So in order not to die an early, fat-filled death, I've started exercising. Don't get me wrong--I know that show girl thighs and bubble butts are sexy. But I figure I'll be eating my way through all of the pork products New Orleans can offer for the next three years, and I'd better not let it go to my...head.
Anyway, I hate it. H-A-T-E it. I'm not one of those people that gets a fabulous endorphin glow after working out. I just feel bored and tired. But I think I've finally found an exercise class that I can get on board with:
Sweaty Sundays! Leg warmers, lycra, indie rock and 80s pop...Oh Los Angeles, how we love thee! Seriously, doesn't doing aerobics to 99 Luftballons in a hot pink spandex crop top sound infinitely better than a half hour on an eliptical? Hells yeah.