OxyFUN!
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your light-hearted jokes and other contributions to maren@oxycise.com
A day without Oxycise! is a bad AIR day.
Author unknown
Contributed by Robyn!
"If you read this without laughing out loud, there is something wrong with you. This is
dedicated to every woman who ever attempted to get into regular workout routine. A must read."
Dear Diary...
For my 50th birthday this year, my husband (the dear)
purchased a week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although
I am still in great shape since playing on my high school softball team, I
decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try. I called the club
and made my reservations with a personal trainer I'll call Bruce, who identified
himself as a 26 year old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and
swim wear. My husband seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started. The club
encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.
Monday:
Started my day at 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but found
it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Bruce waiting for
me. He is something of a Greek God - with blond hair, dancing eyes and a
dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!! Bruce gave me a tour and showed me the machines.
He took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill. He was alarmed that my
pulse was so fast, but I attribute it to standing next to him in his Lycra
aerobic outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his
aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring. Bruce was encouraging as
I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the
whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!
Tuesday:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the
door. Bruce made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air - then
he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made
the full mile. Bruce's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!!
It's a whole new life for me.
Wednesday:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying on the
toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe
I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to
steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Bruce was
impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His
voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets
this nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the
treadmill, so Bruce put me on the stair monster. Why the h--- would anyone
invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Bruce
told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other crap
too.
Thursday:
Bruce was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed
as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being
a half an hour late, it took me that long to tie my shoes. Bruce took me to work
out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the men's room. He
sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the rowing machine -- which
I sank.
Friday:
I hate that &*@*#$ Bruce more than any human being has
ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny,
anemic little cheerleader. If there was a part of my body I could move without
unbearable pain, I would beat him with it. Bruce wanted me to work on my
triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor,
don't hand me the &*@*#$ barbells or anything that weighs more than a
sandwich. (Which I am sure you learned in the sadist school you attended and
graduated magna cum laude from). The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a
health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the
drama coach or the choir director?
Saturday:
Bruce left a message on my answering machine in his grating,
shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing him made me
want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to
even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the
Weather Channel.
Sunday:
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I
can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my
husband (the jerk) will choose a gift for me that is fun like a root canal or a
hysterectomy.
From Tiffany in Gulfport, Florida:
"I've found that I can do Oxycise! in public if I just take a deep breath in quietly (without smiling), flex my ab muscles and then exhale. I was a little self-conscious doing the Commuter routine at first too ... but figured the heck with it, I only have to face that other driver for a couple of seconds!
"Earlier this week, something
hysterical happened ... I was at a stop light, doing my Commuter routine, when I
noticed the lady in the next car was looking at me with a big grin. When I
looked back at her, she smiled even bigger and made a letter "O" at me
with the fingers and thumb of her hand. I had to stop the tape, I started
laughing so hard. So you see, don't worry about what anyone thinks ... Oxycisers
are everywhere!"
From Joyce:
My therapist told me the way to achieve true
inner peace is to finish what I start. So far today, I have finished 2 bags of
chips and a Chocolate cake. I feel better already.
Contributed by Tammy
Author Unknown
Most of you have read the scare-mail about the person whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out-well read on. While that was an "urban legend" this one is not. It's happening everyday.... My thighs were stolen from me during the night of August 2nd a few years ago. I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been mine for years? Whose thighs were these? What happened to mine?
I spent the entire summer looking for them. I searched, in vain, at pools and beaches, anywhere I might find female limbs exposed. I became obsessed. I had nightmares filled with cellulite and flesh that turns to bumps in the night. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.
Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My buns were next. I knew it was the same gang because they took pains to match my new derriere (although badly attached at least three inches lower than the original) to the thighs they had stuck me with earlier. Now my rear complimented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion.
It was 2 years ago when I realized my arms had been switched. One morning while fixing my hair, I watched, horrified but fascinated, as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced one section at a time.
Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age was supposed to creep up, slowly something like maturity. NO, I was being attacked, repeatedly and without warning. During one spring, my attention was riveted to upper arms... female arms. I studied them from every angle, being careful not to raise mine in public or flatten them too tightly against my body. In private, I held them straight out and did endless circles that would have tightened my real arms but did nothing for these new "Silly-Putty" look-alikes. In the end, in deepening despair, I gave up my sleeveless shirts. What could they do to me next?
My eyes began to remind people that they needed new pair of Hush Puppies. (looking like the dog in the ad) My poor neck now supports these rolling folds of flesh that look like the Budweiser bullfrogs. That's why I've decided to tell my story; I can't take on the medical profession by myself.
Women of America, wake up, smoke that cigarette from God knows who's habit and pay attention! That isn't really "plastic" those surgeons are using. You know where they're getting those replacement parts, don't you? The next time you suspect someone has had a face "lifted," look again! Was it lifted from you? Check out those tummy tucks and buttocks raising. Look familiar? Are those your eyelids on that movie star? I think I finally may have found my thighs....and I hope Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them!
