Damn you, caramel color!

The hardest part of this weight loss saga o' mine isn't the exercising. It's not the eating better, or eating less. It's my ongoing addiction to the pride and joy of Atlanta, GA: Coca Cola. Not Pepsi, not Dr. Pepper, but full strength, premium grade Coca Cola. Damn, I'm jonesing for one as I think of it. Oh, it's an addiction all right. I see someone drinking one and I start to salivate and get all jumpy. I get headaches if I don't drink it. I'm down to one a day, which is a strong improvement, seeing as how I could drink nothing but that and coffee all the time, with a little alcohol thrown in for good measure, and the occasional tablespoonful of water that might creep down my throat while brushing my teeth. I'm better now; I'm drinking mostly water or lemonade, maybe unsweetened tea (never had the taste for sweet tea), and my one Coke a day. And don't tell me to drink Diet Coke. It's just not the same. I'd rather give it up altogether.

I didn't work out last night, at least not at the Y. I did, however, go salsa dancing, which for me is even more of a workout than the good ol' Y can produce. I get the endorphins from a 10 mile jog, and have a blast while doing it. I don't even think about doing it. And there's additional entertainment, or at least last night there was. I met this guy who started flirting with me, which was OK by me, never hurt anyone, right? Well he started to get around to the ultimate question: would I go home with him? The answer, obviously, was NO. As cliche as it sounds, I'm just not that kind of girl. And although no is the same in Spanish and English, the synapses in this poor Puerto Rican guy's hippocampus must have been misfiring last night because he kept right on going. Right up until about three in the morning, when I pointed out that if he were to "come over to [my] place," as he'd suggested, the odds of him losing a toe (or worse!) to shotgun fire were unimaginably high. Nothing like a girl that backs the NRA to shut a guy down. Even his line of, "Baby, it's nature! We're all just animals," didn't seem to do the trick. I wonder why?

I'll be back on the fitness track tomorrow. I like Saturday as a lazy day, and you've got to have some time for your body to rest. The soundtrack for the day has consisted of the following: "I Believe To My Soul" - Ray C., "God Bless the Child" and "Blue Skies" - Billie H., "I Just Whisper Your Name" - Harry C. Jr., along with a little Josh Ritter (you should check him out, Ashley!), and Cheb Mami. I've also discovered that I can't blog and listen to the narrative stylings of Garrison Keillor at the same time. Rats. It's not my fault that his voice has such magnetism!

*Note: When I ran spellchecker on my post, it suggested "hippocampus" as two separate words, i.e. "hippo campus." Cue uncontrollable giggles.*