MUFA.
June 3, 2008
One of my friends (who is also one of my Boot Camp instructors) sent me an email this morning about MUFA. When I first saw the email, I assumed it was one of those humorous acronyms, like FUPA or FUBAR. My Boot Camp brain immediately went to “Move Ur Friggin’ Ass” and “My Underwear Found Ass-crack.”
So, I was a bit surprised to find out that MUFA actually stands for monounsaturated fatty acids, otherwise known as good-for-you-fats. These are the fats that protect you from chronic disease and help you lose fat around the middle. The Anti-FUPA fats!
Oils, nuts and seeds, avocado, olives, and chocolate. Eat one serving of any of these at each meal and you’ll be on your way to a flatter belly, according to “The Flat Belly Diet.”
Eat too many at one sitting, though, and you’ll be on your way to Boot Camp…with me. Those chocolate covered peanuts did me wrong. Apparently, the reverse effect of MUFA is MUFfin-top (rolls of flesh spilling over the waistline of your trousers).
Flat belly, my ass. I have been MUFA-ing it up for years to no avail. Guacamole with my chips, olives in my martinis, chocolate with more chocolate. Hello! What seems to be the problem?
The magical MUFA has transformed my body alright. Into what, remains the question.
Spade-ism #12.
June 2, 2008
As tight as a camel’s ass in a sandstorm.
Birthday.
June 1, 2008
Today, I turned 38.
38 works for bra sizes and Bingo…but, it sort of falls into that black hole of birthdays. Older than 35, but not quite 40 yet.
So, how does one celebrate the big 3-8?
Today, I slept in a bit later than usual. I snuggled a few extra moments with my son. The perfect gift for me.
My husband surprised me with a gorgeous pair of earrings that I immediately donned. They looked great with my pajamas and messy hair.
Instead of making breakfast (something I never do anyway), we headed for IHOP. Buttermilk pancakes and old fashioned maple syrup make for the perfect birthday cake.
I napped this afternoon, then watched a cheesy romantic comedy. And now, my husband is getting ready to make me dinner.
No fruity cocktails, no little black dress and dancing all night, no “I just turned 25″ extravaganza.
Instead, sippy cups and sweat pants, and a peaceful, restful day with my family.
Ah, the bliss of turning 38. This is going to be a great year.
