness! [A/N: I just finished watching a Jane Austen movie (Sense and Sensibility, thank you for asking) and I am in a Ye Olde English kind of mood.  Forgive me and my odd perverseness for the arts.] I feel like I'm cheating on my Nook by reading a regular book, but I'm almost done with "The Bucolic Plague". 

The "other" woman...

While working out, I got to relive one of the greatest nights of my life: the Superbowl highlights reel on SportsCenter.



DA NA NA, DA NA NA



The hour-long show was filled with nothing but the glorious images of the Packers curbstomping the Pittsburgh Steelers, 31-25.

Do you honestly expect any less from them?

If Big Ben hadn't thrown so many turnovers, I honestly believe we wouldn't have won the game.  There were no interceptions, which was both odd and great.  We lost some key players in the first half: Charles Woodson (broken collarbone) [A/N: What a trooper.  He was interviewed after the game, saying he broke down in the locker room.  But he pulled himself together and cheered on his team, unlike another key player who just sat on the bench and pouted like someone just took his lollipop away from him.]

Pussy.

Donald Driver left in the first half, his ankle in a brace for the rest of the second half.  Aaron Rodgers was a goddamn machine and as always, Clay Matthews was a beast [A/N: A BEAST!].

BEAST.

Both Greg Jennings and Jordy Nelson deserve their own personal MVP awards, because they carried the team and game on their backs, both scoring the touchdowns for the entire game.  I have a personal grudge with Mr. Jennings and was given shit for it last night.  Note to self: Don't rant about football players while watching a game with fraternity boys.  I have never understood why people like Jennings so much.  He always seems to mess up a play every single time, making me see red.  But then there's "The Play", where he performs a miracle even Jesus himself wouldn't commit and I'm all but humping the television out of sheer happiness and delight.  Jordy Nelson is the same, but I can't hate him when his nickname on the team is Sea Biscuit.  Or the Hick from the Sticks.  He's adorable.  [A/N: Some die-hard fan out there is groaning at my use of the term "adorable" while discussing football.  SUE ME, I'M A WOMAN.  I HAVE NEEDS.]

Running straight into my heart.

In the end, it was pure and utter pandemonium in the streets of Green Bay [A/N: I've seen pictures, people.  It was like Jesus appeared...right on the steps of Lambeau Field] and the Steelers' fans have lost what remaining faith and respect they had in Roethlisberger.

Halftime blew a big one.  The Black Eyed Peas were horrific, if I say so myself.  The best part?  WHEN IT ENDED.  Oh my God, when Slash came out and started playing, I nearly crapped myself.  And then nearly threw up when Fergie butchered "Sweet Child O' Mine".  YOU DON'T MESS WITH THAT SONG, FERGIE. [A/N: You also don't mess with the Zohan either...]

"What do I do with it?  Do I sing into it?  Eat it?  I'M GOD DAMN FERGIE.
I'M FERGILICIOUS."

Your opinions on the commercials?  Yea, I agree wholeheartedly.  I liked the Doritos and E-Trade baby ones, even some of the Pepsi Max commercials made me snort.

Well, now that the season is over, the boys will have to work extra hard to live up to the expectations they have now reached.  A 6th seed team winning the Super Bowl?  Unheard of.  We were lucky enough to even make it through playoffs [A/N: Anyone remember last year?  Yeesh.  I still get the shivers thinking about it].  This is a historic moment, just like the first man walking on the moon, the first space shuttle mission, McDonald's bringing back the McRib (an abomination in taste, but I still respect it).

So as the limelight dims over the lucky boys of the Green Bay Packers, I finish this blog post with the prospect of getting up at 6:00 in the morning to go swimming and attend class, knowing that the entire time I'm studying, I could be getting stinking drunk at the Homecoming parade.  What a conundrum.

Journal #4: Bye Bye Boobies

Friday, February 4th, in the year of Our Lord 2011
I think my boobs are disappearing. Sad, I know. [A/N: Anyone who even remotely knows me knows I have awesome boobs. The knowledge of their disappearance is shocking.] They're not as perky as they once were. I was afraid that this was going to happen. I pray to God every night to take away my ass [A/N: I have an awesome ass], my thunder-thighs, and my Buddha belly, but lay one omnipotent finger on my prized possessions and I renounce you as my religious figure of choice. I love them like they were my own children. I've been known to say on (this is not surprising at all) more than one occasion that if I was a guy, I'd date me because of my rockin' boobs.



