My sore muscles are from the shared workout with her personal trainer. He really pushed us, but in a nice, low-key way. Nothing like Sergeant Tony at USMC Boot Camp. We did some machines, then lifted barbells. Had to lift it up and over my head, just a little behind it. It works the shoulders that way. I think the anatomical word is delts. Short for deltoids. I was afraid that I'd either drop the barbell on my head or fall backwards. He assured me I wouldn't. Easy for him to say!
Then, we had to push a sled (like those things football players use), but with our hands, not our shoulders. Since I have freakishly strong quads, I excelled at that. Plus, it was the only thing we did that was equally strenuous. She had heavier weights on the other things. Since it was the same, my competitive nature kicked in and believe it or not, I actually out-performed her on that. We each pushed it as far as we could around the track, and then traded off when we couldn't push another inch. I kept thinking we were done, and then the trainer dude would tell me to do it again. I think I'll wear Spanx next time since he had a bird's eye view of my butt.
Not that it matters, really, because I'm no cougar. Not that he'd be interested. I doubt he's a Wrinkle Chaser. I learned that funny phrase from Hot in Cleveland. That, and Chubby Chaser. Funny show. But Mr. Personal Trainer also teaches raquetball lessons. Turns out, I can schedule sessions with him at the gym without joining. So I might do that.
On another exercise note, I think I scared off my walking buddy. Maybe he is a serial killer and figured I'd be too risky since I was on to him. He conveniently had a conference call at the last minute. Oh, well. But I did accidentally use my personal email account to respond to him, rather than going through Craig's List. And my email address is my whole name. And since my last name has an unusual spelling, it wouldn't be hard to track me down. You can find out lots about someone just from their last name. Where they live; how big their house is, including how many bedrooms and bathrooms, whether it has a fireplace, etc.; whether they paid their taxes on time; even their age and some pictures sometimes. Funny thing, there's someone with the same unusually spelled name as mine and she's 74 years old.
All this info is out there on the property tax assessor's website, "The Google" (in case you didn't know, this is reference to our former prez, The W), Google Image Search, and the insidious Big Brother, a/k/a FaceBook. Crazy thing. The other day, I made a six minute video using my cell phone. I was following The Daddler and urging him to kiss Lucy, The Dog. On the mouth. I told I thought Mother was in the dog, since they have the same eyes and all. It was reminiscent of the time I chased him with Sly, the snake. So cute. But extremely silly. I only intended to show it to Deb, but lo and behold, it wound up on FB. I have no idea how that happened, but I got some sort of email to say someone had commented on it. I immediately went online and deleted it, and set my privacy settings to the max.
An aside re FB. Their Initial Public Offering (IPO) date is around the middle of this month. And it's priced at a nearly 100 times earnings. That's an outragous P/E ratio. I think it'll be like Groupon and Zynga. Their stock dropped way below the original issue price. And since I hate FB, I'd never buy it. I'm thinking of closing my account, except other apps hold you hostage to it. Since I have an account for The D, I could still do my
I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that for some strange reason, I was stalking an ex-BF. I snuck into his house and took a shower. I was getting dressed when he walked in. With a woman, who I presumed was his GF. He thought fast (he's really smart), and called me Consuela and told me to be sure get the cobwebs in the laundry room. I was soooo embarrassed. I remember thinking I'd probably ruined my chances with him. I think this dream was fueled by a tv show I saw last night.
If that weren't bad enough, I left my radio on all night, and early this morning, it was on a gardening show which incorporated itself into my dreams. The host was discussing how much/often to water plants and shrubs when it gets so hot and dry in the summer. I had the idea of starting a lawn and garden watering service. I remember when I worked full time and I had to go out in the yard to water the plants and move the sprinkler around for hours, while getting swarmed with mosquitoes. Forgetting the sprinkler and having to go outside late at night to turn it off. Back to my dream. I was trying to get the host to give me some referrals for my new biz, and he explained to me that if someone were going to pay me to water their yard, they'd probably just buy a sprinkler system. Good point. For some reason, I was horribly upset by the certain failure of my latest get-rich-quick scheme.
Oh, this has nothing to do with any of this, but I can't seem to quit thinking about my latest mishap. I went to a little shop in one of those older strip malls with a tiny parking lot. I was backing out when all of a sudden, boom, I'd backed into a car. My first thought was, Shit, my insurance... I pulled back into my spot and got out of the car to assess the damage. It was a white Honda and the bumper had a place where the paint was scraped off. No dent, thank goodness. There was a man standing outside the shop. I asked if it was his car. It wasn't. I asked him if he knew who it belonged to. He didn't. He told me I should just leave, and that he didn't see anything. I wanted to do the right thing, though, so I went back into the shop and asked if anyone there had a white Honda Accord. Nope. They said it might belong to someone in the shop next door. So I walked over to the beauty supply place and I was about to go in, but the door was locked (you had to ring the doorbell to get in), and I stopped. Thought about my insurance again. And the fact that there was no dent. And there were other scrapes besides the one I'd inflicted. I was torn, but my rationalization won out and I got back in my car. I had to cut my wheel really hard to keep from doing a repeat performance. That's when I realized that the Accord was parked at the curb instead of in a parking spot. The owner must be really lazy. Deserved to be hit. That was probably why there were so many other scratches. Thank heavens The D wasn't in the car with me. He already thinks I'm an incompetent driver. Which I am.
Still, I was very conflicted. Which is why I'm still thinking about it. My next car will have one of those cameras in the back. Better yet, I'm just going to take a taxi everywhere. With the money I'll save on doing without a car, I'm sure I'd come out ahead. Also, the bus comes right by my house. Maybe I could be a school bus monitor and ride for free.
Well, I should get busy. My surrogate mother-in-law is home alone this week. Her husband and daughter are on a trip to Europe. So as soon as I finish mowing the lawn and watering the plants, I'm going to head over to her house. We're going to watch Ladies in Lavender. It's a very sweet movie set in Cornwall. Judy Dench and Maggie Smith are in it. I love them. The great thing is that it involves a character who doesn't speak English. Just Polish. Which is her native language. Actually, it's Lithuanian, but her husband is Polish, so she learned to speak it when they married. I think she'll love the movie. First, I have to find my DVD. We're going to order pizza and have a gay old time. Yabba Dabba Do!
On the mother-in-law note, the F in FF now stands for Former. Not Fantasy. The fantasy thing is over. We're still friends, but I've given up the ship. I'm moving on. Not that I want to get back out there, but I do have my COBRA expiration to consider. I've got a year to figure something out. Hmmm, do you see a theme here? Insurance is a big motivator for me. Actually, the great thing is that since The Daddler is retired from the military, I'm eligible for USAA insurance. Which is much cheaper than what I have currently. For homeowners' and car insurance, anyway. They also provide health insurance, so I'm going to get a quote on that. That'll take the pressure off, as far as finding someone with good health insurance to marry. Plus, I have a feeling I'll be more likely to find my Prince Charming when I quit starting every conversation with an eligible men with an interrogation about his employee-sponsored health insurance. I'll still examine their teeth, however.
Ok, that's enough. I'm gonna go now. Over and out...
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