Sunday thoughts

 

  1. So I start the new job tomorrow. Nothing bad ever happens on your first day of work, because nothing is really expected of you on your first day of work. Right? I keep thinking about all the first days in my life: first day at various jobs, first day of college, first day of crossfit. I keep thinking about them and how awkward I managed to be on every occasion. But they all turned out to be quite good in the end.
  1. Who invented 5-hour energy? It tastes like cough syrup. Is it made of pure caffeine? Never again. Bleargh.
  1. I was standing in the living room just now trying to think what to do next and decided, out of the blue, to do 50 push-ups right then and there. Am I a compulsive exerciser? If so, is this a problem? I need some therapy.
  1. Had to take a cold shower because it’s about 84 degrees in here and I am too lazy to go around closing all the windows to turn on the AC. Yes, I just did 50 pushups for no reason but am unwilling to spend 5 minutes walking around the house closing windows.
  1. A friend told me that I looked like a body builder because I got so tan while I was at the beach last week. I was delighted with this complement at first, but upon further thought . . . have you seen those lady body builders??? They are terrifying.
  1. I ran six miles this morning and it felt like a long run. How times change. I remember when I used to use a six mile loop for my long runs. The first loop was like a warmup.
  1. I love cheerios and I want to eat some RIGHT NOW. But I ate such crap while I was at the beach, so I’m trying to resist. Ugh, willpower. It’s a little lacking. I’d say there’s a 60/40 chance cheerios will happen before the end of the night. Did I write that right? 60 percent chance that I WILL eat the cheerios that is.

Wish me luck tomorrow! I will have many embarrassing stories of my bumbling incompetence to share this week.

 

 

 

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ode to Roomie

“Wow, I think Jesus put together your housing assignment.”  

Some comedian said this when Roomie and I went to see her show during our freshman year of college and admitted (in response to some sort of audience participation question, I’m sure) that we were randomly assigned freshmen roommates and also best friends.

So tomorrow, I am helping my best friend in the whole world move away from me again. I briefly considered the fact that I should not facilitate this process. But then she would just have replaced me and still left. So I’m helping Roomie move to DC tomorrow, and then we both start new jobs on Monday. Because she is actually my secret evil twin, and our lives seem to run oddly in parallel like this.

She has to be the evil twin because she swears a lot and hates people 90 of the time.

I also hate people about 80 percent of the time too, but I try to keep it a secret. Except when I’m around Roomie; then I’m allowed to be as antisocial as I want. One Saturday morning recently, we were both in the kitchen with each other for a good 15 minutes and didn’t say anything more than “good morning” to each other. Eventually Roomie asked whether I minded her turning on the TV while she did chores.

“No, that’s fine.  I thought we were being awfully quiet this morning, but I didn’t really have anything to say to you.”

“Good. I didn’t have anything to say to you either.”

End of interaction for the morning.

Roomie leaving is not really the end of the world, since she’s only moving an hour away. It’s much less traumatizing than when she moved out on me to transfer schools after freshman year, because I can still see her pretty much whenever I want. But who am I going to watch reruns of Property Brothers with on Friday nights? Who will feed me nachos during football season? I need somebody to remind me to text my Mom on her birthday and tell me what I meant to get at the grocery store when I’m too incompetent to write it down.

I also won’t be able to mask my continual lack of a boyfriend by bringing Roomie as my plus one at all of L’s grilling parties and other social functions. Probably that wasn’t a good cover. Probably it just made many of my friends suspected that I was a secret lesbian. Oh well, let them wonder.

Do I have to stop calling her Roomie in these blog posts? I never really stopped referring to her that way since the day we met, but it might be confusing to new blog readers.

last day

Yesterday was my last day at work. Weird. I guess I might miss my crew of barely disguised hooligans. When I told my dad I was switching jobs, he responded with, “But you’ll never have as good of stories at another office.”

As excited as I am about the new job, I keep wondering what I’ll do without work Mom and Dad. Without Joshie, Snuggles, JohnnyG, and Other Joshie. A while back my best work buddy and I decided that we should be called Team A when we work on proposals together, for Team Awesome, obviously – and also because both of our names start A. This is what we do. Make up dump shit that only seems logical to people who spend that much time together.

There may be people I will miss less (like Cupcake, for instance), but what will do when there aren’t code names I can use to complain about the people who annoy me? What will I do if there ARE code names but I don’t know them because I’m not one of the cool kids anymore?

My pals seemed kind of down about me leaving yesterday. But we’re not the type of friends who tell each other stuff like, “I’ll miss you”; we’re the type of friends who make fun of each other for wearing too many stripes, eating fish, walking loudly, or pretty much just existing. So instead of saying something nice, the boys told me, “Didn’t you know, you’re required to buy everyone snacks on your last day?”

Of course, at our office, you’re required to supply snacks if you’ve been there less than 90 days, or if it’s your one-year anniversary, or your birthday, or if you mention food around someone who’s hungry, or if you get there late in the morning. And snacks never actually get bought. But this time I decided we would take a field trip to the grocery store for ice cream sandwiches.

After lunch, I was feeling a little sad (and bored), so for a pick me up, I rearranged JohnnyG’s things in a nice zigzag pattern on the floor next to his desk. I thought it was pretty surprising that he actually left me alone at his desk even though he’d seen me walking over there, but I realized a little too late that it was because he had raced over to my desk to dump out the entire contents of my purse.

