I have only had two cookies so far today. Yesterday I had six. The first pair of pants I put on today were falling off of me, so I had to change them before I left for work. By the laws of deductive reasoning, that means cookies are a diet food. Y'all take note, and eat accordingly.
I wish I had something fascinating (other than The Good News About Cookies) to report, but life is fairly dull and uninteresting these days. Except when I'm having a panic attack. Oh, my laptop is acting up again. I hope it will spontaneously fix itself, like it did the last time it did this, by the time I get home today. (Was that fascinating? No?)
I did have an encounter at the gym yesterday that was somewhere between annoying and funny. Let me set the scene, because you know I am good at that and it lets me pretend to myself I am still actually a writer. There I was in the free weights section, on an incline bench. Directly in front of me is one of the "heavy dumbbell" racks. I still have my hair in my festive updo and I'm wearing my new, extremely cute, long fitted yoga-ish hoodie over leggings. In other words, I am admittedly looking way less shlumpy than I usually do at the gym. (Can you see this is going to be one of those stories about how hoodies make me irresistible to douchebags? Is the metaphorical writing on the wall?) I have my iPod in, as I always do when working out.
And, on my incline bench, I am doing my incline presses, which I may just have complained about in here before. I have finally been able to go up to 20 pound dumbbells for these, after being stuck at 15 for a long time. I am on my first set, maybe my second or third rep, when this guy steps directly between me and the dumbbell rack and starts talking to me. Or rather, at me, since I can see his lips moving, but I can't really hear him. He is gesturing at a 100 pound dumbbell as he speaks and smiling at me. I vaguely smile back, hoping he will go away. Lips are still moving. I am forced to stop lifting and pull out an earbud. He is saying, "Do you want to switch?" "You need these?" I ask, somewhat confused. (Shut up.) There is more than one set of 20 pound weights. "Yeah, you wanna switch?" he asks again, gesturing to the 100 lbers, and grinning. "I don't think I can handle those. Get back to me in six months." I smile, because as a woman I am socialized to be fucking polite to douchebags, pop the earbud back in, and go back to lifting. He watches me for a few more reps before wandering off. I finish my incline presses, put my dumbbells on the rack they belong on, and go do lat pulldowns. He never retrieves them, so he did NOT even need them, and thus interrupted me *in the middle of a set with dumbbells over my chest*, JUST TO FLIRT. He is extremely lucky I didn't drop one of them on his foot, which is what I should have done. (Was that fascinating? No?)
I am now going to go over to the cafeteria where they are having a free dessert bar between the hours of 2:30 and 5:30, because, hey, I only had two cookies so far today. Then I am going to go to Tarzhay to buy some toys for the toy drive and to the pet store to buy Evil Kitty her prezzie. And then when I get home, my laptop will have spontaneously regenerated. Or something. (Was that fascinating? No?)
Have yourselves a fascinating day, bitches. Someone has to. Smooches!
xoxo
6 comments:
Some of my pants are about to fall off, but its a reflection of busy bacterial boarders, not virtue.
Yes, you should have dropped one on his foot, followed by an absent "sorry, dude."
Old guys with crummy joints get similar treatment in the gym, but with us it's ball-busting, not flirting. My prepared response (so far used just once) is to wait until the ball buster is halfway through *his* set with too much weight, then stare him out of countenance. When he stops, I say "be careful of your shoulders...you only get one pair," then walk off. It's guaranteed to break at least his concentration.
Speaking of breaking: in the book of useful holiday excuses, it says that most of the calories leak out of cookies when you break them.
I had chocolate cheesecake and half an apple square at the dessert bar and another cookie a while ago. I also got a cream puff at the dessert bar,but I gave it to M1. My laptop did not fix itself spontaneously so I had to run out to the evil WalMart tonight and buy a VGA audio video cable to connect it to the TV monitor 'cause the display is fucked.
This is after a fairly hilarious text message conversation w/ Mr Indemnity wherein my simple question of "what kind of cable do I need to hook my laptop up to a monitor?" netted a three paragraph answer. I should know better than to ask yous techie people anything. And when I went to WalMart, the cable I needed said "laptop to HGTV" right on the effin' package in big white letters :-) Belkin knows how to deal with stoopid people like me.
Fuck Belkin. If they keep making it easy on people like you, people like me won't have any work.
Plus they were lying: depending on your computer and HDTV that would *not* have been the right cable, it just happens to be the most likely one that the people who shop at WalMart would use, i.e. the lowest pseudo-denominator (but not, just for example, if you had a better laptop with DVI output or you have a Mac laptop made in the last five years).
Oh, hush. Of course I have what your typical WalMart customer has. What part of "I'm poor" and "I'm white trash" are you having trouble with?
And if I had a Mac, I'd have had to go to the skeery Apple store. Which is as skeery as the evil WalMart, but further away.
Yeah, but if you wen to the skeery Apple store it would not only be all sleek, modern, and high tech, there'd be people there who could actually help you find exactly what you needed and be very pleasant about it.
Plus, if you had a Mac laptop it probably wouldn't break anyway--or they'd fix it for you if it did.
Oh, please. How many times have they had to give you a new iPhone? Yes,it's nice they give you a new one, but don't pretend their shit don't break. See also: my 3 week old iPod.
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