Lightnin' Bugs and Thunder Storms

My favourite thing about the south so far (besides those delectible accents of course) are the summer thunderstorms. Every day between 2 and 5 you hear a distant rumble. The sound comes rapidly closer and brings with it a sweet and welcome rain. It breaks the up the midday heat and you can almost hear the earth sigh with relief (along with its many residents, many of whom come out of their houses with smiles on and lift their faces up to the sky). Apparently I "aint seen nothin'" compared to the thunder storms of the olden days, but what I have seen I love. Many days Dustin and I will go sit out on the porch in anticipation of the short and sweet summer rain. Sometimes we don't go back in until we are happily drenched in delicious moisture.
As evening approaches, out come the fireflies (or "lightning bugs" as the locals call them). These lovely glowing critters are sadly diminishing in these parts and are apparently a sad sight compared to days of yore when they lit up fields and forests at night. To me they are splendid. Sparse as they me be, they still light up the sky and I find comfort in them when I drift off to sleep at night.
These are some the small pleasures I find in southern living, here in these lovely old mountains.

Self Loathing

No matter what my good intentions are I seem to be inherently lazy. I join a gym with high hopes of becoming a hard body. For the first month or so, I go regularly and work out like Jane Fonda circa 1984. Then something happens. I drink 4 glasses of white wine with friends, and imagine that, I just don't feel like going to the gym anymore. Or I wake up on my day off and I'd rather have a hot date with my novel and some cheesy poofs then step anywhere near the eliptical.

So the chub starts to accumulate. Growing consistently all around my thighs and hips like a fungus. I ignore my dimpled limbs and drink pint after pint of beer, all the while complaining that I can no longer fit into my jeans I bought in Asia.

"I mean they literally used to SLIDE on me and I could barely keep them up even with a belt!" I moan to my friend Dee as I stuff another fried chicken wing down my throat.
"I was like Kate Moss on Dexedrine and NOW look at me!!" I shout tearily as I order another side of cornbread.

Perhaps it's because I'm a Taurus, content to lie around placidly eating good food and drinking the finest booze. All the while waiting for some fitness miracle to commence. To wake up from a luxuriously lazy nap to find that I have been given legs like Tina Turner and an ass that won't quit.

I know I cant' blame astrology for my thickening waste line. Nor can I sit around cursing the fact that I am not ridiculously wealthy with a personal trainer on call while I masticate buttery croissants.
No, I must lift my lardy legs and walk them all the way to the cursed gym.
And I will.

As soon as I finish Dustin's ice cream