6 month check up

Back in January, I made my list of non resolutions.  Frankly about a week later I forgot about the list pretty much all together.  Recently I was realizing how woa baby, it’s really halfway through 2008?  So I looked back on my little list to see how I’ve been doing at the things that I swore I would not do in 08′…

In 2008 I will not…

• Feel bad about doing what I want to do, when I want to do it

Pretty much following this one for the most part.  Very seldom, now and then, I find myself up and doing something that I feel like I need to do out of obligation or because I “should” rather than because I actually want to.  But I’m getting better at this.  A lot better.

• Set foot into Blockbuster.  I hate the service I received there over a year ago and will not go back there, ever.

Damn straight.  Done and done.  And it seems like Blockbusters are on the outs lately?  Lots of them around me are closing and, well, I couldn’t be happier.  Damn them and the witchy customer service representative who scolded me for returning a movie late when she there was CLEARLY a sign posted exclaiming, “no late fees!”  The whole franchise is dead to me.

• Let emails go more than one week without at least a short and quick reply.  At least something.

Yes.  I’m good at this.  I think.  I hope?

• Feel bad about getting a manicure whenever the hell I feel like it, even if I’m strapped for $$.

Absolutely.  And pedis, now that it’s summa summa summa-time!

• Go to bed without washing my face.  I am pretty good at this as it is, but it’s not something I want to let slide.

Wow, I was struggling to come up with things here huh?  I can’t believe I actually made this a bullet for my life in 2008.  How ingenious of me.  Hmm.  Anyway, yeah, I make it a point always do this now.  No matter the number of martinis I have before bed. 

• Feel like I need to write here, just to have a new post up. 

Yeah, I don’t really do that anymore.  Clearly evidenced by my roughly 2-3 post per week trend.

• Chase tequila with beer.  It’s a proven fact that by doing this, I will a- not be able to hack it (as much as I think I can, despite past experiences), b- find myself in sexual “situations” with “platonic” friends (sometimes not a bad thing mind you, yet at times, not good), and c- be quite hung the next day, at work.

Hmm.  I think I did this once or twice since the New Year.  After all, there was a Cinco de Mayo in the mix here.  It had to be done.

• Not wear my seat belt at all times.

I always wear it.  Click it or ticket!  My damn annoying car that has a god awful binging that goes on until one buckles I always make sure my passengers wear it too.  I’m annoying like that.  Buckle up!

• Think it’s a good idea to try shrimp.  Again.  For the eighth time.  It’s never been a good idea and it never will be.

I think I hit number nine over the past couple of months.  Everyone was doing it, everyone was loving it, the sauce is always what entices me, and it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.  Oof, I was wrong.  Again.

• Cross my arms so much.  I know it’s bad body language.  I don’t do it to ward people off, but I know that’s the signal I might be giving.  I do it because I’m cold or just… bored.  I’ll dress warmer and find someone to people watch when I need entertainment.

You know, I think I still do this.  It’s one of those things where I just don’t always know where to house my hands when I’m standing around.  I feel like on my hips looks too “don’t mess with me”-like, in my pockets is a little… dude-ish, and so, they kind of just end up crossed in front of me.  Lame-o. 

• Makeout with an ex boyfriend.  Especially him.  Not a good idea back a couple months ago, never going to be a good idea, ever.

Hm, I think this one is covered.  I went down that road in October, so I think I’m in the clear as far as the New Year goes.  Woot.

• Be the girl that is okay with listening to a past flame’s stories about he and his new lovebug.  I’m just not… cool with that.  Why pretend to be?

Tricky.  The one I was talking about here, I don’t put up with it from anymore.  There is another someone though, just a friend (when you say he’s just a friend!) that had been harping on his dates to me all too often.  I don’t mind listening and advice giving and being the chick that guys talk to about that stuff sometimes, but sweet baby j, give it a rest sometimes too, you know?

• Beat myself up if I skip a couple workouts, eat too many Cheez-Its, keep postponing signing up for that pilates class that I want to, or drink too many martinis.

