My ankle is jacked

The Bears apparently still suck.

Crazy huh?

Stupid Packers.

It took the cheeseheads 1 minute and 43 seconds to score, which wouldn’t be so bad if say, they had started with the ball.


Moving on.

My ankle is JACKED.

I was at Jazzercise Saturday morning, all ‘skip-ball-change HOP! skip-ball-change HOP! skip-ball-change HOP! skip-ball-change HOLY BANANA COVERED SNOW FROM PIRATES! WHAT THE GROUND HOG DAY JUST HAPPENED?????!!!!!’

I pretty much touched the arch of my foot to my ankle bone and then landed on it.

Just writing that hurts.

It kinda looks like someone painted it purple, blue and puffy.

And before you go all “DID YOU SEE A DOCTOR” on me, A. I am still (STILL) paying off my surgery from a year ago. and B. I didn’t hear the infamous “crack” sound you hear so much about when bones break, so I’m banking on it just being sprained, in which case, I can implement RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate) by my own self, thank you very much.

I will say that going to the bathroom has turned into a medal-worthy project involving mostly unused arm muscles and trusting a wall-mounted toilet paper holder to bear more weight than the manufacturer recommends.

Luckily, my family is so freaking awesome that as soon as I called my mom with tears in my eyes, she gathered up my sister, my niece, my grandma, a pair of crutches and some taco bell and they all came over.

Thank God.


Without them I’d be avoiding water so as cancel out unnecessary ladies’ room trips, living on peanut butter from the jar (I don’t really grocery shop), and using lukewarm water to ice my ankle because getting fresh ice would suck too much.  Plus, I’m pretty sure my roommate doesn’t want to help me into shower – making me (much appreciated) eggs with cheese and soy chik’n strips was more her limit.

Now excuse while I take 3 advil, watch the Bears lose, and contemplate how exactly I will drive with my left foot tomorrow.

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Jazzercise just needs better branding.

I had so much sweat on my body after my first Jazzercise class that there was not a dry square centimeter left on my T-Shirt to wipe my face.

Not one.

How gross/awesome is THAT?

I’m almost too tired to write this actually. That’s how bad it kicked my butt from here to Texas.

I did a class Friday and then another today. Likely because I love torture and whatnot.

What’s that? You thought Jazzercise was for 50 year olds? ME TOO.

It is not.

At all.

I decided to try it after a former co-worker swore up and down that it made her buff, and happy and glorious. And then some other women at a Pampered Chef party said the same.

I’ve been walking 4 miles a day, five days a week to lose weight – but stupid, stupid winter is looming, so I had to find something indoors that did not involve a treadmill.

I checked into Curves and Jazzercise.

The women on the Curves Web site looked like they could be my friends.

The women on the Jazzercise Web site looked like they’d make a decent living as strippers.

Show me a woman who doesn’t want to look like a stripper and I’ll show you a lier.

I understand though.


It sounds like a bunch of girls wearing layered socks, too much blue eyeshadow and big hair. That’s why I’m officially proposing that the name be changed. It’s the only way word will ever spread about how freakishly awesome this is.

May I suggest – Wicked Magic.

See, then they can totally play up the “makes your butt look like the stripper’s down the street” aspect without sounding weird. Also, the “wicked” word makes is seem supa cool.

If you’re interested in coming to a class with me, the first one’s free. I’ll totally come pick you up.


It’s wicked magic.

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