VivaCity

I believe I’ve touched on the subject of depression, and possibly even the current slump I am in, but I also think there is a hidden danger in need of being exposed…The abuse of anti-depressants. I have reason to believe certain workout divas who shall remain nameless must choke down bottle upon bottle of these happy pills before jumping deliriously in front of the camera and going to TOWN. Either anti-depressants or crack. No sober person is that THRILLED to be sweating buckets after performing her ten thousandth grapevine. Grapevines are just not that exciting. Yet their eyes are rolling back in their heads with orgasmic ecstasy, impossibly huge grins splitting their Barbie heads in half while their backup dancers slowly shrivel up from dehydration, matching smiles melting into puddles on the floor. Except of course the chick in the back who’s doing the “modified” workout, moving very slowly and carefully so as not to kill any elderly women or asthmatics who might be trying to can-can at warp speed like the rest of us poor suckers. Easy there, Grandma, let’s not get crazy and oh, I don’t know, burn calories.

I know I really need to step it up in the workout department, I know this, but I simply can’t find it within me to face that cheerful bitch every single morning. I’d happily, however, show her a perfect left, right, left in a dark alley behind her workout studio.

My novel marketing idea is to show it how it REALLY is…I’d get in front of that camera in my holy sweats, take extremely long water breaks, and flop down at the end, exhausted and irritated and in desperate need of a shower. Stretching be damned. Of course, the background track to Sweatin’ To The Real Shit would not be high-powered jamming techno, but the high-pitched whiney I need juuuiiice…Mooommaaaa…Juuuiiice…Mooommaaa…Juuuiiice…Mooommaaa…Juuuiiice…And one and two and one and two and one and two…In my world, both trips to the kitchen for young’uns and/or swift kicks to their rears count as working out. If you’re balancing a baby on your hip simultaneously, add 200 calories burned. Hi-yaa.

I think I’m stuck in this hamster wheel for now, though, ladies and gentlemen…Until of course I can launch the Suck My Thighs Fund, coming to a drugstore coffee can near you. Exercise: the poor man’s liposuction.