Poker Face

Ok. So I made the mistake of thinking about going to a Halloween party as Lady Gaga and now my stubborn self has decided it’s a must.

Let’s forget for a moment that I’m not a very big fan of Halloween. I’m just not. I’d like to be. I’d like to say that since I’m an actress I find dressing up and “acting” as different characters on a day dedicated to such things a real treat, but I sorta loathe it. And I can’t put my finger on why. It might be my issue with asking for things. I always felt awkward ringing that doorbell and sticking my bag out for them to put candy in it. This would explain a lot of things about me that I don’t care to dwell on today.I said let’s FORGET for a moment…

But this party I’m invited to is a party where you dress up as your favorite rock star. Now I’ve been given an assignment that’s been narrowed down for me. I like this much better. And Lady Gaga is just asking for people to go as her for Halloween. How can you not?

Thing is, she rarely wears pants. This brings up my ass dilemma. Again. And good news- I’ve been working out! Really I have. And I’ve forgotten to let the world know about it. Kinda like that war going on over there in Iraq. People kinda know it’s happening still, but it’s never mentioned by anyone anymore. And this might be for the best- as is my growing “mom butt” situation.

It’s either work out or wear that red lacy outfit she wore to the VMAs which DOES cover her butt…but is completely see-through. A lot of difficult decisions ahead for me. I vow to try to make it look like I’m not trying. Dare I say it, use my poker face. ohhhh. lame. I apologize for that. I think with all this water I’ve been drinking lately to release toxins is washing away “clever”.

If there’s ever a visual you need to get back on the treadmill or start doing leg lifts, it’s yourself dressed as a half-dressed 23 year old performance artist. GASP! I can’t BELIEVE I haven’t put her on my ipod yet for the workouts. Note to self: do that after this.

I promise to keep you posted on the war with my butt. If I don’t, the terrorists win. Or in my case, Hollywood and all the women with tight buns win. Now I’m off to a 1 year old’s birthday party. There will be cake to eat. And I don’t want to be rude.

Inspired by blogger Julie Powell

I just saw Julie and Julia with my daughter. What an inspiring film.

We both left saying “This makes me really want to cook.”

When we got home I heated up some left over pizza and Mayah made some pasta for herself.

hm. Maybe tomorrow.

Look, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been on here. Don’t think for a minute that my bod stayed the same while I was away. I have been cramming my 30-something derrier into my pants that don’t fit now for a good month. It kinda doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been sufficiently stressed and sustaining myself on peanut butter filled pretzels and coffee. I should be in tip top shape… oy.

I’m only here for a moment because if Julie could work a full time job and cook 524 rescipes on 365 days I could log on here and tell you I haven’t done jack shit in the war against my flab for two months.

I have looked on the bright side these past couple of months, though. When your pants are tighter your butt actually stays in place better. It has no choice.

Bon Appetit.

My idea of exercise is a good brisk sit. ~Phyllis Diller

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Back to the grind.

Music Man Jr is over and my kids were fantabulous. I most certainly got “work outs” in- and possibly permanent knee damage with all the crawling around after kids I did!

I think trying to camouflage exercise only works when you’re really busy. Trying to pass off babysitting once in a blue moon as exercise works- I’d say- once in a blue moon and that is all. It’s a new week. A new month. I figure it’s time.

I have gone for half hour sweaty speed walks for the past two days. There was no mistaking it for anything else but exercise, try as I might. It started out as a jog- and then I got to the top of a hill and everything started going fuzzy. I decided if I wanted to see the end of the day I should stick to walking. Who the hell do I think I am- a miracle worker?

Once I get home I stretch and do some random yoga poses I’ve picked up for the 8 times I’ve done my yoga video here at home. See that, I’m talking as if this is a regular routine. I’ve done it twice. I dusted off some hand weights and even gave those a spin. It’s a wonder I can hold my arms up to the keyboard. The key is good music. And boy am I random. I skip around from classical to My Chemical Romance. Somehow, depending on my mood, they can evoke the exact same emotion. It’s all so clear now. Beethoven was the angst-ridden performer of his time. Nobody put words to his music, but I’ll bet ya they would’ve been “I’m NOT OKAY”, too.

