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Gym-ish Things Part 2

25 Aug

It was a day like any other.  I went to the gym.  I started my typical Interval Run of Doom.  I realize that some of you aren’t familiar with interval running, so let me explain.  Interval running is a very mean thing to do when your body complains too much.  It is an excellent way to build endurance, improve heart health, and as a bonus, it will scare any cellulite into smoothness.  Really.  My fat cells shrink with fear post run.  While it is an extremely challenging work out, it keeps your brain interested and you always have the ‘carrot’ of a one minute interval of walking post sprint.  I typically warm up with a thirteen minute run at a moderate pace and then I do intervals of three minute run, one minute sprint, and a one minute walk for about an hour.  It’s not something you should do every day, but it sure does mix up your work outs nicely.

Anyways. . . So it was interval day and things were going beautifully.  Ipee the Ipod may or may not have been playing “My Humps” and the world was a happy place.  My sprints were on fire, my legs were taking it like a champ, my breathing technique was great and my insanely heavy hair was even staying in place.  And then, something weird happened.  A lady got onto the treadmill next to me and began to slowly trudge away. . . while talking on her cell phone. Her conversation really didn’t bother me, really, I don’t care, it was odd but none of my business.  I went on my merry way walking, running, and sprinting.  When all of a sudden, she gave me a withering look, turned off her cell phone and stomped away.  Um. ..   Ok, I realize that a sprint is technically loud, but lady, you are NOT in your living room.  You are in a  gym.

Perhaps I am old fashioned, but is it too much to request that we not insist upon talking on our cell phones at every single moment?  There is no way that I will ever think that her anger towards my workout was justified.

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Gym-ish Things Part 1

12 Aug

Life is insane right now. There is no balance at all. It has simply been rushing by full of busy-ness and crazy since I got back from the Mountains of my homeland (WV). I am hoping to make a return to consistency with my writing after this Sunday. I will also have to make a return to “The Violin Cave of Solitude” as well, but that is a completely different story.
Tonight’s blog is rather cliche. I think everyone has read a monstrous amount of garbage regarding gym etiquette. It truly is a subject that has been beaten to death.
I solemnly swear to you that I attend the world’s most hilarious gym.
Really. There are so many bizarre situations and people there that I should be rolling in topics for years to come.
Today, let’s examine a particularly fascinating species, the pitchy walking songbird of the midwest.
It’s 7:30 in the morning and I have managed to drag my sorry little behind to the gym. Stand on treadmill, insert key, wait for it to start. The familiar and -oh-so-catchy beat of The Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” begins. I am focused. I am determined. Let’s get “Katie’s Crazy Death March of Doom and Calamity out of the way. But then something odd happens. Over my Ipod and the rythmic thud of my yuppie issue Asics comes a strange sound. I check my arm band. Is something wrong? No, my Ipod is fine. Am I going deaf? I knew I should have worn my earplugs more faithfully. No… .The person next to me is slowly loping along SINGING. Runs of arpeggios without one discernible pitch, loud, grating, painful. How in the world does my crazy ear pick out off-key when my ear buds are playing something else? Suddenly my determination is failing, it’s hard to keep a beat when all I can think is “Flat, flat, sharp, flat, um, that’s a quarter tone. . .ow ow ow OWWW!”*
I turn up my Ipod and try to drown it all out, but I am left with one thought:
If you can sing and run at the same time, then you are doing one or both activities incorrectly.
* I feel the need to explain. After years and years of training myself to play a particularly difficult instrument, I have developed my hearing to the point that anything that is even slightly out of tune really does cause me physical pain. It sounds so snooty, but it’s the truth.