I’ve been so much better at this one.  I finally did enroll in that pilates/yoga class over the winter, and I absolutely loved it.  I did it through about April-ish, took a break for a bit, and then replaced that with the bootcamp.  I don’t get as frustrated with myself for missing a workout now, and I feel like with all the workouts I do get in in a week, the cheez-its are well deserved sometimes.  And the martinis are always well deserved.  Is there ever not a time for them?  (Don’t answer that.)

• Try and run around and make my lunch two minutes before I need to leave for work.  What happened to the nightly lunch making routine I was once in?

Fail.  Still haven’t gotten in the morning lunch habit.

• Let my clean laundry stay in folded piles all over my bedroom floor for weeks days.

Oof.  Wicked fail. I think the other thing is, I keep buying more clothes, and so, I’m running out of space in my tiny little bedroom to put them all away.  That won’t stop me from buying, but it will make my room look like a tornado hit clothing boutique.

• Avoid the regular maintenance of my car so much. 

This one sucks.  Probably right after I wrote this non-resolution list, I shelled out $500+ for my car.  There’s such thing as a 20,000 mile check up?  30,000?  What?  I hate car maintenance.  Hate it.

• Straighten my hair so often.  I love my waves!

Score!  I hardly ever bust out the straightener anymore.  Special occasions (dates, holidays?, the Sex and the City movie with my ladies, shoe shopping), yes.  Otherwise, I go with the waves and especially in this wicked summer heat.  No blow drying for me.

• Ever, ever feel guilty about any purchase of shoes.

Buyers remorse struck last week after a hefty purchase during my lunch hour.  Though, shoes were not involved in said purchase, so I don’t think this counts.

• Let a crush go on for too long before either doing something about it, or shutting up about it.

I’ve been good about this.  I’m not one to just sit and wait around like I’m at a 7th grade dance, pining away for the dude to make the first move.  If I’m into you, you’ll probably be in the know about it. 

• Settle.

Welp, I’m Still Single, so there’s that answer.

How is everyone else doing on any resolutions, or, non-resolutions you made this year?

 

speaking too soon?

I’ve lost almost 10 pounds since I started this bootcamp and started with the Tae Bo replacement.

I say this with trepidation, for I am not one to go on about achieving weight loss and fitness goals simply because I fear that I’m going to jinx the whole thing in doing so.

Jinxing. I feel like that about a lot of things in my life actually. Hesitant to talk about a new dude who I have a little flirtation going on with, or a new job prospect for example, because what if too much talk about it, too much expectation, too many high hopes, what if it turns out to be a big fat FAIL in my face?

I get leery to discuss new possibilities- a potential new job, relationship prospects, new things that “could” be, in general, because I have a nagging fear that in doing so, they may not come to fruition, and then what?

That sounds pretty glass-half-empty slash Debbie Downer-ish, doesn’t it? Yet I would not say that I’m a negative person, by nature. I try and see the bright side of things, look for the best in a crap situation, the silver lining, find some sort of good out of a bad thing. I’m described by my close friends as a confidant, one that people feel comfy going to for encouragement and hope. I refuse to let negativity consume me, yet I wonder whether this denying myself the right to feel excitement about something I’m interested in, is in fact a form of negativity in itself?

It’s not that I don’t feel that I’m deserving of securing that job, getting that man, achieving my goals, losing those extra 5 pounds, I do. More than anything, I guess a big part of it, and this is probably right at the root of the whole story, is that I feel that in talking about it all too much, in making others aware of what I want and hope for, if I don’t get it? Then I feel like I’ve failed.

Who likes failing?

And I know, I know that’s all very silly, and I shouldn’t give a rats ass what other people think, but I do. So I keep mum about certain things to certain people, until I feel comfortable that I’m seeing some positive progress in the direction that I’m hoping for, and then, and probably not until then, will I make any sort of peep about it.

So I’m trying to make a change with all of that. I’m gung ho for the Law of Attraction and all of that jazz; it’s always been something I have been down with- putting out good vibes into the Universe and in doing so, getting good things back at me. I try to envision the life that I would like to lead, the people I want with me for the ride, the job I’d like to wake up for every morning, the man I’d like to lie down with every night, the amazing places I wish to travel one day, and the body I want to be living this amazing life in.

