Monday, February 11, 2013

The weekend

So!  I have been diligent with my Jillian workouts (if diligent = working out more than once a week) (and I hesitate to call it "working out" - it's more like "flailing around spastically"), with one minor problem.

My bra straps keep sliding off my shoulders while I exercise.  Like, over and over and OVER again.  It's disTRACting.

So I went and bought a sports bra.  Awwwww!  Rocky's first sports bra.  It has racerback straps, which hopefully will end the bra strap slide.  I'll let you know, when I actually get around to doing Jillian again.

And then!  I found a package of Christmas cookies in the freezer that I had totally forgotten about.  Jillian, we're going to have to work a lot harder.

Saturday night, I watched "Jiro Dreams of Sushi", a doc about, well, a guy named Jiro who makes sushi.  All the reviews made it out to be, like, the best documentary EVER, but I just found it to be ... meh.  I can't get that excited about raw fish.

And oh!  On Friday, I watched my neighbor L move their cars into the park next to my house.  Why?  I have no idea.  The only thing I could think of was that they wanted to get the cars out of their driveway in advance of the storm so that when their plow guy came he could clear their whole driveway, but ... well, the town plow would've plowed the park in, so they would have had to dig their cars out of the park, and the whole thing made no sense.  I figured that B, L's husband, had to be behind it, because, well, B's an idiot. And then! A couple of hours later, L moved the cars back into their driveway.  And then back into the park.  And then back in the driveway.  This poor woman is pushing eighty and she's out there in a snowstorm playing musical chairs with the cars.

"These people are insane," I thought, only to find out Saturday morning, when chatting with their son, that indeed, B has been diagnosed as Bipolar.  THAT explains a LOT. 

And, let's see, yesterday I was at the adoption center, where there was another! escape!  Luckily, I was able to grab the cat, as he already has three applications on him. Everybody wants him. And oh, the cat is named "Rorschach".  Because he's black and white, like an ink blot, get it?  I DO NOT NAME THESE CATS.  But listening to people stopping by the center trying to pronounce "Rorschach" was pretty amusing.  "Like Horshack from Welcome Back, Kotter!," I tried a couple of times, only to be met with blank stares.  Yeah, I guess I'm old.

Horshack?  Anybody?  Anybody remember Horshack?

Snowfall totals!  Let's hear 'em!  I got ... a measly five inches.  How about you?


Domestic Kate said...

I get the Horshack reference, although I'll admit I only watched the Nick at Nite reruns sometime in the 90s. Did people understand the Rorschach reference? That seems even less likely.

Racerback straps won't fall off. Good luck!

rockygrace said...

A couple of people got Rorschach, once I said, "You know, like the ink blots?" But NOBODY could pronounce it.

I do not know why the rescues give the cats these weird-ass names. It's just confusing. The rescue I volunteered for last year was run by a Mennonite, and she was big on biblical names. Zilpah and Bilpah, anyone? Jeezus Christ. What's wrong with Fluffy and Mittens?