Now that the wedding is less than a month away, I've decided to (finally) get serious about making sure that I look like a toned, bronzed goddess on our wedding day.
At work, they have a program for 6 weeks where a personal trainer comes in for 30 minutes, and there is a group exercise class twice a week. You know - a "light workout" during lunch. LIGHT workout. I decided to join. What have I got to lose? Nothing but pounds, baby. The night before the first class, I was telling Peter that I was a little bit nervous about doing a fitness class in the middle of the day with people that I work with.
Peter: Sar. It's a "light workout". You'll be fine.
Sara: But Peter. I get REALLY sweaty.
Peter: Yeah, but the trainer knows that you have to sit at your desk for the rest of the day. You'll be FINE.
You know how everyone is at the lowest point on their attractive scale when they exercise? Well I am BELOW the lowest point. My face gets all red (and stays red. For hours.), and I sweat like there's no tomorrow. My hair gets slicked back to my head. It's disgusting. But I've accepted it, because that's the way life goes. Anyways, in your place of employment, you should try to look your best and not your worst. So I was just really nervous about potentially looking beyond my worst for an entire afternoon twice a week.
The first workout was FAR from a light workout. There are about 30 or so people doing it, and we were all like ohmyGAWD this is REALLY difficult. Look at how sweaty I am! Look at how red my face is! I need a sweat rag. So, I changed back into my work clothes and sat at my desk for the rest of the day disgusted by the mere thought of people seeing me in this grotesque state.
When I got home from work, I noticed my elbows hurt. Why the heck did my elbows hurt? Turns out that I was sweating SO much that even my ELBOWS were sweating, so when we were doing planks, my elbows kept sliding back, and I HAD RUG BURN ON MY ELBOWS. I felt like I was 8 years old. Why me? WHYYYYY me?? So for two weeks I wore bandaids on my elbows because they hurt, and I didn't want big ol' scars from the scabs that were going to form since I'm getting married in a sleeveless dress in a short time. For the love.
In my efforts to become bronzed, I decided to go to a tanning booth. Before I start getting hate mail telling me about how horrible tanning booths are for me, let me tell you that I know. Have you met my mother? I don't go often. Only when I want my skin to be a shade lighter than white.
Anyway, on Monday I went to a tanning salon. The girl told me that I had "pretty fair skin" (thanks), so I should probably only go in for five minutes. Five minutes? Seriously? It was going to take me longer to take off my clothes, get lotioned up, and put my clothes back on again. But alas, they are the professionals, so I figured that I should listen to them.
Five minutes seemed like nothing. I called Jenna and told her about it and she laughed at me. "Tomorrow, I'm going to do six. I hope I make it out without blisters." I told her merrily.
Yesterday, I got to the tanning place and went for six minutes. A whopping sixty seconds longer than I had gone the day before.
And now my entire body has a pinkish hue and my skin is raw. Who knew that there would be such a difference between five and six? Not me. But apparently the tanning lady knew it.
Better luck next week. I mean, I have to go again. The wedding is in THIRTY DAYS.
I WANT TO BE A TONED, BRONZED GODDESS, DAMMIT.
When someone starts a sentence saying, "I really hope you don't take offense to this..." the reality is that you will probably take offense to whatever is coming next.
Earlier today, Peter and I were driving home from our first meeting with the priest who is marrying us. This meeting was a here-is-all-of-the-stuff-you-have-to-do-really-soon meeting, which included us going under oath to answer questions like if we were related (no), if I was being forced into this marriage (...no?), and if my last name was, in fact, Vanderstappen (yes). The next meeting will be the one where we talk about super serious things like faith in our marriage and things like that.
Now, Peter and I have obviously had a lot of serious conversations about our future, like when we want to have kids, where we want to live, what cable TV package we're getting, why we won't be getting a dog, you know, important things like that. Since we've been engaged, the conversations have gotten a lot more serious and real. Since our wedding got pushed up 13 months, the conversations have gotten REALLY real. All of a sudden, we are talking about things that are going to be real in 8 short weeks.
One thing that we didn't talk about until today was home security. You know - how are we going to protect our home when it comes under attack? Fireball launcher, or tranquilizer darts? Home security wasn't something that I had ever thought about much. Until today.
As we were talking about home security, Peter said, "Sar. I love you. And I hope that you're not going to take offense to this... [Me (out loud): "Oh God."] but if someone broke into our house, I know that you would be useless."
Me: .......... Peter. I can't believe you just said that.
Peter: Well? What would you do if our home was under attack??
Me: I don't know!!! Cry or something!!!!
Peter: EXACTLY!!!!!! That's why you'd be useless!!!!!
Unfortunately, I couldn't say "PETER ROMENESKO. I would NOT be useless. I would PROTECT us." Why couldn't I say this? Let's rewind about 3 years...
So this one time, I was visiting Peter in De Pere for a weekend. He was an RA, so he had a dorm room that had a bathroom, and the bathroom was shared with a room on the other side. Note: you couldn't lock the bathroom doors when you were in the bathroom. You could only lock them from the outside, so to speak, but the outside was the dorm rooms. I hated this set up. I hope that what I just wrote makes sense - the main thing that you need to know is that the shared bathroom acts as a portal between dorm rooms.
One night, I was soundly sleeping, when all of a sudden I was jolted awake. Peter was screaming "GET OUT OF MY ROOM, GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!!!" and I was thinking WHAT THE EFF IS GOING ON???? And Peter was screaming "THAT'S MY STUFF, PUT DOWN MY THINGS!!!!" (but there were SWEAR words in there!!!!) and in my head I was like OH MY GOSH WHO IS THAT MAN???????? Because there was a STRANGER in Peter's ROOM, and he was STEALING Peter's THINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND IT WAS SOOOOOOO SCARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And then all of a sudden, Peter goes, "Tyler??" and I was thinking, "We KNOW this MANIAC?????" And then the lunatic left and my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to leap out of my chest. And then Peter explained what had just happened.
Someone forgot to lock the bathroom door when they were done getting ready for bed (it wasn't Peter... Oopsie!!). Neighbor Tyler got wastey face and after going to the bathroom accidentally went into the wrong dorm room and was confused and disoriented.
The next morning, Peter and I were discussing the events that had ensued. Peter was telling me about how Tyler was taking things from his night table, and that's when he woke up. And then he leaped out of bed and punched Tyler! And Tyler was trying to take Peter's coat! And Peter was screaming and yelling and protecting the love of his life!! And "Sar, didn't you notice he was naked?" I stared at Peter blankly. I did not remember any of these things. I remembered Peter leaping up and yelling. And then I remembered Peter saying Tyler's name and telling him to go back to his room.
Apparently, when someone breaks into the place in which I am dwelling, I black out, scream, and cry. And because I black out, I don't remember screaming and crying.
Unfortunately, Peter seems to recall this little incident. Because when he tells me that I would be worthless if our home was under attack, I can't say that yes, I WOULD be helpful! Because unfortunately, the one time my "home" WAS under attack, I was completely worthless. And Peter was there.
So then, we seriously discussed our home security.
And how if he was ever traveling, I would be spending the weekend with my parents.
