I love it when people respond to things I write. Partly because that means someone is reading the things I write, and partly because sometimes it gets me candy.
My favorite piece of mail this week came from my friend Miranda, who, in response to a post I wrote, sent me the package in the photo. There was also a book inside of things to do before you turn 30. Many of them I've already done ("write a complaint letter" was one), but there are some I haven't. Perhaps I'll give a few a try before October 19.
After I finish my candy.
I've really been enjoying my new gym.
I've had two sessions now with my personal trainer, Megan, who makes me work but ensures my ability to walk the next day. And I'm loving the pool. I've been swimming more times in the last two weeks than in the last seven years. I'm actually sorry I didn't switch gyms a long time ago.
What I was most excited about was that my new gym holds classes in separate rooms with doors, so that no matter what kind of yelling is going on, you can't hear it on the main floor. Unfortunately, I forgot about what might happen if I actually take a class.
Last night, I took an hour-long cycling class. I'd done the same one (but with a different instructor) last week and left sweaty, hungry and exhausted, so I was looking forward to another great workout last night. It's a good thing I went in so determined.
At the front of the class were three ladies who obviously knew each other and the instructor, at least from class. They bantered with each other, and it was entertaining for a minute, but about five seconds into the warm-up, it got ugly. Ugly and loud.
That's right, they began shrieking.
I thought The Shrieking Machine of my old gym was bad, but here there were three of them, plus the instructor! She would say something, and they would shriek in response. It was as if the instructor was Diana Ross and these three were her Supremes. Except instead of singing delightful Motown tunes, these three were just screaming. They weren't even saying words. I kind of wanted to get up and leave, but I would have felt self-conscious so I rode it out, literally.
Throughout the class, I got used to the shrieking. And to their credit, these ladies at least howled with the beat of the music. But I still don't understand the point. That class was tough; it took a lot of energy to do some of the stuff she was having us do, and all that yelling had to have taken up quite a bit of energy too, not to mention breath.
So I guess I won't let myself be deterred just yet. I got a great workout, so I think I'll continue taking the class. And who knows...maybe someday, I'll learn to accept the shrieking.
Or, I'll just switch to a class where the students are a little more reserved.
Until recently, I had a blog with a list of 30 things I intended to do before I reached age 30 and entries about what I did to complete those goals. I deleted the blog when I realized two things. One, I'm probably not going to get them all done by my birthday, which is October 19. And two, I really don't care.
I'm a little disappointed that I didn't finish what I started, but the truth is, there weren't that many things on the list that I really, truly wanted to do. Many of them were just there because I needed 30 things and couldn't think of anything good to add to the list (which I only spent a week or so compiling). That said, I did learn a few things while I worked on ticking off the tasks I cared enough about to complete, or attempt to complete.
1. Donating to charities really does feel good, and what you give comes back to you in the way of address labels and solicitations for more money.
2. It's harder to come up with self-indulgent things to do than you would think.
3. Scrambled eggs with stuff in them is just as good as a well-made omelet.
4. The Montoursville Area School District failed me by not putting "The Catcher In The Rye" on its list of required literature. I should have read that book years ago.
5. The gym is NOT the place to work on learning the words to "Baby Got Back," particularly when your gym is full of ladies who pack much back.
6. There are things I care about a lot more than the things I used to care about, and there are things I want much more than the things I used to want.
That last one makes me feel like maybe I'm not such a failure at having abandoned my project and deleted the blog. I started the whole thing because I wanted to get myself ready for was to be the grown-up stage of my life -- the Summer, if you will. What I found out was that I'm already there. Some of the things I wanted to do were things I cared about a long time ago, but not now, and attempting to fulfill them made me feel like I was regressing, not moving forward.
So now, in the last not-quite-two-months before I turn 30, I plan to complete only the tasks I care enough about to remember what they are. For example, I fully intend to travel to the top of the Sears Tower, and I intend to (brag that I will) perform "Baby Got Back" while at the top (and completely chickening out once I'm up there).
And I WILL make it to Wisconsin. I had a dream last night that I actually got there. I was driving, but I'd missed my exit or something and had to turn around, but first, I decided to stop for fuel. I saw a gas station up ahead and, as I was getting ready to pull into the entrance, noticed a sign welcoming me to Wisconsin. I filled up my tank and congratulated myself on accidentally driving into the Badger State. Somewhere, I even picked up (well, stole from the side of the road, but I can admit it, because this was a dream and not real life) a gigantic three-dimensional Wisconsin-shaped road sign, which I intended to use as a mold for my 30th birthday cake.
