I worked Thursday night, and got to bed at about 6am Friday morning. A few hours later my phone rang.

Me: "Urggh?"
Mike: "How long you gonna stay in bed?"
Me: "Urgg."
Mike: "Get your ass out of bed. What time will you be at the gym?"
Me: "Urggh... time is it?"
Mike: "Quarter til ten."
Me: "Urgg.. um.. 1130."
Mike: "Okay, now get your ass out of bed."

It's my own damn fault. I've been dying to get Mike as a workout partner because he's in terrific shape, he really knows how to train, and he's totally dependable. (Not to mention the extra convenience of him being one of my teammates, so we work the same schedule.) So now I have extra incentive to be good about my workouts, because I don't want to lose him as a partner. I worked out with Mike, then later in the afternoon I ran with the Academy, then I grabbed a couple of hours sleep, then got up and worked a detail at Walmart from midnight to 6am, then met Mike back at the gym at 9am on Saturday. Today is--thankfully!--a day off, which I'm needing since I've worked out or ran (sometimes both) 6 days in a row. It's delightful though to slip on a pair of jeans and find that a belt is now required.

But another incentive came along the other day during roll call at work. Since it's Mardi Gras season, one of our team members brought in a king cake, and as pieces were being cut I told them to only cut me a teensy piece (instead of the four-inch slabs that most of the guys were taking.) The guy cutting said, "Why?! It's king cake!" And so I explained that I had the goal of having a Butt You Can Bounce A Quarter Off Of by June.

And that's when another teammate snorted and said, "Yeah, and I'll have a 12-inch dick." I goggled at him for a second and then politely asked him what the fuck that was supposed to mean, and he basically stated that I like to eat too much, and that I couldn't handle being miserable and dieting and that there was no way I'd be able to stick with the diet and exercise for that long.

Fine. I now have on my fridge--along with pictures of bodyparts that I want--a piece of paper with "12 INCHES" in block letters. And come June, when I have attained my goal of a Fitness Model Butt, I plan on sending him a picture of my ass, with a note telling him that he'd better come up with a 12 inch dick.