It's Thursday. You know what that means? Tomorrow is Friday - yay!!!
But also, it's time for another edition of Awkward & Awesome. In this case a "Fiesta in my mouth almost-Friday" edition.
Here goes.
Awkward: Spending your work morning wondering if your coworkers read your 1,200 word account of puking in the bathroom.
Awesome: Spending an hour of your work day being treated to lunch.
Awkward: Spending the remainder of your work day wondering why it had to be Taco Bell.
Awesome: Going home and taking a siesta to recuperate from the heartburn.
Awkward: Showing up at your favorite coffee shop to meet a friend for quiet conversation, and instead discovering a concert in progress and that "parking could be a problem."
Awesome: Walking across the street for some quiet space, and instead discovering a FIESTA. Like really, a Mexican-inspired fiesta complete with complimentary tacos.
Awkward: Choking on said tacos to the point of having to spit up an eight inch long strip of pork fat. In the middle of a park. Surrounded by people talking in a foreign language. Presumably about the idiot girl coughing up her complimentary tacos.
Really Awkward: Wanting to keep eating the tacos anyways. What can I say, they were really good, even if they were nearly deadly.
Awesome:Having a lovely evening I couldn't have planned if I tried.
Awkward: My handshakes. I'm a very bad handshaker.
Awesome: Getting home and finding out I've been discovered by the Germans. Apparently if you search for "Vollbild anzeigen" a picture of my skirt being dyed green pops up.
Awkward: Knowing that my blog will also appear for a "blowing brownie chunks" search. Thankfully, I've got to be the only one doing that kind of searching. Right?
Anyways, here's to FRIDAY being fabulous and filled with flapjacks!
('Cause in case you didn't notice, I'm big on theme days. And, of course, alliteration!)
Except that I finally admitted I'm here to stay - at the very LEASE for ten more months or so.
It must be official, if I finally put it on Facebook right? I think so. I call this, "Progress."
Plus...
I finally threw out what were once very pretty flowers... flowers that have been slowly, sadly dying on my desk for the last week.
And in their place I added pretty pink folders, and colorful cubes, plus some smiling faces to spur me on.
Yesterday was kind of a rough day, 'cause I think I was in denial. I wanted to go back to when the buds were still blossoming. I wanted so badly to transport myself to this time and place that doesn't really exist.
Today was so much better though. 'Cause today instead of wishing for anything to be different, I just decided to be present.
And to make my surroundings as pretty as possible.
Never underestimate the power of desk accessories.
While I don't love the logistics of driving, and hate having to fill up my tank, I truly enjoy roadtrips, mini as they may be these days. Along with excuses to buy new tunes (in lieu of listening to static) and to scarf down a gas station hotdog for lunch, they're also great chances to clear one's head and get out in nature (but with the benefit of air conditioning).
There's just something about the open road that makes life seem so utterly big, epic, but also makes the God who created it all seem close enough to touch all the same time. It's crazy, and almost magical I'd say.
Anyways, to my surprise, my commutes home from Waco have been even more wonderful than I expected.
There's just something so sweet about the planes of Texas, I think, especially in the Spring.
Scattered in with the grass and yellow weeds are old windmills and falling down farms, water towers and of course fading Dairy Queen signs... and while I can't explain why, these things warm my heart.
It's like they whisper of a simpler time. A time when people paused in the afternoon just to enjoy the setting sun. (Did a world like that ever exist outside of Jane Austen novels? God I hope so.)
Anyways, simple as the journey itself may be, trekking back and forth from where I come from and where I belong now, all it takes is some good tunes and golden sunlight to transform this mundane activity into a magical adventure.
One I have thoroughly enjoyed.
And while I can't invite you all on those journeys with me, I can share the soundtrack, brought to you by one of my favorite roadtrip companions (whom I've never met).
"Speak into the peace of of these wild things. Into the wild of this grace. Into the grace of this blessing, speak in the peace of this place.
