Monday, July 26, 2010

A Bone to Pick

I have windows in my bedroom. Like most people. I like to sleep with them open, so I can listen to crickets and cars and feel a nice breeze on my face.

Here's what I DON'T like: my (expletive)stupid-face neighbor who cuts down trees with an (expletive) CHAINSAW at (expletive) 7:30 A.M.

I was lying in bed. It was morning. I was tired.

So I was lying there, almost asleep, in my cottony sheets and down comforter. It was a lovely, lovely feeling.

AND THEN, the loudest chainsaw in the entire world started to rev in the house next to me.

At first, I was pretty sure that it would stop (because, really, what needs to be cut down when it's barely light outside yet? Tell me, I dare you). After about a minute it did, and I was allllmoost asleep...

NO, NO I WASN'T, because it started up again. And again and again and again for the next two hours, and I literally almost got out of bed, stood in the middle of my backyard, and yelled "turn off you f****** chainsaw!" at the top of my lungs.

But I didn't. It wouldn't have done any good, and I didn't want to mess with someone holding a chainsaw.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Problems with the Park

Eating in the park is a great idea in theory. Sometimes in real life, but mostly in theory. There's a park right by where I work, and about every other day at 1ish o'clock, I will sprint there as quickly as possible so as to utilize as much of my 25 minute lunch break as I can.

If I don't go to the park, the odds are quite high that I will spend lunch time playing Connect Four with small children and while sitting on a robin-egg blue, child-sized bench. It is also likely that there will be a sixteen-year old boy sitting way too close to me and breathing on my arm. Loudly and through his mouth.

Tangent: I hate bodily noises. Any noises, not just gross ones. I hate coughing. I hate sneezing. I hate, hate, HATE really audible chewing. And mouth breathing. Especially when the mouth-breather is breathing on my upper arm. Frankly, that's just creepy. End tangent.

The problem with eating at the park is that it is full of bugs and wet grass, and lots and lots of homeless men trying to make conversation (not necessarily with me. With anyone, really). The problem with the park is that my nectarine drips down my arm, and I have no napkin. The problem with the park is that there is no comfortable way to sit in the grass, eat multiple pieces of fruit sans napkin, drink a carbonated beverage, and read a book all at the same time and all within a twenty minute time frame (I need the extra five for the sprint back to work.)

Multi-tasking is not my specialty.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Christina Equals Awesome

When I was in Jr. High, we used to have to run a mile in P.E. every week. And it was a big deal. A BIG deal. So big, that it was commonly referred to as "THE MILE." In quotes and capitalized.

Once a week, I would dread it. I dreaded putting on my textured-polyester gym shorts, and my unwashed P.E. shirt, and my knock-off, Payless running shoes (which were always worn without socks, because honestly, who has time for socks?) which smelled like corn chips. I dreaded the rubbery track smell, and I dreaded being the very, very last person to finish. Which I inevitably was because I can't run. I. Can't. Run.

I wish I could. That sure sounds nice.

During the week leading up to "THE MILE" I would sometimes dream about running it. True story. I would dream that I ran it effortlessly and never ran out of breath and that the running would fly by in an instant.

This never happened in real life.

So, now I do other stuff to keep from getting fat. Like walking (this makes me sound like an old person. I know it does, but I accept that! I LIKE to WALK, okay?) and dance classes.

Dance is one of those things that I have a tiny bit of natural talent in, but not enough talent to be really good at it. I'm slightly above average. But not much. It's super fun, though, so I do it.

What I'm trying to say here is that I've discovered a fantastic dance studio, that I am telling every person I meet about because I like it so much. It's in the Industrial District right underneath the Hawthorne Bridge, and the walls are exposed brick adorned with dance-centric graffiti. They offer a burlesque class. I love it more than anything. If there was a dance that I was naturally gifted in, it would be burlesque (I'm not sure that I should be saying this. Is it acceptable to be good at this if one has no intention of being an exotic dancer? Cause I DON'T want to be that.)

My love was confirmed when I discovered that the instructors all call Christina Aguilera just "Christina." I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it means awesome.