All things cute and worthless.

The food...















The folks...

the trash...

The weather has done the normal switch-a-roo and it is freezing ass cold again. In anticipation of this ass freezing event, I signed up for a membership at the fancy Aquatic and Rehab Center. The majority of the people that I see there are probably rehab patients that have come out of a major surgery or heart attack and insurance pays for their membership. They are mostly 60+,quite large, and don't give a crap about how they look in a swim suit, they just want a fully functional hip again. So for the last month, every morning at 6(ish) I've been in the 88 degree indoor Olympic size pool in full gear: googles, latex swim cap, and racerback suit. The first day I tried to swim laps I realized that I didn't have a clue how to really swim. This is the first time I have tried to swim in a serious manner, ya know, without a beer at the ready poolside. It is SO much more difficult than it looks on TV. I thought I would get in there and show these old people a thing or two. So wrong, so painfully wrong.

My progress has been as follows:

Day 1: Realized that breathing was intended for above the water and that I am shamefully out of shape. Laps = 1 Naps = 2

Day 2: Same as day 1, less choking and snarfing. Laps= 1
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Day 5: Humbled by a woman at least three times my age and twice my weight. She did 100 laps that day. A hundred!!!!!!! That's about 3 miles for anyone who is counting. Then she and I had a polite conversation, wherein she never once seemed out of breath. I struggled through a whole 4 laps that day, and then had an ice cream cone for breakfast.
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Day 8: Learned that rhythm is everything. Thank you Ringo Starr. I started really concentrating on when my exhalation needed to begin and end so that I would be ready to inhale at the precise moment my face turns to break the surface of the water. You can see how inhaling at the wrong time could drastically shorten a workout. Considering my background, you would think this breathing thing would be a no-brainer, but alas, no. Laps= 7
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Day 12: Enlisted my friend Brooke to swim with me on the condition that she, who has been swimming since before she could walk, not heckle me. She swam 15 laps the first day in the time it took me to do 7. Of course, she didn't have to stop between laps to gasp and complain like I do. Sidenote- Jeans a bit looser in the thighs, like maybe my ass is movin on up (to the East side), or just back to where it belongs.

Day 14: Still figuring out what pace is best for me. I slowed it down from what I was doing and that seems to help my endurance, but I still can't make it more than a few laps in a row without pausing to catch my breath. Pushed myself to do a total of 10 laps and felt great about it, until my shoulders started popping out of socket. Not really, I think I was just straining muscles that I haven't used since I was a fetus.

Day 16: Brooke is still done way before me, but she hangs out and pretends to be tired for my benefit. She says I swim "at the speed that old people fuck". Ewck. I have decided I'll stay at 10 laps a day until I can do them all without stopping. My shoulders have stopped hurting, but I think my hair is taking a beating from the chemicals. I'll be bald as a cue ball but my ass will look great.
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Day 20: Tried "the Butterfly" stroke. Snarfed. Tried the flip turn at the wall. Snarfed. I'm gonna stick with the basic "swimstroke side-breathing crawl" for a while. Much less snarfing involved. I'll call it "the caterpiller". Laps= 10 In a row = 4

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So that's about where I am, give or take a few days and laps. People think I am crazy because I can't wait until the end of my 12 hour shift at the hospital to get to the pool. Some lady at the pool ask us the other day,"Are you the girls who stay up all night and then swim?". She was totally amazed. Is there locker room chatter about us? I was just happy she called us GIRLS - because if you see me in my suit, you'll note a resemblence to Pee Wee Herman. Mostly around the chest area.

I gotta admit, swimming "for real" is much harder than I thought.But I am really enjoying it and am so glad I started. It's progressive, and a challange and it keeps me out of the damn casino. I have already started joking that I could get my "peeps that bike" to teach me a few things and I could start training for the Iron Man Triathalon... Only if one of the events is bitching.

My goals are not that lofty, I just want to make it to 10 laps before my 30th birthday.
Note: You will not escape a picture of me in full swim gear, I just haven't found anyone yet that can stop laughing long enough to take the damn picture.

So back to this grey hair thing, because you know its on my mind - get it, on my , forget it. Anyway, its not that I have anything against people with grey hair, I just think I am better than them. No, just kidding, some people look great with "the grey". For instance, Anderson Cooper. I loves me some Anderson Cooper. BUT- Here it comes, my big BUT.
Recently I saw him sitting in for Regis with that damn chippy Kelly Rippa and she mentioned the color of his hair. His response was:

"I think its okay, because I am told that men look distinguished when they let their grey show. Women do it and they look like a roadie for Peter, Paul, and Mary. You might as well be wearing Birkinstocks. "

Gasp. Compose. Set jaw firmly.

Now, Anderson... I still like you, but with comments like that, it is no wonder producers want to put you right in the middle of every bombing, flood, forest fire, and catagory 5 hurricane. Distinguished, yes, but also totally asking for all the suffering he has endured.

Highlights of my day... I was aiming for the tabby look. No comments on the bags under my eyes, please.
And of course, a Lexy picture. She was "helping" me clean the kitchen.

Well, Halloween stunk this year. I found my first gray hair early in the day - no, its not just blond, its unquestionably fucking gray and you know they are like roaches- for every one you see, there are a hundred that you don't see. We went out for drinks pretty early in the evening but I was so tired that I started dozing off at Toby's. My friends were nice enough to nudge me when someone was talking to me, you know, like they do Grandma at Thanksgiving.

Alright OLD AGE- come to Mama...

On a lighter note ( how much lighter than gray can it get?) I have discovered the joy of the Gibson onion in a martini. I know it sounds bad, but they are pickled or something and they rock. I've been known to eat them right out of the jar. Hmmm... I need to read the back to find out if they have any side effects, ya know, like GRAY FUCKING HAIR!!!