It’s 5am

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It’s 5:00 am – The alarm rings.   I think I just made it to sleep at 3:30.  Surprisingly, I don’t feel tired.  I feel kinda… ready.  Huh.

5:02 – drag myself to the bathroom to change.

5:05- Make lunch for work.  I need coffee.  Kiss the dog.  Kiss Hubby.  Where’s the damned coffee?

5:20 – text Frankie to say ‘I can drive’.  Make coffee.

5:28am – after waiting for a response, realize I texted the daughter instead.  Oops. I send her a smiley face with a ‘mornin’ sunshine’ text.  That makes everything better at 5am.     Text the right Frankie.  Drain the last of my coffee.  I love coffee.

5:36 – Pick up Frankie.  It’s dark and mild and the pavement is shiny and black from the midnight rain.  Quiet and still.  We drive in relative silence.  Thinking is too much right now.

5:40- Bright light.  Cool air blowing from the AC.  Waiting in the studio for everyone to show.  It’s quiet.  It’s too early for conversation.

5:45 – It’s loud.   Music is blaring.  We start moving.  My legs are stiff and sore.  I do it anyways.

Sometime mid-workout – I watch the sweat drip from my face onto the studio floor and wonder if I am going to make it.  TRX mountain climbers.  Fuck you. Don’t stop.  Keep going.

Nearing the end – Burpees.  Shoulder presses.  I’m burning.  Lunges.  Did I take 2 different weights?  Ugh.  I’m better for choosing the heavier weights.  Always go for the heavier weights.

The end –   I think I cried a little when I finally worked my way through the last station and could fling myself onto my back for the cooldown.  I’m better for having finished the workout.

Cool down –I’m better for having listened to my alarm. I’m better for showing up.   I’m better for doing one last burpee. I’m better for not giving up.  I’m just better.  Better than a year ago.  Better than 6 months ago, better than last week.  Better than yesterday.  And I’ll be better tomorrow and better a few more times by Friday.    *sigh*

Always think, ‘I am better’…

 

 

 

Namaste and Other Yoga Words I Can’t Say

I attended my first yoga class evah, last night with Bestie, D and KS. We thought it would be a good way to start the New Year off right and it may be fun!  Apparently, ‘fun’ is relative.  The location was a small structure that I kindly referred to like this:  “OH MY GOD WE’RE DOING YOGA IN A SHED!”  Had it been equipped with a dart board and a wood stove, we would have rushed to the nearest liquor store for the wine and snacks, Yoga class be damned.  As it turned out, it was a small daycare complete with cubbie holes and manipulative block area.  The room NEXT to the daycare room was where I would experience the Downward Dog and the Tree pose ( I was more of a stick, than a tree.  Yeah.)

The dog is laughing at my downward dog.

The dog is laughing at my downward dog.

We managed to secure prime location spots at the back and to the right side of the room so as not to disrupt the rest of the class with giggling that may have escaped us during any portion of completing the poses.  We managed to be somewhat mature adults (yay us!) for the majority of the time.  There were some serious students of the Yoga practice who attended and we did not want to appear rude or inconsiderate.

Apparently, Yoga is a meditative and QUIET activity where they try to instill an aura of inner peace and tranquil contemplation.  Oh, yeah sign me the fuck up.  Sure…I can be quiet, in fact I AM quiet ¾ of the time…except, at the end of the class when we were supposed to lie down and be COMPLETELY STILL.   Yeah.   I reached for my water to have a sip before I fell into a near catatonic state of relaxation.  As I reached for my water bottle, it erroneously decided to explode in ma face sending water spraying into my eye like a whale expelling air from its blowhole.  Meanwhile, the instructor was going around the room dimming the lights and getting everybody blankets and pillows.  It was like nap time in kindergarten going on.  I was confused…and soaking wet from the spray of water in ma face.  I felt the urge to proclaim “WTF?!”, instead simply looked over at KS who was laughing, which got me laughing, but we were QUIETLY laughing, so no rules broken there.  We rock.  And then came quiet contemplation time and we had to be PERFECTLY STILL.  (which never really happened as I was hearing everybody else breathe and then some random bell started ringing and I thought I was hearing things or was that a poor excuse for a fire alarm?, and then some guy began to ‘sing’ and I use that term loosely ‘cause it was more like he was yodeling really…not actually singing.  My eyes darted open as I was half expecting the room to rise up and start getting their shoes on to escape the fire that was surely blazing out of control in the closet where all the cork bricks were stacked and the yodeler was truly hiding, but as I stealthily looked around the room so as not to get caught cheating, I noticed everybody else was laying still so I assumed this bell-ringing and yodeling was SUPPOSED to happen.  Ohhhhh.) No flames, no fire and no hunky firemen…damn, this Yoga thing kinda sucks.