Side note: I am thinking a Wisconsin-shaped birthday cake might actually be a fantastic idea, firstly because I've been talking for six years about traveling there, despite everyone I know telling me it's "only OK," and also because I would, in effect, be eating the dairy state to celebrate completing the year in which I stopped eating dairy. That kind of irony is usually only found in great works of literature or on Three's Company.
So I guess it has been a good year for learning life lessons. I am tinkering with the idea of making a 40 Things To Do Before I'm 40 list. With 10 years to complete the tasks, I'll be able to list things that are a little deeper than learning to cook something new or memorizing offensive novelty rap songs. Then again, I wonder if the things I would list today would still resonate with me in two, five, nine years. Still, I like the idea of having a long-term project and a milestone birthday as the day to launch it. So I guess the one big thing left for me to do before I turn 30 is something that wasn't even on my list before -- come up with a new project that I care enough about to complete.
1. Colgate Total -- I have long sung the praises of this fantastic toothpaste that not only makes my mouth feel clean but keeps it feeling clean until the next time I eat. I once wrote a letter to the company telling them how much I liked it (I write nice consumer letters too, you know). I was kind of hoping they'd send me some free toothpaste, but they didn't.
2. Tofutti products -- The company's founder, David Mintz, initially started working with tofu as a way to keep kosher, but the fruits of his labor have long benefited the lactose intolerant as well. All of the Tofutti products I've had have been pretty good, close enough to the real thing that in a few years I probably won't remember what the real thing tastes like anymore.
3. Pantene spray conditioner -- For years, I searched in vain for a product that made my hair soft and shiny. I asked a coworker, whose wife had lovely hair, if he knew what she used, and he told me about this product. Since then, even with my worst haircuts and dye jobs, I've had silky locks with a fabulous shine.
4. Mentos -- I don't think I've ever actually had Mentos, but I would like to do one of those commercials where I'm in a tough situation, pop a Mentos and quickly solve the problem, afterward turning to the camera with a triumphant smile.
5. Lion Brand Homespun Yarn -- It's a nice yarn, and since Vanna White has her own yarn, maybe it's time for other yarns to have spokespeople.
It didn't hit me until the other night when I was leaving the gym and thought I caught a glimpse of Didn't-Bother-To-Brush-Her-Hair-But-Did-Take-
The-Time-To-Put-On-Tights-Yes, Tights Lady (turned out it wasn't her though) that I realized that the members of my new gym all seem pretty normal.
Sure, there are a couple of guys who wear Speedos in the pool, but they actually seem like athletic swimmer types.
Crap. I wonder if this means I'm going to be the one people make fun of at this gym. Guess I'd better go get myself some tights.
While perusing the Internet this morning looking for useless information, I came upon this tidbit: Johnny Depp and Tim Burton are rumored to have teamed up for a movie based on the 1960s TV show Dark Shadows. In the movie, set (well, rumored) for release in 2010, Depp will play the smooth yet deadly vampire Barnabas Collins.
I couldn't be more excited about this. It's about time Dark Shadows came back for another go-round, and Johnny Depp will make a great Barnabas. I just hope they keep the campy quality of the original show. They could do something about the costumes, though; some of the stuff people wore looked like someone's home economics project.
Ow.
Earlier this week, my husband and I joined a gym. We've both belonged to separate gyms for years now, but since my gym was a bare bones women only facility and his had so few machines that he always had to wait for one, we decided to join a gym together that had everything we wanted.
With our membership, we each are entitled to one free session with a personal trainer, and yesterday, I went in for mine. After a brief question-and-answer period (When was the last time you had the ideal body you wanted? As if to say I ever did!) and a body fat analysis, we got to work. The trainer decided to start with my legs and threw me right into doing lunges while lifting weights over my head. From there, we moved on to squats, then squats with a bar, then to leg presses.
Side note: The trainer's name is Buddy. What a laugh that is.
When we sat down to discuss further training, I wasn't sure I would be able to get up. For the rest of yesterday, every time I had to stand up, sit down or go up or down stairs, I had to hold onto something. I went to get a manicure and almost fell out of the chair when I sat down. (In my defense, the chair was on wheels, and the floor was tile.) And today, I can't take a step without feeling like someone has removed all the muscles from my legs and replaced them with tree bark. I try to stay in one position as long as possible; if I'm standing, I stay standing, and if I'm sitting I don't get up till I know there's somewhere to go.
