I would like to begin right away by (belatedly) announcing that it has been one year since I quit the shit out of my lousy-ass, soul-destroying job at Arts-Friendly. Just last night, in fact, I drove past the old office with Ulrich, and couldn�t resist giving the building a fond finger in remembrance. I spoke with Carla only days ago as well (she has also recently quit, along with Tony from the data department) and we agreed that the place should burn in eternal hellfire while we have margaritas.
In any event, as May Day and I observed to each other last night in one of the fleeting, thirty-second intervals in which we are both in the apartment and not otherwise occupied, having a boyfriend is very, very time consuming! I mean, in a good way�it�s time well-spent�but all that downtime? All the personal mediation and phone calls to grandma and books you used to read and TV shows you used to watch with utmost tenacious devotion? Kiss them ta-ta.
I mean, if you�re doing it right, then you�ve found a guy who will humor you and watch your stupid TV shows with you (Ulrich has very agreeably joined me in catching up on Passions, of all things), or will sit and read by your side, or will even putter around and be non-judgmentally unobtrusive while you talk to grandma, but�who wants to talk about what the gals at the Senior Center are saying when your cute boyfriend is sitting right there with lips ripe for the kissing? But I digress.
My point was going to be this: what precious little time I have left between work and being in a relationship I now find myself using to either catch up on all my TV shows�which I�m practically now watching all on fast-forward while trying to read lips REALLY REALLY QUICKLY ("I think this week�s episode was about someone having a skiing accident, and something something Rumplestiltskin, and then they were all at a dance where the blonde chick announced she either �had rabies� or was �having a baby�. I can�t wait to see where this goes!")�or talking to my friends, or working out.
Working out is a pain in the ass, y�all. If anybody has ever said to you that they "enjoy" working out? THEY ARE NO FRIEND! They are LYING to you! I know I am not alone in my dislike of physical suffering, and when people are like, "What do I do for fun? Oh, um, I work out!" what they MEAN is, "I�ve got stamina and am better than you!" or "I�m athletic! Fuck me!" Or some variation thereof. I don�t need you to fuck me, so I don�t mind being perfectly candid: I hate working out. I do it because it�s good for me, and because it feels great WHEN I STOP, but while I�m doing it, it sucks.
Anyway, I usually allow myself about two hours to comfortably work out, cool down, shower, shave, and do all that other self-rejuvenating crap (voodoo life-force stealing rituals included). Last night, however, I had about half that time to complete my entire regimen before Ulrich was due to pick me up for dinner. So seven o�clock found me beating ass up and down the streets of West Hollywood like I was running from the bulls in Pamplona, dodging countless idiots who planted themselves, slack-jawed, in the middle of the sidewalk.
I�m happy to say I did it, but I am not one prone to significant amounts of grace under pressure. As soon as there�s a time limit, my brain starts ramping up the anxiety levels to an orange alert stage where I�m so hyper aware of every move I make, and how imperative it is to make that move as quickly as possible, that I can�t even tie my shoes without losing my wind. So it was a miserable and laborious jog, and I�ve never been so glad to have an experience over with.
Fortunately, no workout tonight. Ulrich is coming over, though, so I will have an hour and a half to buy stuff for dinner and make dinner, so that we can sit and watch my TV shows without interruption.
Can I apply for a government grant of some kind to support me during a relationship?
Someone Got Here By Searching For: "Pick up Nehru jacket" I�m Watching: Reunion. It is such a bad, bad show�why can I not stop watching it? I�m Reading: Running From the Law, by Lisa Scottoline, and just discovered that it is NOT the next in chronological order of her books after the last one I read, The Vendetta Defense, and that fills me with chagrin. Chagrin, I tell you!