Are you lucky enough to start your morning with an impromptu concert by two highly (un)skilled pianists? No? Well, then you might not want to look at this picture then--I wouldn't want your jealousy to flare up or anything.
Today my partner-in-gym-crime was under the weather so I was forced to get my cardio in on a boring cross training machine by myself. That meant there was no one to gossip and laugh with about stupid products like shake weights and pajamagrams. Those 60 minutes felt like time spent in purgatory though I'm not sure what sin I was serving them for--there are so many to choose from but my money is on the half a red velvet cake I ate over Christmas. In an effort to keep myself from watching as each second ticked by on the clock, I engaged in the following activities:
- I surveyed my fellow gym goers and graded them on whether or not I thought their attire was appropriate.
- I watched MSNBC and learned that it's possible that I could go to jail if I read Drew's email without his permission.
- I chatted about the weather with a lovely old lady on the rower thingy in front of me. Except that she talked really quietly and I could hardly hear her over the whirring of the equipment
- I played games with myself by constantly changing the level all around on the machine. I call it modified interval training by Mellon. I plan to patent the technique just as soon as I find someone to fill out all of the paper work for me.
As if I hadn't been tortured enough for one day, I came home to do the dreaded chore of DeChristmastizing the house.
I strongly dislike this particular chore. I think I may have taken my ire out on a helpless woodland creature or two.
Chase's music lesson was moved to Tuesday nights, so our new ritual will be to grab a quick Mama/Chase dinner before class.
Except that Mama wasn't really feeling Chase's choice of McDonald's, so she chose a liquid meal in the form of a latte at Starbucks instead. While I was there, this cute girl in a green coat looked at me and said, "Hi Laura" but I hadn't the foggiest idea who she was. I felt so rotten. So I smiled and said hello, and generally pretended like I knew her too. After she left, I turned my attention to my book: The Power of Body Language by Tonya Reiman and quickly realized that the body language signals my subconscious was sending betrayed my lie which made me feel like an even bigger arse. So the lesson here is this: don't go to Starbucks for dinner; eat the quarter-pounder with cheese instead.