These are days, guys.
If you read Buzzfeed, or are on Facebook, or Instagram, or Twitter, or any social media with other like minded people (re: TwentySomethings), then you know that now is the time to be running, or working out, or eating healthy, or staying healthy, or something like that.
Everyone and their mother is working out and running 5ks and 10ks and 26.2ks and Blerg-Ks and eating all this kale and does anyone really even like kale?!
Seriously. You hit your twenties and it’s just the thing to be doing. Or maybe the time to start telling people about the thing you were already doing. (I wasn’t doing it before, really.)
It involved running and getting hit by things, then rinsing and repeating. Somewhere in the part where we were not getting hit by things, FunSized and I started talking about her latest piece of bling.
FunSized: It’s a Fitbit. It tracks how far you walk everyday. Like my goal is 10,000 steps and it’ll freak out when I hit it.
Me: 10,000 steps, huh?
FunSized: Yeah. I’ll definitely hit it today since we’re doing this, but it just motivates you to move around more. Like I know that you should park far away from Target, but now I actually park far away from Target.
Me: You’re kidding.
FunSized: During winter, I would walk to the store and just walk around until I hit my goal.
Me: …Sometimes when I go to the store, I’m tired and try to get Boo to push me in the cart instead.
So, I decided to join this revolution. I mean, I have a very big office. That has got to be a lot of steps I take everyday. At the very least, maybe FunSized would be right, and it would motivate me to move around more. Thus, the next time I was at Target, I parked as close as possible for the last time ever, and bought myself a Fitbit.
I got approximately 3,573 steps.
“I’ve only owned it a day.” I told myself. “And it was only part of the day. So it really doesn’t count.”
I had 8,105 steps.
“What are you doing?” my mother asks me.
“Walking around the kitchen table,” I tell her.
“FunSized told me this thing would freak out when I reached my goal.” I tell her.
“Hm.” my mother tells me.
I’m in shock that I don’t take 10,000 steps per day. It doesn’t seem right. MY OFFICE IS LARGE, people. But then this happened.
Total steps? 11,373. I’ve never been so happy to see a piece of technology freak out on me.
Obviously I am more than capable of taking 10,000 steps in a day, because I did it the day before. I’m a pro now. So when it gets to midnight, and I only have 8,746 steps, I’m pissed. Like legitimately upset and realizing that THIS IS WHY I AM NO LONGER SKINNY, because obviously I never took the time to park far away or count my steps and I knew I should have been jogging in place while watching The Fault in Our Stars last night.
It’s finally acting like Spring outside, which means that the snow might be gone, but it’s windy and rainy and chilly outside. Considering what happened the last time Poof and I ventured outside in the wind, we’ve been taking to staying indoors. I head over to her place with coffee for everyone, and we chill out, watch TV, and partake in whatever is on TV that morning.
Today, commentary as follows:
L.A.: You know, that one douchebag is really starting to grow on me.
L.A.: No, I know who he is. I mean the dad douchebag.
Poof: Bruce Jenner?
L.A.: No, no. The douchebag that’s a dad.
Poof: Bruce Jenner?
L.A.: The dad that’s married to one of the daughters.
Poof: Which daughter?
L.A.: Lord Douchebag.
Poof: OH. Scott.
Poof: I mean, you really just can’t go around saying “that douchebag” with this show. I mean, it IS the Kardashians.
Me: I finally watched the purple wedding.
Her: Joffrey is such a little chatch.
Me: You’ve gotta hate someone.
Her: List of people you can hate: Cersei, the lady that birthed period blood in air form, the man that chopped off Jamie’s hand and hung it around his neck like an asshole…
Me: NOT THE POINT.
Her: …everyone that came to the wedding and was mean to Tyrion because what a guy, social media spoiler-ers…
Me: STILL NOT THE POINT.
Her: …George R.R. Martin for making us all love his nonsense so much.
Me: He must not get invited to weddings ever.
Her: At the rate you’re going, he can basically plan yours.
Her: I’m just going to add my name to the list after Joffrey and Cersei. Please don’t poison my drink.