The truth is, I really do need the help. I'm not obese; I'm not unhealthy, but my body fat is higher than it should be, and besides, someday, I'd like to be able to have an answer for that ideal body question besides "infancy." But isn't exercise supposed to feel good? I hope that at some point it does, because my birthday is coming up, and it would really suck if, when people ask what I want, I'd have to say "one of those high toilet seats."
It's a good thing I'm not really a customer service superhero, because the tabloids would be having a field day right now.
Yesterday, I was out shopping on my lunch hour and decided to buy a shirt. When the clerk rang it up, the price was about seven dollars more than the sale price I'd seen listed on the rack. That happens fairly often in this store, but the clerks never you give you a hard time when you bring it up, so I mentioned the price difference to him and he re-rang it at the lower price.
Today, I went back to the same store and, just for the heck of it, cruised by the rack where the shirt I bought was displayed and checked the price. It turns out, I was the one who had been wrong. The more expensive price had been correct; I must have been looking at the wrong sign or the wrong listed price.
The shirt was kind of overpriced even at what I paid, but I still felt bad. I guess if I felt bad enough, I would return the shirt, get what I paid back, then re-buy the same shirt at the more expensive price, but that would be a little excessive, I think. But I had to clear my shopping karma somehow, so I bought another shirt, this one also overpriced, and paid what it was actually supposed to cost.
My friend Miranda was telling me last week that she reads this blog often and started watching Dirty Sexy Money because I mentioned here that I was interested in watching it.
So I just wanted to take this opportunity to say hi to my good friend Miranda and also to point out that I've also been thinking of mailing me some candy, like an extra large bag of Starbursts.
This list was inspired by a photo a coworker's husband, who is an iron worker, sent her today from the top of the not-yet-finished third highest building in Chicago. I got to thinking how they couldn't pay me enough spend day after day up that high -- especially after my coworker told me they often have to climb ladders and scaffolds all the way up -- and decided to make a list (in no particular order) of other things I would never want to do for a living.
1. Police officer
2. Firefighter
3. Colonoscopy technician
4. Doctor of any sort, except maybe eye, because that's probably not too gross
5. Costumed character at Chuck E. Cheese or similar establishment
6. Kindergarten teacher (or basically anything to do with children, unless I could be Santa Claus, because if he outsources the whole mall thing, he doesn't have to see kids at all)
7. Amusement park worker (children again, and the possibility of having to clean up vomit)
8. Personal assistant
9. Nun (though I do like the idea of not having to decide what to wear every day)
10. Trash collector
11. Any math related job
12. Laundress, particularly for an athletic team
13. Gangsta rapper
14. Wedding coordinator (unless I could just do whatever I wanted without having to consult the happy couple)
15. Cab driver
16. Clown
17. Publicist
18. Port-a-Potty porter
19. Racecar driver/mechanic/anything to do with racing or cars in general
20. Clyde Peeling
21. Anyone who works at a mall kiosk and has to chase down unsuspecting shoppers in the name of selling cell phones/hair straighteners/skin care products/rice with stuff written on it/etc.
22. Beekeeper
23. Reality TV show host
24. Mover
25. Traffic reporter
Thanks to social networking Web site (read: time suck) Facebook and its Stage Door application, I now have a running record of all the plays I've ever seen or worked on.
While I was going through the list of shows yesterday, however, I noticed quite a few I was cast in but had never made it to the stage for one reason or another. Since Stage Door has no "almost, but not quite" category, I thought I'd list them here.
Goin' Steady for Naught -- I was cast as the mayor's wife in "Bye Bye Birdie" when I was in high school, but right when rehearsals started, I had an out-of-town choir thing and a vacation pretty much back to back. I don't remember if I quit or was un-cast, but either way, I never got my big moment of fainting.
Farewell, Mein Lieber Show -- One of the shows I would absolutely love to act in is "Cabaret," and I almost got my chance in 2002 when I was offered the part of a Kit Kat Girl Unfortunately, rehearsals began at the exact same time I got off work, in a town 40 minutes away. I had to turn down the part, and while I was bummed to miss out on the show, I heard terrible things about it, so in retrospect I'm not all that sorry.
