I hate that I don’t use this nearly as much as I want to. It’s mostly due to the fact that my fiancé is almost always around and so it is pretty impossible to try and type up something coherent. I love him to death, but I need a place to vent when he’s pissing me off and a part of myself that’s still private (even though, ashamedly, most parts are). I guess I could also blame the fact that I don’t really know what to write about. I’m not trying to be profound or witty, I’m just trying to catalogue these hectic years so I can look back and go, “wow.”
In unrelated news, I’ve just spent $60 at Aerie for workout stuff. I did check Old Navy first, but I can’t stand working out in full pants. I like the stretchy-capri things. I’ve spent a bit too much this month and it’s hardly over. We won’t even go into it. Anyway, the point is, my fiancé is in dire need of exercise. I love him beyond a physical level, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by while he acquires a little pudge. I warned him before we began dating, if you want me to continue looking nice then put a little effort into yourself, too. He used to be lean, healthy muscle and very attractive physically–like a runner or a swimmer. Now? Well, he doesn’t exercise at all, except all the walking at work. His legs are still the same.
He whines when I tell him to work out. No time, he doesn’t want to do it alone, excuses, excuses. So, I told him, fine, nevermind the fact I have a severe problem with cardio workouts. I will do it with you because honestly, I can’t take it anymore. I’m not perfectly fit, either, but I’ve got a rack and an ass. Both of which he is extremely fond of. What am I extremely fond of? Abs. Where are they?! I’m more into pilates and low-intensity work outs, but I can perhaps manage a bit on the elliptical before I feel the need to pass out. I’m going to work out a regime and make him stick to it.
I also need to get my nose to the grindstone involving wedding stuff. We’ve got both condos scheduled so we can supplant ourselves and my dad (possibly drunkard mum, too, sigh). Now I need to look into venues, get shoes, secure wedding bands, etc. Exhausting. I wish my fiancé wasn’t so retarded that he had to take babysteps into everything. I’m sick of being the one who steps up. I’m too dysfunctional.