|Hardy, Me, and my Mom. Just hanging out.|
|Me, my friend Kelly and her baby Reagyn, and my other friend Jess.|
(Pre-Craziness, you can tell because there's still a baby around.)
|And....this is where the craziness starts. This was shot #1, 2, & 3 for me |
(I did them all back to back). These are all my friends plus my mom and my
aunt Linda (in the back holding up the shot).
|This is right after I took #1, 2, and 3 shots. Not so pretty.|
Back to the whole 'ants in my pants and I want nicotine, beer, and bread' thing: I don't think I'm really craving all that stuff, it's just that for some reason the minute I stop moving I want one or all of those things. In order to curb that, last night when I got home from work I made my lunch for the next day, watered some of my garden, wrote my thank you notes for my birthday presents, fiddled around on the computer, read my book a little, oh and also made supper somewhere in there.
Since that obviously kept my mind off things last night, I decided to take the same approach tonight. I HELPED fix supper (Ryan decided that he wanted to cook some very yummy, very mouth-watering, very delicious venison steaks for us tonight. Can you say, "Hellz to the Yeah!"), watered the rest of my garden (oh shit, I just remembered I didn't do the front. Damn.), and took the canine on a walk/run.
So off we go, me and little mister 'I am going to pull this leash so hard that your arm is going to dislocate' Wyatt, trotting (me struggling to keep up) down the street. And he is just back and forth, back and forth from the curb on my right to the middle of the street on my left, so finally I decide to be the more intelligent human and pick up the pace so that he'll run right beside me. We start running full blast like someone just lit a fire cracker up our butts. It's exhilarating, it's stress-relieving, it's exactly what I needed. I'm in my stride, I think I can run for miles, I'm totally the running queen. I look around and realize that we've only run about 3 blocks. Fizzle sticks. But that's ok, I think I can still go another 2 blocks, no sweat. Then I look down. And the once hyper-active, bouncing all over the pavement, pup is d.r.a.g.g.i.n.g. ARE YOU KIDDING ME DOG??!! We slow it down and walk the rest of the 35 minute outing. He's panting, and drooling, and looking at me like, "Could you please just carry me the rest of the way? I promise I weigh next to nothing!" The poor guy came right inside the house and plopped his furry self right on top of the air conditioner vent. You could actually hear his HUGE sigh of relief.
This makes me want to start a new mission: Me and my little out-of-shape pup are going to go on a walk/run at least 4 nights a week. Maybe even more. I'm just not feeling the workout videos when its so nice outside, so why not kill two birds with one stone: both Wyatt and I will work on getting healthier...together.
I was not lying when I named this blog, people. I mean, who talks about beer (or lack there of right now), their dog, and getting their fat ass outside to work off said fat ass more than me??? Yep, I'm the shit; I can talk or write endlessly about three things that would normally have no relevant correlation, but I put them together in such a way that it actually makes some slight, but kinda scary, sense.
I'm going to go think about that for a minute. And water my front garden. Have a good night!