I Do...Not! -- Before I started hating weddings, I was cast in a production of "Tony 'n Tina's Wedding" in 2002 as the groom's father's girlfriend (who happened to be the star performer at the groom's father's strip club). The script called for me to dance on the bar and leave the wedding with the best man, really classy stuff. I'm not sure what happened, but after one or two rehearsals, the show fell apart. I think it had something to do with the venue falling through. Side note: The next wedding I attended, I actually did dance on the bar, with the bride and other bridesmaids. Not all it's cracked up to be. It was actually pretty scary, as the bar was shaky, and there were like five of us up there. But at least I could say I've danced on a bar. I did not, however, leave with the best man.
Some Doll -- In 2005, a friend and I auditioned for a production of "Guys and Dolls." Once I got to the audition, I found out that the rehearsal schedule conflicted with my work schedule. I auditioned anyway, and I was offered a part of "a Doll" (which I guess they just thought sounded better than ensemble). I'm not above being in the ensemble, but I wasn't going to mess with my work schedule so I could sing one song and walk across the stage a couple of times, so I declined. It ended up being a good thing, as within a month or so, I was starting to date my now-husband and wouldn't have wanted to devote all that time to a show when I could have been making googly eyes at my new boyfriend. It wasn't for nothing, however -- my friend was cast (and performed) as a Hot Box Dancer, and a group of us went to see the show. I told my beau about the whole casting thing, and to this day, he calls me Doll.
Never Before Has A Cast Wanted More -- Earlier this year, I auditioned for a production of "Oliver!" and was offered a part in the ensemble. Again, I'm not above being in the ensemble (goodness knows I'm not a fantastic singer), but for this particular production, I wasn't really interested in rehearsing two evenings and one weekend day every week to stand in the back. I turned down the part and, oddly, was then offered a better one. But I still wasn't interested, so the production went on without me.
What is your occupation?
I am an editor for a publishing company and a freelance writer.
What color are your socks right now?
Each pair is the same color it's always been, but if you mean the socks that are currently on my feet, you're out of luck, because my feet are bare.
What are you listening to right now?
My husband commentate on the Sox/Cubs game.
What was the last thing you ate/drank?
Shortbread cookies and lemonade.
Can you drive a stick shift?
I learned how, but I haven't actually driven a stick shift on the road more than once, and that was six years ago, so I'm gonna go with no.
Last person you spoke to on the phone?
I'm going to ignore that that's not actually a question and answer the question it should be. The answer is Marla. I needed a good gift suggestion.
Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Very much.
How old are you today?
29, all day long.
What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?
Yeah, right.
What is your favorite drink?
Iced tea.
Have you ever dyed your hair?
Many times. And I'd like to extend a big thank-you to whoever wrote this survey and spelled dyed correctly.
Favorite Food?
Chicken paprikash.
What is the second to last movie you watched?
Love in the Time of Cholera
Favorite day of the year?
December 23
How do you vent anger?
I whine and bitch. But I know how annoying that is, so I think from now on, I'm going to dance Kevin Bacon style when I'm angry.
What was your favorite toy as a child?
I'd say my stuffed pig, Roger Bacon, but he wasn't so much of a toy as a friend. My favorite toys were probably my sister's. Her stuff always seemed way cooler than mine.
What is your favorite season?
Fall
Cherries or Blueberries?
Blueberries if we're talking actual fruit. But I like cherry flavored candy and prefer it when any liquid medicine I take is cherry flavored.
When was the last time you cried?
This afternoon.
What is on the floor of your closet?
Shoes and my laundry basket.
What did you do last night?
My husband and I went to a barbecue, which was super fun. And the best part was, it was close enough for us to ride our bikes, which was also super fun.
Nails painted or plain?
My toes are always painted, except sometimes in the winter if I'm lazy and no one will be seeing my feet. My fingers are painted probably half the time.
What are you most afraid of?
Being maimed.
Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers?
Plain, but I enjoy spicy sometimes.
Favorite dog Breed?
Boston terriers, especially my peanut girl.
Favorite day of the week?
Friday, especially because I usually don't have to work.
How many states have you lived in?
Two
What makes you happy?
Stella
Favorite outfit right now?
I'm not at all good with clothes, and since I have a casual dress code for work, I pretty much wear jeans every day. I have nothing cute. So my favorite outfit is pajamas, because they are the most comfortable and I'm always relaxing at home when I have them on.
