Just a thought...there's this movie called Fred Claus...I've never seen it, but apparently it stars Vince Vaughn playing the role of Vince Vaughn pretending to be Santa Claus's brother (older, younger, or twin brother I couldn't divine).

I saw this at work today:

Yup, a pile of random junk food delivered to my office cafeteria mysteriously.

So, I figured it out. Tired of living in Santa's shadow, Fred Claus decided to get off his rump and do something. Well, celebrating the birth of Christ is taken. The Easter Bunny defends his celebretory turf fairly gangster. Cupid is a bitch, a real fruit fly, so no muscling in on that holiday either. So, instead, Fred Claus choose to pick up the slack and now goes from office to office dropping off random junk food, birthday cakes, and inedible Domino's pizzas. He's lazy and kind of unorganized, so the food just shows up depending on his mood. He's also nicely egalitarian, Naughty, nice, obese, thin, it doesn't matter to him. Well, actually, I think the little scamp likes to reward obese office girls...it's a sick little joke to him. I wonder if the elves who work with Fred Claus are as obese as some of the Chick Fil-A workers I've seen because being around all those Doritos has got to be tempting.

I wonder if he has to twinkle his nose to cram himself through the building's HVAC or if, instead of a red suit, he dresses as a UPS worker to surreptitiously sneak his high carbohydrate load into office building across the land.

So, I would like to thank Fred Claus for helping my place of work celebrate Independence Day. What better way to mark the birth (and thanks to Obama, likely death) of America ... with crap delivered to your office!

So, what does this have to do with me? I can't resist. Give me an early morning bagel! Doritos? More please. Cake? Only with extra icing. Yep, I can have a high protein lunch and dinner prepared, with sides of salads or dreamfields pasta...but give me a slice of goopy pizza and I melt.

But, here's my secret, I work out. So, it's ok. Fred Claus might be toying with the cat ladies in accounting, but my metabolism is stoked! I invented what I like to call the half-hour of power work out:

I mix benching, pull ups, and squats into one vicious circuit.
So, max out (I did 285 3 times...could have probably done 5 (I know, awesome, eh!)) bench
hit the squats,
do pull ups.
repeat.
Hits the big muscle groups, which apparently drops a bucket of testosterone, and you're done quick. I know I should be doing shrugs, dead lifts and other things too, but this is a nice fit into anotherwise long ass week of working out. Those 1.5 hour long P90X routines just wear you down.

Another thing. Maybe it's cause I switched my pasta loading to DreamFields, but I've discovered almost no weight gain from stopping running. and pretty much stopping other cardio too. A tear in the Achilles will do that to you. It also made made me fear obesity, but I guess not. It turns out cardio is the worst thing you can do to yourself. You pound your body for hours, grinding away joints, only to immediately gorge back your meager burned calories (my in-gym triathalon apparently cooked off 1000 calories, but most people stop at 400-500).

So, I don't know. When my Achilles comes back and I have to give up my beloved handicap parking spaces, should I do any cardio regularly?

I also wonder, is if I am being naughty or nice in Fred Claus' mind? I am not a portly office girl or AFC drone


so, am I pissing him off by not getting fat? or am I earning brownie (pun!) points? Really, what does Fred Claus want? Why is there cake in my office?

Finally, I noticed this little gem from the Onion...

Lesbian Identity Ends Abruptly Mid-Junior Year

Classic! Here's the button: "It just doesn't add up," said Campus Womyn's Caucus chairwomon Mia Petrovich, 20. "If it's true, that would imply that there is some aspect of collegiate revolutionary Marxist-feminist lesbian identity that is, in some way, less than completely genuine. And that's something my most heartfelt convictions will simply not allow me to accept, at least for the next few semesters, anyway."

Oh, will I ever tire of picking on academics, feminists, and other twits?

Let me add one more block quote which resonates with me:

"Man, I remember once telling her I thought her friend Liz was kind of cute," said fellow junior Mike Nygard, 20. "She got unbelievably offended and lectured me for two hours on Lookism and the society-wide evils of the Male Gaze. At the time, I felt awful and apologized profusely for my insensitivity. I remember thinking how lucky I was to have someone like Amanda to point out how sexist I didn't even know I was being. Now, though, I'm thinking maybe she was just being a sanctimonious, self-righteous bitch. Of course, it would be sexist of me to think that, but I sort of do."

Listen, brother. Never apologize. Sanctimonious, self-righteous bitchery is a rite of passage for the larval feminist academic. There was once a time in this country...and indeed in the Western World, where you would have been able to call her out on this. Alas, you'd do so at your own peril these days. But, rest assured, based on the Tom Brady guide to Sexual Harassment, if you did call her out, she would have stopped playing pretend lesbian earlier. You'll never be anything other than a cipher with a offensive (and unused) phallus with that attitude. Embrace your inner oppressor and be a reactionary. It'll feel good. Like that one time you stood up for the national anthem and the jets flew over head and you were like "maybe we aren't so bad..."

But the larval bitch stage girl, at around 20 is one thing. There is a whole other species of post-larval girl out there. And I've heard a few things popping up in conversation with my few normal, unbitchy female friends: The 30 year old doormat. For whatever reason, some girls go their 20's and early 30's without mating. Oh, they've hooked up, but have not gotten knocked up. Then there comes the desire for a doormat. "I just want a guy to split a mortgage with." "I want a guy to mold himself to my life and my accomplishments." I'm no spring-chicken, but dayam. Don't do it, doormat! First of all, being a doormat is no way to retain whatever sexual tension/attraction/deviancy you first had in your courtship. Women, I am afraid, look down on their "let's just be friends" male friends and I think being a doormat is not much better.

Most divorces, contrary to Lifetime TV, occur when women cheat. Men, contrary to LifeTime TV also do the grunt work in salvaging a marriage. That groveling turns the wife off even more. Oh, what's not a lie or a media fabrication is this...in divorce, Mr. Doormat, you will lose...your money, dignity, and kids. Don't do it! Who is she going to cheat with? Some guy who is impressive, either in his presence, appearance, or ability (think of Tao of Steve), not someone who is sniveling. Hint: get a paternity test. Otherwise, check out this blog of some whore who is proudly cuckolding her placating husband. Jesus!

Quotes from an article I read,"In a 2004 poll by the AARP, one in four men who were divorces in the previous year said they “never saw it coming.” (Only 14 percent of divorced women said they experienced the same unexpected broadside.)"

"However that may be, the modern woman clearly wants the benefi ts of a traditional marriage, but is unwilling to pay the costs; she wants a man to marry her without her having to marry the man. It is the eternal dream of irresponsible freedom: In the feminist formulation, freedom for women, responsibility for men."

"close observers tend to estimate that women are responsible for about nine-tenths of the divorcing and breakingup: Men do not love them and leave them, but love them and get left by them."

"On the other hand, “the word used by the majority of women I interviewed to describe their husbands [was] ‘pathetic.’” When the full extent of their husband’s emotional dependence upon them comes out, women are not moved or gratified; they feel contempt for what they see as weakness."

"Accordingly, over time, most women begin to rationalize their extramarital erotic interests. If women simply want to be married and are not naturally inclined to be attracted to other men, “any unhappiness or infidelity on the part of the women is assumed to be due to the men they married.”

I am willing to bet that these girls are the ones seeking doormats and eager providers. The post larval collegiate feminists.

So, this is a mystery to me. A new phenomenon, girls actively seeking men that they can marry, but walk all over. Some sort of predatory arrangement, if you ask me. Note to self: become Muslim, move to Saudi Arabia. Don't be a doormat.