9:45 a.m. - 2004-12-03
Hokey Pokey on Crack
You know, despite various rantings on the subject, I really was starting to grow rather fond of FuckStick. However, over the last two days, he has demonstrated to me that he has, in fact, earned that nickname. Two words: cardio classes. They're like doing the Hokey Pokey on crack.
It's so bizarre. Every time I start thinking I'm sort of getting in shape, he finds a new way to introduce elementary-school-PE-style humiliation into my life. I just THOUGHT I felt like a retard when he made us do pushups and new and interesting shit with weights. I now realize that experience was more like the first day on a new job. Stressed out, clueless, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I now realize that said light is an oncoming train.
Seriously. It's not like I never do cardio. But it's not this dancing around, requires coordination, sadistic crap with the step. Basics, I pretty much understood. But then the chick starts doing all this "step off the step seven directions, turn around, do a little mambo step on the floor, then kick-ball-change in the middle of the step" shit. And she's telling us the next thing to do when I haven't gotten the hang of the first thing, so basically I'm stepping on and off the step and hoping that everyone else is concentrating on their own steps so they won't notice I'm a completely lame klutz. Last night, though, there was a guy in the class who had never been there before, and as we finished, he just said "shit." My sentiments precisely. By last night, I felt like bathing in Icy Hot. My calf muscles have never been this sore. And of course, I have STAIRS at my apartment. And laundry from hell to carry up and down said stairs this evening.
This is going to be one of those weekends. GID and I have plans to hang out tonight after I do laundry and tomorrow. Tomorrow night, he wants to watch the OU v. Colorado game, and quite frankly, I could care less�so I told him I'd made other plans. We had planned, on Saturday, to go pick out a new kitty to keep his company, work out, and just generally fart around. Now, though, he's going to his mother's house to watch the game & do laundry, and she wants him to come over BEFORE the game and help decorate the Christmas tree.
I believe I have made my feelings of "bah humbug" well known, as well as my feelings about coping with anyone's family dysfunction other than my own. You'd think that, after my clear unwillingness to participate in Thanksgiving bullshit, it would be obvious that I have no desire to (a) hang out with his family and (b) do any stupid decorating. Ugh.
Speaking of family dysfunction, my brother e-mailed yesterday and revealed that my sister-in-law mentioned the word "website" in connection with me when they went to dinner with mommy the other night. They tried to cover, but I'm afraid that the proverbial cat may be out of the proverbial bag.
It's not like I don't tell my mother most of this shit anyway. But the point is, I need to vent sometimes, yo. Here's hoping that mommy forgets all about this shit by the time she's un-busy enough to ask.
Finally, join my diaryring so I don't feel like a loser with no friends, okay? Thanks to kizzy and art for being my founding members. I know you little trivia-heads are out there.
Awittykitty suggested that we should all come up with bizarre diaryrings and see if people will join them�.this could be fun.
Okay, a staff meeting (gag) beckons, as does a vast quantity of work. I feel like doing none of this shit. I don't think I've gone to bed before 1 any night this week, and it's catching up with a vengeance. I may have to break down and buy a $5 latte with two extra shots in order to remove the cobwebs�.