"I have rocking boobs." -Me



 Alas, I guess that's the sacrifice one makes when agreeing to participate in an exercise competition...which I'm STOMPING Brooke at at this exact point in time.





At least I still have my best "ass"-set left.



I almost didn't do anything today.  I didn't go swimming.  SHOCKER.  Did I just say that I opted out of jumping into the liquid I'm quite positive they use to freeze Walt Disney's head in at that cryogenics facility in Arizona.  (You don't believe me about that?  Read it and weep.  No, seriously.  Weep.  It's terrifying.)  I actually slept more than 4 hours last night!  WHOO!  I slept through Brooke getting up and working out with Brenda (such sweet, sweet sleep I got). 

I zoned out in all but one class today.  I love my German class.  There isn't a class that has gone by where I haven't almost died from laughing.  Did you know that this is a sexual inneundo in the lovely German language?  Impress your date one night by asking if you make their asparagus grow (or if you're of the opposite sex, work your magic or something, you'll get lucky eventually).  I DIGRESS.

Eventually this afternoon, I dragged myself over to the Allen Center, where I nonchalantly (read: blatantly) creeped on my former (read: hot) [A/N: I just realized that I made a pun in that set of parantheses.  I'm a genius.] Communications instructor.  Did you know that there is a piece of exercise equipment that is literally just a mini-escalator?



No, seriously.  This exists.





Do you know that I do this every time I go to Younkers at Bay Park Square Mall?  I piss off my mom--and everyone behind me [A/N: WALK AROUND ME.  They're moving stairs, it's not like you're assigned your specific step the minute you stand on one, you lazy fat-asses] when I just stand in place and walk.  

I hit the elliptical and watched Anthony Bourdain get drunk in Ghana. I gagged when Bizarre Foods came on after and Andrew Zimmern gobbled up bull testicles like a champ.

Is there nothing this man won't eat? 

I decided to save the Allen Center employees from an unfortunate job of cleaning up my vomit and headed to an exercise bike to read.  Question: What's cuter than a goat?  A baby goat.  Question: What's cuter than a gay farmer?  TWO gay farmers.  Question: What's cuter than two gay farmers and a herd of goats?  GOD DAMN NOTHING, THAT'S WHAT.  Seriously, go get and read "The Bucolic Plague" by Josh Kilmer-Purcell (he's from Wisconsin!) and you'll understand.  Kilmer-Purcell was a former drag queen who performed in platform heels and had real-live goldfish in his plastic titties.  His life partner is Brent, who worked for Martha Stewart [A/N: A gay man worked for Martha Stewart?  Whoa...]  They have a show on Planet Green, called The Fabulous Beekman Boys and I am OBSESSED with them.



ADORABLE.



After an hour, I left, surprised that it actually wasn't that cold out.  Tomorrow I'll go over again, but not on Sunday.  That's a holy day, damn it.

If you're not interested in anything remotely football-based, you may skip the rest of this post [A/N: I'm giving this warning to you, Haley.  I know you hate sports].  I don't know if you've heard, but the Super Bowl is Sunday and Wisconsin is ready to explode.  I'm pretty sure it was a state-wide holiday today because I saw more Packers shirts on people than I have in my entire life.  It's on the news 24/7.  I'm terrified of the outcome of the game.  If we win: pandimonium.  If we lose: pandimonium.  There will be no happy medium with us Packers fans.  Lil Wayne aka Weezy did a damn cover of Wiz Khalifa's song "Black and Yellow" and ingeniously titled it "Green and Yellow".  It's a song about the Green Bay Packers.  By Lil Wayne.  Who's America's team now, bitches? 

Yea, I can see the resemblence...

We have awesome players.  They have awesome pictures. I have the ability to copy and paste.

Okay, I'll be done now.  Just wait until Sunday and I'll go Packer crazy.

