more odds, more ends

Odd. So, you know how I mentioned that my disgruntlement with Morning Joe made me turn to VH1C yesterday morning? I came home from work and D had neither shut the TV off nor changed the channel in the intervening hours. Thus I was treated to a show on Def Leppard, the band famous for latterly having a one-armed drummer post his tragic car accident. (Keep that in some corner of your brain; you may need it to win at trivia some day.) What I remember best about Def Leppard, however, is that at some point in my misspent youth/college career, I used to sing various selections from Pyromania from on top my coffee table when I was very very drunk. Usually on Kahlua.*** Though there was a brief disastrous flirtation with Midori. Green liquor does not look good on its way back up and out. All I'm sayin'.

End. I went to the gym last night at 7:30-ish. When I signed up at the Y, the lady who gave me my tour--who is, coincidentally enough, the mother of one of my patients--told me that the most crowded times were 5-7am and 5-7pm, for all the people who go right before or right after work. I wanted to do day2 week 1 of c25k yesterday and I wanted to be able to do it on my favorite treadmill. (Yes, I have belonged to this gym for less than a week and yet I have a treadmill I consider "mine." Borderline crazee FTW.) So I figured I'd eat dinner, digest it a bit, and go late. It was a fine idea, amenities-wise. However, I had in the back of my mind the fact that my boss always goes to his gym after 8, and he's always bitching he's tired, because he can never get to sleep till after 1, being revved up from working out. Well, I enjoyed my exercise, was home around 9, washed my gym clothes, had a glass of wine, a snack, and a couple huge glasses of iced tea, and while I was waiting for the clothes to finish in the dryer, I was yawning. This was 10:30 or so. Good, I thought. I will have no trouble falling asleep and thus I will prove to myself that going to the gym after dinner works out just fine. I had to put the clothes back in for an extra ten minutes as they were a little dampish and meanwhile, I remembered I hadn't taken my Vit D. While I was in the Cabinet o' Supplements, I also--and here's my fatal mistake--grabbed my coconut oil caps. The MCTs kicked in just about as I was lying down in bed and then I was awake till all hours. Goddamn it.

Odd. So while I was awake till 1:30 in the fucking morning, I watched another episode and a half of Rome. Apparently we have now switched from gratuitous torture-y violence to gratuitous kinky sex. Okay then. How awkward must it be for a (mainstream) actor to mime vigorous thrusting, not to mention all the grunting and the O face? Do they give seminars on that in acting school or what?

End. Do you hate when you have a missed call on your phone from some number you do not recognize, and they do not leave a message? Just me then? I can spend hours worrying about it being something important, when in reality, if it were important whoever it was would have left a message. Obviously. But my brain doesn't work like that. Sigh.

Odd. Enjoy your Tuesday.

End.

xoxo

***For a brief, glorious period, various friends--by which I mean the bunch of stoner losers my future ex-husband hung around with who were always in my goddamn apartment--would buy me Kahlua every single Christmas. I would have a stockpile and thus almost never have to buy a bottle myself. It was the least they could do. Did I mention they were *always* in my goddamn apartment? Yeah.