To Gym or Not to Gym

If one good thing has come out of this being "funemployed" thing - it's that I can hit the gym any time I want.

WAIT! Don't go.  I promise I am the antithesis of gymrat-chet.  In fact, this is an image of me at the gym earlier today:

I workout to eat.  And being a half-Italian, half-Greek mutt I do A LOT of eating.  Thus, homegirl needs to hit the gym at a minimum five times each week.  That's aggressive, yes.  Impossible, basically.  But not now!  HAAAYYYY!  

It's like this new found freedom that I have literally NO WHERE to be but glued to a Stairmaster.  I can catch up on episodes of Dr. Phil, talk to Mary about her kids, sip mint flavoured water out of my Arbonne infuser bottle and wear my squeaky orthotics in stride. So I might be slowly morphing into a stay-at-home mom.  Except I don't have the tough job of molding the lives of youth.  Which means I can return home to watch episodes of New Girl until I slip into a spin-class-induced coma.

And not to fret, I don't intend to get fit - my metabolism has slowed to the point of no return.  So yes, I'll be having the large bag of popcorn at the theatre tonight because dammit, my sore bunions have earned it.