Tuesday, May 11, 2010

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong

It is after three and I am still optimistic. Victory.

Perhaps this is because I have a handful of really lovely people in my life who have significantly upped the lovely quotient in this shittastic time. Perhaps I'm grateful for the unexpected solace I've gleaned from the comments you've left, Oh, tiny and faithful audience. Perhaps I am indeed as strong as my shrink thinks I am.

I actually took a lunch break today and went to the gym . . . only to—in a row of empty elliptical machines, mind you—find myself directly flanked by a slack-stared fat girl in bike shorts and an annoyingly overzealous fellow who reeked of B.O. and was in the process of expelling a great deal of curry from his pores.

Pet peeves, people. Curried armpits and people who pick the machine next to me.

But then I came back to the office to a package from my Dad. A package containing the coolest earrings I have ever seen. That's right, America, I've got the King. Elvis Aaron Presley: on my ears. What a perfect present.

And I had a lifesaving fun night in with Peter last night: an episode of House (emotionally unavailable man number 53 to whom I am deliriously attracted), take-out eggplant parm, chocolate cookies and a bottle of wine. I just have to quote him, as we were dorking around our apartment and I was sending inappropriately assertive text messages to failed loves of yore:

"Hey, do we have any pop tarts?"


Scarlet-O said...

ROFL. Curried armpits. Too much. House- mmhm.

Phoenix said...

PRECISELY why I don't go to the gym! If someone picks the machine right next to me I glare at them like, "What the fuck are you doing here too? Don't you know I own this place?"

This is why I hike. Much more breathing room. And I'm glad to hear that maybe, just maybe...things are gonna be alright. :)

Kathleen said...

See, I never go to a gym because I'm afraid I'll BE the sweaty smelly fat girl on the machine next to you.