Ugh…I bit the inside of my cheeks so I didn’t have to be the totally immature one and break out in an inappropriate amount of laughter.  It’s like that laughing disease people have…spontaneous uncontrollable laughter at the most inappropriate times.  KS thinks she is a victim of this disease.  I think I am a victim of KS’s thinking of her victimization and the impending laughter that will surely ensue if we ever stop biting various appendages…she her hands, me my inner cheeks.  AND, by ‘cheeks’ I mean the ones on my face.  I would be a Yoga MASTER if I could bite my own ass cheeks. I think I just invented a new pose….I’ll call it “Crunching Idiot”.

This ain't gonna happen any time soon.

This ain’t gonna happen any time soon.

That would be a feat of brilliance I’ll save for maybe my second or third class…AND the hunky firemen.  What?  I gotta have something to think about during Catatonic Rest Time.  Geesh.  (there is a more accurate yoga term for that, but I can’t remember what it is…and too lazy to look it up.)

Until next time, as Joanne and Hal say, keep fit and have fun.

I bet Joanne can chew her cheeks...betcha.

I bet Joanne can chew her cheeks…betcha.

The Post Birthday Aftermath Mashup

What a great title.  I have no clue what it means, but what a great title.  I hope I can live up to all of your expectations after reading that. 

Yeah, so yesterday was my birthday. I found it to be quite…meh, at first. I went home to grumpy children, a messy house and an incessantly barking dog.  Awesome.

After that, the evening was much better.   Out to dinner and friends for drinks.  Can’t be depressed with alcohol, feuding dogs and besties in my house.  AND cake.  Fudgy icing…the. Best.

Birthdays are one of those occasions where coming up with something original and fun to do is kinda old hat by the time you hit your…older-years.  I’d rather just kick back with a glass of wine, eat good food and visit with friends.  That’s perfect.  Sorta like a DH night Spectacular only happening mid-week.  That’s what I’ll do next year for ma birthday.  Get all the ladies together mid-week for a DH Special Edition…I’ll remember to get the next day off of work so it should be spectacular.  Only 364 more days to go!  Rock on, winos…

I’m drinking a coffee from yesterday that D2 bought me, but I was too full to drink.  Is that bad?  It tastes okay…just a little funky.  Probs should have tossed it, but couldn’t bring myself to toss a perfectly good coffee.  If I get sick, I’ll be sure to post something of my untimely demise…or get one of ma family members to do so.  I’m sure they’ll be all “If she just hadn’t have drank that day-old coffee, she could still be here drinking yukky wine instead.  She bequeathed me this here blog, so I’ll be the one writing here from now on.”  (I imagined one of ma family members talking like a southern redneck…not sure how or why they would spontaneously become southern…maybe it had to do with the fumes from the day-old coffee.  Turns peeps into rednecks…you have been warned.)  Good luck with that, kids….I should try to stay alive to save you from hearing about D2’s rowing and constant living at the boathouse and how she tragically missed ma birthday supper; or son’s escapades on the golf course with 80 year old men who threaten to sue him because he hit a line drive and almost hit an old geezer who was just about to finish on the green; nice;  or D1’s attempts at securing her own car whilst working two jobs and whining incessantly about all of the above; or Hubby lamenting about his job and the knee surgery he’s about to undergo in the fall and how it really is tragic and sad that hockey isn’t a year round sport.

  It really is awesome being me.

  Just think, by keeping myself alive, I’m saving you from all of that shit.