From now on, I’m going to try and be more easy on myself, actually let myself feel excited about something that maybe could be, and see where that takes me.

Because what’s the worst that could happen in doing this? Say I envision myself brunching with Gerard Butler next month? I actually picture him picking me up at my pad, driving me off in his swanky wheels (or motorcycle, I’d like him to take me away on a hot Harley), us picnicing in the park, him scooping me into a big bear hug, tossing me on the bed, and telling me I’m the One he’s been waiting for. Say I actually believe that might happen (even if it dare say, might be a spec? of a stretch). And say that in the meantime I keep kicking bootcamps ass, lose a couple more pounds, meet a cute guy I think is something special, and I actually speak up about it all to my friends, to you, as it’s happening?

So what if some (or none) of it happens? What’s really so bad about that? Isn’t the whole potentially-getting-there-process fun and exciting and character building in the meantime?

I’m going to go with yes.

 

One Evening

Last night, at the Feist concert, there was an unsettling, fleeting moment, where I thought I saw Mr. Match.

The Mr. Match that I saw was standing next to a pretty blond who was preggers.  We’re talking maybe 6, 7? months preggers.  I had to take a double take there, just to make sure.

Of course, it wasn’t him, but there was that short span of time there where I thought it could be him, and before I noticed that he was standing next to another girl, another prego girl, I was actually pretty okay with it (the seeing him part, not being with a girl who he would have been sleeping with at the same time as me, based on the little soon-to-be-bambino in the oven).

I was with my mom and I had mentioned that this would probably the type of random concert that, just my luck, I’d run into him at.  I know dudes aren’t typically huge huge fans of Feist, but I don’t know, he liked Imogen Heap and some other seemingly eclectic type singers, so hey, it could happen. 

I gave some thought about how it would be to run into him.  Seeing an ex for the first time after the breakup is never an easy thing, usually something one would try to avoid, or, at the very least, make sure you’re rockin a booby shirt, sleek hair, and sassy shoes (all of which I was not doing last night in the bazillion degree heat that = cute sundress, humid wavy hair, and flip flops).  But I digress.

What I haven’t divulged here is that after writing that post, about sorta kinda wanting to contact him a few weeks ago?, I didn’t end up doing it.  I figured it was a silly idea, there was nothing worthwhile to really say, and for the time being, I’d put the thought on the back burner and let it lie there for a bit.

Which it did.  But I kept thinking about it.  About him and how he was doing.  About the closure that we never really had.  I had no clue what I’d intro with if I actually did contact him, but it was almost feeling like the wondering, the “what ifs” were harder to take than the worst case scenario (him ignoring me, or not responding in a positive manner).  So, I bit the bullet a couple weeks back, and we chatted online for like, 7 minutes.  He asked how I was doing, said he thought of me randomly recently for some silly reason, and we shot the shit for another couple minutes.  The convo ended on a good note (I hate gchat, by the way), both of us saying it was nice to catch up, yadda yadda, on our ways we went.

And that was basically that.  There were no big revelations, nothing huge came out of the whole thing, but after chatting with him, I just felt more at ease with the whole thing.  So when it came around to potentially running into him at last night’s show, I feel like I would be totally okay with that.  And that?  That felt good.

Just not him with a prego chick by his side.  Now that’s pushing it.

 

Unrelated PS- New HOH in the house.  Also, you may have noticed the new header?  I’m not convinced I’m in love with it, but it was getting way too tricky for me to keep messing around with it, and at least it’s still featuring some type of shoe (a must), and now the beach (my oasis).  Thoughts?

 

cruisin for a bruisin

Well, I had myself quite the weekend. And um, well, I have quite some bruises to show for it. Oof. Yesterday in the midst of this hot, humid, danky weather streak that we’re getting slammed with here in New England, I spent the afternoon with my roommate, her sister and husbie and their two adorable little boys, and husbie’s drop dead HOT friend, sitting by the pool and hot tub for a total of about eight full hours. Adult beverages were consumed (Bud Light Lime, yay or nay?), many a laugh were had, the time flew by like nothing, and even though my less-than-a-week-old-pedi is now wickedly chipped it was so worth it. Because the poolside day was deliciously devine (as were the corn on the cob, the burgers, the dogs, and the brews).