Still, the 10 loads of laundry I’ve had to do in the past two days has gotta count for something. I have 16 steps leading up to my front door and I’ll be damned if that ain’t regular exercise- especially with baskets full of clothes and towels and sheets and blankets.

I’m gonna be a hard ass. Er have one… er something.

“We’ll never survive!” “Nonsense. You’re only saying that because no one ever has.” William Goldman The Princess Bride

Wednesday May 27, 2009
Could it really be over a week since I wrote? Wow. I have failed miserably. If you saw my schedule, though, you’d understand.

I am knee deep in 1912 with the Music Man Jr and 83 kids ages 8 to 11 years old.  I’m gonna need a vacation after this- and trust me, it’s a work out.  I’m moving sets and props, I’m running around to get kids in the right place, I’m sweating under stage lights.  I feel no sorrow or guilt for the loss of a “real” workout during weeks like this.

AND I just went on a big family camping trip with the scouts. Lots of long walks. Exercise, for sure- but really that’s just to make up for the crap food I will need to eat this week on the run as cooking a decent meal of any kind will be a laughable idea.

I’ll be back next week. I’ll be clever and witty and energetic. This week I must concentrate on survival.

“During times of war, hatred becomes quite respectable…” Howard Thurman

Tuesday May 19, 2009  9:39am

Yesterday I took the stairs.  Whenever possible. I walked around a little,too.

It’s all I got for ya. Not enough?

Kiss my white flabby all-american …

“You and [your ass], full speed ahead.”

Friday May 15, 2009
Alright fine. I’ve missed two days. I have a raging cold or allergies, not sure which one.
Excuses. I’ve got loads.
SO let’s recap the days I missed.
Wednesday I spent 3 hours in the am in a prop house climbing stairs, moving furniture, lugging it from trucks…QUITE the work out and I happily count that towards a work-out-that-is-not-a-workout. Yay me.
Thursday… wellllll. I spent the day at a friend’s house with babies and carried around a baby. I am not sure that counts in normal people’s lives as a workout, but then again, I don’t believe in normal people. Show me one. And any mother will tell you carrying their babies around is a work out. And-definitely- if my right arm could speak, it would without a doubt say “Hell to the yes- it was a work out!” It helps I love that kid.  I also did loads of laundry and went grocery shopping- hauling bags and baskets up my stairs in numerous trips. Can I get a shout out from all the moms out there?
So really it’s been a good week.  And I’ve discovered why I’m actually thin. I have no time. When you are constantly moving the fat has no time to stick.
Still, none of the things I’ve done this week will give me the athlete’s ass I so desire. The war rages on.
That’s, right, jello-butt, you’re not fooling anyone with your flatness. Flat does not equal awesome. Skinny does not equal powerful. Skinny does not equal healthy.
Skinny does not book me a role as some ass-kicking, kick-ass woman in some action-y show. (neither does being 33 in this town, but I digress).
Skinny only gets me into those ‘skinny jeans” I bought and I can find very little satisfaction in those jeans (and my calves can’t either as they gasp for air).
Once again, I thank my GENES for being good and I thank my JEANS for faking it for me until I can walk around and not feel my butt stop moving AFTER the rest of my body has stopped. Beyonce I am not. I am a white girl. And white girls do not “got back”, if you will.
Ahem. Clearly, skinny does not make you “hip”, either.

