Too tired to post anything meaningful

This weekend has kicked my ass.  We did Relay for Life and thank GOD the weather was bad enough to cut it short (at 2:30am).  But, also, it sucked that the weather was so bad!  Bob and I had to run through a torrential downpour to get to the car and we were so soaking wet that the car seats were still wet 24 hours later.  It was insanely ridiculous.  It’s alarming (my new favorite adjective) that we made it out alive. 

I had two sessions with my personal trainer this weekend, and I think I’m closer to death than I’ve ever been.  I’m really not as sore as you’d expect, but I feel very heavy and slow.  I’m starting to wonder if this whole being hot thing is really worth all this trouble.  *shrugs*

To further that point, today, and remember, I’m not even hot yet, I was both whistled at and even better, had an incredibly strange interaction with a guy who looked like Donna’s dad from That 70s Show.  It went like this:  Me walking to my car.  Guy walking into gym.  Guy says, “Good afternoon” or something similar and I say something like, “Yep, thanks”. . . and very naively believe that the conversation is over.  Then, and you tell me, Internet, if this seems even remotely natural, he says, “So, can I call you sometime?”.    WTF?!  How did we go from there to there?  Not knowing how to even begin to respond, I haul ass to my car and scream, “NO THANKS”.  ?!?!?!  *confused*  Probably not the most graceful way to have handled the situation, but dude, c’mon! 

So, mostly, we spent this weekend playing OCD.  You know, where you tear apart your whooooooole house and put it back together better than it was before but with mostly the same stuff?  Yeah, it’s fun.  I mean, except for the part where I had no time to do anything else at all and now I want my weekend back, but otherwise, it’s fun.

I pretty much have a crapload of stuff to do between right now and Tuesday evening when my mom gets in town.  So, that pretty much blows and also pretty much means that unless I screw off during the day when I’m supposed to be “working”, you pretty much won’t hear from me until Mom leaves town.  So. . . entertain yourselves for a week, would ya?  Yeah, thanks. 

Relay for Life

Alright, people.  Relay for Life is Friday.  The day after tomorrow, Friday.  My account shows I have raised $105 of my $500 goal.  I don’t know if you know, but $105 is nowhere close to $500.  I am going to have to spend 12 hours with my team, folks.  12 hours as the biggest loser is not cool.  Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease help me.

Which brings me to another thought:  WTF WAS I THINKING SIGNING UP FOR A 12 HOUR RELAY EVENT?! 

12 hours is a long damn time.  Thank God I also forced TMFGITW (hereafter referred to as “Bob”, and yes, I know, it’s hard keeping up with all of her name changing; and also, do not confuse her with the cat I had named Bob who was the best cat in the entire world that my sister promised to care for until I could take him back and then kicked out in the cold and “forgot” to feed until he ran away forever) to sign up.  Without her, I’m pretty sure the event would turn into a hide-and-seek where I hide from my team after 1.5 hours of faking smiles and laughter at really pathetic attempts at jokes, and they seek me to get me to do some portion of the relaying.

We’re checking into the rules to see if sitting on the edge of the track counts as having been on the track (because the rule is that someone from your team has to be on the track at all times).  Our team has 11 people, so that’s only 1 hour, 5.45 minutes per person over the 12 hours, and that’s really not a very long time to walk.  But, how much do you want to bet that some people will not do their fair share?!  And, also, I’m pretty sure Bob and I will spend our track time walking together because we’re the only people we’ll be able to stand after awhile, so that automatically doubles our respective track time.  OH!  But, woohoo!  It gets to count as exercise!  But, booooo, I’m at the relay from 7pm-7am and I have to work with my trainer at 3pm.  Anyway. . .

