Um, can we say hot?
This weekend was so freaking hot I couldn’t convince myself to move. At all. My poor kitties were so hot, they just lay stretched out on their sides, with eyes half closed not quite asleep, not quite awake. Tough weekend to be a kitty with their plush fur coat.
So. Let’s check in, shall we? What did I say I wanted to accomplish? How much of it got done? Here’s the list (THE LIST) from last Saturday with the completed items crossed out:
Clean the toilet (yes, people, my favorite job of the week)
Clean the floors and dust
Groom my cats so that they stop swallowing so much cat hair which they then puke back up and leave for me in little pools of stomach acid to wipe up. (I prefer wiping it up right away to leaving it around and listening to them lap it back up. I don’t know, maybe ocha likes warm food or she likes the bite of stomach acid on her taste buds. Do cats even HAVE taste buds? These guys lick ass, you know. Ok. Seriously digressing)
Mop the kitchen floor (yes, yes, I could have just said: household chores for all of this, but then I couldn’t fully make you feel as sorry for me if I were so concise)
Unpack from the trip to the Bay Area last weekend Tidy up Work on my portfolio (actually, this is the best part of my weekend)Finish up some sewing projects
Start some sewing projects
Sigh and moan many times to express how unjust is my life
Work has been very boring as well. Very. Boring.
And I must confess, I have not been a very good employee. I blame it all on one grumperina. Ms. Grumpy is funny, she is talented and smart and I am so addicted to her blog. I can’t stop reading. Plus work is so terribly boring that it is an easy excuse to putz around instead of being productive with busy work. I am trying to plow through her archives so that I can get caught up. If I don’t have a lot of archives to read, but just daily updates, maybe I can convince myself to be a better employee and use my job hours more effectively. Then again, I could really care less. Dude. If I was my own boss, I would so fire my ass right now.
In other news, I joined a gym. Yes! A gym! I know, I know. I tried to ride my bike to work being that I live like 4 miles from the office. But it just wasn’t a good experience folks. First of all, the motorists in L.A. are…how do you say?…assholes? I’ve had things thrown at me (okay, maybe not intentionally), I’ve had people honk and shout at me (there are only so many “FUCK YOU”s a girl can take in a day) and I just don’t care to be behind a car that decides it wants to use its windshield wipers with some wiper fluid spraying all around. On top of that, when I arrive at my destination (and also during the transit) I wipe my damp brow on my sleeve and see that my sweat is mixed with sooty grime that we call the L.A. air. Yep. That was probably the last straw. I just can’t sacrifice my clean pores for this. So my lovely little Trek that I got such a great price on when I bought it used just hangs a little lonely from un-use on my deck. I’ve taken it out for brief weekend rides to the beach and back. That’s fun, but I haven’t been a regular cyclist. It’s just not in me. Perhaps for another time.
So I don’t like gyms and all that, but I decided to join a mega-gym. Makes perfect sense to me. One that has like a pool and stuff. One that offers classes. Yoga, anyone? My new gym is just 10 minutes away by car. They are open 24 hours (truly). And they offer yoga every day off the week. Some days more than once. My new schedule is to go home after work. Dinner with my husband (sometimes I cook, sometimes we go out). An hour of fiddling around (movies, computer time, etc.) and then get ready for the gym for my 9pm yoga class Monday through Thursday.
Last night was business as usual. I got to my class a little early to warm up. There was another class in session in the room. It was street hip hop and they were hoppin it up (so to speak). The instructor, I was not as impressed with. He’s one of those who count out loud during the choreography but does not add helpful hints like indicating where the footwork changes or the part where the tricky stuff comes in. Useful hints in good choreography when you are trying to learn it. Instead he was all about shouting: “and five and six and seven and eight and one!”… Just over and over again. Did he need practice counting?
When my yogi arrived he was perturbed. He approached the hip hop instructor as the hip hop students were leaving. And I couldn’t hear every single word, but Raghavan was obviously upset because the Hip Hop class isn’t supposed to be using the yoga room and maybe demanding some answers from Mr. Hip Hop. Mr. HH’s response was pretty diplomatic. He said that it was beyond his control and that everyone just needed to work with it as best as they could because “We’re all part of the same family.” I didn’t look up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he peaced Raghavan out.
Yogi’s aren’t usually the types to get wacked out. Raghavan is no exception, but he was still shaken by the situation. He muttered about it for a few good minutes even as we were starting our initial warm ups with him. Breathing in. “You know, you have the power. I have no power.” Breathing out. “They have a box out there called Suggestions. Fill out a form and tell them you are not happy about this.” Breathing in. And roll up. “How much does a…what do you call it…boombox? How much does a boombox cost? $40″ Breathing out. “You can’t just buy a boombox and take it down there?” More mutterings and the class went on.
Namaste, Raghavan. Surrender those feelings of discontent.