Can't talk long–I have to get to the gym. I know. You guys have spoken to me many times about my exercise bulimia. I mean, I just SAID I was going to the gym…never. In five years of writing this blog.
I did belong to a gym in LA, but you had to in order to get your driver's license there.
Friend in Real Life Kit–not that I have a kit that you put together and boom! you get a friend, which would be convenient, wouldn't it? Gee, I want to go to that new restaurant and everyone's busy. Hey! I'll get my Friend in Real Life Kit!
Am annoying today. It's the endorphins. They are pumping from all my 'roids.
My friend in real life, whose name is Kit, has a gym membership eight inches from my front door, and perhaps you wonder how I've managed to take photos out my front door without including a giant gym eight inches away.
So she got a 30-day pass for me, Kit did, and asked me to join her at said gym. I have always wanted to join that gym, actually. It was the one Marvin went to all the time. Do you remember that? How he was always traipsing off to the gym at like 9 p.m.? Maybe you got here after Marvin. [A.M.] Anyway trust me. That happened a lot.
How did I pick a grownup cat and a baby cat who look so ridiculously alike? Kills me.
And in other nice-things-people-are-doing-for-me-because-people-are-nice-and-what-gives news, someone who reads this blog, with whom I have corresponded many times and become friendly with, emailed me a few days ago. Seems she kind of added up in her mind the whole year of shingles, dead cats, gone husband, surgery, lost job, broken heart, ass of a time I have been having and she wrote me.
"You know," she said, "I get frillions of miles from my job. I will never use them all. Why don't you go somewhere? Get out of town," she said, but not in that "get out of town" way people are always saying to me.
"Miles of what?" I wondered.
Anyway, my point is, I am going to HAWAII. And LOS ANGELES. To see my friends. Can you even stand this?
CAN YOU EVEN STAND THIS? Really. Can you? Because I am still in shock. Do you have any idea how bad I need to see my friend Renee, who had to go and move to Maui like it's pretty there or something? Renee was my best friend in LA, and we moved from there at the same time. Every story about us ends in us in hysterics on my kitchen floor, on in a spa's quiet room, or on a running trail. Or in a dressing room. Or at a hospital. Twice. Still. Hysterics.
I met Renee when we were both training for a marathon, back in 2000 when I was not a lumbering pituitary case. Do you like how I've blamed the pituitary and not chilupas? We were in a running group that met desperately early on Saturdays to run ludicrous numbers of miles.
My cat, Francis, had this thing called pica, where you eat stupid stuff, and his stupid thing of choice was plastic. I barely knew my running group, but there we were, the dawn barely breaking. "Huff," we'd say. Then "huff." I couldn't stand it so I broke the silence.
"I pulled a dry cleaner bag out my cat's ass before I got here this morning," I said.
Renee was the only one who had to actually stop running because she was laughing so hard. She was all doubled over and I said, Ooo, good audience. And a friendship was born.
Anyway. I am planning to go in August, in case I get this job for which I am interviewing. It is technically a 6-month-plus contract job (yes, mom, with benefits, through the agency) and so I thought I should plan for six months from now. I know that's a long way to wait but just the THOUGHT that IMA SEE RENEE, then IMA SEE LOS ANGELES AND ALICIA AND MY FRIEND DAVE AND IN-AND-OUT BURGER AND WHY IS MY PITUITARY ACTING UP is so exciting.
Does it seem like I am a person who gets really good and really bad things? Not just, oh, I won six dollars playing Lotto. Oh! I caught a cold.
Speaking of which, and then I have to pull on my sports bra and gee I hope it's clean (bah!), as you know I have this…friend, of whom I am not speaking in order to try not to JINX it like I have done with everyone else. On Sunday, Dick Whitman and I went to a movie, and it was a French movie with subtitles so needless to say the room was not packed, in fact two people were in the theater. Guess who one of the people was? Was it my…friend?
So we all sat together. It was beautiful.
Then last night, I went to the cool Carolina Theater with said…friend. It's one of those old wonderful theaters. My point is, we get in there, and WHO IS IN THE NEXT ROW? Was it Tall Boy? I mean, can I go anywhere and not run into someone I've dated? I've hardly been Fonzie this year. I haven't dated THAT many people. And yet here they all are, like it's This is Your Stupid Slutty Life or something.
Okay, I gotta hit the gym. I am going to end every post like that from now on.