Bottom line is I need 395 more dollars to just meet my fundraising goal.  If I don’t get it, people are going to laugh and point and probably make me wear a t-shirt that says “BIG FAT LOSER”.  And, ordinarily, I would be fine with all of this, except this will last for 12 hours.  Please help.  Please.  Really.

https://www.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=134926&lis=0&kntae134926=8A38CB1FCC024163863CF8C17C790725&supId=0&team=1282160&cj=Y

Hampster Derby and other adventures

Visiting TP 

TP visited!  And, she got to do all of the following as a result:

Visit the Hula Hut (but she did not get to see the giant fish because he blew over and sank)
Travel to a bar in a minivan
Drink a purple hooter with TMFGITW
See 18 houses in the Austin area
Visit Kerbey Lane
VIDEOKE!!! (exclamation points added to trick you into believing it’s remotely cool)
Spend 6.5 hours on a boat on Lake Travis
Get sunburned
Have a nice Mexican dinner out
Get up entirely too early in the damn morning to fly out

If you’re wondering what any of the above entail, you’re just going to have to visit.  I do regret that I completely spaced the bats.  She could have seen the bats!  You could have seen the bats, TP!    Next time.

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Hampster Derby

I’m not sure if you’ve ever been to a hampster derby, but I understand it’s one of those things that is on the list of things you must do in your life.  So, woohoo!  I get to check that off my list!

You could probably pretty accurately guess what a hampster derby is, but I’ll give you visuals just in case.

A hampster derby is an event during which hampsters get into little hampster sized vehicles:

 

Some hampsters promptly go to sleep once inside their hampster sized vehicle (I believe this occurs only when the hampster in question happens to be the hampster that my team is rooting for):

The word “derby” is misleading, as it may cause you to pressume that there is some speed involved.  You may think that a hampster might speed across the 6′ track in some sort of reasonable fashion. . . like, oh, say a minute.  Or 2 minutes.  Maybe even 3 minutes.  I am here to tell you that a hampster derby is a much more time consuming process than you would think.  Once a hampster actually starts moving, he (or she) will often turn directly around and head towards the start line just when you sillily begin to believe he might win.  In some cases, all hampsters will actually sit still for several minutes, probably silently mocking all of the humans in such a fuss over a hampster derby.

Most of all, a hampster derby is just a bunch of drunken idiots betting actual cash on rodents in miniature volkswagons.  Only in America, folks.

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Personal Training Real Day 1

I will not complain about my trainer anymore.  I think she is psychic and knows I was complaining about her because I’m pretty sure she hates me and wants me to die.  Either that, or she’s just a good trainer.  I can’t tell yet. 

Today, I had my first real training session.  That was 4.5 hours ago and I’m embarassed to tell you that I still feel like spaghetti.  Tomorrow is going to s.u.c.k.  The next day is going to s.u.c.k. more.  Woo me!

Today, we worked just about every blessed muscle in my body. . . and it was really hard, but I was making it through.  She handed me 8 lb. weights to do biceps, and given that I’ve been using 5 lb. weights, it was pretty challenging.  Then, during my first set, she asks what I did this weekend.  I told her we spent Saturday on the boat.  She took the 8 lb. weights from me and I was feeling really good about being done with biceps.  And, then she stuck 10 lb. weights in my hands.  Right.  She says, “You never said anything about a boat.  If you’re gonna be in a bikini, you’re gonna have to work harder”. 

I was pretty sure I was going to die about a dozen times during the hour.  Here’s a tip:  don’t ever tell your trainer that you love any of the exercises.  Ever.  I promise, it leads to nothing good.

After my hour of weights, I spent 50 minutes on the elliptical machine.  I’m going to go ahead and toot my own horn here because after the weights hour, I didn’t think there was anyway my legs were going to hold my weight for any cardio work, let alone 50 minutes.  So, go me!

During my cardio portion, I started to think, “DUH.  If I work out 2 hours/day every day, I’m going to get in shape.  I don’t need a trainer for that.  Anyone who works out 2 hours/day is going to get in shape”.  And, then I realized that I would have quit the cardio after 20 minutes if I hadn’t known she was in the gym somewhere and would likely see me if I tried to sneak out early.  So, maybe she’s worth the money.  I’ll let you know when I decide for sure.