Here at the magic hour time and eternity mingle a moment in chorus. Here at the magic hour bright is the mystery, plain as the beauty before us.
Could this beauty be for us?"
Here's hoping you have your own magical adventure today.
If nothing else, may it be a single moment to stop and thank God for the rising and setting of the sun. After all, He could have created the world with On/Off switches. But instead He treated us to a majestic daily display of the world's greatest dimmer.
Aside from being the subtitle of one of the greatest movies of all times, today's title is in honor of my recent revisit to the gym. You know, the one next door that I joined because I had spent a month remaking "Supersize Me"without the film crew on a whim.
It had been almost a week since my last trip when I headed over there a few hours ago. And while I promise I won't bore you with ALL my gym escapades. I will never calculate just how many gallons of sweat I produce, or how many times I get a wedgie when wearing Yoga-style pants, I do NEED you to know how AWKWARD my life is on days other than Thursday - so here we go.
Here's my evening, after selling my old dryer to total strangers off Craigslist. LOL.
* The percentage of men in my dance class doubled today, which means there were four of them. This was kind of awkward, since as I've probably mentioned, Zumba is a class designed as an excuse for women to shake their tail feathers profusely.
* When I realized there was a car parked outside the giant gym windows of our classroom for fifteen minutes, that escalated the situation to really awkward.
* But when the two guys in that car got out and started peering through the windows, that was unbelievably awkward. So much so that I kept looking at the girl next to me for reassurance I wasn't seeing things, but also to make sure I wasn't the only one messing up the steps. After all, creeps outside the window are no excuse for sloppy choreography.
* Being me, however, I don't have a ton of choice in the matter. I mean, I've tried to be clear from the get go that I'm actually no dancer at all. Sure, I took tap when I was three or so. But sadly that has not aided in my modern rhythmic abilities. I am no JLO, a fact I thought about as the creeps peered in (I was front and center by the side windows they were glaring through). It reminded me of the movie Shall We Dance, how Richard Gere is drawn to ballroom dancing by the music and JLO's tightly toned tushy... only these guys were not Richard Gere, and I, I am a Jenny, but not one from the block. Oh, and we weren't ballroom dancing. We were doing hip shakes to Mambo No. 5.
* Part of the fun of Zumba, though, and one of the reasons I think everyone (except maybe my dad; sorry Dad) should at least give it a shot, is that there is always, ALWAYS, a worse dancer there.
And I've said it before "comparison is the killer of joy," so I'm not gonna dwell, and I truly don't mean to be rude. But, when the really sweet looking girl in the neon pink shirt two pairs of tennis shoes down from you dances exactly like your father, particularly if your father is a rhythmically challenged Baptist minister who once made french fry shoot out a boy's nostrils with his "dancing skills" while playing the HSM3 game on the Playstation... it would be a waste not to have a tiny chuckle, right? And to say a quick "it COULD be so much worse." I could have had fry in my nose at the time. :)
* Actually though, my favorite dancers to watch aren't the ones with the best salsa moves. The ones you can tell were cheerleaders or Rockettes. They're the ones with the most charisma, the ones who seem to be having the most fun... like the little lady who always wears her matching white sweats and orthopedic shoes while shaking it at the front of the class. She is my hero, hands down. That chick has soul.
* Though it's awkward to admit, my other girl crush, though, is my Monday, Wednesday and Saturday Zumba instructor. This lady has got it going on. First off, she's a white girl named Shemane. Does it get better than that? And she's bubbly - but not in an obnoxious way - and looks like she could kill a 300 pound man with her bare hands or - to be crass - her "bobo cheeks" if that were possible.
Seriously though, she manages to look out at the mass of women - and four men - at various life stages, fitness levels and with incredibly varied dancing skills and smile. She doesn't laugh in our faces or look shamed by our spasm-like shaking, but genuinely smiles at us, a bunch of women - and four men - shaking what their mothers gave them. (My mom did NOT give me her dancing skills.)