 You. Are. Welcome.

So here are a few fun facts to keep you entertained and enlightened on this auspicious day:

·       25 – the number of times I’ve said ‘fuck- off’ in my head today.  It’s only 9:30 am.

·       3 – the number of  times Mags bit me on my ear to try to wake me up at 5:30am to go out and pee.  Most of the above bullet could be from the Mags episode alone….

·       A Year and A Half – the amount of time it’s going to take me to read Under The Dome by Stephen King that one of my Besties gave me last night and I’m dying to start.  It’s friggin’ huge.

·       10 – the number of glasses of wine I WANTED to drink last night

·       3- the number of glasses of wine I ACTUALLY  drank last night

·       29 – had I been turning 29 yesterday, that would have been the number of candles on my cake

·       74- The number of candles Hubby actually put on my birthday cake.

·       5- the number of pages in the divorce package

Miss H, had I voted on your ‘who’s the couple most likely to be divorced first?’ question last Saturday night, I would be able to say “I WIN!”…ugh.  I kid, I kid….Hubby still wants to be married to me, and vice-versa…despite the candle explosion.

There you have it, some enlightening numeral facts that you all should be proud to know.

 I live for this shit….

Apparently, this describes me quite accurately...ugh.

Apparently, this describes me quite accurately…ugh.

The Email

The following is an actual email I JUST SENT to all of my DH ladies.  THEY’RE GOING TO BE AFTER ME SOON!!
  Enjoy…

Dear Things,

It is with a heavy heart that I must send you this email.  You have all been trusted and dear friends of mine and I realize this news may come as a shock to you, but I really must impart this most disturbing turn of events.

I don’t want you all to be dismayed by this news or have it shatter your ideal image of me (just go with it), but I feel you all must know the truth.  I have spent the better part of the afternoon rehearsing how I would say this without causing you pain or therapy for your families.  I have agonized how I would word it gently and without undue stress, however there is no easy way. 

I BURNED A BAG OF POPCORN. IT’S NOT JUST BURNT.  IT’S BLACK. TOTALLY INEDIBLE.  FUCKING TOTALLY BLACK. LIKE NOT EVEN REASONABLE.

There.  I’ve said it.  I’ve managed to pick out the white bits, but really it’s the goddamned microwave’s fault! 

THAT’S WHAT THE POPCORN BUTTON IS FOR. 

Seriously, if that button wasn’t there we would have to estimate the cooking time and who among us gives a shit about that? Oh, right.  Nurse Betty.  My bad.

Look it's Nurse Betty waiting for the popcorn!!

Look it’s Nurse Betty waiting for the popcorn!!

But other than Bree-Clone, who would stand at the microwave waiting for the popcorn to pop.  Watching minute after minute, interminable second after second as the popcorn slowly comes to white puffy heaven, only this time it went to black pieces of soot-like filth. I have more important shit to be at, like, HELLOOO, spider solitaire and ma wonderful stu-dents!  Ugh…

Anywho, I thought I would just let you all know this awful news before you heard it from God knows where and the RNC is called and they want all the surveillance tape from the cameras in the building to document what truly went down.

Jeesh, it’s not like I left a burned bag lying carelessly on the side of the road, or anything….

I appreciate your understanding and truly value our friendship.  I hope you all find a way to forgive me and move on from all of this undue tragedy.

Yours in popcorn-popping,

K

The Spring Thaw

So the weekend happened and the exhausting task of searching for dead bodies in the melting snow has me a little freaked.  What?  You think I’m kidding?  Pfft….I wish.  Seriously, the snow has melted in exponential amounts and everyone is afraid to go into their backyards right now in fear of what they’ll find.  I know some runners who refuse to run the path around the ‘hood in case something pops up that they would rather not witness.  I should back-story this a bit.  See, in January or February of this year a young man was last seen exiting a cab in our neighbourhood never to be seen again.  Many people believe he headed for the wooded area that a new subdivision is currently under construction and is also home to a walking path.  They think in his distraught state, he fell or fell asleep out in someone’s backyard or lawn somewhere.  That weekend he went missing there was a violent winter storm and the thoughts are that he succumbed to the weather.  Inhabitants are put on the lookout by the local police to scour their backyards before the full-on melt is on.  Has me a little jittery.  I hope he is found so he can be put to rest and his family has some closure.  I hope he is found to be living downtown after joining a band and dying his hair blue.  I can hope!