And this is the day that the bruising went down. I had myself a literal nose dive of a situation when me and Drop Dead Hot Friend (drop it like it’s hot) decided to have a hand stand contest. First mistake. Because I? Am not coordinated. Needless to say, contest didn’t last too long; before I knew it I was face first to the pool bottom (ouch), and as my janitor just nicely pointed out, “looks like the pool won.”

Then there was the whole part where I thought it would be fun to try out my new Bootcamp Triceps? By hoisting myself up onto the diving board and doing a little flip-and-reverse it, attempting to end myself up there, sitting down appearing all composed and put together and all “Bootcamp Champ!” Well, not so much. The bruises I have that are noticeable are bad enough, all under my arms and somehow on my shins and my knees, but they got nothin on the mother of a patch of bruises on my chest (that’s right), where I kept slamming into the board whilst attempting to look classy trying to pull this maneuver off.

Hold me.

Finally I retreated and stayed put in the hot tub, where I belonged and should have (apparently) stayed for the duration of the day. Yikes, I look like I’ve been through the ringer and back, and it ain’t pretty.

And Friday, on the 4th of July, yours truly was not at a bbq or a fun picnic drinking brews or watching fireworks like the rest of USA. No. I ended my badass self up at an Asian restuarant (On the 4th of July?), singing “Like a Virgin” on karaoke.

Yeah, it just went downhill from there. But in a good way, you know?

And tonight it’s off to bootcamp I go, and I hope to hell I don’t end up continuing on this path of injury and embarrassment. Hey, I guess it makes for good blog fodder, eh?

(I don’t like the word fodder.)

 

I left my voice in NH, and other points from my weekend getaway

• I’m back all in one piece, and I made the zip line my bitch on Friday. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a spec freaked out by the time we got to the top of the mountain (?) where we were setup to take our first zip down. The six of us girls clearly dominated the majority of the group, joined in by a good looking dad, his wife, and his daughter, and one other couple. After the first “zip” we were really into it, and the whole thing was a wicked blast. Our tour was led by a better looking version of Screech. He was hilarious and one of those people who you can tell just really digs their job. I like these types. Outdoorsy and good hair = plus two. Here’s the beast we took up the mountain: 

• Oh, the watermelon! That’s one worth mentioning, a- considering how much talk there was about the damn thing beforehand, and b- since it came out so damn good (after a lot of prep-work)! Now I’ll tell ya, this soaking-of-the-vodka process? It’s no quick thing. Don’t go expecting to prepare this concoction and enjoy it an hour later. I put the vodka into the watermelon on Saturday morning thinking we could bust into it maybe that night if we were lucky, otherwise go for it on Sunday. Well, it wasn’t absorbing anything too quickly, and RS wasn’t kidding when he emphasized rotating the thing. By Sunday afternoon, it still not soaking the vodka up, we decided to chop the thing up, put it in a bowl, and give that a go. Cha-ching! Finally- end result, wickedly delicious watermelon, 8 tipsy vacationers.   Here’s a picture of Watermelon Concoction 2008:



• Right, you may have noticed we some how picked up 2 more vacay-ers along the way? No, unfortunately none of the three single girls in our group struck gold with any fine looking neighbors. It goes back to something that would only happen to us while three and a half hours away on vacation: car trouble. Of course. Luckily we had split up and taken two cars up there, because car number two decided to crap out on us mid-trip, leaving us with 6 girls 1 car, a tow-truck situation on our hands and no way in hell to get us and all our gear back home.
  Fail.
  So Sunday night we added two males into the mix- the fiance of one, and his cousin who came up to join in on the action for a night and cart half of our group home the next day.
  Somewhere in the mix of that evening I seem to have lost my voice, and now sound like a cross between a 68 year old chain smoker and a 14 year old boy going through puberty. Hot. 