* While Shemane is definitely ready for the cover of Shape magazine, it's amazing how much more IN shape everyone at a gym seems when you've just spent a week in bed, generally lounging around, and scarfing down half a pie (which happened 20 minutes before class). And by the way, Coke is totally the new milk. A bad choice. A very bad choice indeed. This became clear when I was sucking wind like a chain smoker, after one too many low kicks.
* While Zumba itself is innately awkward, there are a few moves that push it over the top. Particularly I'd imagine for the lone woman in the back wearing the full-length dress. I don't know how she got through without splitting her seams.
These moves include the epic pelvic thrusts, the hip swirls, the jumping lunges (where you end up sticking your behind in your neighbor's face) anything Beyonce has ever done in a music video, and my favorite, the "who farted tooted?" This incredibly attractive move involves swinging around in circles using your hands to fan the fumes from around your bum. (I taught this one to my parents, so if you wanna see it be sure and ask them for a demonstration. When you're not eating french fries of course.)
* Clearly, if I ever make it to a club or a non-Baptist type wedding, I am soooo gonna rock the dance floor.
* Only I probably won't be dancing with anyone from my gym. 'Cause while it turns out the gym is a great place to see cute boys. Whodathunkit? It is not at all a great place to meet really cute boys. At least not when you sweat 1.8 gallons an hour a lot like I do.
* And while I'm not sure if it was the sweat-drenched handshake, or the five o'clock shadow on my underarms shining in the moonlight while I shot free throws, for some reason there was no love connection with the youngish man I met this evening.
* It's for the best though. Who would ever want to go on a date with a boy who didn't have the decency to let you win at least one game of Knockout, Around the World, Horse or any of the other basketball games reserved for sixth-graders and socially awkward gym goers such as myself.
Anyways... aside from being WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION, that was my reintroduction to working out, and also my way of saying, life is AWKWARD - but also a heckofalotta fun.
All in all not a bad time I'd say. Even if I did spend the first five minutes of my brisk walk on the treadmill with my headphones in, but the sound playing through my phone speakers. Oops. Hope the lady on my right really likes the cast of Glee.
And actually, that winning moment was better than when my phone went shooting off the back of the treadmill at rocket speed.
But nothing, at least nothing in a little while, has felt as good as getting my sweaty butt kicked at b-ball. I mean, the losing part kinda stunk actually. But at least it meant I was back in the game.
Awesome: Sitting at my desk yesterday morning thinking to my self, "Wow Self! This has been an uncharacteristically un-awkward week."
Awkward: Thinking this approximately thirty minutes before blowing chunks all over the women's bathroom at my work.
And let me say this; you haven't truly lived until you've upchucked in the place where you receive your paychecks. I mean, my checks aren't delivered to stall #2 or anything... but still. You get the idea. Not the best of days. Not by a projectile shot.
(And if you're crazy enough to WANT to hear ALL about my lovely upheaval let me know. I've got a 1,200 word post about it in the can - that's a pun; really it's sitting as a draft out here in blog land. But if not, then I assure you that you are totally normal, and I'll be perfectly fine to sit on the secret tale of how I came to desecrate one of my all-time favorite foods.)
Thankfully, today has been incalculably better.
Besides resisting the urge to blow chunks, I also managed to welcome two Awesome house guests into town.
And yes, that means I've been kicked to my couch for the night, which feels a little Awkward.
But it's sooooo beyond worth it, because not only does my Mom have built-in-laser-level eyes and my Dad become a mad man with a hammer... together this dynamic duo manages to make even what is currently a disaster of a living room feel like a home.
The proverbial "they" always say friends will help you move, but real friends will help you move bodies.
But I say only really, ridiculously wonderful family will help you move... and then return to the scene of the crime a few months later to help you hang seven thousand pictures, figure out attempt to figure out what's up with your washer and try your infamous fried fish (and frozen yogurt) at risk of doing so over their own bodies.
