Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Running...


While this is something I loooooathe, when the word around is attached to it, I seem to be an expert at running. And may I just say that I only use the word looooooooathe for things I really take issue with; running, pumping gas, men who use straighteners...I think I've made my point.


How the constant running around happens without the morning coffee a normal human is allowed to indulge in, I'm not sure. Being a struggler like myself means that coffee (delicious decaf nonfat lattes excluded), too much red wine, and chocolate...bring on migraines. Some sort of sick joke I know. There are females who make entire meals out of these three decadent treats! Gimme a frigen break.


The amount of running around town that goes on in a given week is just too much, especially given how I feel about having to pump gas, I'm confident you see the connection there ;)
Somehow every single day (except the beloved Sabbath which is usually spent in a nap-filled haze, on a very sweet man's couch) is soaked with calendar notifications and a regimen of some sort. Monday means working for 11.5 hours straight (running a Graduate program and contributing to young minds of course), an attempt to work out, then dinner made of whatever is in my fridge, generally something to do with tofu or ground turkey, oh and obviously Gossip Girl-gotta keep up with Blaire and the rest of Manhattan's elite. Tuesday; pretty similar but a morning workout snuck in (sometimes) and later a glorious sesh with my ladies over a sufficient meal...and some wine, c'mon we deserve it we've been at it since Monday already. This portion of the week is definitely a highlight. Did I mention we talk about our feelings almost the entire time?
Wednesday is similar, another dinner, this one with the man, whom I try sometimes harder than others to protect from all the feeling talk...my Google calendar isn't the only thing I'm willing to share...poor soldier.

The rest of the week is downhill, with a Body Pump Group X to keep me motivated. If I can lift this barbell while listening to Pink I just know I can make it to Friday.

When did my days become picking up prescriptions at Walgreens and grocerie shopping?
Living for the weekend these days...

Thursday, March 10, 2011

suckered in

Writing about Brad (and his friends) is one thing. Blogging about American Idol is quite another. However, above and beyond my own will, I have been sucked in, for today. Just today.

Mama had an email waiting for me this morning. It was important I call her as soon as I could.

Reason being, at 4:00 sharp, her votes for the American Idol Office Pool are due. It is vital that she have all the information before submitting her ballot. Who better to help with the analysis of this pop culture phenomenon...than her super hip 20-something? False. Well, false that I'm hip (except for the fact that I do wear an occasional bump-it and skinny jeans) but true that given a task of this nature, I could assist and could NOT resist.

And so my morning in the office consisted of none other than some AI Research. Read some blogs, youtubed it; copiously noting how many "hits" each idol's video received, like any good fact finder would. I even had some intellectual conversation on the topic with third parties.

Like cuz Tom over g-chat...

"Hey do you watch American Idol?"
"I try really hard not to."
"Yea it's pretty much torture."
"That country dude will make it...and the black guy. Watched part of last night's...don't intend on repeating the experience."
"That's true, chicks dig the whole deep country voice thing (ordinary chicks that is). And America really likes voting for black dudes...plus he's from Compton!"

Mom had a strong opinion on one of Tommy's idols.

"I do not like him at all. He doesn't enunciate and the words sound garbled. He's super strong, belts out the songs, but in the process loses the melody. He won't be included in my top six."

Wow. My mom just kicked Judge JLo's a$$. And Tom: so detailed and straight forward. America's panel needs you...dog.


So, it is now 1:45 and with an hour left of this workday I have accomplished two things:
1. Deep, significant research and theorizing

2. Adding American Idol to every Wednesday on my google calendar


...oh and writing this blog.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Gym rat

Yea I've been a gym-goer lately. Thanks for noticing.

My latest and greatest (for now at least) way to work it out, "it" meaning the womanly figure, is to hit up my gym's group exercise classes...otherwise known as Group X, catchy right? Don't you immediately feel compelled to join in and see what exactly their X-factor is?

Being back to two jobs (tutor extraordinaire recently added to my resume) makes it a little difficult to fit in cardio-tastic workouts like I should . I mean sure I could do some bicep reps at home while eating my typical stir fry din and watching Gossip Girl, but is that really gonna burn fat? Unlikely. Notice I didn't question whether or not it would make me sweat...

Group X Classes, so hardcore, keep me coming back for more because of their three vital factors:

1. In-doors and in-PointLoma

2. Located on the top level of the meat mark..., I mean gym

3. Enticing for anti-social behavior

Here's the deal with number one. Once the sun is even thinking about going down, I don't want to be out jogging. The last thing that seems appealing after a long day is the stress of literally racing the clock to avoid getting jumped or thrown in a white hippy van. Even if I was all in on the run-in-the-dark thing, I'd have to have a running buddy (because of the white van) and be forced to wear some sort of reflective, glow in the dark vest. And I don't wear vests. Secondly, we're actually still on vital factor number one, so more like "1b" if you will; The fact that my gym (which is supposedly available to me 24 hours a day) is in Point Loma, makes it about 50x more likely that I'll come be a part of the whole thing. While I consider myself "adventurous," I have no interest in venturing more than five miles to go do...anything on a Tuesday evening...prior to watching Glee. You may call it snobby to insist on staying west and south of the 8 freeway, I prefer to call it particular.

While geographic location makes the gym convenient, the Group X room on the top level of the building, makes it tolerable. I don't even want to go down into the first floor's muggy dungeon to use the women's restroom. Consequence: all my coworkers seeing my pale legs and stained "workout" shirts on the way out of the building, I'm not above using the faculty bano for my own personal locker room.
I may be a little hasty in my first floor opinion, it is still NYR (New Year's Resolution) season. Who knows, maybe some gym rats will fall off the wagon (or the treadmill) and the crowds will cease...hence the entire building will be less sticky? Always an optimist.

Third and finally, I prefer to not be friends with other gym enthusiasts. Harsh right? I'm just being truthful. I don't visit 24 Hour Active to yuck it up and get my social interaction fix. If Nobuko keeps us waiting an extra five for TKB (clearly I refer to Turbo Kick Boxing, but you already knew that) I'll sit right there on the floor, criss-cross-apple-sauce and silently ponder the day's happenings. Why stand and mindlessly chat about supplements or pretend to stretch. I don't need that in my life. Besides, if I were here to make friends (or make more than that, eww) don't you think I'd come looking a little better than this? There's a reason the Lululemon Capri's and matching sports tank don't come out for TKB or Body Pump. I prefer to wear that elegant apparel when I'm NOT working out. This makes much more sense, why would I spend sixty bucks on pants I'm going to expose to the filthy Group X floor? duh. Doesn't anyone else realize the pupose of good workout pants is to look like we're so active we have to be outfitted all day just in case...and hold-in our less-than-taught buns, hello???
3 reasons or not, 24 Active has me active, hoping to keep it up with all that living in a beach city entails...especially during the summer months...like looking fit while you drink beer.