I'm not the most athletic person. Seriously. I'm not. I know you find that hard to believe, but it's true. That's why it's so hard for me to believe I really like a certain kind of exercise class. Two words. Boot camp. Yes, boot camp. Usually a military-style kind of exercise class where the instructor takes quite a bit of joy in yelling at his students to "motivate" them. I like the class because it is always different. It doesn't get boring because you aren't always doing the same thing each class. It is the kind of thing where you feel like you are going to die during the class and then afterward you feel great. This boot camp was founded by a gay-Jewish-former-addict-now-sober guy who is apparently a very tough teacher. I haven't taken one of his classes yet. What scared me a little about his classes was learning that if you throw up during the first class you get a free t-shirt. I love a free anything but, c'mon! I'm sticking to the non-hyphenated teachers for now. I survived the first class and have learned something new about myself each class. During the first class I took I learned that I can run on a treadmill for half an hour. During the last class I took I learned that even my shoulders can sweat. Can't wait to see what I learn next week...
It all started because of an egg crate mattress pad. Boy # 1 is going to overnight camp this summer and I wanted to get him a foam mattress pad to put on top of his flimsy little cot mattress. You know, so he'd be more comfortable. Like a 12 year old boy actually cares about stuff like that. Like the foamy egg crate mattress pad is actually going to come out of its wrapping. So I went to one of my favorite stores, Target, for the mattress pad, and a few other things. Well, $250 later, I am back at home, wondering what the hell just happened. I did get a few cleaning supplies, and a really cute workout outfit that I didn't try on--of which at least one piece will probably not be quite right, necessitating another trip to return--and probably make a few more purchases--and the cycle continues.
The masterminds at Target are brilliant, I must admit. Everything there is displayed so nicely. They always have something cute and new and colorful. You will for sure find something there that you never even knew existed yet you realize you need it desperately. Little colorful cubes of dishwashing detergent or cute straw dispensers that would look great on that table in your backyard that you've never served dinner on but probably would if you had a new set of brightly colored plastic plates and, of course, that straw dispenser. And don't forget the red and yellow containers for ketchup and mustard. One more task for your to-do list: "Somehow transfer ketchup and mustard to red and yellow containers." Yeah, right.
But Target and I have such a good relationship that I don't even feel guilty about today. I know we're meant to be together. We have a lot in common. We both like the same things. We've been down this road before, Target and I. I go there, spend a lot, do the drive of shame home, and enjoy my purchases. Then we take a little break from each other. And then, soon, before I even realize it, I'm back ready to do it all over again.
So tonight Mr. Minivan invited 3 business associates over for a little BBQ. I know, I know, what could be more special and more celebratory on Mother's Day than eating char-grilled meat with your husband's business cronies? I mean, anyone can go out and bring home roses. I am so lucky. When I mentioned that that was an unusual way of celebrating--let's face it--this Hallmark holiday--he said the three little words that strike fear into most women's hearts. Yes, he said, "I'll do everything." Yes it's true. AND--the thing is--he actually believes he will. This is a man who proudly tells me he's cleaned up the kitchen when what he really means to say is "I put the dishes in the sink." And then he said, "We'll get ready-made salads." Well, I have a reputation to uphold--business associates or not, and that was not going to fly.
He did go to the store and shop, and he did all the grilling. He also "cleaned up the kitchen". It was actually a very nice evening. Even without the ready-made salads.
I fear that I am becoming one of them. It seems to be happening slowly, almost without my realizing it. Yet I think that's how it works out here. The other day it was 67 degrees outside and I put on a long-sleeved t shirt. Yes. A. Long. Sleeved. T. Shirt. And the thing is, I didn't even realize what was happening until I put it together with a few other clues. I spoke with a friend from Chicago and she told me it was 44 and cold and rainy. And what went through my mind was "Yuck. Who would want to live somewhere where it is 44 and cold and rainy in the middle of May?" OMG!!! I have only been here for a couple of months. My blood is actually starting to thin. But what is even worse is what's happening in my head. Is it possible that there is something in the water here? But here is how I know for sure that something funny is going on. I drove up La Cienega the other day and gazed toward the hills and toward Sunset, the scene of my nightmare come to life, and I thought, "that doesn't look so steep after all." I've got to do something before it's too late to save myself. But I have to run out first. Let me just go grab a sweatshirt to take with me--after all, it is only going to be 70 today.