And while I don't have pictures of mis padres' introduction to Common Grounds, or a messy before picture of my humble abode to show off tonight, I do have one way of summing up the Awesomeness of today...
Being born to these people was a really BRIGHT idea. (Get it? Bright?)
And yes, I can't take a lick of credit for it, but who cares? I am utterly blessed to have parents (and really friends too) as Awesome as these.
I truly hope your Thursday's been just as Awesome, or at the very least the non- nauseous kind of Awkward.
I could understand why it might seem like I share EVERYTHING already over here on the ol' blog. But the truth is there's a lot I don't tell you, nothing juicy per say, but stuff.
Like yesterday, I bought 14 inch silverware from Goodwill and ate lunch at Taco Bell (not using the silverware). Didn't know that did ya?
And today, I had to listen to poor Mickey wimpering from the trash can after getting stuck in a sticky mouse trap at work. I'd have liked to put him out of his sad, pathetic misery but that would have required touching him, so... I tried not to use the scanner near his death bag.
Then later I spent 45 minutes caught in rush hour traffic - in Waco - something caused by a car on fire, not the usual 5 o'clock crowd.
Also, I had sushi for dinner with some very dear friends. Fried sushi if you really wanted to know - tasted like a fishy version of the now defunct Monte Christo sandwich from Bennigans. (Single tear.)
But, it turns out along with a lot of completely irrelevant nonsense, I omitted some very important information earlier this week. Information that has changed the course of my life - or weekend at least. Information that would have been helpful to have on St. Patty's Eve, for instance.
You see, that night, after spending a not-so-small fortune at Big Lots of all places - I really think there should be some sort of prize for that - I came home and did the most Irish thing I could think of. I tried my hand at dyeing a thrifted treasure GREEN.
And then I dyed my hair red. AS IF! Just kidding. I'm not nearly that committed. But, I did decide to make the skirt as GREEN as it could possibly go. I thought that was festive of me.
So armed with my Goodwill broom-ish skirt, some Hobby Lobby dye, a single rubber glove and a roasting pan of warm water, I set out to go green, Green, GREEN!
Only, about four minutes into the project my pig timer dinged, which meant I was suddenly entranced by a delicious diversion...
After which I was far too full to bother with re-reading some silly ol' directions.
Okay, technically I read them, I just completely disregarded them (which is probably worse). Instead of stirring my skirt for 15 minutes and soaking it for 45, I decided to stir my leprechaun green skirt for five minutes and then soak it for two days. TWO DAYS!
And I didn't see any harm in that. Afterall, the skirt cost $4; no harm no foul if it didn't turn out perfect.
Only, in all this clearly careful planning, I failed to prepare for one thing, a big thing.
It turns out trying to be a good tenant by using a tin pan instead of your kitchen sink to dye clothes in is POINTLESS, if...
TWO DAYS after starting this experiment you proceed to dump a turkey basin full of green - presumably toxic - water down that same sink you were trying to save. The side with the disposal no less, that magical device that eats up dead food, but makes funny, funny noises when trying to swallow two days worth of rancid green goop.
GREEN goop that a few minutes after pouring out, started bubbling up again... in my sink. AND in my dishwasher. And, at the bottom of my precious washing machine.
Now, this seems like prime time to remind you what amazing thing happened this week. Remember when I finally conquered my fear of cooking fish? Fish, the frequently delicious but slightly odorous food that I hadn't prepared at home in over two decades.
Well tonight the scrapings of that precious fish I've been cooking (and burning) much of the week came back to haunt me. That stinkin' rottin' fish puked itself up all over my kitchen sink.
And while I can't say this was at ALL how I planned on spending my Friday evening, (or for that matter how the poor maintenance man* planned to spend his Saturday morning, I'm sure) I can say this experience has made me very happy that one of my Big Lots splurges was a GIANT sweet apple candle.
A candle that just so happens to be red, not green by the way. A candle that's little flicker is helping to restore my kitchen back to its usual subtle, non-offensive scent, and me back to my relative sanity.
