Muffin tops

After a good spin class this morning, I decided to scan the bakery case at 7-11. My eyes immediately zoomed in on the muffins. And because I only eat muffin tops, I bought two. Muffin tops equal goodness. And two muffin tops equal one whole muffin, in my opinion. I don't see anything wrong with this. The clerk at 7-11, however, stared me down as if to say, you overindulgent American. I didn't care though. The prospect of muffin tops beat out any pride lost along the way.

Zit

I felt it coming. It was the mother of all zits. Right smack in the middle of my cheek. It's been there for days now, taunting me, drawing attention from coworkers, preventing me from enjoying everyday pleasures such as direct light and creative writing. Yes, it's that bad. What am I, in 9th grade again? It's a horrible unpoppable mound of a zit. Someone was having fun with bubble wrap yesterday. I was like, you bastard.

Pimp cabs

I was in Chinatown tonight and contemplating my way home. Out of the shadows of H Street appeared something amazing, an Escalade cab. I approached the cabbie and asked if I could have a ride to Adams Morgan. I wasn't afraid of his pimpness. There was some respect, but yet he promptly replied, "Uh, no. This thing takes way too much gas, sweetie." He was implying that he'd require more than one person to make the trip worth his while. I couldn't argue with that. Screw carbon footprints. That'd be one phat ride.

Dream Weaver

I seem to get ridiculous songs stuck in my head. Today, I was on my way to the Verizon store for the umpteenth time this month. I was casually singing Dream Weaver on the corner, waiting for the light to change. The sidewalk was empty, so I was singing out loud. Like in the way a ventriloquist might sing. All of a sudden a voice interrupted the high end of "ni - hEIGHT." The woman asked, visibly frightened, "Uh, do you know where Filene's Basement is?" Obviously, I pretended like everything was normal and I WASN'T singing Dream Weaver out loud on the street corner. She walked away. I cowered for a moment, and then continued singing.

Office building socials

It's painful enough having to ride awkwardly in office building elevators. But then they scheduled the dreaded "ice cream social." I immediately made the ick face. Not ick regarding the prospect of ice cream, of course, but ick regarding forced socialization with weird office people. The funny thing is, I think everyone feels the same way. Just give us the ice cream and be done with it.

Welt

I've been camping and doing 'outdoorsy' things the past two weekends. I've peed in the middle of the darkest nights. I've spelunked. I've hiked mountains. I've scaled rocky terrain. Well, scaled might be an exaggeration. Anyway, I did all this without major injury. Then, I came back to the city. I went to the gym this morning and proceeded to trip over a bright yellow exercise ball, forming a huge welt on my shin. It's lovely. And I'm a klutz.

2% key, 98% confusion

The key to the women's bathroom in the Dupont Circle Starbucks is attached to an awkward 2% milk tin can. That single key works for both the women's and the men's bathrooms, in fact. So tonight, having drunk a liter of water and a huge Sapporo at dinner, I waited in front of the locked women's room not realizing that it was empty. Finally, a man came out of the men's room, handed me the key, I knocked, and I bolted inside. When I came out, another girl went in, only she didn't take the tin can key. She was a sneaky girl. A quick one. No one realized she came out, so a line formed outside the women's bathroom, along with the awkward tin can key. All the while, both bathrooms were empty. There has to be a better system. No wonder Starbucks is losing business - the tin can key method is flawed.

Laundry

How does it build up? I am one person. I don't have a lot of clothes. I re-wear. Yet, predictably, there is always laundry that needs to be done. Granted, I just got back from a camping trip. But even despite that, there is dirty laundry. I feel like I was cursed with the never ending laundry curse. I guess that's better than the never ending itchy rash curse.

Karma

Please make it stop. A few days ago, a friend of mine introduced me to the song Karma Police by Radiohead. Ever since, I've had, not Karma Police, but Karma Cameleon stuck in my head. It's not normal. I'm talking from the morning shower to the walk home after work. No matter where I go, it follows me. I'm in Minneapolis right now, in fact. We just passed a restaurant called Karma. Someone said, "Do you think it's good karma or bad karma?" The group chuckled at the joke. And all I could think was, "No! That's the trigger!" I'm in '80s hell.

Walk like that

My spin instructor approached me this morning in the middle of class. I was mid-sprint. She literally got off of her instructor bike in the front of the room to come over to me, quietly sprinting my little heart out in the back corner. She said, "Do you realize that your legs bow out when you sprint? I know you're a good rider, so it's odd. I was thinking, I don't think she walks like that, you know? I mean I've seen you walk. Right? You don't walk like that, do you?"

Tragic fall paranoia

Have you ever been so extremely and almost irrationally excited to see someone that all you can think about is the inevitable tripping over your shoelace? Or falling down the stairs, arms flailing, knocking some teeth out, and other would-be unfortunate events? It takes all the concentration you can muster for these tragedies not to happen. That was me last night. Thank god the crises were just in my head. Super cool on the outside, super neurotic on the inside.

For real this time

This blog has gone through so much. One year it's loved, the next it's not. Happy to say that I'm recommitted yet again. I know what you're thinking, she's said this before, it's a vicious cycle, an emotional rollercoaster, etc. But I promise, I love ya baby! This time it's for real.