For those of you to whom these things are important, those words in the title are “schmonjugated.”
“Schomjugating” is when you repeat a word and change the first few letters into “schm” on the second go.
This was a strategy employed often on Seinfeld. Having now married a man of the Hebrew ilk (despite his Christmas tree snobbery) the term is often relevent.
So remember that. Schmonjugating.
If you come close I will whisper a secret to you.
Ok, not THAT close. These are not two person yoga pants, I don’t CARE what it looks like from the back.
So…ok…don’t tell anyone.
I function better when I exercise.
My god, people, KEEP IT DOWN!
I will have my frequent bon-bon Flyer card revoked!
The Leisure Police will be on me in MINUTES.
NIKE ADS WILL START TWEETING ME!!
Ok, so it’s true. As much as I hate to admit it, much about me functions better when I exercise.
The tragedy is that I hate it.
My god I hate it.
I can’t stand exercise. I hate sweating. I get cramps when I’m in the same zip code as an elliptical machine and I know for a FACT that this whole “endorphin” rush nonsense is a lie told by people who want to sell you obscenely overpriced shoes.
So imagine my desperate frustration with the fact that I think better, feel better and am emotionally stable enough to not threaten to castrate my husband with the SonicCare for breathing when I’m engaging in some sort of physical activity other than the regular opening and closing of my laptop.
The unfairness that is life is equaled only by the obscenity that is Snooki getting a book deal.
But I have a few stand-by’s I try when I absolutely CAN’T bring myself to don the sneaks and the spandex.
1. It’s too bright out.
2. It’s too dark out.
3. There’s too much oxygen out.
4. I forgot my iPod.
5. I forgot my running bra.
6. I forgot my central nervous system.
7. I will interrupt bird migration patterns.
8. I will cause increased continental drift.
9. I don’t like the smell of the gym cleansers.
10. I don’t like the smell of the gym members.
Sadly, I don’t get away with many of these. People see through my excuses like they see through John Travolta’s thinning hair.
So out of my way, people. I have a treadmill to send to therapy.