Thank you candle, for calming me down.
And thank you GOD (for contributing to the calming) but also for on-site apartment managers.
As my buddy Jim would say, all in all not a bad day.
And on that note, here's to hoping your Saturday is filled with more sweet smells than fish guts. Unless of course you're into that sort of thing, in which case, GROSS!
*P.S. If you, my sweet apartment manager or maintenance man, happen to read this... I'm sorry I was a coward and didn't tell you to your face that I'm an idiot. I was hoping it was mostly understood after I had to get help closing my blinds that one time. But also, I DID leave the dye packet on the counter hoping it would do the talking for me.
On the bright-side I can't think of anything more Irish than snakes, so maybe snaking my drain tomorrow will be like an extra fun way to celebrate St. Patty's Week? Nope, you say? In that case, I'll leave you some coffee.
Grrrrr... this is actually post take two, thanks to a stupid faulty internet feed.
The good news is, it'll be an abridged version.
It's time to let the Catscratch Fever out of the gym bag. And no, my secret is not that I'm suddenly a huge Pantera fan. It's that, I joined a gym. A gym with Zumba.
Zumba:an excuse for middle-aged rhythmically challenged women (and two men) to shake their butts to obscure latin music (and a few well-known pop hits as well).
For those of you who know me - who know I spent all of February alternating my time between the couch and the drive thru line at Mickey D's - you KNOW what a giant miracle/ridiculous idea this is.
I am definitely not a gym kind of a gal.
Paying good money to sweat in public is not my idea of a good time. In fact, a month ago I would have paid good money NOT to sweat, much less shake my rump, in front of relative strangers.
However, a lot can change in a month. My metabolism and energy level for instance. And so I do think this came as a necessary change. (Turns out I'm not the only one sucked into this absurd world recently.)
Anyways, I wanted to check in sooner, post the news as a quick, put me on the Prayer Chain sort of thing. But frankly I thought it might be a passing phase. And I wanted to make sure it stuck.
And while it's still early to tell if this will be a lasting endeavor... after purchasing two new pairs of Yoga pants, I'd like to think my commitment level has moved to at least a 7.5. (Which is a point and a half higher than when I first spoke to a gym rep.) And that makes me feel pretty good. Afterall, I don't know what says "I'm in it to win it" like purchasing No Nonsense socks.
Literally.
While they're not nearly as cute as the polka dotted versions I wore on day one, I do think they lend some credibility to my sporty challenge.
And though this is gonna be an uphill battle, and I'm a long long way off from reaching my fitness goals (namely to be able to take out the trash without getting winded) there is already tons to report after just a week.
And, since I missed Awkward & Awesome Thursday, I thought I'd play catch up now with a special Golden Edition if you will (since I am now a card-carrying member of Gold's Gym, get it?).
Here's what I've picked up on so far, about life in the Fat Burner Lane on the treadmill. And it comes with a promise to check back in with a fuller report soon.
Awkward: When the guy beside you burps during Zumba class and instead of learning the sweet dance moves you spend the next song figuring out what he ate for lunch. (Old shoe with refried beans I'm pretty sure.)
Awesome: When the guy in your Zumba class does the hip swivel move... too funny!!
Awkward: Back sweat! Surely there is nothing so ladylike and classy in all the world as sweat stains on one’s lower back.
Awesome: Yoga pants... they only SEEM like a really bad idea until you try them on. They are in fact quite forgiving.
Awkward: Knowing the guy on the adjacent treadmill thinks you’re eyeing the meatheads near the pull-up bar.
Awesome: Knowing you’re actually eyeing the 78-year-old beast man show up all the young guns.
Awkward: Realizing you ate twice as many calories as you burned, just during dessert. Dang Blue Bell pints. NO ONE ever eats the serving size.
Awesome: Realizing you don’t care (or that it was worth it at least). I mean, Cookies & Cream is Cookies & Cream.
