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What’s the Apps?

It’s official, I’m obsessed with my iPhone. Except for when it auto-corrects “shit,” to “shot,” “bitch,” to “birch,” and “crackhead” to “Fragonard.” Someone please tell me wtf a Fragonard is?

One of my favorite iPhone features is its apps. I swear there is an app for anything and everything. How would I look if I got a boob job app. Lemme measure his penis app. Who I gotta fuck around here for some front row seats app. You want it? They probably got it.


I like to keep my shit simple though. My iPhone desktop is filled with sports, photo editing, music, and utility based apps. Sorry, no Words With Friends or Angry Birds. I have no patience for the former, and want to chuck my phone at anything that flies for the latter. However, two apps I’m crackish over thanks to Nic and Ness are Nike Training Club and My Fitness Pal.

Excuse me while I geek out for a second. I have slutty pictures after the jump if me wildin out over phone apps wasn’t enough of an incentive for you to click after the jump.

Nike Training Club is basically a personal trainer in your pocket. It provides step by step instructions and videos for each workout, as well as various circuit training targeted to your specific goal.  It times you, tells you when to switch positions, tracks your progress, and syncs with your music. It’s free, foolproof, and a good way to discipline yourself if you can’t afford to hire someone else to do it for you.


My Fitness Pal tracks the other part of what I’ve dubbed “Operation She-Bangs” which is diet. And when I say diet, I don’t mean Atkins or South Beach or eating grass, embarking on bulimia, or the Master Cleanse either. I simply mean what I put into my body. I’d give myself two hours on a diet before I rob the drive-thru at Krispy Kreme. Besides, I don’t need to lose any weight – just the new found fluff on my tummy that baseball season gave and continues to give me.


With My Fitness Pal, I’m able to track how many calories I eat, the nutritional value of my food, as well as how many calories I burn. I know it makes me sound like a calorie counting Nazi, but in actuality I don’t even use the app to determine what I can’t eat – rather what I can. Last night for instance I didn’t meet my suggested caloric count so I took the liberty in indulging on some sour cream and cheddar Ruffles. It was a great decision.

An even better one is doing what makes you happy. A pitcher of Blue Moon and guacamole and chips make me ridiculously happy, but so does cottage cheese and an egg white scramble. To tell you the truth, all I really wanna do is have a flat stomach and big ass, but genes only allow so much. My 25 year old body seen here will definitely do. So until I reach my goal of looking 25 when I’m 30, I’ll be watching (with just one eye lol) what I eat so that I can get away with drinking all the free Dos Equis and buffet food our Cabo resort provides us. DALE.

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