Can I get that in a pill?

My mother has been slowly going through her attic and the closets of my old room so usually each time I see her she has another box of my mementos for me; basically this breaks down to a box filled with every scrap of my life pre 1992.  From these goodies I would consider myself a dedicated packrat / borderline hoarder of the past.  Most things are the typical movie ticket stubs, newspaper articles, Candy-Gram notes, game tickets, programs, matchbooks, every card I have ever received and restaurant menus with some painful old love notes (cringe) thrown in.   It brings back fond times while I pour over all the little ditties I painstakingly packed away so in the future I would remember every sublime moment in my life.  Sadly my memory isn't what it once was and this is not the case, but are you really supposed to cherish that menu from Annabelle's 20 years later?  Well, maybe that one. 

I admit that showing Annie my old Homecoming ribbons brings a smile to my face but it quickly turns upside down when I get to the pictures.  When did I get so old and wasn't I turning 18 just the other day?  Mixed in the muck of my teen years is a framed photograph of me taken in my high school breezeway; probably given to an old boyfriend I undoubtedly pestered to death until he dumped me along with a box of my crazy tokens of love on my front stoop.  Though I can't blame the poor fella I wish he would have just thrown that picture away because it is haunting me and keeping me up at night.  There she sits on my dresser giving me the evil eye with a pestering what in the hell happened and those pants don't look like the size 6 I saw you in last.  Topping off the dreaded back in the day picture Carl comments how pretty I looked with Annie chiming in with a you sure don't look like that now.  Seriously ... the girl must not want to be fed anymore. 

It's not that I really expect to be the same size as I was when I was 18 because I don't, but jeez how did I get to be so lazy?  L-A-Z-Y.  I went from playing tennis for hours, swimming, running, band and drill team practice in the freaking heat to getting up off a couch to fill my red plastic cup with Natural Light from someone's keg and basically nothing else.  That was the beginning of the end.  I should have hitchhiked across the country like I planned right after high school.  Now I am a pile of slouchy, squishy, eating off the kid's plates, caffeine addicted, potty mouth, nose wrinkling, granny panties, whiny, blob-meister, can I please just get a pill for that ... mess with a capital M.  Damn that picture! That girl is sitting her skinny self on my shoulder badgering me every time I sit on the couch to watch old episodes of Grey's Anatomy again instead of riding my bike to the beach.  Good God she drives me nuts, no wonder the poor guy dropped her like a hot potato!  I want all the rewards and results of just good ol basic hardwork and exercise without actually having to lift a finger or leg or squat or sweat.  You know?

This latest neurotic installment stems from visits with old friends that I have not seen in a long time; as in since my glory days.  Who doesn't want to look their best which is code for  looking exactly the freaking same as you did a decade ago.  I know I do.  But for the life of me all the energy I put into complaining about my current status not one ounce do I save to walk my sloth self down the stairs and onto the treadmill that lives barely 30 feet away.  Isn't that horrible?  My house is than 1 mile to the beach but rather than slip on the tennies for a quick stroll, I browse the web for a pill I could buy that miraculously zaps the fat off your ass and hopefully won't kill you in the process.  What good is it to have a great bum if its face down in your coffin?  Thinking of all the money I have spent on workout videos makes me hungry for a HoHo and what good are they anyway unless Julian Michaels is going to jump out of the screen and pull me off that chair.  Lazy Mazy .. that's who I am.  Honestly if I thought drinking a gallon of honey infused with cayenne pepper or whatever it is Beyonce drinks, would make every man look at Trey and think how in the hell did he score her? and every woman green with envy I would drink it.  Every. Single. Day.

In a month I'm going to Hot-Lanta to visit another blast from the past pal and besides typing my post, I have spent the day looking on the Internet for ways to lose a couple million pounds in 80 days.  There was an interesting video I tried to watch also but really couldn't hear anything over the crunch of my chips.  Looks like I'll be wearing black.  Lots and lots of black.  And Spanx.