I took my measurements today because I’m hoping I’ll be able to brag about progress soon (and also TMFGITW will feel super skinny when she reads this):

Chest     33.5″
Bust       38″
Waist     31.5″  (36.5″ just below belly button)  Moooo.
Hips       40.5″
Thigh R  23.5″
Thigh L  23.25″
Bicep R  10.5″
Bicep L  10.5″

I decided about 20 years ago that I’m going to be full of hips no matter what (thanks, Mom).  So, that number sucks, but it’s pretty much a fact of life.  I will not be able to shrink my hip bones.

If I could lose the stupid giant chunk of fat on my lower abdomen, that would be awesome. . . but being as it was there even when I was a wee 110 lbs. 10 years ago, I’m pretty sure it’s never going to completely disappear.  It may shrink, but it won’t go away.

So, let’s focus on the chest area.  I’m just going to act like I want my boobs to shrink because that’s what’s going to happen anyway.  That way, we can pretend like it’s a victory when I’m walking around with a 34″ bust and 40″ hips.  OK?

Thank the Lord, I cancelled our Wednesday appointment, so I won’t be seeing her again until Saturday.  I had a really good reason to bail on Wednesday’s appointment, and besides, if any of us think I’m going to be functional for any portion of Wednesday, we’re going to be very surprised. 

Telepathic Blogging

What I need is some sort of fancy schmancy device which allows me to think things onto this blog.  All week, I’ve had a million thoughts of things to post here and I should have written them down so I would remember, but they were so good I thought I would surely remember and now I forget.  Sorry, internet.  If I had some sort of thing attached to my brain that would transmit those brilliant thoughts directly to this page, we’d all be in much better shape.

This week has been a week of peaks & valleys.  Peak 1 – Tuesday I brought in a new client and met with my trainer.  Valley 1 – my trainer is not very fun.  Valley 2 – 7am meeting on Wednesday. . . boooo.  Valley 3 – I’m sick.  Valley 4 – STUPID AWARDS LUNCHEON WAS SO RIGGED.  STUPID GUY WINS STUPID AWARD THAT OTHER, MORE DESERVING GUY SHOULD HAVE WON.  Peak 2 – I’m so writing a letter about valley 4!  Peak 3 – TP is here!  WOOHOO! 

Moving on. . .

So, my trainer has asked me to keep a food diary so she can accordingly adjust my diet for me.  We can all see where this is going, right?  It’s not going to be good, I’m pretty sure.  The best part about it is that I’ve been eating horrendously worse than usual this week. . . so I’m going to present her with my food diary for the first week and she’s going to be all, “JESUS, MARY, & JOSEPH, FC!!!  NO WONDER YOU’RE SUCH A FC!”.  And, then I’m going to cry and go home.

Which brings me to my dilema.  Do I leave “Cadbury Egg” as my description for Thursday’s breakfast?  Or do I lie so she doesn’t punch me in the mouth?  I know the whole point of this exercise is to let her evaluate my actual food intake so she can give me a good assessment of what the problems are. . . but I’m pretty sure she’s going to either fire me as a client or punch me in the mouth if I tell her that I had a Cadbury Egg for breakfast two days after I met with her.

***Addendum to previous entries:  My favorite client will no longer be referred to as such as she prefers to be otherwise coined The Most Fun Girl In The World.  Please take note.***

Right, so in 22 days, I’m going to Vegas with The Most Fun Girl In The World for a world class bachelorette party.  I don’t think I have to tell anyone here about my love affair with Vegas.  I think you probably all already know that I’m in love with Las Vegas and I would marry Las Vegas if it were legal to do so.  I don’t think The Most Fun Girl In The World knew I’m in love with Vegas, so she gets super extra points for being this cool. 

WOOOO VEGAS!!!

And, now all I can think about is the beautiful, shiney, spinning wheel. . . so I don’t have any idea what else I was going to tell you today. . .

Commence Personal Training

My fabulous business partner and I both met, for the first time, with our personal trainers yesterday.  You would think, being as we’re at the same gym, that we’d have had a somewhat similar experience.  And, then you’d be wrong.

Her trainer told her she’d get in good shape quickly and they’re going to gossip and be best friends.  They chatted for 45 minutes and measured body fat and all that fun stuff.  Then she left the gym without the slightest bit of working out.

