very busy doing nothing

I went for a walk without feeling like I was going to die today. It was a big win, since I spent most of the last two days laying about like a slug while hacking up a lung and bits of greenish yellow gunk. That last bit was medically significant information that you all needed to know. In order to distract myself from the depressing fact that I have literally been sick for more than half the time since Christmas, (I know I’m prone to hyperbole, but in this case, that tendency is trumped by my refusal to misuse the word literally) I’m compiling a list of valuable things I have learned or discovered:

  1. Benedict Cumberbatch is very hot and I have a big crush on him.
  2. I also have a crush on Martin Freeman; he is such a cutie.
  3. I will never get sick on watching reruns of Sherlock; I am obsessed.
  4. You can actually communicate a surprising amount with pointing and vigorous nodding. Though this is only socially acceptable when you’ve lost your voice.
  5. Laying outside on the deck is warmer than sitting in a chair like a grown up.
  6. Afrin is addictive because it works. Like magic.
  7. Cereal can be shockingly versatile when you can’t manage to prepare real food. There’s the breakfast cereal, the dinner cereal, the snack cereal … it’s amazing.
  8. HGTV is THE BOMB. Though I pretty much already knew that.
  9. I should not visit the doctor when I’m sick because I never get anything out of it, but I still have to pay. It should be more like it is with lawyers; I pay them if they fix me.
  10. I can still count to ten. 

guess who didn’t have to ask for help getting out of her own undergarments

Stuck in my sports bra. Yup, that was me yesterday morning when I was trying to get changed into my work clothes at the gym. I don’t understand. I have worn this bra a million times before, but, unknown to me, it had suddenly shrunk to about one tenth its original size yesterday.

I got my elbow wedged sort of strangely part way under the side before it started to make ominous seam ripping noises. Freeze. Move a little, the scary noise starts again. Freeze. This process continued for a little while before I paused, arm strangely clamped to my body with hand sticking out like a useless fingered flipper, and wondered if I should leave the bathroom and ask for help.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. Nobody particular had been inspired to get up and work out with us at 6:30 that day, so only two other people were there at the moment. Both women. Both good friends of mine. I tried to picture the scene, Hey ladies, you’ve probably never heard this from another woman before, but would someone please take my clothes off? It wouldn’t actually be THAT embarrassing, not by my usual standards anyway. But I was really wedged in now and wasn’t entirely sure that outside help would do the situation any good. Plus, I would have had to somehow get my pants back on before leaving the bathroom . . .  my friends were not THAT good of friends.

I briefly contemplated plan B, giving up and putting work clothes on overtop of my sweaty sports bra, but quickly disregarded this idea in favor of the faster and easier plan C – just yanking the bra off regardless of any ripping noises and consequential damage.

Success. I got it off in one piece. Amazingly, the bra was still in one piece too. But I’m now afraid to wear it again. Not only because I am worried about hidden structural damage from all that yanking, but also because there is no way to know when if the dang thing is going to suddenly shrink up and take a strangle hold on me again after I’ve already gotten it on. I’m not sure what to do.

On an unrelated note, I am dying of allergies that I did not know I had before this year. All of the usual remedies have done NOTHING. Help! What does one do when this happens?

On another note that is also not related to the post OR to the first unrelated note, did you know that calories consumed on a day when you had to go to the dentist don’t count? It’s an official rule that I just made up. You can thank me later.

we clearly need help brainstorming

For a variety of reasons, some of which are best kept to ourselves, L and I have recently decided that we must find at least one or two new hobbies that are not crossfit. This turned out to be more difficult than we originally assumed. Thus, an intense discussion of various possibilities was begun.

When L emailed me and Kate earlier this week to plan a weekend fun day, her list of suggested activities consisted of:

Eat ice cream at scoop a dee doo
Play on a playground
Sing Disney songs
Eat food
Eat treats
Anything else fun that you can think of!!!!!!!!

Yes, this is cut and pasted word-for-word from the original email. And what’s more, these all seemed like normal, reasonable suggestions to me. In fact, they are all activities that we’ve done before (except the hiking, which we MEANT to do one day, until we got distracted playing on a playground for most of the afternoon). You may notice that there is a slight trend toward food-related activities on the list. I told L that we already had a hobby outside of crossfit, and that it is food. Although I’m not entirely sure that food can count as a new hobby, since we’ve always been pretty enthusiastic about it in one form or another.

Other possibilities that have been suggested by either ourselves or outside parties include listening to Christian radio, arts and crafts, reading, clogging outside, going to the doctor, milkshakes, shopping for washing machines and/or new cars, wearing cool shoes, and taking vitamins.

I think our new hobby might need to be coming up with cooler hobbies. 

a typical week of death and destruction

Okay, just destruction actually. Not really destruction in the exciting sense of things exploding noisily, more like the kind of destruction in which things break at inconvenient moments, and I swear noisily.

The rest of the people in my life are sick and tired of hearing about my car problems. Every morning I update my most car-loving coworker aboutthe tug boat’s newest rattling noise, and in return, he tells me about all the bad drivers he encountered on the way in. But even HE is sick of me by now. He only listens in order to buy himself a captive audience for his own daily rant.

But everyone being sick of listening doesn’t mean I’m sick of complaining! Guess what happened this week? Okay, I’m just going to tell you. Because I can tell you’re just dying to know, and I want to put you all out of your misery. I’m a great friend.

On Tuesday, my car didn’t want to start when I tried to leave crossfit. I didn’t get too fussed. I just got out of my car and lurked around the gym for a minute. I wasn’t worried. It just needed a rest. It always starts. Except that night. After I realized it ACTUALLY wasn’t going to start this time, I sat there for a minute staring at my dash board, as if I could solve the problem by doing nothing.

Once I finished wondering what the heck I was going to do, I went back inside and told Law that my car wouldn’t start. This was a great strategy because, as soon as I tell him about a car problem I’m having (granted, the time I locked my keys in the car may have been more of a user problem), it suddenly becomes his problem and not mine. This is a great system. I’m not sure how exactly I managed to trick Law into it, but I’m not complaining.

He ended up just jump starting my car, which, incidentally, I had promised would never work because the battery was brand new. I am obviously an expert at cars.

The next morning, I was utterly relieved when my car started all on its own, since my backup plan involved staring blankly at my dashboard while trying to come up with a backup plan. I drove straight to the sketchy garage that I don’t like but that I use anyway because it is conveniently within walking distance of work. The garage called me periodically throughout the day with updates. The updates followed along the lines of, “Your car is starting fine for us every time, but we’ll keep trying it.” In the mean time they had many ideas about various things that I should pay them to fix.

For reasons best known to myself, I had them fix nothing. They had tried to start the car a lot of times, and it had been fine! It’s an old car; it’s bound to have fluke days when it doesn’t feel like working. But this was obviously not a serious problem.

I left the garage, and it started fine. I left crossfit, and it seemed to be struggling a tiny bit. Maybe I was imagining it. I stopped to get a sandwich on the way home (was having a serious need-to-go-food-shopping crisis), and it wouldn’t start at all. Why? Why me? The garage had spent all day stopping and starting my car. I had stopped it twice. TWICE. Only two times.

I had to call Roomie to come rescue me from my life. As usual.