Awkward: When you go to pull your head phones out and something crusty falls from them. I believe with all my heart it was a sticker, but I also believe with all my heart that the gym manager who was watching thought it was a year’s worth of ear wax. Super awkward.
Awesome: After trying four different treadmills and having to ask for help, finally figuring out how to work the radio thingies which enabled me to watch - and listen to - TV for the first time in weeks. Not counting an episode of Chopped over the weekend at a friend's.
Awkward: The painful way pigtails hit your face while Living La Vida Loca in Zumba.
Awesome: Finding a spot next to the only girl in class LESS rhythmic-ly gifted than you. And while I am certainly not one to throw a "You can't Somba" stone, it is nice being reassured that you are not the absolute least gifted "dancer" in all of Central Texas.
Awkward: Looking like a crazy addict hopping from treadmill to treadmill trying to find a TV that worked (before asking for help).
Awesome: Laughing so hard at Parks & Recreation that you didn't care your fellow gym goers thought there was Speed in your Gatorade. Did I mention it’s been weeks since I watched TV?
Awkward: Expecting to show the old folks up in step aerobics, only to discover those grannies can step you under the absurd little tables/benches...
Awesome: Realizing that your gym cares enough to find the very best instructors, and by best I mean they searched the world to find this lady. And let me tell you, when every muscle in your wimpy legs is burning there is nothing like hearing "Push it Momma" screamed at you by a psycho with a microphone and machines for thigh muscles.
Now, I don't have a clue what exciting endeavors you might have bitten off this past week. But I hope with all my 30-year-old heart that you will enjoy every last morsel of what life has to offer.
In my case, it might just be a red velvet cake bite purchased at one of my favorite coffee shops. A cake bite that will totally be worth an extra twenty minutes on the StairMaster Monday. Right?
The new upstairs neighbors, the ones that moved in when the potheadsparty planners got “asked to leave in three days or less,” are probably really nice people. (And I definitely haven't been eating as much junk food since they moved in.)
But, they either lock their dog in the bathroom every morning, or taught him to bark incessantly at intruders.
And, if the latter is the case, they also told their canine companion that intruders look exactly like the minute hand on a clock. Yea. It's sorta a problem.
Well this morning, while brushing my teeth and listening to the imprisoned pooch/vicious guard dog howl and howl and howl at his confined quarters/threatening clock man... I started feeling really sorry for myself.
Afterall, who wants to spend their mornings dealing with such awful racket?
But then, as I spit my Colgate in the sink, I realized there are a lot of worse things to listen to through one’s roof.
Nails on a chalkboard, for instance. Dental tools. Charlie Sheen.
It could be a lot worse, I decided. And I think it’s true.
It could always be so much worse.
And maybe that’s optimism for ya. Not pretending everything is fine. Not sticking one’s fingers in one’s ears and la-la-laling, ignoring all that is wrong with the world.
But hearing that slightly-less-than-joyful noise and realizing it could be worse. It could be five dogs barking me out of bed.
Maybe optimism is listening to the sad/stupid dog crying upstairs and thanking God that it’s not you trapped in a bathroom or frightened by the passing of time. (Hey, my bathroom door remained open at least.)
Anyways, you can ask me tomorrow if this new theory holds true, OR you can just ask my sideways neighbors what they think, since they're the ones that got to listen to my alarm go off at 6, 6:15, 6:21 and 7.
Yesterday I said it's important to be REAL with ourselves, and others.
Today, I'm gonna jump start that scary experiment. Kay?
* This morning I wanted very badly to pull out my own hair. But you should know that this is the reaction I always have to people who don't capitalize book titles, Bible or otherwise. (So, if you see me soon with a growing bald spot in the back of my head be kind. And for Heaven's sake if you're gonna write me something - anything - capitalize the proper nouns.)
* I grabbed lunch at the Pilot (super big gas station) and wondered if the swarm of birds were eating as well... or if maybe they were just there to make the people who paid for car washes feel like idiots.