Journal #3: I Have Discovered the Anti-Christ and His Posse

Thursday, February 3rd, in the year of Our Lord 2011

It's only day 3 and I feel like I'm going to keel over at any moment.  I can only say God bless my brain for controlling a lot of my major body functions because if I was given sole responsibility right now, I'd probably die within nanoseconds.  I'm having difficulties carrying on a coherent conversation; I don't need to be multi-tasking by remembering to breathe and blink.

If how I started my day wasn't enough of an indicator, I don't know what else would have done it.  First of all, I changed my alarm song from "Superhero" by Fifth Element [A/N: I'm shamelessly plugging Fifth Element right now.  They're an all male accapella group from UW-Eau Claire and my friend's brother sings in it and I'm slightly obsessed with their CD right now, which just-so happens to be called "Runaway" *$9.99 on iTunes!*] to "Peacock" by Katy Perry.  BIG MISTAKE, BRO-CHA-CHO.  I think I hit every button BUT the off button.  I ended up cranking up the volume while at the same time dying of a shock-induced heart attack because Katy Perry wouldn't stop chanting about feather-covered cocks until I ripped my iPod out of its docking station.

After that unfortunate incident, I debated on whether or not I really gave two huge fuck-dee-doos about swimming.  (But damn it all to hell, I WANT THOSE STAR STICKERS!) I dressed and left the dorms, only for my eyeballs and whatever snot was in my nose to freeze solid in less than a milisecond when I opened the door.  Whoever in my family tree decided Wisconsin was a great place to start their life was obviously mentally handicapped and I will forever hate you. 

I was one of...well, one people in the pool for my first 15 laps.  And you can bet your sweet but not sore (haha, word play makes me happy on the inside) ass that I swam for a full hour! [A/N: I severely regret that decision at this point in time, but at that hour of the day, it seemed like an AWESOME idea.]  Do you know how tempting it is to look at the clock when you're swimming alone?  A minute took for-freaking-ever.  The radio was on, but all it was on at that time was talk-radio, instead of, oh I don't know, GOD DAMN MUSIC?! I had to listen to a phone interview with none other than Weird Al.  (WEIRD. AL.) Apparently he wrote a children's book and it was really inspiring to write...blah blah blah.  PLAY MUSIC, YOU EFFING RADIO STATION.  You could play Ke$ha for 19 hours straight and I'd be happy (because I'd be dead) because it wasn't a phone interview with WEIRD AL.

After dragging my ass out of the water, I got ready for class.  Can I tell you anything important or relevant from any of my classes?  Nope, but I can tell you that I had Fun-Yuns for lunch today.

I also decided to go to the Allen Center (there must be something in the water, because I would never voluntarily decide to do this) after my last class.  Brenda tagged along.  [A/N: Hi Brenda!] My legs lost complete feeling after the first mile.  Again, Food Network was on and so was brownie pudding.  Oh. My. God.

What else was on, you ask?  Well, let me enlighten you.  MTV was on, specifically the show entitled "The Seven".  It apparently picks out the 7 most important things of the day and fills you in on them.  Half of them had to do with the fictional celebrity Kim Kardashian and her obviously surgically-enhanced backside of monstrous porportions, and the other half had to deal with the Anti-Christ. 

The Anti-Christ, Meghan?  Now who may that be?, you ask.  Let me fill you in, dear reader. Justin Maybelline Bieber is the Anti-Christ.  He has legions of brain-dead followers who will do anything at his bidding.  (Imagine AMC's "The Walking Dead", but with pre-teens who have Bedazzled their shirts with this so-called "boy" onto them.)  Tomorrow, Hell will be released unto the world.  His autobiographical movie (THE KID IS 16.  WHAT HAS HE DONE TO WARRANT A MOVIE?  I'm 19 and I've done more impressive shit than him!) comes out into theaters.  MTV is all a-flutter about it and I found myself dry-heaving on the exercise bike, partly because I was dehydrated and about to pass out, of how a once well-respected television station has now reduced itself to such insane drivel is completely beyond me.

Speaking of insane drivel, when will they commit Snooki to a psychiatric ward?  Did you know she wrote a book?  I didn't know she was capable of speaking without cue-cards.  If given a choice between watching Snooki read an excerpt from her novel or watching an orangutan pee into its own mouth, what do you think people would watch?  (If you said this, you'd be correct in your assumption.)