My trainer thinks I’m a lesbian (and for the record, believes my business partner is my partner partner) and crushed my hip bone during a “stretch”.  She made me squat repeatedly so she could analyze my gait.  *blink, blink*  She made me do all sorts of balance exercises including standing on one foot and swinging the other leg all over creation.  Repeatedly.  She claimed to be analyzing the strength of my ankles but I saw her looking at the men working out next to us, so I’m pretty sure it was a distraction tactic.  She also made me do crunches & push ups until I shook violently.   And, then she sent me off to do some cardio before I could go home.

Shouldn’t I be glad I’ve got the hard ass trainer?  You’d think so. . . except she is not fun.  This is not a game.  There will be no joking or having of good times.  There will be working out until I vomit.  There will be monitoring of all of my food intake.  There will be stretching and cardio and a lot of demanding I do 4 more.  But, there most certainly will not be gossip or fun or friends.  At all.  None.

She also does not even pretend to believe that I’ll be in any sort of tolerable shape anytime in the near future.  She wasn’t all encouraging and wonderful like my business partner’s trainer who told her she’d be hot by July.  Nope.  Instead she was like, “Shit, I thought you guys signed up for 36 sessions, not 24″.  She may as well have said, “Oh, you’re so screwed.  There’s no way you’re going to get in shape in any fewer than 3 months, you fat cow.  I’m just going to call you FC from now on because that’s what you’ll be with your measly 24 sessions.  Thanks, see you next week, FC”. 

The people I love most

I know it’s not a contest, and thank God, because if it were, some of you would be losing your asses.  But, I’m going to be a giant jerk and pretend like it is a contest because some of you are winning.

TP (isn’t it hilarious that those are her initials?!) is flying in Thursday.  WOOHOOO!!!  I mean. . . she almost completely counters the entire trip by having a 7:15am flight out Sunday (wtf were you thinking?!), but if I had to weigh her trip with the stupid early flight out against someone who isn’t coming to visit at all. . . hmmmmm, tough call.  We’re going to go house looking and then we’re going to party our heads off.  She’ll get to meet my favorite client!  And, I’m not making any promises. . . but I think we might spend Saturday out on the lake. 

Did I mention yet that it was 101 degrees today?!  ***TP, PACK LIGHT, IT’S GONNA  BE HOT***  101 degrees!!!  On April 17!!!  YEEEEEEHAAAAAW (you have to say that at least 15 times/day in Texas.  I think it’s actually a law.  Really.)!  If I had a boat, I know where I’d spend my time.  Lucky says we should just live on a house boat.  Isn’t it cute how he thinks I wouldn’t murder him and feed him to the fishees if we lived on a wee house boat? 

THEN, in May, my baby sister is gonna be in Dallas!  I don’t mean to nitpick, but internet, if you were going on a work trip to Dallas and your favorite oldest sister lived in Austin, and you hadn’t seen her in oh, say 8 months, would you maybe talk to your boss and see if you could take an extra couple of days off to go hang out with your favorite oldest sister?  How about if your favorite oldest sister offered to cover any difference in the flight cost and to pay the wages you’d lose by taking 2 unpaid days off?  Would you do it then?  Yeah. . . my baby sister would not.  NO, instead, she’d not even mention it to her boss, who I’m pretty sure can’t be as unreasonably bitchy as my baby sister claims.  Instead, she’d just fly into Dallas, spend the days in her chiropractic seminars, and her evenings with her co-workers, and fly back out.  Oh yeah, she’ll get one free evening, where I’ll get to drive the 3 hours to Dallas, spend 3 hours with her, and then drive 3 hours back to Austin. . . but, seriously?  WTF?

Still, she’s 5 points ahead of a lot of you.  You know who you are. 

So, ACL is in September, as I mentioned earlier, and because I have such faith in the power of the universe (why else would butterflies emerge from cocoons than to tell me that people love me?), I bought 6 tickets.  Dad says he might come. . . so I’ve got at least 2 extras.  At least.  So. . . I’m not saying anything. . . but people I’ve called and emailed about ACL should come. . . that’s all.