“Aim High”

Tuesday May 12

Ok. I have a confession. I didn’t do the yoga I said I was gonna do last night.  I was tired. Really tired. And I’ve never been able to understand those people who get up at 5am to work out when, truthfully, it might be healthier to get more rest.  So I am of the same opinion at night. Stay up another half hour to do some yoga or go the hell to sleep cuz in 7 hours you gotta get up to do life all over again? I choose sleep.
Don’t tsk tsk tsk at me too long. I got up, got the kids fed and off to school and then did an am yoga session. And tonight maybe I’ll do a pm yoga session- right after American Idol. Ahem.
Until then- I’m hoping my butt and I make it through the day.
******************************************************************************
American Idol is over and, alas, I am faced with having to work out at far too late an hour. Here’s the thing. My daughter and I took a nice impromptu walk tonight- lots of it was hills.
Aaaaaand then we sat in the dark and watched a movie for 2 hours. BUT we walked back home, of course. THAT trip was- miraculously- uphill, too! Ok. No no. It wasn’t, but it was better than any workout I could have done today. We laughed and joked and discussed the film and laughed some more.
If it makes you feel better I have been pretty stressed recently and so all that tension surely has been a workout in it’s own right.
Basically what I am saying is there’s no chance in hell I‘m working out tonight.
Here’s a snapshot of what I’ve had to deal with today:
Bed bugs

A fax machine I can’t work

Drama with drama (which includes, but is not limited to, e-mails, phone calls, lunch meeting and rehearsal)

Audition with Crankasaurus Rex

Inner dilemma about letting my daughter eat crap Chinese food

the discovery of yet another blond actress from Australia stealing my jobs
I mean I barely made it through 17 Again without a breakdown. But let’s face it, that’s cuz I too was upset I wasn’t 17 Again … aaaaand trapped in a room with Zac Efron. If that’s wrong I don’t feel like being right. Give me that. I ain’t gettin’ any younger.

Does it count as a workout if that movie made me sweat a little?

time to put on the camouflage

Monday May 11, 2009

Ya know how moms will try to hide veggies in food to make kids eat them? They do. I know this because I am a mother.
But anyway, I’ve decided this is how I’m gonna have to approach exercise. I must fool myself into thinking I am doing something else.
Luckily for me that eliminates any exercise classes. There’s no trying to kid yourself in those places.
Another thing I’ve found that seems to camouflage a workout is yoga. I think I’m finally old enough to sit still long enough to actually let yoga work for me.  NOT in a classroom setting mind you- I’m not ready for the level of embarrassment, thankyouverymuch. It is only disguised as something other than exercise if you are sitting on your own carpeting in your own living room in sweats you don’t even let your pet fish see.
This is currently what I’m contemplating as I sit on my couch with my toasty, cozy lap top. It’s really all that’s left. Sitting on my couch is all I’ve got left. Since the time I woke up at 6:30am this morning to right at this very moment as I type I have not had one millisecond of free time. I mean, I was barely even on facebook or twitter today!  Can you stand it?
So I’ve got 35 minutes to get a blog entry in for the day. I can do that, but can I get my 20-minute evening yoga session done by then, too? I don’t know. I just don’t know. And would my heart really be in it?
See what I do? I ramble on about how I can’t exercise until it’s so late it wouldn’t make any sense to do it. I mean I committed to the blog part of it all-not, necessarily, the exercise part of it, right?
See? There I go again.
I didn’t eat all of the fries on my plate today. So I should only have to do half the yoga. It isn’t important that I simply didn’t have TIME to eat all of the fries…fries…

That’s it. The lap top closes.

I will get this blog in on time to have a Monday post and I will get myself through a torturous stretching yoga session before I collapse into a heap and take the punches that lie ahead tomorrow.

Mother’s Day= My Day

Sunday May 10, 2009

I begin my crusade with a day of rest -because I’m your mother and I said so. Off to a great start…
Let’s chat.
A few things about me:
I’m an actress in Hollywood. Here, I shall refer to it as H’Wood.  It keeps it light and fun in my brain- which is something, I assure you, is necessary for survival. H’Wood is the acting biz, NOT LA- cuz I actually know normal people in LA who don’t want to have anything to do with the entertainment business (those 4.2 people are very friendly). I’m just an actress who happens to live in LA, but who is trying to ‘make it’ in H’Wood.  Ya follow?
On the rest of the planet I’m not very old. On Planet H’Wood, I’m about 3 feet under. On the rest of the planet I have a killer bod. On Planet H’Wood I’m the before shot.
I don’t make the rules.

