Thursday, May 29, 2008
Converations with My Wii Fit Instructor
I ordered a Wii Fit. It was going to make me skinny and sexy in mere days, I just knew it. I started eagerly, until I realized the @#%$@#$% thing is a scale in disguise, not only that (oh, yes, the horror continues) but it tells you your body mass index and if you weigh more than you did last time you jumped on it will tell you this too, cruel bastard. I sorta got around this the first couple of times by telling it my clothes weigh progressively more each time I got on, but that only works for the first 3 times - that is all the choices they give you, I mean come on! Who wouldn't believe my clothes alone weighed 150 pounds, the nerve......
If that is not bad enough, you get to pick your own instruments of torture, types of "games" (games, ha, games are things you do while sitting down eating bon bons, not standing up and sweating!) and most importantly your instructor. The choices are limited to picking between a male or a female instructor- calm down guys you cannot add to her physical attributes in any way. I picked the female, cuz guys in the room while I exercise, not good. My instructor does not have a name, at least not one sanctioned by Wii directly. I like to call her, skinny-ass-stick-chick-with-funny-circle-boobs-and-a-huge-mons (if you don't know what a mons is by now, I am so not going to explain it to you - google it and not at work, my friends) or Candy for short. Here is a typical conversation between Candy and myself.
Candy: You've got great balance, keep it up!
Me: Thanks!
Candy: Oh, you've touched your foot down didn't you!
Me: (How the eff could she know that, do they have cameras in this thing too?) Nooooo, not I.
Candy: Do you need to take a rest?
Me: Oh, we were supposed to be standing now?
Candy: This exercise does not seem to be your forte, you need to try some other exercises first and come back to this when your strength has built up.
Me: Build up strength?!! We just did the yoga breathing exercise you bitch!
And then, they give you a rating after each exercise. A RATING. I am the queen of the "couch potato" rating, no I am not making this part up. Apparently, if you are really good, you get to be rated "dancing queen" or some such shit. Not, that I will see this happen to me my in my lifetime.
In conclusion, my wasted musculature in my calves and thighs and stomach are complaining, loudly and reminding me that there is a reason for why no one over the age of 8 is seen in public hula hooping. I should have just pawned the thing on eBay for the extra $50 bucks they are going over retail, when I had the chance.
If that is not bad enough, you get to pick your own instruments of torture, types of "games" (games, ha, games are things you do while sitting down eating bon bons, not standing up and sweating!) and most importantly your instructor. The choices are limited to picking between a male or a female instructor- calm down guys you cannot add to her physical attributes in any way. I picked the female, cuz guys in the room while I exercise, not good. My instructor does not have a name, at least not one sanctioned by Wii directly. I like to call her, skinny-ass-stick-chick-with-funny-circle-boobs-and-a-huge-mons (if you don't know what a mons is by now, I am so not going to explain it to you - google it and not at work, my friends) or Candy for short. Here is a typical conversation between Candy and myself.
Candy: You've got great balance, keep it up!
Me: Thanks!
Candy: Oh, you've touched your foot down didn't you!
Me: (How the eff could she know that, do they have cameras in this thing too?) Nooooo, not I.
Candy: Do you need to take a rest?
Me: Oh, we were supposed to be standing now?
Candy: This exercise does not seem to be your forte, you need to try some other exercises first and come back to this when your strength has built up.
Me: Build up strength?!! We just did the yoga breathing exercise you bitch!
And then, they give you a rating after each exercise. A RATING. I am the queen of the "couch potato" rating, no I am not making this part up. Apparently, if you are really good, you get to be rated "dancing queen" or some such shit. Not, that I will see this happen to me my in my lifetime.
In conclusion, my wasted musculature in my calves and thighs and stomach are complaining, loudly and reminding me that there is a reason for why no one over the age of 8 is seen in public hula hooping. I should have just pawned the thing on eBay for the extra $50 bucks they are going over retail, when I had the chance.
