Obviously, I'm not 21 anymore.

My bf Caitlin graduated from Cooley Law School on Saturday. (Applause!!)

Obviously, since I'm her #1 fan, I was most definitely in the audience to whoop it up as she waltzed across the stage in her fabulous silver heels.

And obviously, I was also there to buy her shot after shot after shot to celebrate her achievements.

And obviously, we totally got kicked out of the bar.*

And obviously, I totally threw up that night.

And obviously, I paid for it the next morning.

Moral(s) of the story: My bf is the smartest ever and I am so proud of her. Additionally, I am no longer 21 and should probably not attempt a similar celebration in the near future. Also? Momma's still got it...in that a young suitor offered to buy me a drink!

*Let the record state that it was not our actions but the words of someone in our party that actually got him thrown out of the bar. Literally. We just had to leave with him because otherwise he would have ended up upside down in a trashcan somewhere on a sketchy corner in downtown Lansing.

Ouch.

Week 2 of Bootcamp arrived this morning without me even asking it to. Rude! Devil Trainer Katie had a lovely morning planned for us - we paired up and switched between cardio and strength as a team. You know, when one person is on one end of a parking lot doing pushups and the other person does lunges the length and back of said parking lot? Yeah, that. Suffice it to say that while I loved my partner (thank jebus it wasn't lawyer girl), she could have quickened up her lunges a bit. Perfect form is unnecessary when your partner's arms are about to rip out of her sockets at the other end of the parking lot!

Let it be known that I rocked Bootcamp on Saturday morning, too. This was super hard, because I love my Saturday morning sleep ins almost as much as I love life itself. But, I did get to watch the sun rise, which was cool.

Anyway, we had a loverly little weekend--this pre-fall weather is FAB! Alex rode a Carousel for the first time and also beat his Daddy in a friendly game of cornhole. Pictures tomorrow, promise!

I Go Walking In My Sleep.

Meh. Today was Day 2 of Bootcamp. Katie (also known as "world's most evil trainer") made us partake in a loverly little obstacle course with a dash of circuit training thrown in.

Here's what I've learned so far:

• Running up and down steps sucks a great deal of ass.
• You use your hamstrings for ev-ah-ree-thang. I know this because I can FEEL them. Even when I don't move.
• My triceps? Weak as a kitten.
• 5:30 a.m. isn't so bad. Like, on a scale of 1 to Hiroshima, it's like a 5.2.

And let's just be clear on one thing, shall we? I do not desire an early morning chitty chat on our mile run warmup with the cheerfully disgusting and skinny LAWYER with perfect hair, booty and adorably matching Puma workout gear. I don't want to hear about your OPTHAMOLOGIST boyfriend or his perfect life/hair/ass/car, either. I just want to run, hating you all the while for motivation to keep going. Mmmmmkay?

Dear Readers:

Today marked day one of Boot Camp. Le sigh.

If getting up at 5:00 a.m. doesn't kill me, certainly I will die of other causes. (Read: squats, lunges, planks, dead lifts, sprints, hills, steps, excessive sweating, etc.) The combination of the hardcore-ness of this camp and my low level of fitness are NOT a match made in heaven.

I won't be able to move tomorrow, of this I am sure. So don't expect much out of me, mmmkay?

Smoochies,
A (very) sore Kristi

Boot Camp...The Non-Birthday Edition.

It's not December, so it can't possibly be Birthday Boot Camp time around these parts. Hi-ev-uh, I am embarking on a new (and terrifying) form of Boot Camp...one that will surely bring loads of entertainment for your daily reading enjoyment.

Today's Detroit Groupon was 73% off a women's-only fitness boot camp. (Yes, God. I'm listening.) I've been making excuses for, oh...about a year... as to when, why and how I'll get the rest of this baby weight off my arse and quite frankly, it needs to stop. So, I went to their website and read through some of the really powerful testimonials (um, hello 'before' and 'after' pics!) and decided I've failed for too long on my own.

And so, against all my better judgment, I clicked "Buy" and registered for a 4-week camp. I begin my own personal hell the week after Labor Day. Participants are guaranteed:

• 3-5% reduction in body fat
• Greatly improved posture
• Better relaxation
• 5-12 pounds of weight loss
• 1-3 inch decrease in the midsection
• 25% improvement in endurance
• 25% increase in strength
• 100% gain in self-confidence <--cheesy marketing

Yeah, we'll see about all of that in the beginning of October. In the meantime, expect a great deal of entertaining stories of paralyzing muscle soreness, ridiculous sleep deprivation (the last time I saw 5:30 am was 1986) and unending hatred of my new trainer.

Good times.

To Drive Or Not To Drive?

That is the question.

Joey, Alex and I are going to CT to visit Kelli and David at the end of March. If you remember, Alex and I made the trip with my Mom back in October and did quite well barely survived.

