Did half an hour of stretching and crunches, then half an hour
of buzzing on a trumpet mouthpiece. I’m feelin’ pretty good right about now.
Blood’s flowing, breath is moving, lips are tingling. I feel good. I should
do this every day. That’s my goal, anyway, especially since the upstairs
neighbors are gone to Mexico for two months. (That means embarrassment-free
practice time on the trumpet, in preparation for the mellophone later on.)
I came up with a shitload of random snippets to post up here
today, so bear with me.
This weekend, while spending our respective gift cards and certificates,
Aaron and I found ourselves in Waldenbooks at the Woodland Small here in
BG. And as Aaron was perusing the manga section, I overheard a couple of
high school kids talking down the aisle: "Man, too bad you didn’t wear
your other jacket, with all the big pockets…" and so forth. Meanwhile,
I’m thinking, It’s not too bright to talk about shoplifting from a store
while you’re still IN the store. Kids these days. Sheesh.
And speaking of gift certificates, I may as well list the stuff
I got with mine: A silky-fuzzy robe, comfy pants (the stretchy fuzzy kind
with snaps at the bottoms of the legs), a teapot, new Skechers shoes, and…
um… I think that’s it. I really like everything I got, though, despite
the shoes being about half a size too small. They’re cool, and I’ll break
’em in. Really.
So, at work today, I think I was finally offended by the people
in my work area. These women are in their early 40’s, I would guess, and
very irreverent. OK, some are in their fifties. Anyway, listening to them
talk about getting totally drunk and one of them trying to use pepperoni
or salami or something to make a bikini—that finally just turned my
gorge. The swear words at work I can handle. Even the F-bombs. But mental
images like that… ugh. Something should be done, but I’m not going to be
the one to rock the boat. As it is, I’ll just sit back and pretend I’m not
there. They seem to do a good enough job of that, anyway.
And if the woman who sits next to me at work, with four kids
and income quite similar to mine and Aaron’s, can be approved for a $130,000+
mortgage loan, certainly Aaron and I can qualify for something. I
mean, really! They’re not even married. They have no downpayment. Do you
mean to tell me that if I’d gotten knocked up instead of doing Life in the
correct order, they’d give me a home loan, too? Well, shit! If I’d known
that was all there was to it…
That’s not fair of me, I know… but it doesn’t stop me from
being bitter.
And, goddammit, I am sick and tired of sneezing! Aargh! I wish
I’d either finish getting sick or get over it. (And, yes, I do have a preference.)
A few days ago, I made Amaretto & Coke candles for Mark and
Amy. I poured them into these nifty stemmed glasses, smoky colored and squarish.
I’ll post a photo eventually. Anyway, in order to get the wax to stick to
the glass right, I’ve been warming the containers in the oven while the wax
is cooling. This time, though, I turned the heat up instead of off, since
I had brownies to attempt afterward. (Stupid brownies… bah.) So, silly
me was used to reaching into a warm oven and pulling out warm glass containers.
So what do I do? I reach into a 350° oven and touch a blistering hot
glass stem. I now have this intriguing blister on the inside of my right
index finger, where I scissored my two fingers around the stem to pick up
the glass. (The middle finger was saved by my massive writing callus.)
And, in lieu of an actual page with this on it, I’m going to
post my Atkins-so-far pics here:
