The "F" Word

No, not that "F" word. This one is worse.

Are you ready for it?

Fat.

There. I said it.

Don't worry, I don't have a jacked up body image and this is not some self deprecating post where I go on and on about how fat I am. Because I'm not.

But ladies, I think most of us can agree we have "fat" days. And there's nothing like a three-paneled dressing room mirror and a new bathing suit to shove you right into one.

I'm well aware of the fact that I'll never be a size 2, nor would I want to be. But it occurred to me a couple of months ago that I was not happy where I was. I have figure skating, years of volleyball and genetics to thank for my um, sturdy legs and no matter what I do this will always be the case. But for everything else I have no one to blame but myself. And maybe gravity.

So I've started hitting the gym and eating a little healthier. Up to now it's gone well. I'm not depriving myself of a glass of wine (or two) here and there and I still eat what I usually do, just in smaller portions. I switch up my workouts between kickboxing, spin classes, and body toning/weight lifting. (No running. I hate running. Actually I detest running. Loathe it. Entirely.) And it seems to be working, ever so slowly. I mean, I've actually worn a pair of shorts on more than one occasion, something I haven't done in seven years.

But it's not enough. I have this strange feeling I'm close to hitting a wall. It's not even summer yet and I'm afraid I'm just going to give up. And throw it all away.

So that is the reason for this post. This is my way of holding myself accountable. I'm putting it out there for the world to see...well read anyway. So here goes:

“I, Jennifer Bingham, promise not to quit. I will continue to hit the gym at least three days a week. I will not gorge myself on food and wine. I will wear shorts and believe my husband when he tells me I look great. And I will not use the “F” word when I look in the mirror.”

There it is folks. Consider it a Mid-Year’s Resolution. It’s a new thing but I think it’ll catch on.

Now I know most of the peeps that read this thing are my friends and family so I'm asking you to hold me accountable, too. This means when I say “wanna go grab ice cream?” and you know for a fact I had a big ol’ bowl of it the day before, because I probably did, you must say “negative, ghost rider” or something along those lines. Or when I tell you I'd rather play Angry Birds then take a nap instead of going to the gym, remind me that it's not sexy for my arm to continue waving after I've stopped. And lastly, if you ever hear me use the "F" word when describing how I look or feel, you have permission to smack me.

Here's the goal: be in as good, if not better shape than I was for our wedding and honeymoon.

Lofty goal seeing as how I can't exactly recreate the whole "about to get married" mentality for myself but here's hoping!

Is This Really Necessary?

Unnecessary Item #1: Banana Slicer

I was unaware that slicing bananas had become so difficult. I'm trying to wrap my mind around this one. Apple corer? Practical. Potato peeler? Quite useful. But banana slicer? Really? You do realize that it's going to take you three times as long to clean that thing than if you'd just used a knife, right? I suppose for those of you who require your banana slices to be exact in size prior to falling into your cereal bowl, this is a God send. As for me, I'll stick with my knife or even....my teeth. Don't judge.

Unnecessary Item #2: The Voices Behind Sugarland

Did you know that I've never actually heard one of Sugarland's songs all the way through? And I enjoy my fair share of country music. But Sugarland? I'd rather stick my finger in the aforementioned banana slicer. Just make it stop. The overly fake twang has got to go. Every time I hear "Stuck Like Glue" come on the radio I honestly wish their lips were stuck together with glue.

Unnecessary Item #3: Fast and Furious 5

Fast and Furious Five. Five. Cinco. One two three four FIVE!!! Vin, Paul....come on boys. Give it a rest. And why I am not surprised Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson has jumped on board? From one sinking ship to another, I suppose. Oh dear.

Unnecessary Item #4: Scotty McCreery Holding a Microphone

I have yet to determine why this bothers me so. But it's annoying. You're not playing the clarinet Mr. McCreery, you're singing. And making funny expressions and pretending to be gangster. But that's irrelevant. I like his voice, don't get me wrong, but if I were to ever watch this young lad in concert I hope for everyone's sake that he's playing the guitar and not caressing the microphone.

