Yesterday I attended the birthday party of my best friend’s husband and following dinner [a Chinese buffet that I had been anticipating all day, but only ate a disappointing two plates of] we went to the celebrant [and wife's] home, where we had chocolate cake and tea.  My best friend makes her orange pekoe [why what most consider "regular" tea has such an exotic name I know not] tea with lemon and sugar [no milk] and it’s great that way.  If I wasn’t so lazy [cutting lemons=exhausting and we rarely have that already squeezed lemon stuff at home] I’d do the same at my home.

This group of friends is aware of my desire to buy a car and questions were asked about my progress, to which I had to confess my glacial pace.  I am always like this when I’m unwilling to spend money and any amount with three digits before the decimal causes this concern.  You can understand then why thoughts of buying a car are causing the part of me that has been so diligently saving to twitch disapprovingly.  My BF shared that her and the birthday boy are planning to buy a car by the summer and I’m hoping to join them on the hunt and let them do most of the legwork.  It helps that the car they’re looking at is one I want too, but am not sure if I want to spend that much.

After talk of buying a car, the gym was mentioned.  My response to the question of whether or not I’d be going to the gym today was grudging:  they were trying to convince me that when I go to drop my sister off at work for 6:45AM, I should swing by the gym and get my workout in bright and early and have the whole day free to do anything, knowing that I’ve gotten the gym out of the way.  It was a good plan and I gave it a fleeting thought before I returned to bed this morning around 7:15.

The good news is that I did go to the gym today.  I took the time to update the music on my mp3 player to ensure that plenty of “booty beats” [as my friend Matthew is fond of calling] were in the “gym music” folder.  I’m pleased to report that I enjoyed the elliptical machine and I really challenged myself with the weight machines.  While I was grunting away on the rowing machine, a boy two machines over looked over and I looked away in typical Jummy style.  When I looked again, he mouthed “hi” [he had an mp3 player on too] and I smiled and returned the salutation.  He then finished up on the machine and moved one machine closer to me and then he said something, which I didn’t hear.  I took out one earbud and he said “it’s hard work, eh?” or something to which I replied in the affirmative.  And then we parted ways because he was knocked on his feet by my particular brand of feminine charm [or perhaps my sweat from the elliptical had morphed into less of a "glow" and more of a "stench"].  Either way, I left the gym unattached and yet again I don’t have a story of “how I met your grandad” for the grandkids.

I’ve been trying to figure out if I should quit my part time job because the excuse I’ve been using is that if I didn’t have to work two weeknights, I’d be at the gym more often.  I currently work 9-5pm, then 6-9:30pm on the nights that I work both jobs.  While puffing away on the elliptical, I had an epiphany:  I could work 8-4pm instead, hop on the bus right away and arrive at the part time job by 4:45pm and squeeze in 30 minutes on the elliptical and some weight machines before showering and rushing to work.  This means I’d have to have a new bedtime of 11pm and wake up by 6:45am [if I want to look decent] or 7am [if I just want to be shower fresh] and the night owl in me balks at this.  It’s a good plan though.

My mom has finally decided that my sister and I need to get out more.  At long last she is ready to imagine us with boyfriends and if they are lucky [the males, I mean] husbands. It’s a good thing she’s ready and all because all 27 years, 7 months and 10 days of me are ready too.  I teased her about how she’s been anti-boys for so long and she was quick to caution me that just because she thinks we should get out more doesn’t mean we should run into the arms of the next sailor who snaps his fingers or salutes us smartly.  Yes mom, after almost 28 years I’ll run away with the next uncouth boor who tries to pick me up at the club.  She’s lucky she’s cute as a button or I’d have to try bringing one of these disreputable fellows home, just to make her squirm.

Filed under: Family, flab gab, Friends, Love?, WurdyGurdy by jummy