I think maybe I should change the name of this blog to The Angry Consumer, because I often find myself fighting the good fight in the name of not spending money on goods and services that were not up to par.
I see myself sort of like Xena, Warrior Princess, except with a pen instead of a sword (and we all know which of those is mightier) battling stores and services providers instead of Greek gods (or whatever it is Xena battled). I know I'm more like the annoying old lady people refund just to get her to shut up, but hey, whatever gets results is fine with me.
Here's a little about my current battle: Earlier this spring, my husband and I signed up for a dog park in our area. It cost $60 -- which seemed steep for the right to enter a fenced-in patch of grass, but whatever -- but we didn't mind paying it because we were really excited to have a safe place to let Stella run off-leash. We really enjoyed taking her there, and she seemed to enjoy going...until we took a good look around and noticed how badly the place is kept.
The problem, in a word, is poop. There are signs posted at the entrance telling dog owners to pick up after their pets, but never once have I actually seen someone doing so; most of the owners are too busy socializing with each other to notice what their dogs are leaving behind. The park district doesn't seem to care much either; I'm sure they would clean up whatever a picnicking family left behind at one of the people parks, but the keep-parks-clean rule apparently doesn't apply when it comes to dogs. Most of the times we've been there, we've spent more time chasing Stel away from droppings than actually playing with her.
I e-mailed the park district and very politely explained that a grassy patch full of dog poop and vomit (yes, vomit) was not what I was expecting for my sixty bucks and nicely asked for a refund, even if it was a partial one. Today (eight days later), they sent a curt reply telling me that the dog park is clean and we will not be refunded.
Well then. Thanks for the kind explanation, park district. I'm glad to know that the huge piles of poo were all in my imagination. I'm so embarrassed to have told you the park was poorly kept when it very clearly was not. I guess I'll just let the thing drop.
I don't know who these people think they're dealing with, but I've won battles against UPS and Sam's Club; I can certainly take down a park district. Yes, yes, it's sixty bucks, not a million, but I am so offended by their response to my (very polite) e-mail message that I'm even angrier than I was before.
Stay tuned for the next installment in this enthralling story.
Since I stopped eating dairy, I haven't missed all that many foods, thanks to fantastic substitutes.
There have been two things, however, that I love too much in the real form to be able to accept in any non-dairy form. The first thing is pizza, because soy and rice cheese tastes like glue, and because pizza without cheese doesn't taste enough like pizza to quell my craving. The other thing is ice cream. There are, of course, fine milk substitutes out there; I use soy milk on a daily basis. But it doesn't quite measure up when you're looking for the creamy, fatty goodness that real milk brings to ice cream.
As the days get sunnier and the weather gets warmer, I can't help but wish I could eat some ice cream. I've had soy ice cream before, and it was alright. It's decent as a frozen treat, but it offers about the same level of satisfaction as real ice cream that comes out of a container boasting "75% less fat."
But ice cream is part of summer, and if I'm going to enjoy my summer, I'm gonna need a scoop once in awhile. So I decided the other day to find out how to make non-dairy ice cream at home. After all, I have a hardly-used ice cream maker that I got as a wedding gift just waiting for its chance to please.
A quick Google search lead me to this blog, which features all sorts of ice cream recipes for vegans. I am not a vegan, of course, but I have become very grateful to those folks who are, because they provide me with some great recipes. The blog ended up being quite the jackpot for me and earned a coveted place among my bookmarks.
I decided to start with something relatively easy and go with cookies and cream. I altered it a little bit; it called for two tablespoons of arrowroot, and I wasn't quite sure what that was or where to find it, so instead, I used corn starch, which the blog owner had mentioned as a possible alternative. I also couldn't find soy coffee creamer, so I used coconut milk, which gives the soy ice cream that thick, creamy quality that you get in the real thing.
I was a little concerned about whether the stuff would freeze properly -- I've had trouble with that even when I've made real ice cream -- but it froze like a dream and tasted great too. My only complaint is that it tastes like coconut, which isn't necessarily what you want when you're eating cookies and cream, so I think I'll have to look a little harder for the soy creamer next time I make a flavor that doesn't lend itself to a coconutty taste.
All in all, however, I am very pleased at the way my experiment turned out, and even more pleased that my Hershey's syrup and sprinkles will not go to waste this summer.
