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My recent meeting with a financial planner kick started what I have termed ‘Operation Get Right.’ Getting slapped in the face with how much I spend on the random crap in my life gave me the mother of all wake up calls. I decided it was time for me to turn this bad boy around.

Finally being told that I spend $600 a month on food as I was eating out for breakfast, lunch and dinner (it’s confession day bitches, don’t judge me), I put a cease and desist order on myself. The next day, I went grocery shopping and got in the habit of (attempting) to nourish myself properly.

 

I then figured, I need to work on my overall health and just cleaning up my eating habits wouldn’t do it. I would have to (cue scary music)…exercise. 

Riding a wave of positivity and feeling great about the changes I had already made with my finances and food, I strolled into a gym last week and declared ‘sign me up bitches!’

Little did I know, signing up is a two hour process. I was shown around the gym by a very handsome young fellow (somewhere in that sentence, I just aged 50 years). It’s a very flashy place, lots of brand new equipment, a yoga studio, a hot yoga studio (which I almost passed out in as soon as I set foot in the place, probably a sign that I shouldn’t attempt to work out in there), sauna, steam room, cold room (yea, I know, I didn’t know what that was either, but apparently, it’s a room that is cold – go figure), personal trainers, nutritionists, I could go on and on. 

 

After this epic tour, he takes me back to the sign up room. He takes me through the various options, all of which were way out of my price range. I told him the price I was hoping it would be and he said the immortal words: ‘let me talk to my manager.’

He comes back and introduces said manager. Needless to say, he’s a greased up, hazel-eyed Adonis. Barry White music started playing in my head. ‘Hi, I’m Josh,’ he says. ‘Of course you are,’ I say. They pull out the big guns when they want you to sign. Suddenly everyone around me was in the top two percentile of human attractiveness. After a few minutes (the details are  hazy because I was kind of drooling all over myself), I was signed up (for the gym, 6 new credit cards and possibly the adoption of my future first born child).

 

The next step was for me to make an appointment for a fitness analysis. I was taken downstairs by hunk #1 to meet with a personal trainer, who is incidentally, also called Josh. Josh 2.0 comes out of his office. Cue Barry White music. Josh 2.0 looks like David Beckham on steroids. His biceps are the size of my thighs. We make an appointment for him to take me through my paces and for me to thoroughly embarrass myself. Good times.

It’s a new day bitches! Bangs And A Bun will be wearing sneakers, possibly perspiring and definitely making a complete ass of herself on the gym floor. Join me on this wonderful ride, won’t you?