I understand the need to keep up with my blog, I really do, but something terrible has happened. I started going to the gym and all of my body parts stopped working. Well, most. Heh.

If there is anyone to blame for this mess it's my trainer. If you need her number hit me up, anyone in defense of me is welcome to it. Cheerleaders for the other team need not apply. She is blissfully unaware that I need my appendages to work. They are there for a reason, dammit. So that I can look through clothes racks for my next sexy outfit. Duh.

I need to ask her what she has against my legs. Arms. Butt. Abs. Really, what? They hurt ALL. THE. TIME.

Also, the StairMaster is not necessary. Satan designed it and it is therefore against my religion to go near it. That didn't work in case you were wondering.

Elliptical, treadmill, bicycle. Torture devices. Legal torture devices.

I swear, I'll be in the middle of having a heat stroke in my face (that's where all the blood rushes) and I'm just waiting for the police to bust in and shut the place down. Apparently they don't see things the same way.

I'm not asking for much, I just want to be able to walk upright out of the gym. Crawling is so hard on my knees. At the rate I'm going I'm going to have to replace every joint in my body.

And supplements. What do I look like? A science experiment? Glucosamine, omegas, Muscle Milk (mmmm, this one is tasty, tasty), protein, B-12. Stop already. Okay, keep the Muscle Milk.

I've been working out for 2 oh-so-long weeks and nothing. I quit. (Just kidding, she sends guys with necks the size of my waist over every morning - I have no choices).

So, if you need me to write something for you to keep you happy and it looks like this: **$)I+#)#HKNBB#_(#&& - don't worry, in the interest of maintaining my blog I used my head to type as my arms no longer work.
Nikki Irish