I don't begrudge Harrison Ford and the rest of the Indiana Jones gang whatever success they may have, but I really wish that the release of the new movie didn't mean the theme song had to be played on every freakin' commercial.
I can't get the tune out of my head today, and it's driving me nuts. It would be fine if I had a cool, adventurous job, but it's not great background music for someone who spends her day writing letters and copyediting.
Semi-colons! Why did it have to be semi-colons?
Yeah, doesn't work.
I have a thing about lists. Always have, really. I feel like it's a good way to take stock of things, or to plan things. When you have it all written out in front of you, you can't forget anything.
Every year when summer rolls around, I say I'm going to do wonderful, outdoorsy summer things and then never do. Summers in Chicago are hot, sticky and gross, and once the one week of nice weather is over, all I want to do is sit in an air conditioned room and read.
But if I make a list of things to do, I will most certainly do them. And after this past winter and all its cold and snow, I really need to get out. So here is my list of summery things that I will do this season.
1. Take many, many rides on my new bike. At least two a week.
2. Take Stella for a lot of walks and to the dog park at least once a week. This one will have to depend on weather, though, because with her smooshy face, Stel can't handle too much heat and humidity. Plus she's had a little tummy trouble lately, so she's laying low for a little while at least.
3. Eat at least one meal a month outside. This actually doesn't sound like much, but since I have no space to eat outside at home, it takes a special effort to do so.
4. Sit on my balcony with my husband, just like we say we will every nice day and then forget about when we get involved in doing other things.
5. Go to an outdoor event, like a concert or movie in the park.
6. Use my homegrown herbs in my cooking as much as possible.
7. Go to the local pool. I'm normally not a local pool kind of gal -- a backyard in-ground pool was the one big luxury I had growing up -- but it's half-price in the evenings, and I love to swim, so maybe it's time to get used to sharing water with other people.
8. Go hiking. My husband and I will be spending a week in the woods of Pennsylvania at the end of July, so that one shouldn't be a problem.
9. See a summer blockbuster when the weather gets unbearable.
10. Find a dairy-free alternative to ice cream that I can have as a refreshing summer treat.
Last night, I bought my very first brand new bicycle.
After my shopping excursion and ride on Sunday, I was more convinced than ever that I should take the leap and buy a bike. I had found a few I really liked, but the price was just a tad high, and I could get virtually the same thing for less. Everyone was out of the lesser model but told me to check back in a few days, so yesterday, I made some calls and made an upsetting discovery.
Apparently, the reason everyone was out of the model I wanted was that a new 2009 model will be coming out in the next few months, and when they're gone, they're gone. (Why no one bothered to tell me that on Sunday, I'm not sure, but that's neither here nor there right now.) One store I called had a men's model of the bike I wanted, but no one had a women's in the right size. Another place told me I was welcome to place an order for the 2009 model; it will be coming out in a month or two, he said, and after that, it will be a five-to-six week wait. Well, by then, summer will be practically over. I decided to go back to the shop where I'd tried the more expensive bikes and simply buy one of those.
I was sharing my findings with my husband, and he asked why I didn't just buy the men's bike. "Don't most women buy men's bicycles anyway?" he asked. I brushed him off, partly because I didn't see any reason it would be true, and partly because I was already on the way to a different place. But out of curiosity, when I arrived at the bike shop, I asked the guy who was helping me.
Turns out my husband was right. Women do prefer men's bikes, the bike shop guy said, because the only difference is that the top bar goes straight across, and because it forms more of a triangle with the other pieces, it is more stable and makes for a better ride. And it just so happened that they, too, had the less expensive bicycle in a men's.
I took it. And I'm so glad I did. As soon as I got home from the shop, I took a short spin around my neighborhood, and I really enjoyed myself. It's much more comfortable than my husband's bike (probably because this one has been adjusted just for me), and it was a really smooth ride.
Unfortunately, there's rain in the weather forecast for the next several days, so I'm not sure how much time I will be spending with my new bike (who, by the way, has yet to be named). But just in case, I'm printing out maps of all the bike trails in my area so that as soon as it's dry, I can hit the ground pedaling.
I had the most delicious dream last night.
Every once in awhile, I have a dream that stays with me for a day or so, either because it's just so awful or just so wonderful. This was one of the latter. In this dream, I got to do something that I haven't been able to do for a very long time and may not be able to do again.
