Three or four of the boxes were labeled MEMORIES and PHOTOS.
I thought it would be fun to start there – a walk down memory lane if you will.
And just as quickly as I opened them, my jaw dropped to the floor and I
literally stared in utter dismay.
Why God? Why???
Why was I skinny when big hair, big bangs, shoulder pads,
oversized shirts and pleated pants were all the rage? Pleated, high-waisted, acid-washed
pants? And I know it wasn’t just poor choices or bad fashion judgment on my
part. I was the pillar of fashion at that time. I mean, geez, I worked at
Mariposa, 5-7-9, and Foxmoor. I rocked
the mall. I knew what was up. My milkshake brought all the boys to the yard –
Well, one boy at least. Larry. But now that I look back at myself 23 years
later…it was a dang good milkshake!
What a cruel and confusing world. If I looked half as
good now (minus the naturally curly hair that I also chose to PERM), you bet
your ass I would be in a pointy bra and plastic hot pants all frickin’ day long,
twerking my ass off while I clean my house and tend to my domestic duties.
I pulled a couple of the photos out of the box, uncrinkled
them, and just stared. My kids stared too and said things like, “wow, mommy,
you look really different.” I guess being twice the person you used to be could
surely be described as “different” – but I don’t want to be that different! I
still feel the same. Maybe a little more tired, but overall, the same. There’s
just “more” of me to love, right?
Those pictures are now forever burned in my mind. They
haunt me in my sleep. And now they haunt me in the kitchen. They stare back at
me as I approach the refrigerator for sustenance. Obviously nobody needs that
much sustenance, but you get the picture.
Just as people rededicate their lives to God, I have
rededicated my life to the pursuit of something better - a little less “me”. God
is good too, it’s just not the focus of this particular blog. I hopped on the
computer and started looking at classes – yoga, hot yoga, pilates, and
bootcamp. I carefully read each of their descriptions, mapped out the weekly class
schedules and basically said – yes. I am in no position to discriminate or be
choosey. I have so much untapped potential it’s ridicoulous.
That very Monday morning, I walked into Molly Kane’s bootcamp class stuffed into my black lycra workout pants. Three sports bra lay beneath my shirt struggling to hold back “the girls” as I bounced, jumped and ran on the treadmill. Blaring throughout her studio was…
You want a hot body?
Why, yes. Yes, I do.
You want a Bugatti?
Um, no. But I would like an SUV that doesn’t have the
engine light illuminated 24/7.
You Better Work Bitch!
Okay, okay…I know, I know (insert big sigh, sweating and
light weeping).
You want a Lamborghini? Sip martinis? Look
hot in a bikini?
I certainly want two out of the three…and I’ll even
settle on rocking a one-piece!
You Better Work Bitch!
Brittany Spears just kept yelling at me during the entire
workout. You better work bitch! You better work bitch! I know…I know…I know! I
am Brittany…but it’s hard! It’s so dang hard. But I did it. I did it Monday,
Wednesday and Friday – with Pilates each day in between. Now, I know how many
years it took to get this body to the point it is at today. So, I’m pretty sure
I have many months, perhaps years, to whip it into a shred of what it once was.
But you know what?
I’m going to work bitch!