• SATC. There was lots of it. The pink velvety case was displayed on our coffee table for the duration of the trip, and yes, we did even throw an episode in for a second on Sunday night with the men there. Needing to find a certain scene with Big that kept coming up was of utmost importance. 
• We rocked out a good solid Power TWO Hour upon arriving at our place. One hour just didn’t seem like enough, so we kept at it (that’s what she said). We were playing with two sweet mixes- one was 80’s, the other some random compilation of music that made us want to bust a move. Which we did, outside on our sweet deck until the bugs got too much to take and it was time for more SATC. (A couple of you may or may not have been the recipient of a nice Tipsy Text from yours truly during this adventure) Lights out by 10:30 that night, needless to say. 

• Most all of our activities needed to be enjoyed indoors, since, definition of us and our vacays, it dumped rain pretty much the entire time. No biggie. We had enough food and alcohol to feed an army, games that made us laugh so hard that Little Miss Priss in the condo down below us had to bust the party because we were so loud, digital cameras, outlets 15 minutes down the road that were calling our name, and did I mention, SATC? 
• Oh, here’s a really really cute puppy we met one afternoon when we went to a random nail salon to get mani/pedis. His name is Lucky; tell me you don’t want to instantly hug him?

All in all, I’d give the trip a solid 8.5 (factoring in the rain and the car troubles we encountered). Pretty damn good!

I forgot, we saw a moose on the side of the road on our way to the zip line excursion. That was fun.

 

whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

what happened last monday that led me to the bag were a series of events. it started with bootcamp in that wicked hot hot humid heat, which makes for lots of sweat, and when you’re wearing one of those tank-top-built-in-bra deals that’s white, what happens is the sweat just completely soaks the whole damn thing (classy) and you can basically see everything. it’s fine if you’re just driving home in your little red corolla, which i had planned to do, but not so fine if you need to step into cvs which is what i ended up having to do instead.

so i pulled into the parking lot and thought that maybe, possibly i might find some gem of a tee shirt in my trunk. you know, something to just throw over the unfortunate look that i had going so that i could run into cvs, get my pill and call it a wrap. all i found was a big hooded sweatshirt, not sure whose, which just wasn’t going to cut it when the temps were still in the high 90’s. i scrounged around some more, then, underneath an umbrella and a bunch of old cds and my yoga mat, i found the bag.

(dundundun…)

the bag of him. for the longest time ever, the bag was actually a box with stuff of him. i transferred said stuff into a bag when i decided that the box was a- taking up too much space in my already too cluttered heart room, and b- was just too much of a reminder of him and what once was.  it was time. i didn’t (and still don’t) have it in me to chuck all the stuff, so i put it in the trunk of my car and that was that. out of sight out of mind kind of deal, or so i thought.

the thing about ex boyfriends who you break up with under reluctant terms is that you (or maybe it’s just me?) don’t ever totally feel ready to say see ya later to the stuff of him. in the bag is a random bunch of crap… a snowman ornament he gave me the first christmas we spent together. a silly ipod sock that was kind of a joke between us. a little notebook that we would leave each other notes in when he’d stay at my place and he’d have to leave for work earlier than i got out of bed. two letters from him. one from when we were still together, the other that he sent as his last ditch effort to win me back. and also three tee shirts and a bunch of movie stubs, and several pictures, including three random ones that i found of penguins (?).

now i wasn’t intending to look into the bag, not at all. no real good ever comes of such a thing; it brings up old memories of happy and sometimes rocky couplehood together, times that frankly id rather have kept in a secure place tucked under junk, locked in my trunk.

but there was really no other choice, pickin’s were damn slim, and there was no way i was turning around to go home only to get a different tee shirt and come right back when there were three tee shirts right in front of me. his tee shirts, but tee shirts none the less.

oof. i had to. i untied the target bag that was in front of me, and i’m sorry to the nice gentleman who pulled in after me (i hope he reads my blog), for what he saw must have made him quite nervous: a flustered single girl in a sweaty workout shirt, a yoga mat on the ground, a bright pink umbrella next to it, an old copy of the immaculate collection cd, and bunch of those damn penguin pictures sitting on my roof all strewn about. poor nice gent looks up to find me holding on to said tee shirt trying to decide if i should really go for it or not.

naturally, my last resort was to don the tee shirt of the ex.  i first held it up to see which one it was (some random nondescript one, good) and started to put it on, but not before sniffing it first. (shut up; don’t tell me you wouldn’t do it too.)
(it didn’t smell like him, thank sweet baby jesus or else i might have had to go in for a consoling hug with the nice innocent bystander man next to me, nervously observing this whole debacle.)

sigh.

in the end, everything worked out just fine. it was just a hell of a lot of hot hassle in order to simply make a cvs trip, and i guess, a good lesson to always pack an extra shirt… of my own.