What will I do if everyone at the new office is NORMAL and doesn’t want to behave like a child with me?

all the cool kids do front squats, eat hot dogs, and sing Disney songs on their birthdays

My birthday is the best birthday ever. No, seriously. Not just because it’s MY birthday either. July 3rd is a consistently fabulous day every year. First off, it’s in the summer, so no matter how bad the weather is (and it’s usually pretty good) I am so much better off than those poor souls born in, say, February. There is nothing redeeming about any day in February, as far as I’m concerned. Secondly, when your birthday is on July 3rd, you always have the day after your birthday off from work or school, BUT the Fourth of July is not one of those annoying and overshadowing holidays that make everyone else forget that it’s your birthday and should, therefore, be all about YOU. This is more like just having the coolest birthday buddy ever. The third reason it’s the best: there are usually fireworks on your birthday, and even if you don’t manage to go see some until the day after, you will remain thoroughly convinced throughout your entire life that the fireworks are being set off purely to celebrate your special day. This Independence Day rigmarole is entirely coincidental.

SO, my birthday was pretty fantastic, despite the fact that I had a cold/horrible allergies that day. These are some things that I did on my birthday (in no particular order):

1. Ate red, white, and blue cupcakes at work. Accidentally turned my mouth blue. Contrary to what the color scheme may lead you to believe, the cupcakes were brought in by a friend for MY birthday and had nothing to do with America.

2. Ate hotdogs wrapped in bacon. L had a little party for me over at her house (our house is not really big enough for parties), and made her husband grill a delicious variety of foods for us.

3. Ate red-velvet cake topped with oreos that Kate baked especially for me. Discovered that Kate is MUCH better at cake decorating than L and I were when we baked Kate’s birthday cake.

4. Did things other than eat food, I promise.

5. Got the unintentional birthday present of a crossfit WOD that I absolutely adored. Killed it, and had the fleeting glory of having the highest score on the board out of the entire day’s worth of scores. For fifteen minutes. Until L did it and squeaked out two more reps than I did. I was cheering for her our loud, but in my head I was shrieking, Nooooooo!

6. Sang karaoke with crossfit friends and L’s parents. The only songs I know the words well enough to do this with originate from either Disney or Broadway. Let it go, let it go, I am one with the wind and sky …

7. Got into a bit of a karaoke war with L’s husband who was not a fan of Disney OR Broadway (for some reason) and wanted to sing to rap songs that I had never heard of and was completely uninterested in.

8. Did part of a Shakespearian monologue for everyone. Not entirely sure why.

9. Wore a headband that made me look like I had multi-colored antennae for the entire evening. Got a horrible headache as a result, but it was totally worth it.

10. Could not leave the party and go to bed at 10 like I usually would have, because it was MY birthday party.

11. Ate second helpings of cake and hotdogs. Perked back up after that and did not go to bed until after midnight, which was technically not my birthday anymore anyway, and was also impressively late for me to be staying up at all. Because I behave like an old woman.

winning that napping workout again

It’s funny, I used write about races all the time. And races are the easiest thing in the world to blog about. They make for hilarious posts napping picbecause I am guaranteed to always do something embarrassing while I’m running, and because they are easy to understand. I don’t have to explain the premise of a race (every reader understands that the goal is to run from point A to point B as fast as you can), which leaves me free to ramble on about the things that I really want to talk about. There are even mile markers to make my stories progress in a (marginally) linear fashion.

But lately, I’ve replaced racing with crossfit competitions. Still fun, but there’s just too much extra explaining involved to actually WRITE about them. Possibly, the root of the problem here lies in the laziness of the author rather than the complexity of the subject matter.

And on that note, I should get a prize for the athlete-able-to-fall-asleep-most-easily-at-a-crossfit-competition, which, considering the noise and energy level at these things, is quite an accomplishment.

Since I can’t really sleep when I’m away from home, I generally don’t hold up all that great at these out-of-town competitions. But when my dear crossfit pal from back home in PA texted me because a friend of hers needed another woman for his team, I agreed straightaway. Partly because M is one of those people I simply cannot say no to, and partly because the attention whore in me suspected this might provide some sort of opportunity for showing off.

Then I found out there was swimming involved. Hello swimming ability of an injured kangaroo. Sorry attention-whore, you just bought yourself an opportunity for extreme embarrassment instead.

My teammates were surprisingly chill about the swim (along with mostly everything else), and I somehow managed to string together seven 95lb snatches later on, so the day still qualified as an overall success. Except that, by one in the afternoon, my ass was dragging like nobody’s business. So I fell back to my usual standby of laying on the floor and falling asleep.

I did wake up briefly for the third wod of the day. Instead of actually warming up properly, I sort of gormlessly stood around staring at a deadlift bar and trying to will 185lbs off the ground with my mental powers.

“Are you okay?” M had to check up on me, “You’re looking a bit … forlorn.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m just not awake.” I suppose this could have been something to worry about ten seconds before I was supposed to work out, but past experience with the magic of adrenaline assured me that everything would be alright. And it was. I spent 8 minutes throwing weight around like a total champ, and 30 minutes later I was passed out on the floor again.

I now have a reputation with two separate boxes as the girl who falls asleep everywhere and at inappropriate times.