 Itching and Shopping |
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We've been enjoying really glorious warm weather the past week, but the downside is that THE MOSQUITOES HAVE HATCHED. They are suddenly everywhere, and I guess they're here to stay. I stepped outside for 2.2 seconds earlier to fill the dogs' water bowl, and I came back inside with five bites on places ranging from my inner thighs, my shoulders, and behind my ear. You can actually see them swarming in the air like gnats. I guess that is the price we pay for having spring come the first week of March. On Friday night, I went to the hospital to see my co-worker who had a baby that morning, and he was adorable even though he had scratched up his little red cheeks so badly with his fingernails that they had to put booties on his hands. I then went to Target and spent too much money as usual. On Saturday, I got up and went to a morning yoga class and then went to Lowe's to buy some new grass seed for my front yard and to Old Navy where I spent $100 in such a dissatisfying shopping spree that I went to the outlet store the next day to see if I could get anything for cheaper -- and not only did I not see anything I had bought at the retail store, I spent $275 more, actually giving into the 10% savings they offer desperately at every turn by opening a damn credit account. I always say no because I need a credit card like I need a hole in my head, but the savings in this case could not be denied. I bought these pants in khaki and gray, this mini-skirt, these denim capris in TWO SHADES (??), these khaki capris, two belts, this shirt in blue and blue floral, some flip flops, this workout top in black, these shorts in gray, this button down shirt in white, blue, and pink stripes, two short-sleeved sweaters, myriad other items, and well, you name it, and I probably bought it. There was neither rhyme nor reason. But here's the part during which I truly scared myself. I actually tried on this shirt because I thought it was something Seth Cohen might wear. Or like me to wear. I had to call a friend at this point to confess this to her, and she told me to back slowly away from my reflection in the mirror and step out of the dressing room. Thank God that I did, otherwise I might have officially lost my grip on reality. I threw down the new seed which is mixed with this weird mulch that looks like bright blue attic insulation, so now I have a very psychedelically blue yard front yard. I am watering it twice daily for three weeks in the hopes that actual grass will grow and the dirt pit will cease to be such an eyesore. On Saturday night, I got Thai take-out and rented The School of Rock, which was so funny that I about TT-ed on myself. I had to go into work Sunday afternoon, but I made it home in time for Alias, which had me screaming, "I HATE HER!" about Lauren on the phone with Karla. After a few consecutive days of sour skittles gluttony, I developed a blister in my mouth and hauled my ass to the gym this morning in penance. I've been reading The Da Vinci Code on the elliptical, and even though it regularly makes me roll my eyes so far back in my head that I fear the force will propel me backwards in flight, it's definitely a good page turner and time suck while I'm panting, and I'm finding myself getting wrapped up in spite of myself in all of the conspiracies and histories and codes. And don't you know that I looked up The Last Supper painting on the Internet this morning like a big dork. The gym continues to be an alternately pleasant and horrifying experience. The only real enjoyable aspects are my mp3 player and whatever book I'm reading on the elliptical, because it mostly just stinks. As in, that is one malodorous establishment. One thing I miss about an all-women gym is that, generally speaking, women do not work up the stinky froth that men tend to, at least in my olfactory experience. It's all I can do sometimes not to gag when certain smellmeisters are hoofing next to me on the treadmill. It's painful. I see myself in the mirror and know I have a squinched up, agonized expression on my face, and I hope people assume it's because I'm in so much pain (which is possible) and not because I think they smell like day-old bung. Which they do. I am having a sick kind of fun trying to lift weights, though. This morning as I did the triceps and wanted to quit, I thought to myself, "Tank top, tank top, tank top," and somehow I was able to grimace through the end of the set. And as I did the outer thigh machine, I felt like mine were about to burst into flame, but "Wig in a Box" was playing, and I reminded myself that John Cameron Mitchell would look better in my new mini-skirt than I do, and so I must persevere! Whatever works, I guess. I'm not seeing any real results yet, but it's probably because of the candy orgy I've been having at work with Girl Scout cookies on top. I had my first Thin Mint (okay, Thin Mints) yesterday and I practically fainted from the heavenliness. Meanwhile, Shelley had to go and tell me about mint chocolate cookie ice cream, which I know I'm going to end up buying with the excuse that it's for St. Patrick's Day, and which means she is the devil. Speaking of ... the parade is Saturday! I could always hang out around my house and watch it from the neighborhood and walk from party to party full of toddlers and face painting, but I think instead my co-worker and I are going to walk from my house to the bars and just get into the nitty gritty dirty thick of things like the good old days. A large raspberry margarita from the burrito place is already calling my name. My new next-door neighbors already have a huge float with a port-a-potty in it sitting in their front yard. I asked one of them when it pulled up what it said on the side, because it was too dark outside to see, and he muttered, "Uh, something about a hog." In the morning light, I saw that it said, "Wanna touch my HOG?" and then on the other side, "PIE PIE PIE." It is painted in tiger stripes in Mardi Gras colors and really makes no sense for a family St. Patrick's Day parade. Awesome. I have to go apply some topical benadryl to my mosquito welts now.
About this time in ...
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