 

an all time low, I’ve reached it

I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I’m actually watching Denise Richards, It’s Complicated right now, or the fact that one of the scenes just seriously made me cry.

If you stop reading this blog after reading this post?  I’d totally understand.

 

I think I need to just stick with the Celtics game.  Holy hell.

 

Petty, old friends, & style (or, I can’t think of a better title for this)

So hey.  I’m able to post right now because I’m not at bootcamp.  Our trainer had some other piece of business going on, so we added in an extra day last week and are busting out an 8am session this Saturday.  Just shoot me now.

I don’t have too much to write about but I do have to say that Tom Petty was fabo, as was the prime people watching that you get to do at this type of show.  Quite the eclectic mix, let me tell ya.  Oh and my Friday was quite a hit- with my best friend from high school in town, it was absolutely necessary to take sake shots go out on the town and show her a good time.  And it also just so happened that my new young non-speed- date friend from last Thursday called and ended up meeting up with us.  Nice guy, sweet, blue, kind eyes, and not a bad looker at all.  We’ll see.  It’s fun.

Anyway, one other thing is that I’m absolutely obsessed with whipping up new outfits thanks to this special lady who told me about the site (that I think I’m the last to hear about) that I’m now totally addicted to. 

Case in point, my roommate and I spent hours Saturday afternoon making outfits for various friends and making the other guessing who it was.  It’s the little things, for serious, that amuse us.

Here is an outfit that I could absolutely get down with wearing on an outdoor patio for an after work happy hour:

And here’s the definition of the kind of guy I wouldn’t mind doing this with:

(I know he seems to be dressed for a bit cooler weather than I am, right?  That layered look though, I just can’t not dig a guy who does The Layer.)

That’s all for now, I think.  I’m going to go watch Letterman’s response to Speidi on his show again for kicks before sitting down to read more of Eat, Pray, Love (and then I’ll probably watch this six more times for the hell of it because for me, that’s always a guaranteed mood lifter).

Monday be gone!

 

if I laugh, I might cry

Yikes. We got a wicked scorcher out there.

And I hate to complain about it (too much). Because, Hey New England in the (almost) summertime, you look familiar, like we’ve known each other for 26 years. The heat, the downright oppressive humidity, it happens every single year and complaining about it isn’t going to change it. It’s just not something that you ever “get used to,” no matter how much you deal with it.

Anyway, I made it through week # 2 of bootcamp tonight. And not to keep going on about the heat, but bootcamp on a GOOD day, in mild temps is tough, so bootcamp on a Monday (never been a fan of a Monday) night after a busy, tiring (in a good way) weekend, combined with steamy sticky temps is kind of nasty.

But this week was better than last week.  The stairs seemed easier, the squats weren’t as hard, and I didn’t whip anyone with the jump rope.  Except, I bruised my ovary.  Or uterus.  Something happened when I busted into the plank position to get ready for a set of push-ups and I can only imagine this is similar to the contractions experienced whilst carrying a child the size of a full grown German Sheperd.

Holy. Hell.  Worst part?  There’s heaps of pollen all up in these parts and I keep sneezing up a storm and each time it feels like I’m being stabbed in my left side.  For serious. 

Laughing kills too.

Anyway.

My co-worker told me that his son plays on a volleyball team in Southie and he does it solely because at said games there’s a keg of beer for refreshment. He asked if that’s the case for the bootcamp (as though all “outdoor” things in Southie would have kegs of beer (they should) for those in attendance?); sadly, it is not.

