tuesday morning randomness

• How is it not at least Thursday?

• Joanne might come back to Madrid in June... to stay! Yay America.
  

• While a smidge embarrassing to admit, Britney Spears' newest album is great for the gym. With the exception of a ballad or two which I promptly skip, the beats of practically all of the songs are right on par with my rate on the elliptical: a nice range of 60 to 65.
  

• I don't care how screwed up she is; Amy Winehouse totally rocks. She adds a touch of sultry sass to the mundane nature of my workday.

• No matter how painstakingly careful I am when winding them up, my iPod earphones ALWAYS tangle themselves into knots. Wtf?

• No Movistar, I don't want a cell phone contract. Please stop stalking me.

• 45 days til vacation- Hallelujah!

• How beyond fantastic is the Sarah Silverman / Jimmy Kimmel video duel? HIL.AR.I.OUS.

Her video:


His revenge:

me = idiot

Going to the gym in the morning, when you're still groggy and trying to figure out why the main characters in your dream were dancing forks, inevitably increases the possibility of leaving something behind. Luckily, such items are generally negligible... hence their being forgotten. Salad dressing. Socks. A spoon. Occasionally a bra. When these things are left behind, it's just a hitch. You can make do, even if it means eating dry lettuce for lunch or keeping the gals hidden with a sweatshirt.

Then today happened, when I found myself standing in the gym locker room - showered and otherwise ready to go - in leggings, boots and a tank top. Noticeably absent from my gym bag was the dress meant to go over said leggings.

I had 10 minutes until work, which is 5-10 mins from the gym, and I had to weigh out my options: A) go to work a la Catwoman, or B) scamper the 15 minutes home, put on the dress and then scamper the 20 minutes to work, hoping to make it in by 10. This is all up and down the same long street, mind you. A shop worker said hi to me three - count 'em THREE - times this morning.

In the end, tardiness prevailed over what would likely have been the saddest attempt at a Catwoman costume ever. Interestingly enough, I probably burned up more pesky calories outside of the gym this morning than inside it.

morning encounters

So there's this girl who I see at the gym pretty much every time I manage to drag myself out of bed in the name of physical well-being. I refer to her simply as, well, an abbreviated nickname stemming from a particular part of the female anatomy. It may seem crass, but trust me... it's appropriate. I will explain why. Plus, she's about an 11 on the bitch meter, so I don't feel too bad about it.

Now I'm not a prude; I understand walking to and from the shower naked. It's normal and doesn't bother me in the least. However, while most folks then put some clothes on or at least use a towel post-shower, this particular lass keeps on in the buff for another 20 minutes as she blow-dries her hair, puts on her make-up and goes through the rest of the steps of her a.m. beauty routine.

Then comes the fun part: when she apparently needs to exfoliate her entire body with this coarse loofah of sorts. This involves her - completely naked, mind you - throwing her leg over her head into a position that can only be compared to that of my cat when he is getting ready to lick himself.

major peeeeeve

If there's one thing I dislike about the gym more than my feet falling asleep on the elliptical, it's the obnoxious folks who plant themselves right in front of your machine in the gym and then attempt to will you off the elliptical/treadmill with their raised-browed eye rolls, piercing stares, exaggerated sighs and frenzied toe-tapping.

That's when I generally decide is a good time to test my physical threshold and go for as long as my endurance will keep me conscious, upright and breathing. And then I do a relaxed, very drawn-out cool down. Mwa ha ha.

SUCKAS.