I have a lot of will power- for a lot of things.
I’ve suffered through this crazy acting career for a long time and I show no signs of stopping. Will power. I was told to go on a no yeast, no sugar, no anything-yummy-at-all diet for a month and I did it. Will power. How much will power do I have to keep exercising?
Approximately zero.

Because I’m thin, I look like I should know how to work a treadmill, or elliptical bike or whatever the hell you call those things.

I don’t.

I have a membership to the YMCA. Here’s my theory: average age at the Y? Gotta be 80 years old. Who would I like to embarrass myself in front of more- 20 year old Hollywood Hunk wannabes or blue hairs? Uh huh. Exactly.

So I’m at the Y… It took me a few weeks of faking a good stretch so I could watch other people mess with buttons on the treadmill before I got on one myself. And even longer after that -crawling along at the lowest speed on the treadmill- that I attempted to steal a glance at a few folks on the step thingy and give that a whirl. Then another month or so to strike up a flirty conversation with the nearest jolly old man so he could show me the way around one of those horrifying weightlifting contraptions.

Here’s what I found:  It’s boring. BO-ring. And who likes to sweat? Blech.

So my mission in this war against my gravity-lovin’ derrier, is to find ways to whittle it down or possibilities to perk it up that might actually be fun. Different ways every week. If there’s one thing I hate it’s routine (no, really, it’s exercise, but I don’t want to get repetitive).

This might be self- sabotage because everything I read says the key to reaching your goals is creating a plan and sticking to it. Creating a *gasp* ROUTINE.

But I’m in to self-sabotage. I’m an actress in H’Wood.

Saturday May 9, 2009. This means War

I have waged war against my butt. It doesn’t seem to be complying with the rules of the rest of my body, which are to stay thin for as long as possible without really trying. Am I going to have to start working for this?

It all started when I went to buy a new pair of jeans the other day. I haven’t bought a new pair of jeans in quite some time. I‘ve always thought, “When I get my butt in shape, I’ll buy some new jeans.” Guess what? That kind of thing doesn’t just happen. I’ve tried it. I’ve tried consistently for many years to wait around for a firm ass. No such luck.
It was time to do something. Work out? Oh ho ho no- just buy new jeans. Maybe there’s a miracle pair out there that firms it up high and tight.

Fighting the splitting headache I got just entering the store (holy hell the 80’s ARE back and has the music always been this loud?), I picked out two pairs of “skinny jeans”. Jeans I swear to the gods I wore when I was 10 years old.  Almost skinny enough to have been the VERY jeans I wore at 10.
Upon exiting the fitting room, I began searching for the butt aisle. Surely you must be able to purchase a new one to go along with your new jeans…

Look, I’m thin. I know this. I’m thankful for this. It’s in my genes (must. resist. attempt to crack some sort of “genes vs jeans” joke).  But there’s nothing but gravity helping this butt of mine.  And, last I checked, the only good thing gravity has ever done for any of us is keep us planted on earth.
No mom jeans for this mom. No sir.
It’s time. Fer real.

Something you should know about me: I HATE exercise. Despise it. It sucks. I’m sure there are all sorts of mental issues we could delve into as to why, but not now. I have no doubt if you keep following this blog, you’ll experience a few of my mental issues.

I’ve also been meaning to start a blog for years. After lots of friends telling me to do it and me being too ADD to know where to begin… Here I am.
And here it is:
A blog…heh heh…a blog about…ha! Ha! I can barely get it out…I blog about EXercise.

Follow me. It’s gonna suck.