Tuesday, February 05, 2008


By the Monkey's ever-growing collection of artwork. This is actually the second wall of art. Here's the first one. It's a little more free form in its arrangement.

Not a day goes by that he doesn't come home armed with a sheath of art projects from school. There seems to be an abundance of glitter for sale cheap, because I have no other explanation for why so many projects require it.

I'm considering going the digital route, as some wiser folks have. Nice idea, Ben.

But, what can I say? I get a kick out of seeing the Monkey's expression when I hang another picture up in the playroom. And they're all originals, many signed by the artist himself. I like the variety of colors too, and the ever-growing collection frees me from having to actually decorate my house like a sensible adult.

In other news, I think I might have made an enemy. At the gym, of all places. Argh..like I need another excuse to avoid going there. It's hard enough as it is to motivate myself, but I do! I get to the gym at least three times a week, because I actually like it. It's my one respite in the day, I work up a sweat, decompress; and it's an hour of preciously carved out me-time that allows me to come home recharged and ready to do battle. Plus, if I didn't work out a little bit, I would be even bigger than I am right now. I like to work out, but I LOVE to eat. At my current pace, I'm maintaining, which is all I can ask.

Never did I think I'd have to do battle while at the gym itself.

And I was totally minding my own business!! Argh!! There I was, on the bike, furiously peddling away, eyes watching the false-reading calorie counter. I cheered when it crossed the 150 mark and upped the level just a bit. Out of nowhere, I hear a voice behind me.

"You really should be more careful with other people's things, young lady." She spat at me.

My mind was not registering this clearly. Was someone talking to me? I was so lost in thought in my workout, I had even managed to tune out the horrible music blaring on the gym loudspeakers. Dangit..forgot my ipod again. But she repeated herself.

"You should be more careful young lady!"

Now, I was momentarily caught off guard by the young lady comment, as I haven't been the subject of that appellation in a long time. Then I realized what the grumpy old troll was talking about. She was bustling about behind me, collecting a pile of rumpled up coats, bags and miscellaneous items on the floor. I realized then, that she thought I had thrown her junk on the floor so I could use the bike. Meanwhile, I had been working out on the bike for almost thirty minutes now, the stuff had been abandoned on the floor the whole time, and had been there when I got on.

I replied, "I didn't touch your stuff. It was all laying there when I got on the bike."

"Well, someone touched it!" She replied in a huff.

I couldn't believe I was having such a stupid conversation. The whole point of escaping to the gym was to get away from baby nonsense, and yet here I was, once again, engaged in a confrontation with a childish tyrant.

"Look lady, I don't know who touched your stuff, or who moved it, or what happened, but it wasn't me." I tried to sound as tough as possible for someone wearing Target sweatpants and an H&M hoodie from six years ago.

She walked away mumbling under her breath and shooting me the stinkeye.

I continued to pedal, but that happy blissful feeling was gone. What the hell!?!? I fumed in silence. Next to me, a guy spoke up and said,

"I wouldn't worry about her too much. I'm the manager here, and I get complaints about her all the time. She's senile, I think. The light's on but no one's home, ya know?"

Yeah, I guess. I mumbled something and finished my cardio. Then I did a quick round of arm work, then a few minutes of abs. All the while, psycho beeyotch glared at me from points around the room.


The loon also left her cellphone behind at the bike. I noticed it as I got off while I was making sure I had mine. If I was a vengeful type, I should have pocketed it and tossed it. Instead, I pointed it out to the manager and asked him to give it back to her, since there was no way I was talking to her. She'd probably accuse me of stealing it.

I'm convinced I am a magnet for the crazies. I'm serious. I send off vibes that just invite the wack jobs of the world to approach me with their mumblings and ravings.
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