Morning Hikes


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This weekend, my lovely amazing boyfriend thought it would be a marvelous idea to go take a hike in our backyard. I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. We seriously have a mountain trail for walking, (which I think is mostly up hill) in our backyard. So we went for an effing hike. My walk started off terribly. Some skinny, older lady, around 50, with bushy eyebrows, gave us two fatties a face like “really, you think you’re going to walk all this? Please go home” and then she started doing this stupid stretch, from that point  her face just really bothered me and I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. While she was still stretching at the bottom of the hill and me and Donald decided to start our adventurous walk. This workout started off with an abundance of stairs, followed by a ten minute uphill climb. I was ready to go home after my first asthma attack, but Donald suggested that we keep going. As we’re walking, bushy eyebrow lady decides to walk ahead of us to make us feel even fatter. I know it was intentional, because she gave us a stupid face as she walked by. Seriously Greta, I don’t need your stares, I get enough of those from my mom (love you Mama Bear). So, at this point, I’m pissed off, and I just want to find a bench and sit-for a long time. Sitting is one of my favorite pastimes, especially in public places, because I absolutely adore people watching. After sitting down for about thirty seconds,  I looked down at my fat stomach, and told myself that I don’t want to wear Spanx for the rest of my life, so I’m going to need to keep on going. 40 minutes later, we had finally made it, and with our beautiful walk, we had the most beautiful view of our city! It was only fitting to act like tourists and take some selfies while we were at it!

 

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Beautiful view of our beautiful city Montreal

 

After we had finished our photo shoot, I was so excited to get home, and to get into a shower and do nothing for the rest of the day. Donald, my amazingly, surprising fantastic boyfriend tells me that we’re only halfway there, and we have 1.3 kilometers to go. I told him he was funny and then started to walk home. He gave me the same face as Greta gave me an hour earlier. I then chased a squirrel, and proceeded to fake my second asthma attack. It didn’t work. We trekked up, and I literally counted every single one of my steps, counting down until it was over. My walking companion was fantastic, but honestly, the amount of fit people that I saw there, made me sick and really uncomfortable. Also, it was like -10, I was wearing a blanket and I was sweating like a horse. Do horses sweat? I don’t know, but if they did, I was sweating like one.  After another half hour, we FINALLY made it to the top of the mountain. Two Jews, on Easter checking out a huge Cross at the top of Montreal, that’s what we did this weekend!

When it came time to go home and we started our walk down the hill, I was already two snacks overdue, and I saw some people BBQ’ing. Donald told me it wasn’t right to walk over and ask for some hot dogs.

The rest of the way home, I complained of a backache, only because I wanted a massage, but D wouldn’t give in. Rude. I’m just happy we completed the whole thing. I would have been a lot more depressed if I would have sat on a bench all morning.

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I Got A Divorce


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I love chocolate. I love chocolate plain, on bread, on pizza, on popcorn, on chips, on everything. I will eat any kind of chocolate, anywhere, any time. Chocolate is my addiction. Chocolate is the silent killer. Chocolate is the enemy; Helga’s enemy. Wait, chocolate, is not the enemy. Chocolate is the lover that never lets you down, listens to all your problems, but comes back to bite you in the fat ass when you step on to the scale.

Yesterday, while doing my oh-so healthy grocery shopping, I noticed that the unholiest of chocolates were on sale. You know those chocolates? The ones that are shaped like perfect little eggs, with perfect little candy coating, in that perfectly packaged purple wrapping? The ones that only come out around Easter, and then go half price the day after. MINI EGGS. Mini Eggs. MINI EFFING EGGS. I love mini eggs. Mini eggs are killer. If I could, I would probably marry mini eggs, but that would just be weird, because then I’d eat my lover and be single again. Weh. Anyway, so while I’m doing my grocery shopping, I notice this sinful cart of literally 300 bags of mini eggs staring at me in the face. The worst part about this cart, was the fact that there was a ginormous 50% off sale sticker on the front of it. How could I resist? My favorite chocolate, at 50% off. It was like meant to be. (shut up, Helga). Anyway, there was a small bag, and then the bigger bag with 5x the chocolate in it for 50 cents more. I put the bigger bag in my cart and didn’t think twice. As I approach the cash, I look in my cart, I put the eggs away and say goodbye. Two seconds later, the eggs magically appeared in my cart again. This happened a total of four times, until the hideous Bulky Bernard tapped on my shoulder and says to me in his animalistic voice:” either take them or put them back lady”. I was mortified, and put those bad boys down. The mini eggs and I, we’re through. I just signed the divorce papers.

Celeste and Simone are standing around me now, and we are describing the perfectness of a Cadbury Mini Egg. It’s the crunch, the amount of chocolate, the right amount of candy to chocolate ratio. OK, seriously, shut Helga up, she’s getting in the way of my healthy thoughts.

Anyway, I’m strong, and I can walk away from mini eggs. Be strong people! Eat a normal egg!