Sunday, February 27, 2011


When we last met I was about to begin my sojurn in to the world of fitness.  I've been pretty good.  That is to say one day I walked to the gym and rode the bike for five minutes more than before, walked home, remembered I'd left my house keys at the gym, walked back, picked up the keys walked home, then walked to the mailbox thingy down the street, walked back and then pushed the ghetto manuel lawn mower, that Steve thought would be perfect for our purposes, around for awhile then collapsed on the couch virtually unconscious for several hours, coming to for pathetic nibbles of chocolate only to collapse again...And again...And again.  If you will review your notes, you'll find that the ultimate expectation of the exercise regime was to be able to eat as much chocolate as I wanted.  I don't believe the offset balances are tipping towards the losing side yet.  Seeing how the next day it was raining I drove to the gym and rode the bike again for another five minutes longer than before and drove home and pushed the vacuum around for a very long time.  A very long time because of the horrid dogs who with all their myriad of other sins also shed...copiously.  Not as bad as my friend Chris's dogs who in one swipe turned my chic black jeans to a costume worthy of Chewbaca, but pretty bad nonetheless.    So here we were on to Wednesday and now the dreaded second of my two free assessments of body awareness.  The same bionic academy grad. took me through my paces.  First a light warm up session on the bike, not.  Then a wonderland worthy trip through the weight room and all the various instruments of torture that lurked there.  To make a long story short(er), bionic woman (loosely interpreted) had designed a routine for me that variously and completely wore out every muscle group in this hereto for placid body.  I have to do leg presses, chest presses, leg extensions (single leg & both) the row machine, straight leg (appropriately named) dead lifts with  dumb bells, also appropriately named, abdominal crunches, hip adductions and abductions and the tricep extension machine thing.  All in all from one point to another I will lift or push or pull over 800 pounds per session.  If I count correctly.  Sometimes that is hard if blood is coming out your eyes.  Or if you are pathetic.  Or if there is a gross, ugly, fat guy with way to much crackage and body hair following you around your routine.  But that would never happen...would it?

I'm trying to sell my cross country saddle.  I love the saddle, but I'm not sure I need it and I love my regular jump saddle.  Now those of you who don't ride, and even some of you who do are wondering WTF do you need two saddles for jumping?  Well I thought I did, and I did use the cross country saddle when I competed or schooled cross country and now since I don't have a horse to put it on, it sits atop the sewing machine cover and I think perhaps I will sell it.  And get my hair cut with the proceeds.  Anyway, the saddle is for sale and I had the opportunity to take it to Berekely last week to loan it out for trial.  Now I'm asking a pretty fair price for the saddle but in 1974, we bought a car for what I want for it and took three years to pay it off.  So it was a bit of a sticky wicket as to how to loan the saddle to someone I didn't know.  I thought it would be a good idea to get a cashiers check, but the lady reminded me that that would be just like having cash.  ?? No problem from my side, but since on the other hand she didn't know me either, she thought perhaps a little security for her was in order.  Even though she had the saddle. Whatev.  So I ended up calling a friend of her trainer and getting a personal endorsement, took a personal check from her and then took myself off to lunch with the daughter of Steve.  To celebrate my big sale and business acumen we doodled around and shopped a bit and got our brows done and looking much fresher and younger we went our separate ways she to the land of booklearning and me to my new routine at the g.y.m..

As fate would have it the saddle did not fit the girl so I had another opportunity to drive to Berekely on Friday to pick it up.  Had no lunch and zoomed back home after a brief respite at R.E.I. to salivate over an ArcTeryx jacket that I now could not afford since I had to give the check back.  Manned up and left to go home and mope and then drive to the gym, (I was short on time) work out on the treadmill (a new aspect to fitness) AND the bike then shakily drive home only to leave again to go pick up grandson and carpool at snooty academy in Sacramento and ferry them back to Woodland where they were deposited at their various places of drop off and then waited patiently at my daughters house for her to come home and feed me wine.  She was late. 

Now I store a ton of horse and stable stuff at the daughter and son-in-laws place in one of (many) barns they have around.  So I took the opportunity to go down and look through it all.  There's a lot of stuff down there.  Buckets, blankets, dressage earrings, whips, trunks, ribbons, 4270 hair nets, hoses, folding chairs, mats, boots, bits and helmets.  I think I need to get more stuff to put the stuff in.  I think thats how I ended up in this mess to begin with.  I've given (forced) a lot of stuff to other people, well to one person, but she really needs to get over here and pick through the stuff to get more.  Steve is no help at.all.  He has a coat that hasn't been on his back since the 90's and a tuba that we have to haul around every few years and a trailer, yes a trailer full of c.r.a.p. that he hasn't looked at since 2003, but still thinks he has the right to tell me to get rid of my stuff.  I say heal thyself.    Not sure where this was going, but there you have it.  If you need stuff you might want to call.  I probably have it.  Except I don't have the velcro EZBoot, but that is easily remedied.  But please call too, if you want, and have to have a cross country saddle.  Mint condition.

In a few short minutes from now I will have to get all gussied up to appear at Macys for three and a half hours shift of selling jewelry.  It will take me easily an hour plus to get ready, for obvious reasons, not the least of which means slathering on cosmetics to try to make myself look kind of alive.  And since tonight are the academy awards and everyone in Fairfield will have already bought their gems for the event, I will probably be alone in the jewelry tombs for the evening.  I get to go back tomorrow as well.  What's up with this?  Since the first of the year I have worked one shift and that was a couple weeks ago and now I have to work two days in a row?  What will this do my tax bracket?  Some people are just not very understanding are they?  Those of you who actually work all the time will not understand at all.  You see I have a pretty nice life.  I work sometimes, as you know, and I write this drivel, and I boss my husband around, to no avail, I torture my children and their spouses and have a healthy scrabble tournament going on on FaceBook, at which it enrages me to lose so I try not to, and every now and then we go to fabulous places like Fresno.  So I really shouldn't whine about getting all pouffed and powdered to go work for three and a half hours, except there is no break.  Break?  Really?  But there you have it.  I'm spoiled.  And life is better for it.

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