Work Appropriate #1

5 Aug

Tappity tappity ping! Tappity tappity ping! Tappity Ring ring!
“Guy Gumshoe, Private Eye. . .  Hello Mrs Finklebottom. . .*Tappity* No, we haven’t found him yet. . .*tap*.. .Yes we’re working on it. . .*yelling. . Slam!*. . . Good grief. .. ”
I continued to type. . .Tappity. .. Tappity. . The door creaked open and-  Slam! Guy Gumshoe strode into the office with purpose, with determination, with panache with-
“Ms Friday I need you to get me Sammy the Snitch on the phone immediately and then I need you to-”
“Sir, I can’t. Sammy the Snitch-”
“Of course you can. Wait a minute, who are you? What have you done with your hair?”
“Sammy the Snitch got whacked by Moe the Mobster last Wednesday. I just got my hair done. It’s supposed to look like Veronica Lake, I hear it’s the latest thing, do you like it?”
“No. I don’t like it and I don’t like change. Ring Flo-”
“Florence the Floozy has been sleeping with the fishes since she crossed Speak Easy Pete 2 months ago.”
“Hmm. .. Well call someone and get the low down on the Finklesteen boy and get it fast.”
And just as quickly as he had come, Guy Gumshoe disappeared into his office. I turned open my address book and began searching for someone, anyone who might know the whereabouts of Freddy Finklesteen. He had been missing for 3 months and our investigation had revealed a bit of a seedy past. Guy’s door opened slowly.
“And Ms Friday, will you get me something to drink?”
“I thought we were abiding by prohibition now.”
“Only on Tuesdays”
“It is Tuesday.”
“Only on last Tuesday”
“Just a minute.”
I opened my desk drawer and brought out our contraband bottle of scotch when something terrible happened.
The door opened and in rushed what could best be described as a giant lime green swamp monster with a bad hair day. Tentacles and assorted pond scum waved in a threatening manner. I dropped the scotch and screamed.
“Katie are you ok? Oh my-”
BANG!
With an ominous wail, the swamp creature fell to the floor. Cautiously, Guy and I approached the deceased monster only to find. . .
“Holy cats! That’s my assistant, Ms. Tacky!” I cried.
We had a bit of trouble explaining ourselves to the fuzz, but upon examination they agreed that Ms. Tacky’s death was purely accidental. Given the strange costume she had on, it was a mistake that anyone could have made, they said.
Turns out she was really just going for one of those new fangled, Bohemian looks. She was dressed from head to toe in flowy ruffly crepe-y fabric. Her fatal mistake was the color choice of lime green.
And that is why, dear friends, you should always wear sane and professional attire at work.

A Practical and Obvious Idea. . .With Mad Apologies to Tiffany

19 Jul

When planning an event, it is always a good idea to send paper invitations to people who hold a special place in one’s heart. When you receive an invitation to an event, you should do the following:
1) Read it
2) Comprehend it
3) Write the information in your planner
4) RSVP (This does NOT include telling the host “Maybe”. “Maybe” is noncommittal. “Maybe” prevents the host from planning for enough chairs and food. “Maybe” is the cop out of busy people everywhere and a HUGE annoyance to anyone who has ever planned a party)

If you happen to lose your invitation, call the host and not only RSVP, but also reconfirm the information. This will ensure that you know when and where the party will take place.
This weekend, in a shockingly uncharacteristic display of “Katie Losing Her Mind,” I completely forgot to do all of the above for a very dear friend of mine. Please learn from my mistake!
PS: Tiffany, I am so going to make this up to you. Just wait! You will be soooo pleased! 🙂

A Quick Jogging Tip for the Lone Woman

13 Jul

Over the past few years exercise has become very important to me. Naturally, my figure is not a primary concern in life but my health is. In order to be polished and lady like, it is important to look after one’s health and well being.
I typically do a crazy combination of running, yoga, and weight lifting, but there is one problem: I like to run outside, but I don’t always have a running partner. I was really at a loss as to what to do until one day on my way home from work I passed a truly inspirational woman.
She was grim. She was fit. She was tan. She was carrying a gigantic baseball bat and scary as all get out BEFORE the double homicide in my neighborhood.
So there you have it, ladies. If you carry a baseball bat while running, no one will mess with you. Ever. Because dear God, you will be seriously scary.

O. M. G.

Thoughts on My Annual Existential Crisis

8 Jul

According to a very good book that I am currently reading, every problem in my life, with people, with jobs, comes directly from my personality type. Dear friends, your Katie, whom you thought was so unique, is a text book example of the creative personality (which sounds strangely arrogant “poor me! I’m SOOO creative!” but bear with me, I’m really not so bad!). My randomness, everything, not so unusual. I’m normal for what I am. But let’s not dwell on that part. . .I just read something truly funny, well, my thoughts were funny.

“. . .If you are not sure what kinds of perceptual experiences give you the most pleasure, flip the question around and think about about the kinds of ugliness that most distress you. . .”

I paused to consider. . .What distresses me. . .and, no joke, the first thing that pops into my head? O’Possums. Really. I hate them. They are disgusting. The worst part about an o’possum? The wormy tale. And the fact that they look evil. I really don’t think that they provide any type of service or environmental benefit. O’Possum can be equated with the phrase ‘modern day nephilim’ if you ask me. . .

And it was in that moment that I found my true calling. . . Starting tomorrow I will rid the world of o’possums. . .