No, it's not the minimum payment on my credit card balance.

Nor is it the amount of my monthly car payment.

It is not the balance in my checking account.

It is not the sum of this month's gas bill.

It is something much, much scarier.

194.40 is what the scale in the doctor's office read this morning. 

Shit.

I knew it was getting out of hand, especially when my favorite uncle, who I haven't seen in four years, handed me a second piece of fudge because I looked like I was "in danger of wasting away to nothing" two weeks ago. 

Then of course, there was the mysterious appearance of my "new" second chin in over half of the pictures taken of me over the Christmas holiday.

Hell, I acknowledged the problem months ago in the second to last blog that I posted, and there are other blogs if you dig back far enough. 

I'm no stranger to my weight problem.  I am, however, a stranger to exercise and a healthy diet, apparently.

As for all that walking to work I was going to do?  Screw that.  Walking uphill on the highway after working 8 hours sucked donkey balls, pardon my French.

So tonight I came up with a different plan.

I loaded up the DVD player with Crunch Fitness's Dance Party, stuffed my size XXL self into the new size XL workout clothes that I bought at Steve and Barry's back in Pittsburgh, and proceeded to shake my bodacious butt to the funky retro salsa beat on the television.

I had the good sense to close my blinds first, because I didn't want everyone in the neighborhood watching as I flailed my arms around and stumbled across my living room like a drunken ape on crack.

A few more sessions of that and I'll be eating bananas and picking fleas off of my cat.

Let's just hope I don't start flinging poo.

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Listening to: T'pau - Heart And Soul
via FoxyTunes