HOLY CRAP, and how did I forget?!  I need to add my trainer to the people I love most list!  She finally scheduled an appointment with me!  Tomorrow, at precisely 4pm, I’ll receive yet another harsh reality check as my trainer again measures my body fat and takes all sorts of measurements that are sure to shove me into a tailspin.  Just to be sure I’d covered my bases, I had Whataburger for dinner tonight.  Mmmmm.  Whataburger.  Glorious greasy fatness in a bag.  Mmmmm.  Yeah, because tomorrow, I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me I can never eat anything that tastes good again.

At this time, I should again mention that my fabulous business partner PAID for the personal training. . . and you’re going to have to try really, really, really hard to pass her up on the people I love most list. 

Most importantly, my favorite client emailed today to ask when we’re gonna go cash in the massage certificates she won at a silent auction.  How can you not love someone who shares her spoils?  She could be selfish and have two massages. . . but instead, she’s sharing with me.  I love her. 

So. . . yeah, that’s the end.  If you have not found yourself on this list, you should perhaps consider sending cash or diamonds or oh, I don’t know, yourself?!

Everybody look what’s going down. . .

As predicted, people slept at the concert.  Asleep.  Eyes closed.  Head hung.  Asleep.  Zzzz.  During a concert. 

However, in defense of Mr. Stills, the audience was wide awake during his set (which I’m pretty sure was actually shorter than the suuuu-huuuuuucky opening act’s set).  The sleeping occured during the opener which (*yawn*) was really bad.  I considered sleeping, as well, especially during the part where they “jammed” for 10 minutes.  Unless you’re Clapton or Lynyrd Skynyrd, you do not have license to jam for 10 minutes.  Period.

Stephen Stills was actually pretty entertaining.  I mean. . . he’s old and fat, and he seemed pretty worn out after 1 song. . . but he’s still pretty cool.  He can’t really sing very well, but in his hay day, everyone was stoned, so I don’t think that mattered much.

*******

In other news. . . don’t you hate it when you accidentally run into that guy that’s madly in love with you and he insists upon sitting with you while you wait for your appointment that never shows and you think you’re getting things back to some sort of normal after the whole outpouring of love incident, and some damn butterfly decides to emerge from it’s cocoon right there on the window behind the table you’re sitting at and the guy freaks out and tells you about some book where the butterfly stays with some guy all day and it’s all symbolic and shit and then he gives you some crap about how it’s fate because if you hadn’t been scheduled to meet with this other guy at that time, you wouldn’t have run into this guy and if the meeting guy had shown up, you wouldn’t have sat there talking for a half hour and he never would have seen the butterfly and been so inspired, and oh my God, can you even imagine what this all means?!?!?!

And, then, if the butterfly miracle weren’t enough. . . as you’re walking out to the car, he realizes that your car is the same color as his. 

Internet, in case you don’t know, that’s as good as divine intervention.  It’s fate, people.  I mean, I was still a little iffy after the butterfly thing. . . but matching car color?  How can you deny it at that point?  It’s crazy.  How can it not be fate?

You so wish you were me.

There are some incredible benefits to dating someone who is your parents’ age.  No, really, hear me out!  Like. . . um. . . well. . . like when you can’t remember (or never knew?) who sang Bad, bad Leroy Brown, your older, wiser boyfriend can remind you!  Or!  Or if you just want to spend a Saturday afternoon jammin’ to some Journey. . . your 40-something boyfriend will not make fun of you. . . in fact, he will turn it up even louder and SING ALONG.

Sometimes, there are detriments. . . like when he can’t hear you unless you scream because his hearing has gone to crap.  Or like when he can’t hang because his bedtime is 10pm.  Or like when he’s annoyed by modern luxuries like IM and refuses to participate in any communication via IM because if he downloads the software, it might eat his computer alive.

But, then, when you least expect it, he pulls something out of his ass that shocks even the not easily shocked.  I know you’re not prepared for the fun I’m about to unleash upon you all.

