Dear Fembot:

Dear Jillian Michaels,

I know that you consider yourself a workout guru/queen/slave driver.  GOOD FOR YOU.  However, in your workout dvds, you rarely workout at all.  You do one rep, and then you walk around and point at your little minions who are slaving away to jumping jacks and high kicks behind you while you leisurely stroll around, yelling things like,  “You’ve got to give me all you’ve got if you want these abs!” in your robot-woman voice.   You are a wicked, wicked human being.  Who may secretly be a robot.

I understand that you are trying to help me get “fit.”  That you only want what’s best for my heart.  Tra la la. Etc.  This does not make me like you more.  After doing your level two workout today, I am positive that I will be unable to walk properly tomorrow, and this makes me feel, in fact, a deep sense of loathing towards your very existence.

I hope you don’t read this, because if you do, you might show up at my house and beat me up. Or, worse yet, you might force me to do reverse lunge squats coupled with fly lifts, while you scream at me about the importance of fitness.  If you do, I will crawl up into a little ball on my floor and weep. 

Perhaps in a week, when I feel incredibly in-shape, or I have magically stopped being sore from the butt-kicking I received from you today, I will like you more.  Maybe respect you.  Possibly move on to level three. 

But I don’t think so.




Let me explain.

This morning I woke up to the sound of the fire alarm going off in my room, and it jolted me awake like the sound of a pistol at a racetrack.  Don’t worry, there was no fire, but our fire alarms are very paranoid and sensitive, much like myself, so they go off easily.  As a matter of fact, the only burns I have suffered so far today have been from my straightening iron.   As I laid in my bed (once the alarms ceased their buzzing)I could feel the thoughts rushing in my head, thoughts about different theological questions I’ve been thinking about, questions that I have been wanting to write about, and to process on the keyboard.  I was ready to do this, and I got out of bed with a “the-world-is-my-oyster-raring-to-go-I-feel-like-a-million-dollars” sort of vibe.  The version of myself that wakes up on 5:45am on weekdays yelling curses against the morning time would have hated the self that woke up this Saturday, feeling all spritely and world-conquery.

In order to complete the conquest of writing, processing, making lists, doing laundry, going to the POST OFFICE (I dreamt big today) and doing about a million other things, the first thing I did, still pj clad, was make myself a healthy morning dose of coffee.  I’m a strong-brew, six-cup pot kind of girl.  I like to think of it as a healthy challenge for my nervous system.

Saturdays are the days when I drink this coffee in a leisurely manner, and then feel super energized (or completely hopped up on caffeine, depending on how you look at it), for the rest of the day.  It makes my Saturdays, happy days.  Happy Saturday Days with coffee and Ashley.  See how happy?  Do you see?  Happy.

This was indeed the case for about two and half hours.  I cleaned, I ran some errands, I laundered, and I did it all, keep in mind, while singing to myself rather obnoxiously.  But then… Jillian Michaels struck.

Jillian Michaels and her 30 Day Hell Shred, to be exact.  You see, like any good human being in January, I have decided to workout more, and my roommate got this DVD for Christmas… and she keeps wanting me to exercise with her.  “Let’s be exercise buddies,” we say to each other.  We cheer and high-five pre-workout.  We talk about how great we will look in thirty days.  Etc. Etc. ETC.

Sadly, I forgot, this morning, that when you do the most painful workout in all the land, directly after consuming copious amounts of coffee, you lose all of that energy and THEN some.  All of that happy caffeine is gone.  All of my energy is gone.  This is causing me to feel more like a spiteful wet mop than a human being, and it is also making me grumpy.  It is making my brain feel foggy.  It is making my muscles ache and it is making my soul demand vindication.  I decided that I needed to take out this anger on the only logical person I could think of.


I will write something of substance at a later time this weekend.  Right now I need coffee.  And a band-aid.  And coffee.  And some ibuprofen.


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3 Responses to Dear Fembot:

  1. Alli says:

    I absolutely ❤ you- and I too can barely move- cheers!

  2. Jaime says:

    Awesome! Let Jillian have it! But not in person–because she would beat you up, and I would be sad for you. But yay for working out 🙂

  3. landon says:

    lol – robotz so funny

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