money squad

kat st. kat, mcdonalds, steel drums, fab disaster, fab, disaster
Times are tough and the struggle is real. I just bought my daily red bull with change I found between the couch cushions. I had stale Pop Chips for lunch. Work is less frequent and my most recent paycheck is floating somewhere between the accounting office that printed it and my particular postal district. The only way I can pay cover for clubs is when I find cash on the ground. Phone calls home have become a lot less fun for everyone involved. I eat fast food for literally every meal (see exhibit A above, in which our hero can be found on foot in a Mcdonald’s drive thru at 3 am last Friday).
By the beginning of last week I’d fallen off my 30-day Calisthenics Challenge and replaced it with a slightly less strenuous Crunches and Squats Every Two or Three Days. I figure it’s better than nothing, and it has come in handy seeing as I rarely wear “actual clothes.” It’s definitely not making my thighs any smaller, but whenever that worry enters my mind I counter it with the most powerful image of all: Beyonce.
By the time Saturday rolled around I was glad I had at least somewhat kept up with my workout, as I had agreed to make a scantily clad appearance in the new Buckwheat Groats video, mostly because A) my boyfriend, the infamous Penis Bailey, had requested my presence and B) who am I to deny the world an unobscured view of me in a Baby Phat bikini waving around an AK-47? I spent the day at Shopper’s World looking for just the right accessories, pinned 15 pounds of weave in my head, glued on a set of fake nails and managed to convince Bill to come get drunk with me on the Brooklyn rooftop set. It was awkward at first, because it was 8 pm and I was sober and surrounded by strangers, all of whom were wearing shirts. An hour later I had a drink, I was waving a fake gun and a VERY REAL BOOTY in front of a camera and it felt like just another Saturday night. kat st. kat, buckwheat groats, factory studios, fab disaster ak-47, kat st. kat, buckwheat groats, tom hanks, bill, fab disasterEventually even Reid and Patrick showed up after their respective work commitments to drink liquor on camera and boost general morale. After only 5 hours of fake dancing we all went to Dizzyland (naturally), where I later realized I had stolen the Wang Chain I spent hours slaving to make for my man, who was only on his first day of shooting. I had Patrick keep the chain safe before I caught a cab from the party rather early, Wang around my neck, stripper shoes in hand, running on the outer edges of my swollen chainOn Sunday I ditched the weave and showed up for the second day of shooting in booty shorts and a cut-out bathing suit (so, church clothes basically).
I don’t want to give anything away, but the concept of this video involves a VERY MAJOR FAMOUS CELEBRITY who WE ALL GREW UP WATCHING AND ADMIRING and whose likeness I AM VERY LUCKY TO HAVE HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF SHAKING MY BODY ON, NEAR AND AROUND.
That’s all I’ll say for now.
kat st. kat, buckwheat groats, tom hanks, fab disaster, booty(behind the scenes photo stolen from Lil Dinky)
MEANWHILE it’s official that the Groats are playing the GATHERING OF THE JUGGALOS this year, which is incredibly fucking ridiculous. Apparently they even have a shoutout in this official infomercial but I wouldn’t know for sure because it’s 28 minutes long and there is no chance of me watching it.
That Sunday night, after spending the day drinking Georgi in a basement and having stacks of hundreds thrown at my butt, I saw no reason not to meet up with my friends for a quick trip to Greenhouse. But by that point I was completely out of it. I led an a cappella rendition of Now That’s What I Call Music Volume 19 on the L train and took this picture on the dance floor
kat st. kat, greenhouse, fab disaster, baseball…before leaving early and going to McDonald’s.

Lazy Bitch Workout, part one.

I don’t know if you know this about me, or if you could have guessed, but I fucking HATE exercising. And I can honestly say that I am never genuinely motivated to do it. But every couple of weeks I’ll get a burst of manic energy or look at a picture of Beyonce’s legs and think “damn, if only I moved ever.” I start panicking about my “health” and the American Apparel riding pants I really want, and always come to the artificial conclusion that today I am going to start toning up my ass and pursuing my goal of not getting winded when walking up steps. Running is always out of the question. I hate running so much that if my life depended on it, if my speed was the only thing keeping me from getting eaten by a pack of rabid wolves, I would pour Lawry’s Seasoning Salt all over myself and say “fuck it. bon appetit.” I don’t hate the elliptical machine quite so much, mostly because I like looking at myself in the mirror at the gym, but I am also flat-ass broke. I don’t have money to spare on a membership to hell. What I do have, though, is a laptop with Google and Netflix and a bedroom where you can sometimes see the floor. So the other night I decided to try the first two workout videos I could find that didn’t involve free weights or being yelled at by a guido. The following is a review.

Jenny Ford: HI-LO cardio

If one of the speed-freak housewives from my parents’ neighborhood moved some of her furniture and made a workout video in her living room, I imagine it would look something like this. This is supposed to combine low- and high-impact moves for beginners. I can only assume this refers to me, since the only exercise I’ve gotten in the last month is trying not to fall over in 5 inch wedges after mainlining a bottle of coconut rum. While Jenny did a great job of confusing the hell out of me with her combos, I spent an awful lot of time strolling back and forth in my bedroom. Generally the only senseless lap I like to make around a room is when I’m looking for ding at a party, and even then that’s only after I’ve had my fist drink. Unless you’re a paraplegic or haven’t walked one cumulative mile in the last month I wouldn’t recommend doing this as your only workout for the day. But needless to say, I broke a sweat.

Crunch: CardioSalsa

This video, as seems to be the running trend with most of the Crunch videos on Netflix, almost doesn’t count as a workout unless you pair it with something else. But what it lacked in vigor it made up by facilitating a useful self-discovery: I look about as coordinated as a gummy worm when dancing to salsa. But hey, they have a guy with fun highlights playing the bongos and I’m pretty sure half of those extras were on the tv show Popular. Also, anything that allows me to act semi-slutty with a bun on top of my head is usually okay by me. I just wish it hadn’t taken so many sessions with my therapist to stop feeling like a dumb ass after this.

But I refuse to give up my search for the perfect in-home workout. At the moment I am lying on the couch, spooning chinese food into my face from the coffee table with one hand, so I’m a little busy. But I promise, as soon as I’m done, I will definitely consider thinking about exercising again. Eventually.