This Saturday night. . . that’s right, tonight. . . in just 6.25 hours, I will be waving my lighter and rockin’ with one Stephen Stills.  DON’T ASK ME WHO STEPHEN STILLS IS, YOU LOSERS.  Crosby, Stills, and Nash?!  Jesus, don’t you people ever get out? 

Now, granted, I will be the youngest person in the room by a good 20 years.  And, I will probably also be the only person in the room who doesn’t doze off during the show.  Oh, wait, I probably will doze off.  It’s Stephen Stills, for Christ’s sake. 

Barbed wire surely hurts the heart

I feel like I’m probably going to go to Hell when I die.  I mean, I’ve really cut back on the being blatantly evil for no apparent reason other than to see other people suffer. . . but I’m still going strong with the making incredibly insensitive fun of other people when they’re not around.  So. . . in effect, I’m not really hurting them because they don’t know. . . but the laughing – hysterically, until tears stream out of my eyeballs, my stomach hurts, and it’s hard to breathe – is probably a sin of some sort.

For example:  One of the things that my admirer said to me was that I have barbed wire around my heart and it makes him sad that I won’t let anyone in.

So, then, if you know me at all, you know that I’ve spent nearly excessive amounts of time being incredibly immature and insenstive about this comment in particular.

You know. . . like supposing out loud that the next time he hugs me (uuum, because that’s how business people greet each other in Austin, TX), I’ll scream as if to indicate that the hug is causing excrutiating pain. . . because barbed wire around one’s heart, or any vital organ, really, surely has to hurt like a bitch. . . and then throw myself on the floor crying and begging for emergency medical care. . . because puncture wounds in one’s heart caused by barbed wire cannot be good.

I know!  Isn’t it mean to make jokes about it?  When he was being soooo sincere?  It is!  It’s horrible and catty and just plain mean.  But, don’t you even sit there and act like that wouldn’t be the funniest damn thing you ever saw. 

People love me

Today, someone (whose sanity we will leave out of this discussion) told me that I have an energy about me that makes people want to be around me, that makes people want to be better people, and that causes people to love me.

Aren’t those remarkably wonderful things to say to someone? It was so, so, so sweet. And, then he told me he loves me, and he wants to be around me all of the time, and I make him want to be a better person. That was still very nice to say, but instead of being wonderful . . .was wildly uncomfortable.

You usually imagine that if someone is going to say such amazing things to you, you’ll feel the same way about them. So. . . it’s both sad and uncomfortable when someone is that in love with you and the feeing is not mutual. There’s really no good way out of it. Believe me, I tried. I tried the nervous laughter, which would have totally given him the “ha ha! I’m just kidding!” out that he should have taken. . . but he insisted I stop joking and hear him out. So. . . where do you go from there?

I politely thanked him for being so sweet, and so honest (because, HOLY CRAP, the honesty!) and then apologized for not having equally amazing feelings to share with him. *shrugs* It’s better than the high school me who would have laughed hysterically and then punched him in the nuts for being so lame.

But, anyway, you all should know that someone out there holds me in such high regard. And, even though it’s not someone I adore at the same level, it’s nice to know that someone believes I have that effect on people. . . not just him, but people in general.

It’s also really funny, and gives you some insight into his level of sanity. . . because have you met me? Uuuuum, it might be incredibly safe to say that the general public does not share his feelings about my energy. In fact, some of you might even say I have the exact opposite energy. . . a WAH WA energy, if you will.

Committed

Have we discussed my problem with over-committing?  I commit to virtually anything anyone suggests.  Sometimes even when no one suggests anything at all, I find a way to commit to something else. 

That being the case, here are my current obligations:

Relay For Life - if you’ll click on the link, you can go donate to the cause.  We will be spending 12 hours at a track, likely wondering WTF we were thinking committing to a 12 hour event because um, no matter how fun the group of people are, 12 hours is a long damn time.  My personal goal is $500 . . . and you’ll notice I’m sadly very far behind that goal.  Please don’t make me look like a loser.  Pretty please. 