Spotted:  I so wish I had taken a picture of this when I saw it happen on Saturday afternoon.  My neighbor who lives across from me and beside Miss H has the reputation of being, not only a busy-body, but a lawn fanatic.  I guess she doesn’t give a shit about dead bodies, because she and her Hubby were out shoveling what’s left of the snow onto the road.  Yeah, I see you laughing.  I shit you not.  She’s pissed because as she gazes longingly at my house, its brown grass apparent and void of any snow or ice like everybody else on my side of the street, she looks down at her lawn and all she sees is a big pile of brownish frozen crap. Her snow bank remains piled on the edge of her front lawn, its brown ice and shit-colored edges egging her into a maniacal fury.  (insert wicked laugh here)  So out she goes after wrangling hubby out of his comfy armchair, with shovels in hands to set to right a definite wrong and swing those shovels as if it was the last thing they were put on earth to do.  Poor, Mr. Pat.  I would have paid good money to see him heave a big shovel full of snow at her in playful spitefulness.  Good money, I tell ‘ya!

Son played hockey on the weekend and ended up in emergency department with a possible concussion and sore ribs.  Have I ever told you how much I hate hockey?  Yeah.  Now I have reason to pile on the hate even more.  He is 80lbs soaking wet and the kid that power- drived him into the corner FROM BEHIND weighed as much as me…or more. (okay, he weighed a lot…)   Son bounced back up instead of staying down reveling in his pain and made it back to the bench.  He sat with his team despite the pain until the end of the period.  He followed his team into the dressing room for the intermission.  He came back out to start the third period with his team.  He sat on the bench and wanted to stay.  Then the nausea set in and Hubby whisked him to emerg.  Two hours later after seeing nice doctor and, by all accounts cutie x-ray techie, Son is fine.  He ended up missing the whole celebration on the ice, the medal presentation, the fun, the frivolity.  Kid that hit him received no penalty.  Nada. Nothin’.  They said if son had stayed down on the ice like we tell him NOT to do, the kid who committed the illegal hit would have been given a 5 minute penalty and tossed.   That’s not Son.   He has heart.

He was visited at the hospital by one of his friends and given his medal.  He is feeling fine now, just tender ribs but hockey has forever placed a sour taste in my mouth.

Hockey=yukky-poo-poo.

AND, for all of you who need a little reminder why I love to blog, read this and revel in the glory that is logic.

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Nickels And World Domination

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Sometimes I feel as if I am walking around and have no idea what I’m talking about.  Other times, I hear other people talk and think THEY have no clue either.  So, really.  Nobody knows jack.  I’m good with that.

My zipper broke on my suede jacket this morning causing me to swear loudly, which caused the dog to jump, which caused the kids to scoop her up, which caused me to feel badly.  My contact lense was clouded which caused me to rinse it thricely (?) which caused my eye to be bloodshot and watery, which slowed me down in preparing for work. Running out the door,  I then had to scrape twenty inches of snow from my car, which was cemented by the freezing rain, which required more time spent on the scraping since daughter felt the need to sit and watch, which caused me to mumble expletives under my breath, which caused me to take a different route to work since the roads had not been ploughed and I was too busy mumbling to pay attention to where I was going, which then caused me to endure traffic , which caused me to be late for work, which caused daughter to be late for her exam, on which she did badly which resulted in everything being my fault.  Again and as per usual.   Ugh.

Eating raw carrots is like watching a slow agonizing rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ while repeatedly jabbing a fork into my thigh.

My stash of nickels should come in handy when my plan for world domination comes to fruition.  We’ve already done away with the penny…I declare that nickels are now worth more.  And bacon should be free.

The best things are left unsaid.  Who said that?  I guess if it was said, it wasn’t ‘the best thing’.  Shit.