But there are about 17 bars right down the street from the bootcamp “area” (as well as Mr. Match’s apartment, just shoot me) that we could, if we so choose, hit up at some point after our workout. That is, if it’s all of a sudden considered a new trend to show up in a soaked with sweat tee shirt and frizzed out hair with 136 mosquito bites. All.Over.Our.Bodies. Which I think is actually the exact opposite of any cool trend and in fact, quite freaky looking, if you ask me.

So after our workout, me and my girlfriend dumped ourselves into my car, opened the windows and cranked the AC and radio (does anyone else do a window slash AC combo?), and headed home.  It wasn’t until we were a second away from the toll booth that I realized that, oops, my wallet was in my trunk.  So I promptly pulled up to the “cash only” lane, put on my hazards and my friend snuck out and got my wallet and then we were finally off.  Those girls, we were them.

When I got home my roommate and I, like every other freaking year, waited until the last possible minute (ie, when it’s 100+ degrees out and humid as hell) to put in our AC’s in our bedroom.
Two single girls.  One who feels as though they just fell onto a dull blade.  The other who cracks jokes while both are holding an awkward AC up a flight of steep steep stairs.  One lazy cat who doesn’t know where to turn in this heat.  = a pretty scary situation.

Well we’ve finally maneuvered them in the window, and are crossing our fingers that they’ll stay put for the next four(ish) months or so.  God help us.

I finally just managed to sit down to have some dinner after all these events (I made soup which is absolutely nutso), and the glass of milk I poured is sweating profusely.  Warm milk, hot soup on a hot night.  Disgusting.

And I still don’t have that masseuse here that I craved last week.  I really think he that would make me all better.

 

what happens when you drink and watch infomercials

I’ve been doing a bit of this as of late:

I’ll back up a bit and tell confess this to you- I used to have a little love affair with Billy Blanks slash Tae Bo.  It went on for years.  I was totally balls to the wall about it all, owning  each and every Billy Blanks/Tae Bo DVD out there (back to when they were VHS! too, imagine!?).  I knew the routines like I know Hollywood Head’s of Hair.  Yeah, I was just that into him it.

(Did you know that Billy’s daughter is in most all of his videos?  It’s true.  And her name is Shelly.)

Senior year of college after a night out at the bars, I was eating Tostitos and watching an infomercial at 3am and I ended up ordering Billy’s latest collection.  Granted at the time I already owned 7 tapes, but it so seemed like the right thing to do (as clarity is often found after several dollar drafts and things seem to just “make more sense!” after a night at a seedy dive bar).  So Tae Bo and I had a thing going on for many years; I couldn’t get enough, and it was beginning to verge on an addiction.  One day, I ended up quitting cold turkey.  I started to get sick of the same exact workout every day, knowing the jabs and roundhouses and the tune-age on each tape by heart.  There was no spontaneity to it anymore; it all got too predictable and mundane (sigh).  I tried turning down the volume on the tapes and turning UP the volume on my stereo, tried imagining I was doing other things while I was doing it, all those “tricks.”  This Tae Bo relationship wasn’t getting better, and I knew it was a bad sign when I started busting “speed bag” punches out on the dance floor as part of my game.*
 

I knew I needed to quit all together, in one clean swoop and that Tae Bo and I couldn’t just do the fade out thing; it had to be all or nothing.  It was 2005 when Billy and I said our goodbyes, except for that one little relapse circa the Fall of 06′ where I flirted with the idea of early-morning Tae Bo-ing.  That lasted a couple weeks but truth be told, as often happens when you go back to an old flame, I realized I just wasn’t that into him it anymore.

And now a new prospect has come along.  A Tae Bo-esque type workout that I caught wind of (after a couple glasses of vino) on another infomercial. 

Score!  It’s meant to be!

A mix of kickboxing-like moves with dance-y type stuff?  New faces, new music, new choreography?  I knew then and there that I had to give it a go.

We’ll see how Turbo Jam and I get on.  We’re in that new relationship everything-is-prefect-and-butterflies stage, too early to really tell if we’ll go the distance.  Time will tell, and for now, I’m holding off on Jumping Ship just yet.

*Reason #37 that I’m Single.