Big Brothers Big Sisters- Lucky has suggested we both run this one.  I was all proud of myself for running 1.5 miles. . . and then, the last time I tried to run, it practically killed me to run 1.0 mile.    So. . . I’m not so sure anyone’s gonna be running this one. . . well, someone probably will be, but it probably won’t be me. . . but I’ll try. . . hard.  Especially if there’s a cheeseburger in front of me or a zombie behind me (because those seem like equally good reasons to run, right?).

Young Execs for Kids Event – this one has no link . . . but it’s something I volunteered to chair.  AH!!!  Did you see that?  I’m chairing the event.  I’m not just giving someone $15 and showing up. . . I’m chairing.  It’s both fancy and terrifying at the same time.  This will be one heck of an exercise in managing a committee (uuuuuuuum, if a committee ever forms) and being nice to the general public for 3 solid months so they will come to and/or give to the event.  If you know me, it’s the being nice for 3 months that’s most daunting.  How on Earth will I manage that? 

Leadership Austin Networking – Since I visit LA on a weekly basis, I become privy to the needs of the organization. . . which means I then go offering to help with those needs.  So, I’ve volunteered to head up the networking initiative now that LA has recognized the need for alumni networking.  This seems like a small task. . . but we’re talking about 1200+ alum . . . so it’s a little bit of a big deal.

So, how, praytell, does a woman with a business to run, a ‘real job’ to attend, a personal trainer to meet, and a house to keep manage to do all of these extra things?  I suppose we’ll find out!

In the meantime, gift certificates for massages, pedicures, chocolate cake, or cosmopolitans may be forwarded to my attention at steph@apinstripedgift.com . . .

Blogs are high maintenance

This was such a good idea when I had all of that free time.  Now that I’ve added stuff like friends and exercise, who has time to update a blog?  *grumble*

So, today is Lucky’s birthday.  Also, if you didn’t notice (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, and how would you notice if you don’t live here?  *knee slapping, doubled over laughter intended to divert your attention from what I’m about to say*), he hasn’t moved out as previously scheduled.  So, for his birthday, I’m letting him stay even longer. 

Shut up, Suz. 

No opinions on this matter allowed.  I’ve already had long discussions with both my amazing, fascinating, wonderful business partner and my dad.  And, when in doubt, Dad wins. 

Except in regards to women, because he has horrible taste in women.  Oops, did I say that out loud?  *mad face*

Anyway.  New thing #1:  the personal trainer has called!  Oh, sorry, did you get excited?  She just called to tell me she has time available but can’t confirm time with me until later, so she’ll call me back.    Can that even be considered progress? 

New thing #2:  Fred got to call me the other day!  And, then she forgot to hang up the phone. . . and I heard her mother tell her that she can’t call me again later because. . . wait for it. . . it will piss me off.  Yes, she said exactly that to a 4 yr. old child.  Um. . . I don’t know, but I think that’s a little rude and emotionally abusive and for lack of better words, incredibly fucking self serving.  Oh!  Also, I got to hear Fred’s daddy call Fred’s mommy a “fucking bitch”.  Good times!  So, also, Fred’s parents tried to steal some furniture by means of renting to own and then not paying and then not answering the phone when the people they’re supposed to be paying call.  What wonderful examples they’re setting for their children.  We’re all so proud.

New thing #3:  GEFRT is July 22.  GEFRT = Good Excuse for River Tubing.  If you were planning on visiting me, this is a good time to do it.  This is a giant collaboration of people drinking and river tubing and drinking.  Don’t tell me you can think of anything funner.  If it sounds like something you’d pay $250 in airfare to come down and do, let me know.  I’ll email the details to you.

New thing #4:  If GEFRT isn’t a good enough excuse to visit, how about ACL?  September 15-17. . . www.aclfestival.com . . . DEFINITELY worth the $250 in airfare.  Tickets will go on sale really soon, and will sell out really soon, so if you’re even thinking about coming down for this, let me know so I can get tickets (that I can later sell if you bail).

That concludes my new things.  I think.  Nothing very fascinating has happened lately.  I’m trying to remember anything remotely amusing to tell you all, but I’ve got nothing.  I will try to do something embarassing or shocking in the next week for your entertainment.  I do have a Victoria’s Secret coupon. . . so I’m sure I can create a good story out of that. . .