I’m missing the Die Hard marathon playing at the local theatre today.  Twelve non-stop hours of yippe-kay-yay MoFu along with witty repartee, stinging banter, blazing machine guns, hanging from skyscrapers by nothing but a fire hose and crawling through ventilation ducts with lighters.  Okay, maybe the banter isn’t so great…but ‘welcome to the party pal’!   Oh how I wish I had my popcorn and my seat in the theatre right now.  Another time, McClean…another time.  I wonder if anyone would notice if I sneak out for a few hours.  I could ‘work from home’…maybe.  What?  Ugh….I’m suddenly feeling ill…I have a fever?  I contracted T.B.?  That malaria shot I got a few months ago is working against me!  I have the measles!  Look at all the red spots…no, those aren’t freckles…just look through these 3-D glasses and tell me those spots aren’t red…AND SOME ARE BLUE??!!  Holy shit I need to go home and rest!  Get the paramedics!  I know…a few hours in a theatre might do me some good.  Some nachos, pop, a comfy chair and Willis…I think I almost convinced you.  Maybe.  I could give you some of my nickels….

Yippee-Kay Ay mutha...ugh.  I so should be there!

Yippee-Kay Ay mutha…ugh. I so should be there!

Lovely Car Noises and Bad Book Reads

The episode-that-shall-not-be-named has been hitting the rounds these days.  I’ve got a few people who know what happened and are only too pleased to tease the fuck out of me whenever possible.  It’s fun until someone loses an eye, people.

I recently read a book that I don’t usually read.  Just for kicks.  Have you read this stuff that is hitting the best seller list?  It was a new release by one of those authors that writes a bunch of books in a week and everyone reads them incessantly and the Best seller people decide to bestow the grand title of Best Seller and there’s mad dash to read a bad book…or three.   Gawd, it was like the cliché-monster was roaming around and decided to vomit all over her pages.  WTF was THAT?  The ending was bad…just bad.  If you happen to read it…just don’t.  Don’t waste your precious and valuable time.  Read something else.  Read Fifty Shades if you have to.  Really.  I’m fucking serious.  It wasn’t that it was THAT bad, it was just….kinda sappy and…uncomfortable.  Yeah.  Uncomfortable, that’s how it made me feel.  I didn’t care if the protagonist got her revenge and I didn’t care if the guy she slept with twenty years ago at a random college party and had a secret love child with (and neglected to tell him that little tidbit) and to whom she sent letters to every year for eighteen years ( so as to get some attention and perhaps cash to help raise the child) only to find out she HAD THE WRONG FUCKING ADDRESS!!…I didn’t care if he lived or died.  It just didn’t make me want to read more.  It kinda made me want to suggest an alternate ending.  Or suggest the protagonist find another hobby. Or stick cocktail forks angrily in my eyes.   Hmmm…So now that I’ve told you the ending, wanna read the book?   I should have posted a spoiler alert….

The WRONG Michaels....she is NOT the author I was referring to..

The WRONG Michaels….she is NOT the author I was referring to..

I’ve been wondering where I’ve been getting all these wonderful readers from lately who drop by and sign up or even read a bit.  And comment.  That’s so nice.  Especially since I am feeling a bit lonely out here underconnected and isolated.  How did they find me?  I wonder…

My lovely car is making a lovely rattling noise that nobody seems to know how it got there. Or where it’s coming from.   Further investigation is warranted, but I’m procrastinating.  AND, the bottom part of the bumper now has a permanent split in it where D1 slid into a snow bank.  Thanks for that, by the way.  Really.  It was better than her slamming into the rear of another car and she felt bad about it until I told her it was cracked before anyway…she just helped it along a little by splitting it completely in half.  I bet the tires will give out again soon just to round out my car-asspain-bit.  Awesome.  At least I’ve never run out of gas at an intersection nor have it completely stall out on a highway.  At least I have THAT TO BE THANKFUL FOR!  Yay me!

So, to round out today’s little bit: I’m getting the shit teased out of me for the episode-that-shall-not-be-named, I read a book that was a bit on the shitty side, my lovely car is making a strange lovely noise and I love my readers…thanks for checking in!!