As much as I would love to rant and rave about Justin "I Have Ovaries" Bieber and Snooki "Why Don't I Have a Last Name", I have homework to do.  Now, if I only mentally process what I need to do, I'll be golden.

Journal Entries: #1 and #2

Tuesday, February 1st, in the year of Our Lord 2011:

I blame Brooke for this.  She should've never watched "Heavy" on A&E, because this idea would've never come to fruition and I wouldn't have forgotten how to spell my own name in Sociology this evening.
I don't think I've ever been this exhausted in a long time. I got ZERO (this many: 0) hours of sleep because my mind wouldn't shut up about this idiotic exercise competition.  (I swear, by tomorrow, I'll be more positive about this whole thing). [A/N: At the time of this post, I'm not any more positive about this than I was yesterday].
I woke up at buttcrack o'clock (which is 6:00 a.m. in normal-people language) to go swimming.  I think I surprised Ellen (my swim partner/governor of my floor in the dorm) by crawling my ass down the hallway towards the exit.  Holy fucking monkeyballs, is it cold out that early!  God bless road crews and pedestrians (and old people who go out for walks because there aren't any good infomercials on that early in the morning).  We traversed through the HEC's newest and greatest construction [A/N: It looks like shit.  I think all they did was remodel a damn hallway.  No wonder my tuition bill freaking SHOT through the damn roof this year.  Thanks, UWSP!] and into the lockerroom, where I shed my 27 layers of protective "Fuck if I am going to freeze my pretty ass off" clothing and sprinted to the pool (I use "sprinted" lightly; I more or less shuffled like an arthritic geriatric whose walker just-so happened to be "misplaced".)
Question: why are all indoor pools at schools filled with the waters from the melting glaciers of the Arctic Circle?  Good goddamn, it was FREEZING.  I tried swimming as fast as possible to get warm, but the two huge plane-propellers that have been cleverly disguised as "fans" kept circulating air at a temperature that they keep penguins comfortable in their enclosure at a zoo.

[A/N: This next sentence is literally the only thing that is remotely important about this entire journal entry]
I swam 42 laps in roughly 45 minutes (I swam the first 10 laps in a breaststroke, then used a kickboard to swim 2 laps, then did 8 laps to keep stuff even in my mind).  Hours later, my body is screaming at me to: "PLEASE.  FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE BABY JESUSES AND FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTERS EVERYWHERE, STOP. MOVING."
Oh, and did I mention I had all but 1 of my classes today?  I'm going to go pass out on Haley's bed, while Renee Zellweger squints at me and Colin Firth says swearwords in an adorable British accent.

Explanation

It all started because my roommate got bored and turned on the TV.  She could've done something productive, oh I don't know, read a book or crocheted another cat blanket.  Something.  But no...she turned on the TV and found the show Heavy on A&E and became utterly engrossed in it.  I came into the room, I had been drooling over Colin Firth in "Bridget Jones' Diary" and was ready to enjoy some pretty epic dreams when I noticed what was on and the look on Brooke's face.

Me: "Uh, what are you watching?"
Brooke: "Heavy.  I came up with an idea."
*At this point in time, I became nervous.  She had a glint in her eye as she crocheted yet another row in her never-ending scarf.*

We delved into a conversation about obesity and how we'd like to actually benefit from our year-long membership to the Allen Center.  Brooke outlined what we have now entitled the "Exercise Challenge".  (Nothing good comes from something that ends in "Challenge".)  We've decided to have the entire month of February be our guinea pig for this challenge.  Good God, we even drafted a contract, which we signed and dated (it was late and we were on a roll, people.)

The rules, thus far:
1) Points (yes, points) are awarded for every 30-minute interval that the participant (i.e. Brooke and myself) work out each day
2) You have to be honest, or you lose a point (just like in school!)
3) At the end of the month, the poor bastard who didn't do diddly-shit has to pay for the winner's delicious ice cream treat at the ever-so wonderful Coldstone Creamery

It's been two days and I'm starting to regret that I signed the contract in Sharpie.