Prattle on
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
So, I don’t know if my personal trainer could smell break up on me or if he was just being nice because they lost the cheque I wrote but for some reason, as I was running on the treadmill he said to me “You’re looking really good Debbie, really strong. You may have lost a little weight too.” This guy is a master motivator. After that little exchange, I ran faster, pumped more iron, and kicked ass on the BoSu. I’m like a sarcastic, large breasted, female version of Rocky.

Enough gym talk.

Yesterday I worked from home. I hate it and I love it all at the same time. I like my home to be home, I don’t want to conduct business there. But, I have to say that sometimes it is better just to be at home than at the office. I can be so comfortable at home. Yesterday I had a telephone meeting. I talked circulation with a consultant while wearing nothing but a cap sleeve t-shirt and loose fitting panties. You simply can’t sit around the office like that. I mean for a while the office was sweltering so we worked in various states of undress but we almost always wore pants.

However, by the evening I was climbing up the walls. I had go somewhere or do something. So I went to the Laundromat and the grocery store. What an outing. At least I got some clean clothes and a container of eggnog (which I later mixed with brandy while chatting with my mother on the phone. She asked me not to get drunk, “Please don’t get drunk all by yourself, dear.” I made no promises).

The Laundromat was hilarious in an incredibly irritating sort of way. I love almost all children, I really kinda do. And I have a modicum of respect for some parents in a general sense. And, I often abhor violence in principle. But sometimes I want smack the living daylights out of some parents while shaking their kids until they pass out. Last night, at the Laundromat while trying to read a French décor magazine an irritating little bugger had a fit because his mother wouldn’t give him is can of coke before he ate all his French fries like a good boy.

The kid was screaming like a monkey, throwing himself on the floor and slamming the doors on the dryers. To try to get him to stop, his mother tried to negotiate with the kid – which, I believe, is like complimenting Satan. In the end the kid got his can of coke (because if there is anything this child needed was more sugar, I don’t see why she didn’t set the kid up on an IV drip) and only ate three or four fires. The best part was after the floorshow (which went on for 25 minutes) the kid’s mom tried to give him a “Time Out.” I swear to you, the kid looked at his mother and said “yeah, what ever you say, lady.” Then the woman laughed. If I tried that with my mom, fire would have rained from the sky.

Anyway, I got out of there.

This post isn’t really about anything, is it.

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