* Luckily, I never ever pay for car washes, 'cause I'm just extra smart like that. So this made me the slightest bit happy. I'm always a fan of nature encouraging my sloppiness.
* After sitting ALL DAY, this afternoon I decided to go for a walk, around the Gold's Gym parking lot. It wasn't too awkward 'til I passed the front door and had to look at my dirty old tennis shoes while a guy held the door open in vain. Oops.
* For dinner I ate an extra large salad and an even bigger piece of quiche.
* And then tripled the "serving size" of Oreos, as a reward for my brisk 20 minute walk. (Please tell me you portion your Oreos based on rows too?)
* This evening I realized that living alone isn't at all how I remembered. It's not all excitement, and guzzling orange juice out of the bottle. It's a lot of quiet nights (especially since the party planners moved out). And a lot of questioning. And a lot of quiet. (Did I mention that already?)
Don't get me wrong. I'm still very grateful to have a job. And have a "home." And to have utter control of the cable-less tv and all. It's just hard too. Very hard sometimes, and I thought you all should know that.
I think we all should know that LIFE is hard, even for the people who make it look easy.
You know, the ones whose shiny new cars get crapped on by birds at gas stations. :)
Anyways, that's some honesty for ya. I hope you liked it.
This is not about love, sadly. This is just a bonus post, one to commemorate this special season in my life - a terrifying but fascinating time when most everyone and everything around me is NEW.
You don't get a lot of those in life. Completely fresh starts. Walls with no nail holes already in place. Seas of faces without back stories you've known since junior high.
So I want to relish this one - strange as it may be - and tonight I thought I'd do so by telling you what I've gotten to know about my neighbors so far.
As many of you know, my attempt to make friends with my next door neighbors didn't go quite as planned. There was mention of devils and loud music, but nothing about borrowing cups of sugar or having Tupperware parties or any of the other stuff neighbors are suppoed to do (in the 1960s... which is precisely where I live).
Anyways, given the rockey encounter I haven't had a lot of additional contact with my new apartment mates. But, that hasn't stopped me from learning an awful lot about 'em! 'Cause it turns out you don't need introductions when you've got astute powers of observation (and paper thin walls) to go on.
Here's what I've summized so far...
The gentleman next door is a scholar for sure. And a Nobel peace prize winner actually. I know this cause since the price of metals has skyrocketed they've started giving floor mats with peace signs to all the recipients. I'm pretty sure I read that on Yahoo or something. Anyways, his hobbies include bird watching (I hope) and opening and shutting all his cabinet doors in the evenings. I think it's some form of research.
The couple on my other side (the woman I've met and her boo/beau/?) are really sweet people. They've volunteered to raise a two year old AND a band of exotic animals in their one bedroom. Very generous if you ask me. Also, their favorite cd is the soundtrack from True Life... That or they watch a lot of True Life.
Well that... Or I really miss cable.
Now, the folks upstairs are really dedicated professionals. They are event planners by day, and by day I mean 3 a.m. Just last week they were outside my window talking about the importance of beverage selection. Very courteous hosts I'd say. Very.
Now... All my research has made me a bit curious what the neighbors now know about me. So in the spirit of fairness here are a few educated guesses...
Surely they know I am not a morning person (this is easy given the multiple snooze alarms every morning). That and I'm either a film critic or sorely in need of cable, because I come home with bags full of DVDs from Hasting's at least every other day.
I eat a lot of bananas (at least that's what the moving boxes would have indicated). And I am morally opposed to ironing and most forms of laundry. (Spot on there.)
Lastly, given that I genearlly come home with my camera in one hand and a bag of fast food in the other, I am making a much anticipated film sequel, "Really Super Size Me!"
Isn't it fun meeting new people (without saying a word).
I think so.
If I do ever work up the nerve to introduce myself to new people, though, how's this sound?
"Hello, Netcom23. My name is Jennifer. Mind if I use your Wifi?"
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