Me: I’m going to die alone.
Poof and I have this tendency to go out on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. It’s our default. I’ll put on nice shoes. We’ll take photos for her blog. We usually head to our favorite local coffee shop, MADCAP COFFEE…
…because it’s local, it’s delicious, and they do that thing where they make my Mocha look like a heart, and it’s nice to feel loved.
Well, since this is the rule, here is the exception:
Poof: Not in the mood.
Poof: Sure. I want a root beer float.
Poof had this thing when she was pregnant with LittlePoof where she always craved root beer floats. It was her food. My weakness when I was pregnant?
Cue to eating lunch yesterday.
Me: I’ll have the chicken tenders basket, please.
Mom: Didn’t you just get chicken tenders the other day?
Mom: And you want it again?
Me: I like chicken.
Boo: I like chicken too!
Mom: *Forceful Gaze*
Me: I’m not.
Mom: *Cynical Squinting*
Me: No, but really.
Mom: *James Marsden’s Character in X-Men*
Me: BUT FOR SERIOUS.
Mom: *Jedi Mind Trick*
Me: I HAVE ONE ALREADY.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you “Why I have added giving up Chicken Fingers to my lenten promise.”
Two years ago, I wrote one of my most embarrassing, albeit favorite blog posts since I started blogging back in 2010.
I’ve tried to write various other posts regarding the paczkis and the fattiness of Mardi Gras, but nothing comes close to the Poonch-Key post.
So instead, to follow up Fat Tuesday…
It’s perfect, it’s chronological, and I get to tell you about this guy seeing me with my ashes and being all…
If you feelin’ like a Pope, Catholics, do not brush your forehead off.
Bitches be sinners, Catholics, do not brush your forehead off.
I hope this guy didn’t give up being awesome for lent.
Friday night, I headed to this…eclectic bar called the Log Cabin with FunSized and a few of her friends. There was a band playing there that I met through FunSized – always a good time. The bar was hosting a theme night
Clever, right? This meant that there were tiki heads and grass skirts and bamboo decorations and bad jokes everywhere.
Case in point? Dancing with FunSized, up by the band?
Yes. I got lei’d.
It’s time for the Sunday Currently.
C U R R E N T L Y . . .
READING… The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. I’ve read it before, but there’s a movie floating around that I’m determined to eventually see.
WRITING… a lot of journal-y stuff lately. Problem is, I keep misplacing whichever blank book I’m supposed to be finishing, so I have snippets of everything in at least three different notebooks. Chronology is a bitch, folks.
LISTENING… to the new song from Nashville because holy crap, this show is addicting. And musical. And dramatic. And awesome. And Jonathan Jackson. Tuck Everlasting has a guitar and can sing, people. I don’t know if you knew that, but you’re welcome.
THINKING…that the song in that link above really ought to be released on iTunes because I’m in love with it. It’s so good. I hate country and it’s so good. The night ain’t long enough, I ain’t leavin’ without your love.
SMELLING…spring in the air. I’m not at all, actually. But it’s March now, so I’m hoping.
HOPING…see the smelling, currently.
WEARING…UGGS. All day, everyday. They’re so warm and fluffy in winter. I’m so ready to put them away.
LOVING…the new hat that I should not have bought if I’m hoping winter will end soon. But it’s courtesy of themittenstate.com, and it’s excellent and warm and fluffy.
WANTING…to get a sweatshirt off of MichiganAwesome.com. Because it says:
And that’s wonderful. It almost warms my cold, black, Michigander heart.
FEELING…Cold. I know. You’re surprised.
Boo: I think I’m going to call Papa “Dude.”
Me: I think you’re going to call your Papa “Papa.”
Boo: But he’s a dude!
Me: He’s your grandpa. Call him Papa.
Boo: FINE. Then you can call me “Dude.”
Me: I’ll call you “Dude” when you’re old enough to watch and appreciate The Big Lebowski.
Me: That rug really tied the room together.
Boo: We don’t have a rug.
Me: Maybe we should get one.
Boo: You got it, Dude.
Boo: Mommy. You got it, Mommy.