Unnecessary Item #5: Pajama Jeans

They've done it folks! The search is over! Jeans you can wear to bed. Just what we always wanted. I know I've often thought to myself as I'm getting ready for bed that if I could just climb in without actually having to put on a different pair of pants, life would be soooo much easier. And I could even wake up the next morning and head straight to the grocery store and the gym without anyone ever knowing that I haven't changed my pants since yesterday. And the icing on the cake is that if I order now they'll include a gray crew neck T-shirt that I can keep if I don't like my new pajama jeans. But I don't see that happening. You know those tiny little pockets are going to make booties of all shapes and sizes look just fabulous. And "Casual Friday" is going to take on a whole new meaning. Well done pajama jean creators. Jean crisis averted.

Butterscotch Castles

Do you ever wonder what life will be like for kiddos in the future? Yeah, me neither.

Ok, not really. I do wonder and honestly it gives me the heebie jeebies when I really think about. I'm not talking about how much they'll pay in gas or if they'll have to wear SPF 175 to even walk outside. Just regular, everyday kid stuff. My hypothetical kids will never have the kind of childhood I had growing up. Whether that's good or bad, I'm not certain.

After my last post I began reminiscing about what my childhood was really like. It all started with what I was doing the day of the Oklahoma City Bombing and from there my mind was flooded with memories.

Sidenote: Apparently my memory of that fateful day was not as sharp as I thought; after talking with my mom she told me my sister and I had a doctors appointment at 9:30 am that morning. She was originally going to run downtown first to pay the OG&E bill (clearly pre-online bill pay days, well pre online days really) but was running late and decided she'd pay it later, which likely saved her life.

But I digress. Back to the awesomeness of growing up on a cul de sac in northwest Oklahoma City.

As I mentioned before, I went to Harvest Hills Elementary which meant one thing...I was sheltered. Every Friday morning we'd kick off the day singing about Butterscotch Castles and Laundry Land (a place where the occasional sock would disappear to). To all of my fellow Hawks out there, you know it's true.

But the summers were the best and in great part to my dear old pal, Charlie. Charlie was my neighbor from kindergarten until after we graduated high school. When my family moved in right next door it took some time for him to realize that this 5 year old didn't have cooties and we could be friends. But after that we were best buds.

I have Charlie to thank for most of the trouble I got in during those early years. Like the time we dug that 6 foot hole in his backyard, covered it with his mom's new floor mats, then convinced the weird kid from around the corner to jump on the mat. Or when we learned what hairspray and a lighter would do to a shoe. Or the time we built a zip line around his backyard from the giant tree to the trampoline to the jungle gym which ultimately ended in the demise of that tree. Guess it wasn't as strong as we thought.

I remember the first time I said "damn it" Charlie threatened to tell my dad and I was terrified. I pulled weeds out of his mom's garden (his least favorite chore) for weeks to keep his lips sealed.

I also have Charlie to thank for "teaching" me about the "birds and the bees" when I was in third grade. My mom thanks him, too. A few days following my little learning session I went into my parents' room where she was curling her hair and getting ready for my dad to come home from a long business trip. I matter-of-factly stated "you're going to have sex, aren't you?" Thanks for that one, old pal.

Playing football with Barry Sanders

When school was out, we spent our summers outside from sun up until sun down. Everyone did. (Unless, of course, we were playing Nintendo. Not Super, not Nintendo 64, just Nintendo. You remember - the one that had the controller with only two buttons.) And it was nothing on those hot summer days for us to ride our bikes or walk down to the 7/11 most afternoons for a Slurpee. My hypothetical kids will NEVER get to do that. And do you know why? Because I watch way too much Law and Order: SVU, that's why.

But all in all my childhood was pretty picturesque. I could never win a show like American Idol for two reasons: 1) Most would rather hear a cat getting it's tail pulled than to hear me sing and 2.) I don't have a tragic childhood to fall back on to make me more interesting. Unless you consider singing about Butterscotch Castles tragic. Some do.