I ate thin, greasy pizza.
I know it sounds like a silly thing to dream, but since I cut back drastically on dairy almost a year ago, and cut it out completely soon thereafter, I have found that there's nothing I miss more than pizza. There are acceptable dairy-free substitutes for milk, butter and even sour cream, but I have not yet found a dairy-free cheese that I like. And even if I could find one, I'd have to make my pizza at home; I couldn't exactly take the stuff to my local pizza place and ask them for a large pie with pepperoni and soy.
And eating the real thing every once in awhile isn't really an option. Once a month or so, I'll allow myself a cookie made with real butter or a handful of milk chocolate candy, but pizza was almost too much for me even when I ate dairy regularly. I wouldn't dare touch the stuff now.
But in the dream, I dug right in. I heaped a plate with two gigantic pieces of pizza and took big, cheesy bites with reckless abandon. I kept explaining to people that eating this pizza didn't matter; I think I must have realized I was dreaming, and I'd better take the chance while I had it.
I feel a little silly (if not gluttonous) that a dream of eating pizza is the one I wish would come back. But hey, if delicious dairy is the thing I wish for most right now, I guess life can't be so bad, right?
Yesterday, I went for my first bicycle ride in approximately 15 years. Surprisingly, it wasn't quite as dicey (read: disastrous) as I thought it might be.
As I've shared before on this blog, I grew up in a house on a hill, on a road with no berm. It wasn't exactly the best place to be riding a bicycle. Hence, I never had a bike of my own; I rarely rode, so a hand-me-down bicycle* was good enough. The last time I remember riding a bike at all was when I was 14; I spent the summer babysitting two boys, ages 7 and 9. Their mother had bought us all passes to the local pool and offered up her bicycle for me to ride there. I took it once, but it was such an old, ugly, clunky thing that for the rest of the summer, I walked.
For the past few years, though, I've been thinking about getting a bike to ride around my neighborhood as a way to enjoy the summer sunshine. I went looking once last year, but nothing fruitful came of it, and I kind of set the idea aside until the weather got nice this spring.
Yesterday, I went out looking again. My sister-in-law had encouraged me to try a specialty bicycle shop, because although I may pay more than I'd pay at a chain store, I would get a better product and something more suited to my individual needs, as well. I visited two places, and it seems that all of their "entry level" bicycles had been moved the day before. (I guess I wasn't the only one motivated by the warm, sunny weather this weekend.) I went to a couple of chain stores too, but what I found wasn't a whole lot cheaper, and without someone telling me the difference between this model and that model, I didn't feel comfortable buying something I might not want to use just to save a little money.
Still, after a day of bicycle shopping, I was really in the mood for a ride, so I borrowed my husband's bike and took a half-hour spin around the neighborhood. I was pretty wobbly at first, and a little nervous about steering, braking, etc. I mean, I was half the age I am now last time I took a bike ride. But once I'd gone a block or so, I'd pretty much gotten the hang of things. I'm not exactly ready for the Tour de France (or even the Tour de Tinley), but I got home without cracking my skull, so I'm going to count the outing as a step in the right direction.
*My sister had a beautiful ten-speed racing bike that she got brand new, but the only reason for that was because she had won it in an essay contest. For her essay, she had written about why our family was the healthiest in our county. My parents -- who both smoked at the time -- laughed when our family made the finals, and probably laughed even harder when we won. I'm sure it was my mother's all-five-food-groups-at-the-dinner-table rule (the regular four food groups plus something that goes in a little dish beside your plate) that pushed us over the edge.
I'm not normally one to condone violence, but I can't help siding with the man who took out his aggressions on a dude at the gym shouting things during a spin class. I want to write him a fan letter, I like him so much.
I hope The Shrieking Machine (who still visits my gym from time to time, but usually not when I'm there) took heed of this news story. When people work out, they want to be in their own worlds. They want to zone out from the rest of the world and concentrate on their bodies, to sweat away the stress of the everyday. Someone yelling "you go girl" during your workout does not lend itself to such zoning.
I would imagine, however, that kicking the ass of the person who is yelling "you go girl" is very satisfying, and probably a good workout to boot. The way I see it, it's a win-win for everyone but the person whose ass gets kicked, but let's face it, that person has it coming.
I love it when people respond to things I write. Partly because that means someone is reading the things I write, and partly because sometimes it gets me candy.