After said trip, I vowed to never, ever make that drive again. God invented planes for a reason. Most likely because toll roads are evil, but I digress. No person should have to sit in a car for eleventy billion hours just to see her sister! It's preposterous!

I began searching for plane tickets for the March trip about a month ago. The prices are reasonable, and truth be told, we probably wouldn't save any money by driving. We have gas guzzling SUVs and both feel the strange urge to stock up on $20 worth of various road trip foods and/or collectible paraphernalia at pretty much every stop...so really, flying would probably be cheaper in the long run.

And then I remembered Alex. Yesyesyesyes...the little Mister that throws a wrench in my plans to casually arrive at the airport 30 minutes before boarding with nothing but a cardigan and an oversized purse with me.

Flying with a toddler (he will be by then) seems to complicate things. I'll have to check a stroller. And a carseat. And keep him quiet on the plane (which, let's be honest, I would do with the help of my friend Benadryl). And pack snacks for the trip. And diapers. And wipes. And toys.

We'd have to install the carseat in Kelli's car when she picks us up from the airport. We'd need to take that car with us everywhere we went, leaving Kelli without a car for the week (she still has to work while we're out there). We'd have to uninstall the carseat at the airport when we leave. And begin the whole thing again...

I mean, really. The entire process gives me a headache. So I'm going to say something I never thought I'd say: I think the better (and easier) choice is to drive to CT.

Le sigh. Common sense wins again.

A Weekend Of Poor Choices.

The surprise party for Gramps was awesome. He cried and everything. It should be noted that he is one of 21 children born of the same mother and father. Good Catholics, no? :) I believe a little over half are still living, and it was wonderful to see them all together. Lets be honest here, it was also super loud since they are all 93.7% deaf and big, big fans of adult beverages. I heart my family.

Anyway, the night before the party, Joey was a little pouty that he hadn't yet tried the deep fried Oreos at Harvey's. So we left the munchkin with Gramii and Papii and went to Bay City for the goodness with Kelli. We went only with the intention of getting deep fried Oreos. Only.

But as we were seated, we realized that mayyyyyyyybe we were a bit hungry. So, Kelli got some soup, I got a kiddie burger and fries and Joey got a Chicken sammitch and fries. AND THEN WE STILL ORDERED DESSERT. But wait, it gets better!

After we ordered the Oreo platter de la heart attack, the waitress gets a little twinkle in her eye and asked if we also wanted to try the deep fried Twinkie. Yeah, you read that right. Twinkie. Deep fried.

Of course we ordered it. Who wouldn't? Probably someone who cared about their health... Regardless, we ate most of what was before us and wished we were dead after the fact. Behold:


I know what you're thinking...that looks like an awfully fancy presentation for deep fried dessert. I would agree, but would argue that it's also part of its charm...it's as if they are saying, "Look how fancy I am. Eat me, eat me!"

And if, by chance, you are wondering what the menu was for G-pa's party, it was fried chicken, rib tips, cheesy potatoes, potato salad, cake, strawberry shortcake and other artery-clogging deliciousness. And no, I didn't practice any restraint that day. My parents know how to throw a party.

I'm eating lettuce and air for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next week. I might also consider getting my stomach pumped.

I Considered It.

...but only briefly, I assure you.

What was it I was considering, you ask?

Duct taping my son.

Before you go judging me, allow me to set the stage: Joe, Alex and I were alone at my sister's apartment from 6 pm - 2:15 am last night/this morning. The reason for this I will explain in a later post. Anyway, I packed Alex accordingly for the trip: diapers, wipes, Desitin, extra outfits, bottles, formula, pacifier and blankets.

The blankets is where I went horribly wrong. You see, Mister Alex loooooves to be swaddled tighter than Joe's grasp on the remote during playoff hockey. Another post idea: the brilliance of the SwaddleMe blankets. And if he's swaddled appropriately (so his arms can't get loose) he won't wake himself up by batting himself in the eye and can usually sleep for 3-4 hour stretches.

Dreadfully, I only packed blankets and not the SwaddleMe. And the blankets I brought were CRAP for swaddling. I all but tore Kelli's apartment apart for safety pins to hold it together, but no luck. Seriously, Kel, where do you keep those?

Then, in one golden closet I found a roll of Duct tape. It seemed so simple - just swaddle him with the crap blanket and then secure it with a bit of Duct tape. Maybe even wrap it around him a few times to ensure snugness.

It was 1:30 a.m. I had been up for hours. Exhaustion had weakened my sound decision making skills. I grabbed the roll, walked to the couch where the little man was squirming and fighting sleep with all his might and made the better decision: do not Duct tape your child.

He didn't sleep. I didn't sleep. But social services will not be at my door today. :)